You Are Mine (11 page)

She swallowed, momentarily forgetting the yawning sensation in the pit of her stomach as another feeling took up residence. A kind of acute, sharp realization.

He'd done so many things for her. Why? What did he get out of it? Was it really because he'd been hoping she'd sleep with him in the end? Seven years was a long time to wait if so.

I respect you … I like you. The fact that I have always wanted you is almost incidental.

For some reason she found herself looking up at him, at the strong, distinct lines of his face. The angular edge of his jaw, darkened with a hint of stubble. High cheekbones that gave him a hawkish, predatory look in some lights. Slightly winged black brows that he arched to devastating effect when he wanted to. A long, hard mouth.

A familiar face and yet a harsh, uncompromising one.

There was no softness in him anywhere.

Would he be that hard all over?

A shiver went through her and it didn't have anything to do with the cold. It was like fear and yet not. A kind of twist deep inside her. An emptiness. A hollow sensation that reminded her of … hunger.

Zac turned his head abruptly and those golden eyes met hers. And she found herself transfixed by them, like a deer in the headlights. As if watching her doom come rushing to meet her.

“Come, angel,” he said. Then he turned toward the building. Waiting for her.

And she shook off the strange feeling, the shivering sensation in the pit of her stomach, ignoring it as she focused on the door to the building. Forcing her footsteps toward it with him moving beside her.

As soon as she was inside, she felt better, though not by much.

The foyer seemed to breathe old cigarette smoke, the wood floor pitted and stained. The elevators weren't working so they made their way up the stairs, sour smells of old cooking filtering through the stairwells. As they came out onto a long hallway, Eva heard a baby cry, thin and thready.

The familiarity of it all was suffocating, the walls closing in.

This was like home. The place she came from. The place she'd run from. Only to run into the arms of the men who took her.

At least the house was safe …

The traitorous thought paralyzed her. And for a moment it was all she could think about. No freedom, but a roof over her head. Warmth. Food. A safe place to sleep at night. Things she'd never had before in her whole life.

“Eva.”

She blinked, realizing she was standing in the middle of the dim, dingy hallway, breathing hard. Completely still.

Zac was standing in front of her, a dark, massive presence. He was frowning, his amber eyes sharp, searching her face.

Don't say it. Don't say a fucking word.

“I'm fine,” she said aloud before he could ask. “Which number is his?”

His penetrating gaze lingered on her for a second. Then he turned away, looking down the hallway. “Two twenty-six. Down here.”

She followed his tall figure as he moved along the hall, her palms damp, her heart feeling like it was going to explode out of her chest.

Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it.

Zac stopped in front of one of the nondescript doors, raising one black-gloved hand and knocking. There was no response. He knocked again, more insistently.

The thready cry of the baby echoed. In an apartment down the hall, someone was shouting.

Eventually there came the sound of heavy footsteps, locks being undone, the rattle of a chain. The door opened a crack. Eva, standing a bit behind Zac, couldn't see their face.

“Whaddya want?” a distinctly unfriendly voice rasped.

“Mr. Bryson?” Zac asked, ignoring this.

“Who's asking?”

“My name is Mr. Black.” It was what Zac normally called himself when he didn't necessarily want people knowing his real name. “I need to speak with you. I assure you it won't take longer than five minutes.”

There was a pause. Eva could hear her heartbeat now, loud and fast in her ears. The voice didn't sound familiar to her but then would she have remembered it? She'd pretty much ignored that part of her life so completely that her brain may have erased the memory of it for her. At least, that had been the plan. Perhaps it had been successful.

Clearly Mr. Bryson didn't like Zac's look because he said curtly, “I ain't talking to nobody,” and slammed the door shut.

Zac turned and glanced down at her. Raised one black brow. And she knew exactly what he was asking. She gave a curt nod. They had no choice but to follow up this lead. It was the only one they had after all.

With a smooth economy of motion that spoke of complete and utter physical confidence, Zac took a step back. Then he kicked the door in.

It exploded back with a crash, and there was a shout from Bryson. But Zac was already stepping into the apartment without hesitation, making straight for the man standing there staring at him in shock. One black-gloved hand closed around Bryson's throat as Zac continued moving forward, stopping only when Bryson was shoved against the wall, cutting off his shouts.

“As I said”—Zac's voice was as calm and level as if he was carrying on a polite conversation that had been rudely interrupted.—“I only need five minutes of your time, Mr. Bryson.”

That hand had been on her throat not fifteen minutes ago and now it was holding someone against a wall …

What little breath Eva had left vanished.

She'd never seen Zac use force on a person before. Usually he got what he wanted through polite requests, his natural authority and sheer presence doing all the work for him. Oh, she knew his past as a mercenary, that he'd certainly killed people on the various missions and jobs he'd once done. But that had always been an abstract kind of thing. Something that had happened in the past, that certainly wasn't part of the present.

I'm not a tame house cat …

A small, tight knot of some emotion she didn't want to name gathered in her throat as she watched him hold Bryson against the wall with no apparent visible effort. Not fear. Definitely
not
fear.

She forced herself to take a step inside the apartment closing the ruined door behind her. In a place like this, no one would be alarmed at the sound of a door being broken in.

It was a tiny apartment, with only a couple of windows. Worn, nondescript furniture and dank carpet. It smelled of cigarettes and spilled alcohol.

Bryson was choking in Zac's grip, his round, beefy face going red. He clawed futilely at the hand on his throat, and Zac shifted it a little to allow the man some breathing room.

And abruptly Eva forgot all about Zac choking the other man, her attention focused on Bryson's face.

Holy Jesus.

A wave of cold air passed over her skin, the icy press of memory.

The blindfold being tied and then fingers making sure it covered her eyes completely. Then the material slipped, a bright stab of light hitting her, allowing her a glimpse of the face of the man adjusting it. A curse, darkness covering her once more.

“He's ready for you,” he'd said. “Go on now.”

But she'd seen the man tying her blindfold. An older guy. Round face. Bald. The same man she'd seen guarding the bathroom door in Alex's video.

“Seven years ago you were employed as a bodyguard, were you not?” Zac's accent was clipped, his voice diamond hard.

Bryson pulled at Zac's hand, struggling to get free. “Fuck off! I'm not telling you shit!”

“Take a look at the woman behind me. Do you recognize her?”

Eva struggled not to shiver, her whole body tensing with the effort. Her mouth had gone dry. No, she wouldn't look away. This was important. More important than fucking memories, that was for goddamn certain. Anyway, memories couldn't hurt her, couldn't touch her, so why she was getting so worked up about it was anyone's guess.

Bryson's gaze found her. And widened.

He's ready for you …

She had no nails to dig into her palms, nothing to stop the flood of memory that crashed through her whether she wanted it to or not. Of the darkness of the blindfold, the tie around her wrists. Of being lead through what felt like a maze of corridors until she was brought to the room where The Man would be. Her owner. And then a softer, deeper voice. Hands touching her. Sometimes gentle, sometimes not. A mouth …

“I want the name of your employer,” Zac ordered, the words tinged with the dark ruthlessness that had always been part of him. “Give it to me now and I'll let you go uninjured.”

Eva found herself focusing on that dark, terrifying voice, leaning against the arm of a worn brown couch struggling to breathe, a blind kind of panic slowly rising up inside her. She didn't want to close her eyes, didn't want the blackness. She'd retreated there once before, to the void she'd created for herself every time she was led to The Man. And at the time, it had been an escape from the reality of what was happening to her.

But she didn't want that now. It was associated with too many bad things. She needed to see.

Focus …

She stared down at the dirty wood floor. At the stained rug near the tip of one boot. Focused on that and on Zac's hard, deep voice.

“Motherfucker!” Bryson was panting. “You think I'd tell you anything?”

“You think I'd let you live if you didn't?” Zac sounded so calm and matter of fact, which only made his words even more frightening. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way Mr. Bryson. The easy way involves you giving me the name of the man who employed you seven years ago. And then my compatriot and I will leave you with your life, such as it is. The hard way involves me choking the shit out of you. Which I assure you, I have no compunction about doing.” There was a significant pause, broken only by the sound of Bryson's frantic breathing. “I've killed men before,” Zac added, almost conversationally. “I don't like it, but I do what I have to do. I'm sure you understand.”

I will find the man who took you. And then I will kill him.

The darkness in his voice ran like an icy current beneath the polite words and polished accent.

She lifted her head, stared at Zac's powerful back. A shiver crept down her spine.

He never made threats he didn't mean.

“Tell him,” she ordered Bryson hoarsely. “He will kill you if you don't and I won't be able to stop him.” Whether she would even try was another thing altogether.

Bryson had been part of what had happened to her. Had colluded in it. And there was a part of her that was violently, furiously angry about it. But not listening to that part, not thinking about what had happened in that house, was the only way she'd managed to stay sane so far. Listening to it now would be pointless.

Besides, it was easier to look at Zac. To focus on him. To observe the casual way he held the other man against the wall with seemingly little effort, indicating a massive, brutal strength she'd never consciously thought about before.

Dangerous. So dangerous. How had she not seen it? Or perhaps it was more that she hadn't wanted to see it. Hadn't wanted to know.

He scares you.

She pushed herself away from the couch with a certain amount of force. Okay, so she'd never seen him get physical with someone like this and even though she knew of his brutal past, she also knew he'd never do anything to hurt her. So there was no reason to be scared of him even if she had been. And she definitely wasn't.

Oh, sure. Like you weren't scared when he invaded your apartment. When you offered him sex in his study. When he had that hand around
your
throat.

Eva swallowed, her thoughts starting to spin out of control. How many men had he killed? Had he wanted to do it? Did he
really
take pleasure in it? Why had he taken on those mercenary jobs in the first place? Why did he never talk about himself?

No wonder you're scared of him. No wonder you don't want to give him your trust. He's essentially a stranger.

With a violent effort, Eva got a grip on her flailing brain, stopping the thoughts dead in their tracks. This was not the time to be thinking about that stuff.

They were here to get the name of Bryson's employer. The man who'd taken her and kept her prisoner for two years.

Which Devil was it?

“Now, please, Mr. Bryson,” Zac said coolly. “I suggest you do as the lady says.”

Bryson sucked in a desperate breath, and Eva could see the fear in his eyes. “I can't tell you.” His voice was hoarse. “He'll kill me.”

“I'll kill you if you don't. At least you get to choose which kind of death you prefer.”

The man panted, his eyes darting from Zac's face to hers. Zac moved a leather-clad thumb over the man's trachea. Pressed down.

“F-Fitzgerald!” Bryson gasped out. “It was Evelyn Fitzgerald.”

Instantly Zac took his hand away and Bryson collapsed against the wall, sliding down it to land on his butt, his hands at his throat as if Zac's were still there.

Evelyn Fitzgerald. It
was
a Devil after all.

Eva stared at the man on the ground, the ever-present cold beginning to work its way through her again. She should go over there, demand that Bryson give her absolute confirmation that this was the name of the man who'd taken her. Who'd held her prisoner. Who'd made her his sexual slave.

Yet she couldn't bring herself to move.

A part of her didn't want to know. Just … didn't.

Because then you'd have to remember. You'd have to remember everything.

Without another word, Eva turned on her heel and walked out of the apartment.

 

CHAPTER SIX

Zac heard Eva's footsteps, felt the empty space at his back that told him she was gone. But he didn't turn around to follow. Not yet at any rate. He'd never actually wanted to kill anyone as badly as he wanted to kill this man. A man who'd hurt Eva. And right in this particular moment, he wasn't quite sure whether he'd let him go or not.