Page 36 of Moonstruck
“What?” Zane said, heart contracting in his chest.
Asa shrugged. “Think about it. One misplaced beam, one bolt just slightly off, one sub par truss or anchor and…boom. It all comes down.” At Zane’s wide-eyed look, he said, “I’ve designed three skyscrapers in my career to date. That’s roughly—what?—ten thousand people who go to work everyday and live, just because I allowed them to.”
Zane blinked at him. “You sound like a—”
“Psychopath?” Asa countered with a wink.
“I was going to say megalomaniac,” Zane managed. “You probably shouldn’t tell people that you became an architect because you wanted to play God by turning skyscrapers into your own personal ant farm and that you’re just one bad day away from shaking it like an Etch-A-Sketch.”
Asa smiled. “I keep my thinking thoughts to myself.”
“Your what?”
“Noah says, ‘Those are thinking thoughts, not speaking thoughts.’ But you asked why I do what I do, and I told you I wouldn’t lie to you.”
Asa looked so proud of himself for not lying about secretly being a nihilistic anarchist that Zane almost felt guilty for saying, “You’re batshit crazy.”
“Has anything you’ve learned about me in the last twelve hours led you to think I wasn’t? But you like my crazy. When I gave you the chance to leave last night, you locked your wrists in handcuffs and offered yourself up to me like some kind of virgin sacrifice. And I took it, took you, and would have done far more to you if you hadn’t been so tired. But you consented. So, which one of us is crazier, Lois?”
“You kill people,” Zane said, hating how pissy he sounded.
“And you fucked the guy who kills people, knowing I kill people, all for a story. I was born a psychopath. But you, you’re an opportunist. I’m not complaining. I was mad about it last night, but today is a new day and in the cold light of day, I get it.”
Then maybe he’d be kind enough to explain it to Zane. “Get what?”
“That this is a high for you. Not just the terrifying sex we’ve had—twice—but chasing a story, not knowing what comes next, being in the presence of a killer, knowing the effect you have on me. You’re so high off the adrenaline I can practically smell it on you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Sure, it is, Lois. But that’s why this little partnership of ours works. I can be myself around you and you can be yourself around me. There’s something kind of freeing about knowing each other’s deepest, darkest secrets and not wanting to let them go.”
Was that what was happening? Zane picked up his phone, covertly typing in:How long before Stockholm syndrome sets in?He grimaced when he noted the statistics weren’t on his side. Less than five percent of hostages developed the phenomenon and not in just twelve hours. Which meant Asa was right. Zane was enjoying this, enjoying him, and though he wanted to be terrified, he wasn’t.
“Would you kill me if you had to?” Zane asked casually. Some part of him hoped the answer would scare the common sense back into him.
Asa took his eyes off the road to look at him for a beat. “That seems like a loaded question, Lois. I feel like if I say no then the power dynamic of this little relationship is going to splinter.”
“You said you’d be honest.”
Asa sighed. “I did say that, true. But I meant in more of a you ask questions and I say yes or no kind of way.”
Zane lips twitched in an aborted smile. “Would you kill me if you had to? Yes or no.”
Asa stayed quiet for so long Zane started wondering if he’d survive the tuck and roll required to leap from the SUV if he brandished a weapon. “No, Lois. I don’t think I could kill you. Luckily, we’ll likely never know. Because my father would never kill an innocent man, and whether you believe it or not, neither would I.”
That was the thing nagging at Zane. Was he really innocent? He was unscrupulous when it came to chasing a story. He hadn’t reveled in the violent deaths of others, but he’d done his best to find a way to use those deaths to his benefit. He’d never wept over any of the victims of the cases on his crime blog. He’d never really cried over anybody. Not even his brother. The only time Zane had ever really cried was for himself, last night, when Asa was breeding him. Something Zane had consented to. With a stranger. For a story.
Maybe that made him a narcissist instead of an opportunist, but either way…he wasn’t innocent. Which meant he wasn’t truly safe from Thomas Mulvaney.
Asa was strangely relieved to see Zane eat—and keep down—a full breakfast at the small cafe they visited before heading to Zane’s. But as he continued to nurse one cup of coffee for twenty minutes, Asa began to suspect Zane had ulterior motives for lagging behind at the restaurant. Was Zane trying to plot his escape? What was he suddenly so worried about? It was his idea to stop there so he could change.
When they pulled up outside a dilapidated building, Zane tried to convince Asa to wait in the car. Was he embarrassed of where he lived? Was that why he was so hesitant? Either way, staying behind wasn’t possible for a million different reasons, most of which could be summed up in one small sentence. Asa didn’t want to.
Seemingly resigned, Zane led him through the double doors with its Astro-turf colored carpet to a dingy white door, leading him up four flights of stairs to his apartment. Asa propped his arm on the door frame, leaning over Zane as he used the key to let himself inside.
Asa hadn’t expected Zane to live in a house as grand as his, but he certainly wasn’t prepared for what he saw. From the doorway, he could see the whole thing. The small kitchen, dining room, and family room combo could easily fit in one of Asa’s bathrooms. One of hissmallerbathrooms.
Jesus.
