Page 91 of Gamble with Me
Of course, I wasn’t simple-minded. I knew he took lives or had people doing dirty jobs for him, but this was massive. If he had done it, something enormous must have been behind it.
Slowly, I walked to the bedroom, my mind swirling with every possibility. Yet nothing was sufficient. I couldn’t imagine the reason why someone would murder twelve people in broad daylight.
Passing the door into Chester’s old office, I abruptly stopped midway through my next step. Looking at the door, an idea sparked out of nowhere, and my intuition pushed me to follow my gut. I quickly checked the front door so Chester wouldn’t surprise me while I was snooping in his stuff, and opened the door that had been closed for way too long.
It was strange to have a locked room in the apartment that no one visited. My husband had his old files there. Books about stock markets and economics framed the walls, and in the middle was a vast dark wooden table with only a computer and a lamp.
Chester hadn’t worked from here for years. Since his business collapsed, he refused to use this place. The nicotine provoking me as I walked in told me that he must use it to smoke inside, though. After an argument, he often disappeared into his cave, but that stopped, too, when he found joy in slot machines and poker.
I sat behind the table, gently grazing the expensive wooden surface, which was covered with a thin layer of dust. Chester didn’t want me to come inside. He always cleaned it by himself, and I never asked why. However, after the recent events and my mind’s creation of different conspiracy theories, I believed he was hiding something shady from me.
When I opened the laptop, my heartbeat increased, and adrenaline flooded my system. I felt like I was doing something terrible, and paranoia again kicked in when I realized Chester could have hidden cameras on the bookshelves.
With trembling fingers, I typed the password that hadn’t changed since we got married, hoping my worries were unfounded.
The screen lit up with only one folder, so I clicked on it. My eyes traced the countless photos, but I didn’t see anything suspicious. One by one, I observed the unknown men in slightly compromising positions, yet it wasn’t anything serious. It wasn’t until I found photos of me with my stalker.
My breath stuck in my throat as I stared at the picture, unable to tear my gaze from it. The image showed me unconscious in the front seat. My head was pressed against the window, and my stalker had his eyes glued to the road.
I had no idea how someone could take such a clear photo of us when the car was in motion, but it looked like the observer was set directly on us.
Could Chester have hired a private investigator to spy on me? That would mean he knew about my affair the entire time.
Inhaling a shaky breath, I went through the next set of photos. My stalker returned me to my old car, kissed my forehead, and brushed my cheek. My heart melted at his gentleness, but at the same time, my entire body seized in painful cramps.
It was our first encounter. I had no idea who was hidden under the mask, but my husband knew about his wife being kidnapped by a masked man. And he did nothing to prevent it from happening again.
Scrolling through the pictures, I studied a few that followed my stalker through the dark streets. His entire path was documented until he reached his expensive car. The model and color matched Zyon’s beloved Maserati, but the image was blurred. Only when I looked at the next photo did my heart begin speeding in my chest like a wild horse.
Before my stalker sat behind the steering wheel, he removed his mask. Zyon’s gorgeous, frowning face took almost the entire picture. His hair was glued to his head and forehead. His dark eyes focused on something in his hand. The lines of the wingy monster tattoo on his neck confirmed it was him and not one of his brothers.
This was the proof I needed. It was the breakthrough in my pathetic plan to ask him for help. Yet, it also enlightened a couple of unfortunate things.
First, my husband knew all along that Zyon had his eyes on me. He was aware of the affair, and he let it continue. Why?
Second, Zyon killed George Harrow. When I confronted him, he confessed without hesitation. He almost sounded as if he was proud of it, claiming that poor man was a threat to me.
He committed a terrible crime. I knew it was unacceptable. I should run, hide, and never meet him again. I should probably call the police, but I found it fascinating. How obsessed was he with me if he murdered a man for me?
I tore my gaze away from the screen, covering my mouth with my hand. The third thing that came to my mind was frightening, but everything I discovered sofar led to this.
Chester was on Zyon’s heels. He worked against him, and I was stuck between them. I was positive Chester hadn’t said anything about my secret relationship because he was prepared to use it against Zyon. He knew how crazy Zyon was about me, so he hid this ace up his sleeve and wanted to use it at the right moment to maximize the damage.
I was nothing but a pawn in my husband’s schemes, and that realization hurt but didn’t surprise me at all. It made perfect sense. When I left, he forced me to return because he would lose the advantage. He kept me hostage, and Zyon had repeated many times that he couldn’t show me his face because it would put me in danger.
They knew about being each other’s enemies. They just forgot to tell me what was happening under my nose.
I didn’t know if I was angry, relieved, or disappointed. My feelings mixed in a huge mass, and I couldn’t put them in order. There was just too much of everything going on at the same time.
After quickly finishing scrolling, I found nothing useful but my photos with Zyon. Chester documented some of our meetings, but he probably hadn’t discovered the warehouse. Our secret hideout stayed hidden.
I closed the laptop with a heavy feeling in my stomach. The room was submerged in darkness, and only the weak light from the street lamp illuminated the piece of carpet on the floor.
I stared into the blackness, musing about my next step. My plan hadn’t changed. I would confront Zyon at his party, yet thanks to my husband’s files, my courage was boosted to the highest level. The pictures gave me the certainty I needed.
Hope for better times grew in my chest, pushing away all the bad feelings. I would get away from Chester. With Zyon’s help, he would be just an awful memory.
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