Collateral

by Callie Hart

  “That depends on whether we are actually nearly late for something, or if you think we have time to kill,” I say.

  Zeth makes a growling noise at the back of his throat. “Fine. Then get moving.”

  I take the dress from him—I’m assuming it’s a dress—and I head for the bedroom. When I unzip the bag, I see it is a dress. A beautiful one, made from Irish-green silk with a huge split up the front. There are matching silk covered heels, too, and a lovely art deco hair comb to match. I get dressed, feeling incredibly seductive as the material whispers over my skin. I haven’t felt like that in a very long time.

  At the thought of seduction, I suddenly remember what the concierge told us when we first arrived here: that there were celebrations happening soon. The kinds of celebrations Zeth used to attend before he came back into my life. The concierge had even asked if we wanted to book a booth. My heart is suddenly galloping in my chest. Is he…is he planning on taking me to some sex party? I remember the last one all too well.

  I stride out of the bedroom and into the lounge, getting ready to lay into him, but then I catch sight of the man, and I lose any and all ability to speak coherently. In a beautiful black suit, white shirt and black tie, Zeth is magnificent. The small cuts and scrapes on his hands and face only seem to add a savage edge to his beauty. He’s fastening his cuff links, smirking at me as he makes eye contact.

  “Everything to your liking?” he asks.

  Am I to your liking? He knows damn well he is, the arrogant bastard. I scowl at him. “Are you planning on taking me downstairs to some freaky sex club, Zeth?”

  He looks genuinely surprised. I watch the moment when realization dawns on him. “Oh, you think...” He laughs. Actually has the audacity to laugh. “No, angry girl. No more sex clubs for you. Or for me. That is, unless…”

  I throw a couch cushion at him, but he sidesteps out of the way, still adjusting his cufflinks. I shake my head, going to him and holding out my hands. He places his in mine, and I carefully thread the silver button through his cuff.

  “There.” When I look up, Zeth’s grinning at me.

  “What?”

  “You’re disappointed, aren’t you?”

  “That you’re not taking me to a sex club? No!” I can feel myself blushing, though. I can hear how ridiculous my denial sounds. Zeth’s grin vanishes in a heartbeat. He leans down to me, so that his lips brush my ear when he says, “I can tolerate people watching, Sloane. I can tolerate you wanting to watch others. But we have new ground rules now. No one’s ever allowed to touch you again. And I will never touch anyone else, nor allow anyone to touch me, either. So…all you have to do is say the word.”

  A cold, anxious shiver runs down the length of my body, but I’m not anxious because I think he wants that. He’s telling me that because he thinks I might want it. And…I’m anxious because of how the prospect of it makes me feel.

  “I don’t want that,” I say breathlessly.

  Zeth nods, though I can see the flicker of dark amusement in his eyes. “Come on, angry girl. We have a ride waiting for us downstairs.”

  Our ride is Michael, of course. And our car is a sleek, black limo. Neither of them caves and tells me where we’re going as we glide silently through the city. I still haven’t guessed, not even when we pull up outside yet another church.

  Zeth helps me out of the car, a small smile playing over the corners of his mouth. He looks so entertained by my confusion.

  “What are we doing here?” I can hear music inside—the sound of violins and cellos, and the music of many voices all talking at once. Tea light candles light the path up to the church entrance, and small fairy lights have been wrapped around the branches of the trees in the courtyard. It’s stunning.

  Zeth looks slightly bashful as he reaches into his pocket and produces a square of dirty, battered card. There’s blood splattered on the back of it, and the corner is torn, but I instantly realize what it is: the invitation to Suresh’s wedding. He told me…Zeth told me weeks ago he would take me. I’d forgotten all about it. So much has happened in between now and then. So much to change and shape us. Zeth unfolds the invitation and holds it out to me.

  “I thought they were getting married in a hotel. In the morning?” I whisper.

  “The bride’s very Christian parents were delayed,” Zeth explains. “They pushed back the time and changed the location on account how scandalous not getting married in a church was, apparently.”

  I look back up at the church, struggling to cope with the sheer rightness of the moment. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I was hoping you’d still want me to be your date?” Zeth says softly.

  My eyes are stinging. I can’t believe, in amongst all the fighting, running, violence and pain, he remembered this. “I would love for you to be my date.”

  I can’t believe this man. I can’t believe how much I love him. I can’t believe how lost I would be without him in my life. I would definitely have been safer these past few months, but in retrospect, it seems as though Zeth was right. This has all been blood and roses—pain and heartache, but also bittersweet and beautiful, too. There are plenty of things I’d change, losing Lacey being one of them, but I’d still have him. I’d still have this, and this is perfect.

  “Want to go inside?” he asks.

  I nod, yes. “I definitely want to go inside.”

  The ceremony is wonderful. The inside of the church is decked out in a million tiny white flowers, decorating the pews and the aisle. Rebecca, Suresh’s bride, is radiant in a sea of white lace and silk, the same tiny white flowers tied into her hair. I’m surrounded by faces I know from the hospital—Oliver’s sitting at the front of the church with a date, a slim blonde woman with a knockout smile. He notices us halfway through the ceremony and gives me a hesitant smile. Once the vows are over, the whole church full of people walk down the street, not caring about the cold or the wind that ruins their hair. Zeth links his arm through mine and we walk with the rest of the crowd, surrounded by laughter and smiling faces.

  “Sloane! Oh my god, Sloane.” A hand lands on my shoulder. The next thing I know, I’m being pulled into a rough hug. Suresh, beaming from ear to ear, squeezes me tightly, then holds me at arm’s length so he can look at me. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he tells me. “Now everything’s perfect.” He plants a wet kiss on my forehead, and Rebecca, suddenly at his side, laughs brightly.

  “Yes, so glad you came,” she tells me, kissing my cheek.

  “Thank you. You look beautiful.”

  “And I see you used your plus one,” Suresh says. “You must be the guy Sloane’s fucking.” He holds out his hand to Zeth. All the blood rushes from my face. I cover my mouth with my hands, remembering what Suresh had said back in the hospital canteen the day he reminded me about his wedding—that I couldn’t just bring a friend. It had to be someone I was fucking. When I peek at Zeth, he’s shaking Suresh’s hand, not even remotely fazed.

  “Yep. I’m that guy,” he says. “Zeth. Pleasure to meet you.”

  “You too, man. Zeth? Cool name.” He slaps Zeth on the arm, and then the bride and groom move on through the crowd, smiling and hugging more people as they go.

  The sea of milling people eventually reaches a small boutique hotel three blocks away. Not time for speeches or food yet, a string quartet begins to play as soon as the wedding guests arrive. Zeth holds his hand out to me, and the night gets even weirder.

  “You want to dance with me?” I ask.

  “Yes.” Zeth takes hold of me and pulls me into him, breathing me in. “I want nothing more right now.” He holds me, and we dance, and in this small moment, the nightmare we’ve just been through doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing does. It’s well after midnight, after the food and the speeches and lot more dancing when Zeth tells me we need to leave.

  “What? We have to go? Why?”

  “Because.” He kisses me lightly, his mouth lingering on mine. “The clock’s already struck twelve. T
hat’s how most fairytales go, right? The beautiful young woman has to leave before the end of the ball?”

  “No,” I say, laughing, shaking my head. “Not this one. Not this time. And this time the princess gets her Prince Charming, too, right? You said it yourself. One night only.”

  He smiles. “I’ll give you more than one night, Sloane, I promise. Or at least I’m gonna work on it. But right now we do have to leave because you have to be up early in the morning.”

  “I do?”

  He just nods, fighting back the beginnings of a smile. We slip silently out of the wedding party, and my heart feels heavy in my chest. It would have been nice to stay and eat, to laugh and dance more, but I’m intrigued by his cryptic clue.

  In the back of the car, Zeth hands me a black backpack. “Here.” It’s the backpack he had over his shoulder when he came back from Michael’s place earlier. I look at him, trying to figure out what’s inside even as I open the zip.

  My heart stops beating when I see what’s inside.

  Scrubs.

  Blue scrubs.

  “What…what’s this?” I can barely breathe.

  “That’s what you normally wear to work, right?” Zeth bites back a grin as I pull the scrubs out, my mouth hanging open.

  “But…how? How did you…? Oh god, you didn’t threaten anyone, did you?”

  “No. Money talks, Dr. Romera. Though threats were gonna be next if that chief of medicine woman didn’t give me what I fucking wanted.”

  “You bribed Chief Allison?”

  He tuts. “I gave her something she wanted.”

  “Which was?”

  “A new MRI machine.”

  “Zeth! MRI machines cost millions of dollars! There was a lot of cash in those bags, but there wasn’t a million dollars.”

  “There wasn’t, no. But Charlie had a fair chunk of cash sitting in his safe, and he didn’t exactly need it anymore. And I sure as hell didn’t want any more of his money.”

  God. I try to imagine the chief’s face when Zeth handed over that amount of money in cash. She’d have had to accept it as an anonymous donation. The paperwork on something like that would be a nightmare. I suddenly feel like throwing up.

  “So I’m going back to work? I’m really going back? Tomorrow morning?”

  Zeth checks his watch, as though my shift is about to start any moment now. “Nine am sharp. Which means, Sloane, we have just enough time to go home and spend some time together before you need to sleep.” His hands are already sliding up the silk of my dress, and I can barely believe this is happening. He fixed this for me. Doctors don’t just get to steal medical supplies and involve themselves in shootouts inside hospitals and then expect to go back to work. He made all of that disappear.

  By the time Michael pulls up outside The Regency Rooms, I’m severely sexually frustrated and my hair is all over the place, and I am even more in love with this crazy, sexy man. Michael goes to park the limo, leaving Zeth and me to ride up to our floor in the elevator.

  “What are you going to do all day without me if I’m back at work? You’re gonna miss me, aren’t you?” I tease.

  Zeth presses me up against the side of the elevator, hands working quickly as he slides his fingers underneath the lace of my panties. I gasp as he slips two of them inside me, a devious smile on his face.

  “Don’t you worry about me, Dr. Romera. I have plenty of things to keep me busy.”

  “Don’t go looking for trouble,” I whisper.

  He gives me that wicked smirk of his. I knew from the very beginning that smirk was going to be the ruin of me. “Always,” he says. “But you know how it is, Sloane. Trouble does seem to have a way of finding me.”

  The heat of New Mexico is something I've read about but never really experienced first hand. I leave the car parked on the side of the road as I was told to, and I set off down a long stretch of dust track that stretches out into the distance. No trees. No shade. Only the road and the sun overhead, and my already parched mouth.

  According to Rebel, the walk is only a short one, but I get the feeling the bastard may have been lying. He seems to do that a lot if he thinks it means he will get his own way. It strikes me suddenly that I'm actually wrong. Rebel doesn't lie to get his own way. He lies to me to get Lexi's way. It would appear my sister has her man well and truly under her thumb.

  Some people might say the same about Zeth and me, though. Zeth, the man who never lies, has lied for me. He will do anything he can to help me or keep me safe. The past few months have shown me that.

  It's been a month since I went back to work at St. Peters. A whole month since Charlie and Lacey died. A month since Zeth bought out O'Shannessey's Irish Boxing Club for Boys and turned it into something else—something of his own. The transition from gang enforcer to business owner seems to have been an easy one for my man. It helps, I think, that his new business involves hitting people all day long, except now they're paying him for the pleasure.

  I never got to see Lexi when she was in Seattle. After Lacey, the world just seemed too full and complicated. I couldn't handle facing her. Not just yet. But now, after a month of work and continual days and nights of being doted on by Zeth, I woke up three days ago and decided it was time. So I got in the car and I drove. I left Zeth, Michael and Ernie behind, and I set out on my own, for the first time not worrying about cartels or English mob bosses who might be out to kill me, and I felt like I could breathe.

  I took my time in getting here, following the directions Rebel sent me, but now that I'm here, staring down the barrel of the long road toward the life my sister chose for herself, I'm gripped by an uncertainty. I know Alexis has no clue I'm on my way. Rebel wanted to keep it quiet—in case I changed my mind and never showed, no doubt—and now I'm glad of it. Her ignorance of my arrival means I get to decide if this is what I really want. Do I want my sister back? Do I want to hear her side of the story? A story that seems as complicated and dangerous as my own. The answer to that question is a paradox. Yes, I do want to hear what kept her from letting her family know she was alive. Yes, I want to know why, for two years, she's been living with a biker gang that is apparently still involved in underground crime. And, yes, I want to know why she fell in love with and married a man like Rebel.

  However, on the other hand, I don't want to know. I've been so mad at her for so long that knowing her story feels frightening. It might mean I will have to let go of all the frustration and feelings of betrayal, and I honestly don't know how that will leave me. Sad? Hollow? A little lost, perhaps?

  Because if all this isn't Lexi's fault, then it's nothing more than terrible, terrible luck and a shitty hand life dealt out, and that's outside my control. I don't like things being outside my control.

  I stare down the dirt road, gripping hold of the shoulder straps of my backpack, wondering which option is better: living a life in which my sister abandoned and betrayed me, or one where awful, terrible things happen, and there is nothing I can do about them.

  I’m being a coward.

  I begin to walk.

  Rebel’s idea of a short journey is laughable. I’m sweating and completely out of water by the time I see a building on the horizon. I get that worrying sensation at the back of my mind, like the low complex of buildings aren’t even really there. The hazy, wavy heat lines coming off the desert floor give the impression they could easily be a mirage.

  But as I keep walking, I see they are, in fact, very real. The odd glancing ray of brilliant light of sunshine reflecting from chrome eventually tells me I’m in the right place. The dark brown, grey and black blocks on the horizon become different buildings, and eventually a high fence comes into view as well, topped off with razor wire.

  The place looks like a prison.

  Is this where Alexis has been living all this time? In some weird compound out in the middle of fucking nowhere, surrounded by desert hills and burnt, red rock? This is a far cry from the rain and wind and civility of Seattle. No Starbucks.
No fast food chains. No restaurants or cafes. No nothing.

  I have about eight blisters on my feet by the time I see a lone figure approaching from the other end of the road. I know it’s a guy from the loping gait and the swing of his shoulders, though I can’t tell who it is until I’m much closer.

  Cade. It’s Cade Preston.

  What I’d taken as a swaggering pace a couple of moments ago is actually a pronounced limp, as he makes his way toward me. I never saw Cade after Julio took him, but Michael painted a very vivid picture of the injuries he’d sustained. Zeth had been to visit the guy, them being friends and all, and said he was pretty messed up. That was weeks and weeks ago now, though. If he is still struggling to get around, then he must have been really bad. Really, really bad.

  “What’s up, Doc?” he says in greeting as soon as he’s within earshot. He’s grinning at me with that broad smile of his, a light dancing in his eyes, though I can see the pain that’s also residing there.

  “Should you really be walking on that?” I ask, jerking my chin toward the leg he is favoring.

  “Use it or lose it, right?”

  “No,” I laugh. “Not always. Sometimes using it is the worst thing you can do. Didn’t they take you to see someone?”

  Cade shrugs, brushing off my concern. “Yeah. And it’s much better now than it was, that’s for sure.”

  Me being me, I’ve brought my medical kit with me. “I’ll take a look at it for you later.” Cade just nods, as though there’s no sense in arguing with this at all. And he’s right. There really is no point. “Did they send you out to welcome me?” I ask.

  “Something like that. Carnie spotted someone approaching and was all for getting his sniper rifle out. Thought I’d better come out and see what’s what for myself before I let him go gung ho, though.”

  “Well thanks for that. Being shot is very low on my to-do list today.” Being shot the one time is enough to last me a lifetime. My arm still burns at the memory of the biting pain that slammed through me all those weeks ago. I was lucky. Very lucky. My own wounds could have been so much worse.