Page 3 of Hair, She Bears
“I doubt that,” Zenna replied.
He snorted. “Will you be attending?”
“She’s not invited.” The air beside Malik shimmered, and Mother materialized.
“Good morning, Father,” Malik said, his demeanor unaffected by Mother’s sudden appearance.
Mac “Mother” Gothel had taken control of the city roughly twenty years ago. His father, a longtime driver for the Rossi family, sent his son to college to deter him from criminal pursuits. Instead, Mother used his botanical education to invent Votras Alute, a healing powder which based its formula around a rare purple flower he discovered while trekking through the rainforests. He brought a prototype to Bruno, the head of the Rossi family. However, due to the flower’s inaccessible location, the drug was rejected, and Mother was responsible for the bullet, which took Bruno’s life.
“I specifically remember telling you to stay away from the south tower,” Mother said, his gaze locked on Zenna.
“You told me the south tower was empty,” Malik replied.
“It is.”
“Clearly, it is not.” Malik gestured at Zenna, who had ducked down and was peering at them over the edge of the windowsill.
“Zenna!” Mother’s annoyance whipped up the side of the tower. She popped up, her heart thudded.
“Good morning, Mother,” she said, her voice falsely bright.
“Before I beat you unconscious, explain why my son is standing beneath your window.”
Zenna trembled. Her eyes flicked to Malik. Would he lie for her? If she admitted she was on the roof, Mother would seal the window shut.Zenna took a deep breath.
“I was working on a new batch, and there wasn’t enough light in the tower, so I leaned out the window to check the color in the sunlight.”
“A new batch?” A cold smile broke Mother’s fury, and he rubbed his hands together. “This is excellent timing. How does it look?”
“What the hell?” Malik asked, interrupting Zenna’s response.
Mother turned to him. Zenna could not see Mother’s face, but she did catch Malik’s flinch.
“Would you care to rephrase that?” Mother folded his arms across his broad chest.
“You have some poor girl chained up in a tower,”—he slashed his hand toward Zenna—“and you’re forcing her to manufacture Votras Alute?”
“She’s not chained up.”
“Prove it.” Malik folded his arms, mirroring his father’s stance. Silence stretched between them, neither of them moved, then Mother laughed, his deep voice winding around the tower.
“No doubt, you are my son.” He clapped Malik on the back and ruffled his long hair in an affectionate gesture Zenna would have sworn was impossible for Mother to exhibit. “You are correct, the south tower is not abandoned.”
“How long has she been here?” Malik jerked his head toward Zenna.
“Most of her life,” replied Mother, his voice holding no sympathy. “There’s only one entrance.”
Mother waved his hand, he and Malik vanished like wisps of smoke, and Mother reappeared beside Zenna. She screamed and stepped back toward the window, tripping over her hair. Hands flailing, she stumbled, unable to regain her balance, and crashed into a solid mass.
“Careful now,” Malik said, his rumbled warning causing her stomach to flip over. “Wouldn’t want you to fall out the window.”
Her heart pounded, inspired by his seductive voice. He wound an arm around her waist, steadying her. She lifted her gaze, stared into his icy-blue eyes, and her breath caught. She had never been this close to a man before, except for Mother. Her gaze roved over Malik, drinking in his unruly chestnut brown hair, broad chest—akin to his father’s—and unnerving eyes. She swallowed, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
Mother’s iron grip closed around Zenna’s wrist and yanked her from Malik’s embrace, dragging her across the floor, and flung her at the small table.
“Bring me a bottle.”
Nodding, Zenna hastened to the shelf, removed the filled vial, and spun around. Mother’s dark gaze slid down her shirt and stopped at the short hem brushing her thighs.
