Page 13 of Psychological War

Her head cocked to the other side like an animal watching me. Ever so slowly she nodded her head. Leaning down, her breath hot against my neck, my body went rigid. Needing to press her further against me. It took everything in me to not do exactly that.

“They attacked me.” Her voice was rough and raspy. If I hadn't known better, I would have guessed she smoked a lot. But I saw that scar on her throat. Her voice was rough from that mark.

And I found myself burning with anger. Angry that someone could do that to this tiny woman. My breath came in ragged as I tried focusing on this girl with cobalt eyes.

But within a blink of an eye she was pushing off me, running down the alleyway. Leaving me alone on the ground thinking what the fuck just happened.

Until I heard the two voices that tried to hurt her. I was moving before my brain could catch up. Kicking both of them in the face they fell unconscious again.

Time to figure out how to get them back to the house.

7

Salem

Iwasangry.

No, that wasn’t even close to what I was feeling.

I truly didn’t understand what I was feeling. Why had I let them live? Why did I let Zane live again?

Yes.

I remembered him. I remembered him from four years ago when I broke his nose and left him knocked out in the alleyway. His hair was a little longer then, but it was still the same shade of blond. Enough gel that it stayed back, but not so much that it looked bad. His height was overwhelming now that he was no longer lying on the ground. He towered over me. His muscles strained against his long sleeves, and his thighs were overly large. He could easily squash someone's head. I hadn’t been able to see his eyes the last time, but now his hazel eyes were almost like gold. The amber color was intoxicating.

The uncomfortable warmth spread through my body when I took him down. The fact he hadn’t moved, that he could easily overpower me with the flick of his wrist.

I found myself getting turned on while my legs laid on either side of his head. I don’t know if he knew he rested his hands on my hips, but neither of us moved.

Besides the fact that I walked away, not a worry that he would indeed take care of those two scumbags for me. The pure flash of anger when I told him they attacked me almost made me ask why. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t care. Not when I had a job to do.

Zane Theodore Rivera. Who is now thirty-three years old. He was no longer twenty-nine years old; he truly had aged well.

I didn’t realize I ran all the way back to my house until I stopped in front of the front door. This house wasn’t necessarily mine; it was Megan Carson’s. Megan Carson was someone I used while I was in Boston. I didn’t need the Italian mafia recognizing my name. It was a simple single-floor house, nothing special. Grayish-white siding, a brown front door, a simple driveway that held Aziza’s SUV, along with my black Ford Explorer. Inside it had three bedrooms, mine, a guest room, and an office. I never used the other rooms except to keep up with appearances.

Shaking my head, I unlocked the door and rushed inside. Locking it behind me, I leaned my head against the door. Taking a deep breath I followed my old therapist's breathing technique.In and out.

“Uh, you good?” Aziza asked, breaking me from my thoughts, causing me to jump. I completely forgot she was even here.

Not bothering to open my eyes I nodded.

“Liar.”

Taking another few minutes to myself, letting her just stare at me, I finally opened my eyes slowly. Just to meet Aziza staring very intensely at me with a mouthful of Chinese.

“I'm going to change,” I muttered before rushing into my room. Quickly changing into a pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt, I washed my face from the make-up, and threw my hair into a ponytail. Grabbing a pair of socks I made my way into the living room where Aziza held out a wine glass.

“You’d think after sixteen years of knowing me you'd know I hate alcohol.” Rolling my eyes, I still took the glass from her.

“Then you'd know yours is a wonderful glass of grape juice.” She snickered, taking a large bite of an egg roll.

“So any knowledge from the club?” she asked, pointing to a container on the coffee table. Grabbing it, I plumped down on my worn couch, digging into my beef and broccoli. Groaning as soon as the mix hit my tongue, I couldn’t stop my eyes from closing.God why is this so much better than down south?

Finally, chewing and swallowing, I shrugged my shoulders shoving another mouthful of food in.

“Come on, you gotta tell me, I want to know,” Aziza said, grabbing her glass of wine.

“I saw them, nothing useful.” I sighed. Giving her what she wanted was better than fighting with her. I swear Aziza was more stubborn than me. When she got her mind set on something, she would not let it go. Through the years you’d think I would learn to just answer her questions.

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