Page 24 of Scorpion

Zalak stiffens.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I can’t think straight with her. Nothing I do is good enough when it comes to her. I should have settled for the silence. Hell, bringing up the weather would have been better than reminding her that I’m the lovesick puppy who has done nothing but wait around for her. I kept her clothes in my own damn room, for crying out loud.

When her eyes meet mine, it’s an effort not to pull her into my arms. Because when she speaks, her voice breaks, and it feels like a hundred knives pierces my chest. “You kept my clothes.”

“I did.”

“For ten years.”

“I would have held on to them for a lifetime.”

Her eyes mist over. “You didn’t know if I’d come back.”

“I knew we’d reunite eventually. In this life or the next.”

She doesn’t respond to that. She doesn’t do anything but help me wash the dishes and whisper thanks when she escorts me to the door.

Little by little, I’ll get her back. Not the old Zalak, but the one who survived.

Chapter 7

ZALAK

Ifeel like a geriatric.

My neck hurts because I slept on it wrong. My back is aching because of an overly aggressive sneeze. To top it off, I have to wear sole inserts in my boot. If I thought gait training with the physio was demeaning, being told I have to wear the inserts as much as possible didn’t sit well with my psyche.

Mathijs wasn’t messing around with my rehab.

The physio comes over three times a week for an hour each time. I have a course of pain meds, and I’m expected to do the exercises three times a day as well. Honestly, my foot has never felt better. But I still haven’t gotten nearly as much sleep as I should have.

The grass squelches beneath my boots as I head toward the main house. Mathijs gave me a debrief of the full scope of my job description, the Exodus, and the current state of affairs within the counterfeit cash world. I don’t know what the fuck I’m getting into, but at this point, I don’t care.

After two and a half years, the monotony finally ends. I’m not spending my days looking forward to my next fight just so I can feel something. Now, every day will be slightly different.

Sure, I’ll probably get sick of being a babysitter, but it’s the only reason I’ve had to get out of bed.

A dollop of mud flies onto my cargo pants, and I groan as I pat it off. If I’m being completely transparent with myself, part of the nerves comes down to the fact that I haven’t been this dressed up in years, and there’s still the niggling feeling in my stomach that wants to impress him.

The late afternoon breeze sweeps through the air, and I shiver, zipping up the last few inches of my leather jacket. As per his highness’s advice, I left the gun in a safe because I’m getting my very own untraceable weapon.

I pause when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Frowning, I read the text from Amy.

Amy: I just got your recent payment. You really don’t have to keep sending me money, Zal. It’s been two years.

Me: Gaya would have wanted me to take care of you.

Gaya wouldn’t have wanted me to do a lot of the things I do now. Sending Amy money is my way of making up for it.

Locking my phone, I continue toward the main house.

A group of men in suits and earpieces mill around the SUVs parked out front. I can feel their eyes on me as I climb the steps into the main house.

It looks homier than I remember. There’s a lived-in feel about it that might convince a stranger that a whole family owns this house, not just one man. At least, it would appear domestic if there weren’t so many armed men stationed all around the place.

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