Page 103 of Shattered Veil

“You two are staying here?”

I spoke to Zoey, “We went over this, yes?”

She glanced to me with the slightest of amusement in her eyes. “That we did.”

Liam sighed heavily. “Fuck me for being worried, right?”

Zoey’s gaze softened as she took in his obvious concern. “We’ll be here. The door will be locked. The chain that we added,” she gestured toward the door, which had a shiny, new, gold chain lock affixed, “will be slid closed.”

“You have work, right?” he pressed.

Zoey was employed at a local boutique, Zest. Her schedules were irregular, varying in day and time depending on the remainder of the staff, and it never seemed like she minded…she was only thankful for a decently paying job. On top of that, it was located only a short walk down the street, and considering that she no longer owned a car—hers was totaled in a car crash several months back, and she never shopped for a replacement—her lack of a commute most likely far out-weighed the con of an abnormal schedule.

“At noon,” she confirmed.

“’Kay.” He focused on the ceiling as he mumbled to himself, “Ten o’clock test—an hour…hour and a half for time—fifteen minutes to drive back—”

“Lee,” she assuaged, “just go take your test. We’ll be fine.”

“What if,” he replied slowly, “I have the flu.”

“Liam.”

He held up an index finger. “Hear me out.”

“How long are you gonna have the flu for?” she retorted.

“I dunno! A—a few days? A week?”

“And what good will that do?” Zoey questioned, lifting her mug to her mouth.

I replicated her motions, reaching for my own. It was nearly empty by now, as I was the one who made the coffee and I had poured myself a cup the moment it was brewed. I had to tilt it significantly to take a sip.

“I just…” His shoulders sagged as his eyes bounced between us. “I’d feel better if I were here.”

The way he said it swung my mind to James, for he had echoed the sentiment to me several times when we addressed going back to reality. Well…truthfully, my mind didn’t need to be swung to him—he had been there for a while, and there was no getting him out. Not when all I could imagine was him on his knees. His beard scratching the insides of my thighs. Him holding me upright as I crashed down to Earth. Me drinking in the haze of pleasure on his face while I rode him in his bed.

There were plenty of our sexual encounters that permanently resided in my thoughts, but naturally, it wasn’t all that I envisioned when it came to James. I pictured his smile. His genuine care for those he was close with that radiated beyond his sarcasm and sass. Him telling me that I was strong, and the conversation that led to it. The way his hair was just long enough to escape the space behind his ears, how he always tucks away the left side before the right, and the smattering of grey that I’ve been debating teasing him about. I see his eyelids fluttering shut momentarily whenever I place my hand on his chest, feel his pulse tickle my palm, and recognize that mine replicates it.

My heart flickered as I thought of him, and I pondered the possibility of his doing the same at this exact moment. As if we were tied together. It felt that way, anyway, and there were moments when the tether would tug. It yanked at me now, and instead of resisting the pull, I was leaning into it—seeking out the intimacy between us that I rapidly deemed of paramount importance—happily falling.

I swallowed my coffee, pressed my lips together to hide the inappropriate smile that fought to escape me, set the ceramic to the counter, and pulled myself back to the conversation at hand.

“We’re not in…” Zoey considered her words. “In imminent danger or anything here, Lee.”

“Sure as hell feels like it,” he muttered with his hands on his hips as he looked to the floor.

“I know,” she said. “I get it.”

“I’d be more comfortable if we knew more,” he explained as he glanced to her. “That’s all.”

“Well, we don’t,” Zoey replied bluntly, but she softened it with an uncharacteristically gentle tone. “There’s nothing on this computer. A few texts from Mister Milkovich asking for rent…some from an unknown contact saying to call them back…” She squinted at the screen as she appeared to scroll downward. “A handful from someone labeled as R who seemed…” she slowly scrolled once more. “Sick of his shit. Lots of stop being stupid and what is wrong with you with vague responses back. Ended up with him just asking where the hell he is once or twice per day, and then the messages stopped.” She huffed out a breath. “I’m assuming loads of messages were deleted…I can’t follow anything. My eyes are bleeding from staring at this goddamn screen.” Zoey touched a dainty finger to the top of the laptop and flicked it shut. “You do realize that this may not be something that’s able to be figured out…right? Shit goes unsolved all the time in life. Sometimes things just…happen.”

“I don’t wanna believe that, Zo’,” he muttered in a grave tone. “What about your friend?” he asked me. “Tell her more and get her down here so she can talk to Colt, and we can connect some dots. Let’s fuckin’ bury this shit—I’m goin’ insane here.”

My chest twisted at the desperate look on his face.

“That was the plan,” I admitted. “Tell her a little more. Tell her we’re getting our ducks in a row, and she can talk to the police since she knew the other dancers more than I did. All that. She won’t answer her phone. Texts are few and far between. It’s—” I paused. “This isn’t a conversation I can just shoot over via text. Imagine if, God forbid, her phone gets in the wrong hands. I’m trying. Trust me, I am.”

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