: Chapter 9

Goldchild sent me a gift.

Another one of my men. Dead.

A severed fucking head in a pretty white box wrapped in a blue bow.

“Where did you find it?” I growl, staring at the bloody and blue face.

The kid’s only twenty years old. I recruited Tommy myself. All he had to do was move nonvaluable stock from one place to another. He had a sick sister he wanted to take care of, and I was covering her treatment.

“The box appeared this afternoon at the West Point warehouse,” Sergei says with a scowl. “We’ve got nothing on who dropped it or what time. The footage was wiped.”

Goldchild has been getting bolder by the day, and the Exodus has been giving me hell for losing control over the situation. All they care about is that we’re bleeding money. They don’t give two shits about the fact that my men are getting slaughtered like fucking animals.

I curse, swiping a hand over my face.

How many more innocent people need to die for this ridiculous feud? I don’t even know why my father killed Goldchild’s son, or when. Sergei hasn’t been able to color in the blanks either.

“Have you told his sister?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

I exhale slowly, trying to come up with a plan. “We’re going to continue to cover her treatment, and send her whatever amount Tommy was receiving, plus twenty percent. I want eyes on her at all times for the next two months in case that fucker tries anything.”

“And the warehouse?”

“Comb it. I want forensics in, and for you to personally question each and every man and woman who’s been through there in the past twenty-four hours. Reach out to all our informants to see if anyone has any information on who carried out the kill and where the rest of his fucking body is.”

A good person died for green and vengeance. Tommy’s never even picked up a gun, or done anything worse than committing traffic offenses. Goldchild’s gone too far this time.

“Tell everyone that Tommy is going to be buried at the end of this week, so his entire fucking body better be in that coffin.”

“Yes, sir.”

This is all a fucking mess.

I’ve put in a request to the Exodus to spare more men and resources so I can end this nightmare, but all they’ve done is sit on their hands. We’re meant to be above the government and everything else the sun touches, and yet they’re leaving me to clean up the mess I have no doubt they all had a hand in.

My father died long before he could prepare me to deal with more than just psychological warfare. I feel out of my depth with all of this.

“Is there anything else you suggest?” I ask. Sergei was my father’s right-hand man. There’s no way I would have survived this long without his help. The men respect him, and he knows how to survive this world. It’s more than I can confidently say about myself.

“Send a message.”

My eyes snap up to his. “Spilling more blood will only make it worse. Their retaliation will hit harder.”

“They killed one of your men,” he says solemnly. “Goldchild needs to know what happens when they act in cold blood.”

I frown, thinking about it for a moment. We’ve been on the defensive for too long. We’ve always acted out of necessity and in proportion to Goldchild’s crimes, staying above the dirt he’s been throwing our way.

“You’re right. Get it done.”

I massage my temples and stare at the mountain of paperwork on my desk. Some days, I’m not sure whether I prefer the legal or the illegal side of my family’s business. No one is dying in the hedge fund world, but I might drown beneath all the paper.

Tommy’s severed head flashes through my mind. I’ve been working for over fourteen hours. I need a break. Luckily, I have the perfect cure to a bad day.

Pushing out of my chair, I jog out of my office and into my backyard, following the winding path toward the pool house.

Perhaps I have become a psychic of sorts. Or perhaps I am wise beyond my years. Because there she is, sitting on the little porch, staring at the night sky.

Call it intuition that she’d be out here. A gut feeling. One that comes from watching hours upon hours of footage just to sate my curiosity. Or perhaps it’s hunger.

Either way, I’m here now. My methods for correctly assuming Zal would be outside will be my little secret.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask.

It’s a rhetorical question, of course. I know she can’t. Her file might say as much, but the bags under her eyes are a dead giveaway.

Her eyes snap up to mine and her blanket falls as she jumps to her feet, arms raised like she’s about to fight me.

PTSD is a real bitch.

She blinks a couple times before saying, “What are you doing here?”

I look around at the pool house, the pool, then the main house. “I believe I might own this place. One would say it affords me certain liberties with my property.”

She gives me a blank look that gets me all excited. Her fire has returned. “Let me rephrase. Why have you left the warmth of your home when it’s three in the morning?”

“A leisurely stroll?”

She purses her lips, silently saying, try again.

“It’s a full moon. It’s my duty as your employer to ensure that you are safe from all the night creatures.”

We both glance up at the crescent moon. I guess that that’s not very believable either.

I grin and help myself to the spot beside where she sat. Tapping the empty place next to me, I give her a bashful look. She narrows her eyes and considers for a moment before complying. The heat from her body seeps into the small space between us, and I want nothing more than to drag her closer to me.

I want her back.

It’s a fact I’ve known since I was a teenager, and despite every change I’ve endured since she left, that is the only thing that has remained true.

I want Zalak back.

If she’s picked up on my intentions, she hasn’t let on. If there’s a glimmer of reciprocation, she’s hidden that just as well. I’ll wait a lifetime if I have to.

The Zalak I knew from years ago and the one now wouldn’t take these kinds of advances for very long. I have to trust that her continued employment and residence on my property is an indication that maybe—just maybe—she wants me back too. I’ll settle for knowing that she misses me.

And perhaps I’ll take the old hoodie of mine that she’s wearing as a sign as well.

“You know it’s cold out here, right?” She catches my teasing smile, and I wrap her fallen blanket around her. To my surprise she doesn’t throw it off.

That’s a win in my books.

“I hadn’t noticed,” she deadpans.

“If you get a cold, I’d be a man—woman—down.”

“As long as you follow protocol, I’m sure you’ll survive.”

Somehow, I don’t think teasing her over how she cares about my safety will bode well. I’m going to tell myself that she cares about me because it’s me, and not because she has to.

“Did you give all your supervisors this much attitude?”

“Fuck no.”

I smirk. “Are you implying that I am not frightening?”

Zalak shrugs. “If you’re willing to wake up at five in the morning to make me run drills, the fear factor might be taken up a notch.”

I resist the urge to touch the cheek—the same soft skin I’ve kissed more times than I can count. “I’ll have you know that everyone knows my name and the power I wield.”

“Mathijs Halenbeek. Wow.” She rolls her eyes. “It really strikes fear in my heart.”

There she is.

I throw my head back and laugh. She chuckles alongside me—not the earth-shattering laugh I used to hear all the time. But it’s closer than anything I’ve gotten in the past two months since she started accompanying me every time I leave the compound.

“It feels good,” I say.

“What does?”

“To laugh again.”

Neither of us adds to that. The slight curve of her lips makes me smile. I lean closer to her, relishing in the warmth of her proximity and the glimmer of light that’s returned since she’s come within my grasp.

After I lost my parents, I didn’t think there was any semblance of good that would ever reappear in my life. My days continued. Men died. Green exchanged hands. Guns were fired. Day in and day out, all I could see was bleak misery.

The families living in the compound were the only sign of goodness. Even then, it was fleeting.

Year after year, I was kept up, wondering if Zalak felt the same way in the solitude of crowds. The lonesomeness of surface interactions. Did she ever see the insides of a person and think, Is that it? Did she stare at the ceiling and try to summon an image of a year from now and see nothing but the emptiness of existence?

I had hoped that wherever she was, she didn’t feel those things. That she would look upon her sister and know the fire hasn’t died out, and there’s a reason to keep going.

When Zalak’s team and Gaya died, the pain I felt wasn’t from their deaths, it was from knowing that I might have lost her for good. I survived my parents’ deaths because I wanted to make them proud, and I had Sergei by my side. What does Zalak have to keep her going?

When my personal guard died from a gunshot to the head—courtesy of Goldchild—I realized I had the perfect opportunity. She doesn’t know it, but my men have orders to protect her with their lives, just as they would for me.

She needs the protection a lot less than I do. It turns me the hell on that she can beat someone up better than I can.

The Exodus might have reservations about accepting her into the fold, but I have no doubt she’ll make a name for herself. One day, she’ll have to prove to them that she’s worthy of becoming a member. She’s not ready for that kind of discussion yet, and there’s still plenty of time before the Reckoning for me to tear down her walls just enough for her to let me in.

“Yes,” Zalak says suddenly, catching me staring at her profile. “You asked me before if I can’t sleep. The answer is yes.”

I take her words to be the perfect opening, so I rise to my feet, then push the front door open, leaving her on the porch.

“What are you doing?”

I grin. “None of your business.”

“I disagree since you’re entering my place without permission.”

“Our place, Lieverd,” I correct.

Zalak shakes her head, leaving me to help myself to her things. Like all the other nights I’ve showed up at her door with dinner—which has been many times—the space is somewhat clean. It’s nowhere near the standard of pristine cleanliness it was when she first moved in, and it’s slowly getting messier as she gets more comfortable.

I grab the duvet and pillows off her bed and pile the spare blankets on top, then head back outside. The corners of her eyes crease as she watches me lay out the two blankets and arrange the pillows on the big lounger. I plop down in the chair, lie back, and toe my shoes off before kicking them up.

Grinning to myself, I take a second to admire her. Her oversized clothing is hiding all the muscle she’s bulked up since moving here. I’ll be honest, it makes my mouth water just thinking about it.

“Sit.” I nod to the space beside me.

“I’m off the clock. You can’t tell me what to do.”

I grab my phone and fire off a text to her that I need her to work now. A text message sounds from inside, and the dirty side-eye she throws my way has me barking out a laugh.

Zalak pauses for a moment. Her eyes flash with an internal battle I can probably figure out. She’s been closed off for so long, she needs to decide whether she’s going to open herself back up. Even if she doesn’t, I’ll find a way to get in so her space is less lonely. I’ll be the light in her dark corner whether she likes it or not.

Grumbling, she lowers herself beside me, all stiff and uncomfortable. This girl wouldn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do, and she’s willingly entering into my space. I throw the many blankets on top of us and forgo the employer-employee decorum by wrapping my arm around her firm shoulders and pulling her to my side. If I thought she was tense before, this is a whole other category.

The frozen air turns our breaths into clouds, and yet I can’t feel the chill. The tension that’s knotted its way through my body slowly unwinds. Neither of us says a word, with her staring up at the sky, and me staring at her. When was the last time I held her in my arms? When was the last time it didn’t feel so empty?

For the first time in years, it feels like everything is going to be okay. There are some things I’ll never get back: habits, people, personality traits. But ten years later, and she still feels like a source of stability when everything is crumbling around me.

Before she came back, I stopped doing things because I wanted to, and only because I had to. Every transaction just felt like a job to put a tick in the book. Now there’s a light I’m heading toward, not an endless loop.

The silence stretches between us, and with each passing minute, she slowly relaxes like she’s letting herself accept this moment where she isn’t out in the cold by herself.

“Remember when you’d sneak out while your parents were asleep?” I ask. We’d stay in one of the guesthouses located on the compound and do exactly what we’re doing now; lounging beneath the stars.

Zalak huffs. “I can’t believe I learned how to make a fake body in case Mom checked my room.”

I’m just going to say it.

Her mom was a bitch.

Rest in peace.

“That skill comes in handy in my line of work. You should have added it to your resume.”

She chuckles, leaning her head against my chest. In this moment, we’re untouchable. There’s no death, no war, no pit of despair waiting for us to drown in. But there are two things I know to be true.

She would kill for me, and I would do far worse for her.