I decide to wear a dress. It isn’t exactly professional. It’s light pink, like a soft blush, with spaghetti straps and lace edging along the neckline, emphasizing my cleavage. The material is soft, liquid, and it skims over my body like a cool hug. I pair it with a taupe ankle strap bootie. I like what I see in the mirror, but as I leave the closet, I grab a sweater wrap that’s the exact color of my shoes. Just in case, I think. Then I decide, what the hell, and switch out purses, too. I’ve only used one so far and there’s a matching clutch amongst all the others.
Then I head out of the bedroom. I’m starving.
Zane is sitting on one of the dining chairs eating. He’s wearing black pants, matching shoes, and a gray button-down shirt. His sandy blond hair is perfectly mussed, yet out of his face. My first instinct is to run my hands through it. But I resist.
Seeing him still here surprises me. Usually he’s gone.
He must hears me come in and he turns, a smile lifting his lips.
I’m taken aback. He’s really gorgeous. Not in a “hottest man on the planet” kind of way, like John Cruze, but in a man’s man kind of way. Zane’s eyebrows are trimmed, but thicker than John’s. His lips are fuller. Zane doesn’t have a dimple, but when he smiles his face is perfect. And his eyes? They’re piercing. He’s a man full of confidence. One who might be shady, but there’s no doubt he knows what he wants and how to get it.
I can’t help but wonder: if the tables were turned and it’d been Zane who’d fucked me in front of the cameras yesterday, how would he have reacted? Would he have apologized like John did? Would he have done anything but take what he wanted and enjoy every fucking minute of it?
I knew the answer.
“Hi,” I say as I walk toward Zane.
His eyes take me in and linger on my cleavage. “You look exquisite.”
“Thanks. Whoever picked out my clothes has great taste.” I sit in the chair he holds out for me. “Thank you for them, by the way.”
He waves his hand. “You’re welcome.” He puts a piece of toast and some scrambled egg on a plate. “Fruit?”
“Yes, please.”
He scoops some purple grapes, strawberries, and mango into a small bowl. “Orange juice?”
“Yes,” I answer, unable to take my eyes from him. He seems different somehow, more relaxed, and I wonder what’s changed.
“There you go. Eat up.”
I pick up my fork. “I will. Thank you.” I stab a grape and pop it into my mouth. The flavor fills my mouth and I sigh. “It’s good.”
Zane chuckles. “You keep eating like that and I might have to fuck you first thing this morning.”
My thighs quiver and I’m instantly wet. I raise an eyebrow, challenging him, then fork a piece of mango and slide it into my mouth, sucking on it as it goes in.
He growls softly. “You’re asking for it, sweet Cadence.”
“I want it, Zane,” I whisper.
He sets down the paper he’s just picked up and pushes back his chair. Stands in front of me. I start to undo his belt when there’s a knock at the door.
Zane touches my cheek with the palm of his hand. “Raincheck?”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I say and smile.
He laughs. “You’d better hurry and finish eating. Lincoln’s here to take us to the office. You’ve got work to do, PFA.”
I don’t hesitate because I’m famished. I take a bite of egg. Zane crosses the room and opens the door for Lincoln.
“Mr. Zane. Are you ready to go?”
“As soon as Cadence is finished eating,” Zane says, patting Lincoln on the arm.
“Would you like me to wait here or in the car?”
“Here’s fine. We shouldn’t be too long.”
Lincoln closes the door and then stands next to it. He wears the same outfit every day; the only change is his tie. Nothing dramatic. Always dark colors. Like today, his tie is a charcoal gray. He’s removed his aviators and has them in his breast pocket. His expression is the usual—stoic.
“Hi, Lincoln,” I say and wave.
“Hello, Cadence,” he responds, his lips barely moving.
I push out my lower lip, but don’t say anything. Instead I shove another bite of food in my mouth.
Zane has gone over to the counter and is rustling papers. I don’t focus on him, but my food. I take a bite of toast. It’s buttery and delicious.
After two more bites, I stand.
“You finished?” Zane asks. He looks wary. “You need to make sure you’re getting enough to eat.”
“Yep. I’ll just be a moment. I need to brush my teeth.”
Chapter 10
In the limo, I lean back against the seat. Zane is still going through paperwork and I wonder what’s so important.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He stacks the papers and puts them in his briefcase. “Working.”
“Will you tell me about my brother?” It’s a question that I can’t resist asking.
He heaves a deep breath. “What do you want to know?” His features are guarded and I know I need to be careful.
“You know where my brother is?”
He blinks. “Yes.”
“And you’ll hurt him…” The rest of the question dies on my lips as tears spring into my eyes. I quickly brush them away. Travis is my blood, but we haven’t been close in a long time.
Zane’s face softens. “He’s already hurting.”
The answer sends me into a tailspin. “Where is he? Why is he hurting?”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Why are you so interested? From what I understand, you two haven’t spoken in years.”
I’m suddenly defensive. It sounds like he’s talked to Travis. What did they say to each other? “You’ve spoken to him?”
“Of course.” He responds like I should’ve known the answer to that question already.
“Well what did he say? Where is he? Why’s he hurting?” The questions tumble from my lips faster than I can consider them. I gave up on Travis because he walked out and I had no idea where he was. “Did he tell you that the last time we saw each other he tried to set me on fire?”
A dark look crosses Zane’s face and is gone. “No. We’ve mostly discussed memories of when he was younger.”
For some reason my face flushes with embarrassment. “He told you about us… about my mom and dad… about what happened?”
Zane leans back. “We’ve talked in length about his childhood and yours as well.”
“Where is he, you son of a bitch? What have you done to him?” The current of anger and fear that flashes through me is so intense I can’t control it. All I can think is that he’s got Travis locked away somewhere and that he’s hurting him, torturing him. “He’s been through enough! How dare you hurt him!” I lunge at Zane, punching his chest, tearing at his shirt.
Zane grabs hold of my wrists. He’s strong. Too strong. “I haven’t hurt your brother. He’s safe.” His words bite through me and as quickly as the anger appeared, it vanishes.
I sink into his chest and cry like a fucking baby. “God, Zane. Don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt him.” I’m still pounding on his chest, but there’s no force behind each blow. “I swear I’ll do whatever you want. Just please don’t hurt my brother.” Sobs wrack my body. Pain I’ve been holding deep inside for years comes out of me like a torrential rain.
Zane pulls me to him. “Shhhh. Hush. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”
I claw at his shirt, cry into his chest. I can’t stop. Now that I’ve started I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to. The dam has broken, the floodgates have been blown to pieces, and all that’s left are tears. I cry. For every fucking time my parents hurt me, every time they ignored me, left me to fend for myself, yelled hateful words at me. I cry for my father’s cowardice, for taking his life when he should’ve lived it and taught me how to live. I cry for my mother. She pushed me from her body and kept on pushing. I never felt
even the tiniest inkling of love, a moment where I believed she cared about me. And I cry for my brother, because even after my mom realized she didn’t want me, she still chose to have another child. And he was unwanted too. I cry for his suffering, for every wasted second of his life. And mine.
I cry and cry and cry.
I hear Lincoln and Zane talking, but I’m too far gone in my mourning to understand. Too fucking wrapped up in the pain to break free.
And I’m suddenly being carried. Zane’s arms cradling me. I hear him huffing as he walks quickly up a set of stairs. The door closes softly behind us.
I stop crying. “Where are we?” I ask, so softly I wonder if he can hear me.
Zane looks down at me. His eyes are filled with tender worry.
“We’re home,” he answers.
I close my eyes. “Okay.”
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Table of Contents
Main Menu
Cover
Summary
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Contact Breena Wilde
Copyright Information
Table of Contents
Dirty Lines (Blurred Lines Volume 4) Page 4
