She rushed out of the kitchen and then came back with her oversized sketchpad in one arm, Hoppy in the other, and waved me to the table. She preferred the kitchen table to the living room, which was yet another secret I was desperate to learn more about.
“You spent the evening drawing?”
She nodded and then looked away.
I frowned and opened the sketchpad, taking in the drawings one by one. They were all darker than the initial brightly colored happy scenes she’d sketched. These were filled with deep reds, grays, and blues so dark they looked black. The same smoke figure appeared in the center of the page, only bigger. Taller. Smokier, somehow.
My throat tightened and then went dry. “Is this a person?” I asked gently, tapping the smoke figure with my index finger. “Or a bad feeling like a tummy ache?”
Zoya looked at me and then down at the page, nodding before she turned away again.
“A bad person?” I asked, my heart constricting when she nodded again. “Look at me, Zoya.”
She was reluctant but eventually she turned around and stared at my face. Fear swam in the depths of her eyes along with uncertainty.
“If you ever want to talk to me, or draw, or even write something that’s bothering you, I’m here for you, okay?”
She nodded.
“It’s hard, talking about bad things. Even when you’re older, it doesn’t get easier, but something really bad happened to me when I was eight and I couldn’t talk about it, so I didn’t talk at all.”
She turned to look at me, her eyes wide and surprised.
“Yeah, I know. It’s hard to believe considering how I never shut up these days,” I laughed. “But it’s true so if anyone understands, it’s me.”
Zoya watched me carefully, probably trying to figure out if I was being honest with her. Ultimately, she must’ve decided I wasn’t full of shit because she smiled at me and nodded before turning her attention back to her latest work of art.
I watched her as she drew with her tongue sticking out one side of her mouth, eyes squinting in concentration, and let my mind wander back to the break-in. To the photos of Zoya.
It was some sort of message, I was sure about that, but for me or for Sledge? That part was unclear. My bet was that Sledge was the target recipient, but why use me?
The insults sprayed on my walls were clearly aimed at me.
Chapter Nine
Sledge
Ididn’t want to leave Zoya or Eliana after the break-in, but I needed to get to the clubhouse. The urge to protect them both was strong, even Eliana, who made it clear that she didn’tneedmy protection. I had no clue what the fuck was going on but with every little piece of info that came out, it was clear that something fucked up was going on, which meant the clubhouse was where I needed to be. I’d texted Diesel earlier explaining the situation and he was sending out two prospects to keep an eye on my house. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing.
I used the ride to calm my shit. I knew that being a controlling asshole wouldn’t work every time with Eliana but it had worked today, and for now, that was enough.
Or was it?
The feelings I had about my nanny were complicated as fuck. She somehow connected with my kid more than anyone Zoya had met in the years since she came to live with me. That meant something to me as a father. But as a man? Shit, the fact that I was feeling anything was concerning enough. And the bitch of it all? It wasn’t just lust, it wasn’t just the fact that every smartass comment, every raised brow and pinched smirk made me want to fuck her, to hear her scream my name.
It was something else… and I didn’t have the time or the energy to name it or deal with it.
***
Slate was already set up in the office when I walked in, laptop open like he was the coach and it was our playbook. He didn’t look up when I stepped inside, hell, the only sign he knew I was there was the amused curve of his lips. He had the attention span of a hawk and the patience of a saint, at least when it came to all the digital digging he did.
“You okay?” he asked.
I dropped down into one of the hard chairs scattered about the office and grunted. “I have no fuckin’ idea,” I admitted honestly.
He nodded as if he understood, and I knew he did. It wasn’t so long ago that some really bad fuckers had been after his woman, Emma.Except Eliana’s not my woman,I reminded myself. “I get it. The good news is that my woman is very forgiving of late nights,” he smirked.
“Good news,” I sighed, scrubbing one hand over my face. “What’s the bad news?”
