Page 63 of The Rivals' Touch

“What the hell are you doing?!” I hiss, closing the door behind me. And to be on the safe side, I turn the lock. “If my father finds you in here…” A cold shiver runs down my spine at the thought.

He sits up and puts his feet on the floor, elbows on his knees. “Where the fuck have you been? I waited for you after school.”

I drop my bag on the floor and switch on the overhead light. “I’ve been out with Abigail.”

“And you didn’t fucking think to contact me?”

I look at him. “Are you serious? Zayd, you have my phone!”

He grunts in acknowledgment and rises to his feet. “I didn’t like not knowing where you were.”

I frown and watch him stretch his arms overhead as he walks over to me. His t-shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of tanned abs. “It’s none of your business where I am!”

He lowers his arms, chuckling. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

Coming to a stop in front of me, he fingers the dog tag around my neck. “You belong to me, so it is my business!”

I bat his hand away, but my eyes soon widen when I hear footsteps on the stairs.

Zayd glances at the door.

“Oh god,” I whisper; fear paralyzes me for a brief moment before I drag Zayd to the wardrobe and push him inside. “Don’t fucking move! You can’t let him see you!”

He opens his mouth to speak, but I shut the wardrobe doors and turn, just as the handle rattles.

“Remi?” my father’s voice rings out on the other side.

“Please, Zayd,” I plead. “Whatever happens, don’t come out!”

“Open this door!”

I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath to steady my nerves before walking over and unlocking the door. “Hi, Dad.”

His suit jacket is off, and his tie is undone, hanging on either side of his neck.

He pushes open my door the rest of the way and peers into my room. Suspicion is written all over his face. “Why was the door locked?”

I shrug, but my heart leaps to my throat when he barges inside and eyes the clothes strewn on my floor with disapproval. “Where were you tonight?”

I chance a brief glance at the wardrobe. Zayd is watching me through the slats. I know it. “I was out with a friend from school.”

My father takes a calculated step closer. “What friend?”

I try not to visibly tremble or fidget, but my heart beats against my ribs. “Her name is Abigail. She’s on the cheer team.”

That pleases him. “I’m glad you’re making friends, pumpkin.” He looks around the room again. “Where’s Zayd tonight?”

My nails dig into my palms. I prefer the pain to panic. “How would I know? You told me to stay away from him.”

He takes another step closer, lifting my chin with his fingers, and just like a mortician carves up a corpse for answers, he cuts me open in search of the truth. “If I find out that you’re lying, I’ll make you regret it. Understood?”

“Yes, Dad!”

“I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.”

My eyes flick to the wardrobe and then back. It’s too quick for him to notice. “Zayd has my phone.”

My father stiffens. “Zayd?”

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