Page 68 of Shackled

Ever since he saw me on the phone, Lev has been acting strangely distant. It is hard for me to reconcile the fact that he’s the same tender, passionate lover who took care of me on the beach—who wants to take care of me when our nights are filled with passion and our days are filled with planning, training, and preparation for what I know will be a monumental confrontation.

It's building. I know it is, and we can both feel the tension, like the climbing clicks of a roller coaster before it reaches the top, revealing the unknown ahead. I can only hope we don’t hurtle to our deaths.

I tried to get him to talk to me, but he won’t, which is totally in line with his character. I suppose I can’t blame him. It looked suspicious. I’m protective of my friend, though, and it matters to me that she trusts me, too.

We are days out before the planned attack on Javier, and Lev has barely been home. I shoot him a text, hoping he can feel my simmering anger.

Are you coming home for dinner?

I don't get a response for an hour.

Maybe.

I slam my phone on the couch and anchor my hands on my hips.

It feels like we are an old, married couple trying to navigate a new season of life, but in reality, we're just trying to figure out who we are—on the brink of something new and life changing.

One moment, I feel as if I can fully trust him. I believe he has my best interest at heart, and the two of us will rule together. Next, I am catching my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Part of me knows that I have to prove my allegiance to him, but goddamn, I need him to prove his allegiance to me, too.

Whatever.

I pick up my phone and send him another text.

I want an answer. Are you coming home or not?

I don't bother to hide the anger in my tone. I'm still his wife, at the end of the day, whether he trusts me or not, he should answer my texts.

Don't give me shit.

I will give him more than shit. I don’t respond.

When seven o’clock rolls around, I stomp off to the fridge. I spent four hours training today, and I swear I feel every muscle in my body. My calves ache, my back throbs, but I am getting stronger with every day that passes. Javier won't see what hit him. Every time my body wants to give out, every time I want to give up, I think about those women back at home. I think about what it will mean when I take my rightful position as head of LSD.

I grab some leftovers, toss them onto a plate, and throw it in the microwave. It beeps a moment later, and I eat without tasting it.

I want this over with. And I want Lev and me on the same page again, goddammit.

Of course, at the back of my mind, a little voice says, Were we ever?

It felt like it on the island. It felt like it when we were cooking together, sharing our hopes and dreams.

Then why the distance now?

I toss the dish into the sink.

"You’re just gonna throw it in the sink? You're not gonna put it in the dishwasher?”

I spin on my heel, angrier that he came into the room without me knowing than I am about his admonishing me for a stupid dirty dish. "Yeah, I do my fair share of dishes around here. It's one fucking dish. When did you get here?"

"Just now. What did you eat for dinner?"

I shrug. "I have no idea."

He looks puzzled. My heart twists at the adorable furrow between his brows and his downturned lips. The shadow of stubble on his chin and the rumble of his voice.

He scratches his belly, and it’s unnervingly boyish.

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