I look around us to see if anyone’s heard, but everyone’s asleep and all I hear is the soft hum of the airplane.
“Was that the first time a man licked your pussy?”
“Shut up!”
He shrugs, finishes his drink and opens his second bottle.
I take a sip of mine and wince.
“Force it down. You need to get some sleep.”
“You’re not sleeping.”
“Suit yourself.”
“What are we going to do once we get there?”
“We aren’t going to do anything. You are going to sit in the hotel room I put you in and I am going to meet with my contact and hope he’s got a location on Beos.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, Eve, you’re not. You agreed to my terms when I agreed to bring you with me.”
His terms were more like one command: do as you’re told.
I roll my eyes.
He lets it go, finishes his drink and closes his eyes.
He’s right, I need to get some rest, but I can’t. Once we’re in Beirut, I need to look for Armen.
I know Zach’s not sleeping either. And all I can do is sit here and watch him. He’s so big, powerful, and his face…it’s beautiful. Thick, dark hair that’s grown out since he left the military, tanned olive skin, features sharp, his jaw as if carved with a chisel. I remember what the scruff on it felt like when he had his face buried between my legs, tongue soft, stubble hard and scratchy.
I can’t think about that now. It can’t happen again. I don’t know how I could have let it happen then.
Two flight attendants come down the aisle. They’re staring at Zach, one whispering to the other, and it’s pissing me off. One catches my eye. Her expression changes, and she nudges her friend. The whole flight they’ve been falling all over themselves to serve him. Or more like service him.
I snort, and he opens his eyes.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The look on his face tells me he knows I’m lying.
“It’s nothing.”
He shakes his head and picks up a magazine from the seat pocket.
Leaning away from him because I guess during my staredown with the flight attendants I’d scooted closer, I shut my eyes, certain I won’t sleep, but the next time I open them is when we’re flying over the city, close enough that I recognize it. I stare out the window, mesmerized, oddly happy. This is home. I may not live here anymore, but it’s where I belong.
But a knot of foreboding twists my belly.
I keep watching as the plane lands smoothly. We’re taxiing to the airport when Zach touches my arm.
“Here,” he says.
I turn to find him watching me. In his hand, is my passport. The Lebanese one.
I take it.
“Anyone asks questions, we just got married. We’re coming back here to celebrate with your family. You miss them so damn much.”
“Married?”
“Don’t get excited, habibi. It’ll just be easier.”
“Don’t call me that.”
The bell goes off to say we can get up, and he’s on his feet. He opens the overhead compartment and hands me my purse, then wraps an arm around my waist and tugs me close, almost making me bounce off his chest. “Last time I called you that, you came,” he whispers in my ear.
“This way, Mr. Beckham,” a flight attendant says, her smile flirtatious.
I want to smack her.
“Thanks, Bonnie.”
“Bonnie?” I ask once we deplane. “When did you have time to get her name?”
“Careful, you sound jealous.”
“You don’t have to hold me so tight.”
“Too hard being so close to me?” He gives me a flirty wink.
I try to pull away, but he tightens his grip as we approach immigration.
“We have to talk about what happened,” I say as we get into the line, wanting badly to change the subject. Maybe hoping to get him off kilter.
His face hardens and he turns to me. “Which part? The part when you lied to me? Or the part where I made you come?”
“You know perfectly well which part.”
“Now isn’t the time. If you want to find your brother, then do as I say.”
He’s right. I know it.
When it’s our turn, Zach smiles at the female agent. He’s charming. I’d forgotten how charming he could be. About half an hour later, we’ve claimed my suitcase and his duffel bag and are getting into the back of a taxi. Zach hasn’t let go of me once, but he also hasn’t spoken a word since we got through customs and immigration. I’ve seen how he looks around at everything though. At everyone.
At the rental car counter, he speaks with the agent in Arabic. When I open my mouth to say something, he gives me a shake of his head.
“You have trust issues,” I say.
“You should have trust issues,” he replies.
We ride in silence to the hotel while I watch the city I grew up in whiz by. So much has changed in two years. After the civil war, the city’s slowly been building itself up. But it seems every time it does, something happens to set us back twenty years. I just hope we’re not at that point in the cycle now.
No, that’s not all. I hope that cycle has ended.
It’s midday and I’m more tired than hungry. When we get out of the cab at the hotel, I let Zach lead me inside and he asks for a room with a king-size bed. When I give him a glare, he only winks at me and tells the man behind the desk I’m a shy bride. I’m fuming, but I know he’s doing this to get under my skin and I won’t let him do it.
When we get into our room, he still hasn’t let go of my hand, even as he’s texting with his other.
“What are you doing?”
He ignores me, finishes his text, then turns to me.
“You can let go of my hand, you know,” I say.
“Why don’t you go have a shower?” He’s distracted, I can hear it. Besides, if he wasn’t, I’m sure he’d make some comment about showering together.
His phone buzzes and he shifts his body to read it, holding the phone at an angle so I can’t see the screen.
“Why don’t you tell me what we’re doing? What our plan is?”
“Habibi,” he tucks his phone into his pocket, takes both my wrists, and walks me backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed. He looks at me, then with the flat of his hand on my chest, he pushes lightly, making me sit. When he leans down to place his hands on the mattress on either side of me and leans in close, I can’t help but draw back. Up close like this, the difference between us in size is remarkable. Scary, actually.
But it’s not fear I feel. No. It’s something else. Something I don’t want to admit.
I know I’m licking my lips when his gaze falls to my mouth. It takes him a long time to drag it back to my eyes. I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose or not. If he knows how it makes me feel. Thing is, I can’t think about that right now. My body’s physical reactions to him seem to be out of my control. I don’t understand it. All I know is when he’s this close to me, when he’s in control like this, all I want to do is give in. All I want is him, his hands, his mouth. Him.
And he knows it.
I see it in the glint in his wicked eyes.
In the way one side of his mouth curves upward.
“We don’t have a plan. You’re going to be a good girl and have a shower, then lie down and rest, order room service. Whatever you want, as long as you stay in this hotel room. Understand?”
He’s so close, I can hardly breathe. I don’t answer and he doesn’t move. Not at first. And when he does, it’s not what I’m expecting. He slides his face by mine, the scruff on his jaw scratching my skin, making my entire body come alive as his mouth reaches my ear. I feel his lips there. Soft. Barely touching. His breath is warm and it makes me shudder.
“Do you understand, habibi?”
The hair on the back of my neck stands on
end. I swallow and when I inhale, I smell him. Aftershave mixed with his own unique masculine scent. I feel it deep inside me. Feel everything.
I want it. I want him.
“I smell you, Eve,” he whispers, his tone low and dark and dangerous. “And I bet if I slide my hand into your panties, you’d be wet.”
I draw my arm back and slap him, or intend to, but he catches my wrist and pulls me up to stand. He’s holding me to him, and one hand snakes down my arm and to my other hand and presses it against him, against the length straining his jeans.
“Nothing to be ashamed of, habibi. I want you too,” he says, but this time there’s a taunt in his tone.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“You hate that I’m right.”
“Fuck you.”
“Is that an invitation?”
I open my mouth, but I’m at a loss and instead, struggle for him to release me. But he holds fast, switching the grip on my hand, the one that’s cupping his dick, to my wrist, and twisting it back.
“I asked you a question.”
“No, it’s not an invi—”
“Not that question, sweetheart.” He winks. He actually winks. And I feel my face go red. “You have a dirty mind, don’t you?”
I hate that he gets under my skin. Hate that he’s right.
“This isn’t the military. You can’t order me around,” I manage.
“I can cuff you to the bed. Gag you. Do all kinds of things to you that you can’t bring yourself to admit you want.”
“Is that why you brought me? So you could mess with me?”
“I tried not to bring you at all, if you recall.” He’s dead serious suddenly.
I try again to free myself one last time.
“Eve, I need to take care of something. Get some information. And I need to know you’ll stay here while I’m gone. That you’ll be here when I get back. I can’t keep you safe if I don’t know where you are and you being here, you being in jeopardy, that’s on me.”
“I can keep myself safe,” I try.
“Like you did at the hotel?”
I stop. He killed a man. He beat a man to death in front of my eyes.
I look to his hands and it’s like he understands. Like he knows what I’m thinking.
“Let me go,” I say.
“I won’t hurt you, Eve. What happened at the hotel—”
“Just let me go.”
He does.
“What did happen at the hotel?” I start. “It’s like you were…gone or something. Like you weren’t there at all.”
He takes a step backward, his eyebrows knit together and he runs a hand over the back of his neck and rubs. It takes him a long time to look at me. “Nothing.”
It’s not nothing. Not even close.
He checks his watch. “I have to go. I’m meeting someone who may have some information about Malik or maybe even your brother. I need to know you’ll be here when I get back. I’m serious.”
I know I need him if I hope to find Armen, so I acquiesce. “I’m tired anyway. I’ll just take a shower and lie down.”
He studies me, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m lying.
“I promise.”
His phone buzzes and he checks the screen, then nods. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t let anyone in.”
“Okay.”
I only lay down to close my eyes for five minutes. I thought I was too excited to sleep. Too anxious, but it’s dark when I hear someone enter then close the door. My eyelids fly open, but I’m lying on my side and my back is to the door and for some reason, I’m afraid to turn around. Afraid to see who’ll be standing there.
But a moment later, when footsteps retreat to the bathroom and I hear the shower go on, I realize it’s Zach. I sit up and check the time. Two in the morning. I’ve been asleep for hours, and he’s been gone all this time.
After Zach had left, I’d had a shower, then gone to one of my favorite falafel places to get some food. It’d been two years since I’d been back. Surely no one would recognize me. And I made certain before walking up to the counter that I didn’t know the man standing behind it. I’d taken my sandwich and brought it back to the hotel and that first bite had tasted like heaven.
I miss being here. Living here. Miss the excitement of life in Beirut. The fashion. The food. The people. The energy.
It took all I had not to go to the beaches where I used to go as a child. Not to swim in the waters I grew up in. Not to stare up at Suicide Rock in awe of its beauty. Of the power of the earth and the water. But I’d been a good girl. Done as I’d been told. I’d come back to the hotel room and taken a nap, intending it to be a short one.
The shower switches off and I find myself touching my hair, wondering what I look like. Chastising myself for caring. I’m sitting in the dim red light of the alarm clock when he opens the bathroom door and exits, a cloud of steam behind him. I can’t drag my eyes away from him, his hips wrapped in that too small towel, his chest and arms bare and wet, his hair sticking up in all directions.
When I meet his eyes, I see he hasn’t missed the fact that I’m looking at him like he’s food.
I shift my gaze away. “It’s two in the morning. Where have you been?”
Even in the dim light, I can see his eyes narrow. “Why don’t you ask me what you really want to ask me?”
“What?”
He walks to the table where he must have placed his phone when he came in because he picks it up, reads a message and types something before setting it back down. “You know what,” he says, heading toward the bed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He raises his eyebrows and pulls the covers back, but I stop him. “Your bed’s there.” I point to the couch.
Zach grins. “I much prefer this one.”
I’m about to argue, but he drops his towel, rendering me mute with shock. I’ve seen him before, but still, I react. He’s huge and he’s not even erect.
Placing one knee on the bed, he leans down toward me. “Move over.”
Again, I find myself clearing my throat, blinking and dragging my eyes up to his.
“Zach, you—”
He draws the covers back and climbs into the bed, lying down on his side, facing me. He moves too fast for me to realize what he’s doing when he wraps his arm around my middle and draws me down, hugging my back to his front, just like he did at my house.
His fingers brush the hair away from my ear and I’m staring straight ahead, unable to move. My heart is racing, and his big hand is splayed across my belly, his fingers too close to…everything.
“Ask me what you want to ask me, habibi.” His voice is a drawl, low and taunting and seductive.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Liar.”
His mouth is too close to me, to the tender flesh of my ear, my cheek, and his breath makes me shiver involuntarily.
“Don’t you want to know if I was with a woman?”
“No,” I say sharply, but even I can hear my own lie.
He snorts. “I wasn’t.” He pulls me closer. “But it’s been a long day. Good night.”
I’m surprised and honestly, a little disappointed when I hear his breathing level out.
I don’t sleep, not for what seems like hours, but I guess I do eventually doze off because I’m awakened by someone talking. The speech is agitated, and it takes me a minute to remember where I am. Who I’m sleeping next to.
It’s Zach who’s talking. He’s on his back when I turn to him. His eyes are closed and his face is tight. I watch him for a long time, watch him twitch, reach out to grab something, catch air instead. He’s calling out to someone, but it’s not a name I recognize. Not one of the ones tattooed on his back, at least I don’t think so.
“Zach, wake up,” I say. He’s becoming more and more restless. “Zach?” I touch his arm, try to shake him.
He blinks several times, but starts talking again, and I make out only one word. Trap. And this time when I touch his shoulder, he turns on me. He pins me to the bed, grabbing me by my shoulders, his full weight on top of me.
“Zach! Stop!”
His eyes are open and they’re almost black in this light, and although he’s staring at me, I don’t think he sees me, and I realize it’s like it was at that other hotel. When he beat that man to death. His eyes had gone black then too. It had been one of the most frightening things I’d ever seen.
He shakes me hard. “Why did you do it?”
“Zach, please!” I’m trying to free my arms, but I can’t. I fight him, try to kick him, but he’s got me trapped. He knows how to fight. I don’t. And he’s twice my size.
“Why?” he roars.
“Wake up, Zach. It’s me. It’s Eve. Wake up!”
When he releases one arm to wrap his hand around my throat, I scratch at his face, slap him, desperate to wake him as his grip tightens. I can’t talk. I can’t get in enough air to. And just when I think he’s going to kill me, he blinks once, then again. He’s still looking at me. A line forms between his eyebrows and his grip loosens a little, but he doesn’t release me, not yet. He looks around the room, then back at me and only then removes his hand from my throat.
“Zach?” I’m crying.
He’s staring at me, eyes so intense it’s like they’re boring into me, reading what’s inside my head.
Instead of rolling off me, saying he’s sorry, instead of any of that, he kisses me. He smashes his mouth against mine and kisses me. And all I can do is kiss him back. There’s an urgency between us. He’s devouring me, taking my will from me, kissing me so hard it hurts. One hand slides down and I open my eyes to find his are watching me. I know what he wants. This is the moment. I have to tell him no. That I don’t want this.
He’s tugging down the shorts I was sleeping in, and I should tell him to stop. I should tell him to get off me, and he’s waiting for me to. I know he will if I say it. I just have to say the word.
But I don’t.
And when he pushes my panties off and spreads my legs open with one knee, I still don’t.
“Eve.” His breathing is tight and I feel his hardness against my thigh. “Tell me to stop.”
Unhinged Page 10
