From then, everything happens quickly. The police arrive within minutes. Cassie had called them the moment she heard Beth screaming. Beth relocates to her room with the kids, where the police question her as to how her husband knew where to find them when the location of Hope House is kept confidential for the protection of all the women who stay here.
I don’t find out the answer to that mystery because the ambulance arrives to patch me up. Thankfully there’s no sign of a concussion, but my lips look like I’ve been to see the world’s worst cosmetic injector and I’m going to look like a swollen Smurf for the next couple of weeks with all the bruising.
Beth’s husband gets hurled away to lock-up for breaching the conditions of his bail, and now gets to add a few more assault charges to his rap sheet.
Bloody hell, at this rate, I’ll need to hire a bodyguard for my personal protection soon.
After the police leave and the kids have gone down for their midday nap, I sit around the huge kitchen table that seats up to twenty to have a cup of tea with Sam and Beth. Thankfully, most of the women were out at appointments when the incident occurred, with only a few girls here who were either in their bedrooms or in the kitchen and missed the whole thing. It’s an outright miracle no one else was inthe living room. The last thing these women need is to experience more violence, even though the breach of security has definitely left a whisper of tension and unease in the air.
“So they assume he traced your phone?” Sam asks Beth gently as I pop two Ibuprofen onto my tongue and swallow them down with my tea. My face throbs and the beginnings of a migraine are taking shape behind my eyes.
“That’s the only explanation. The police took it to search for tracking software that could have been uploaded without my knowledge. I turned it on this morning for the first time since I arrived,” Beth says shakily as she watches me from across the table. “I’m so sorry, Gianna.” She sobs, reaching her hand towards me. “It should have been me. I was stupid enough to let Robbie find us.”
I take her hand firmly, lowering it onto the table. “Don’t say that, Beth,” I say just as gently as Sam. “I have no regrets. And this is definitely not your fault.”
She only sobs harder at my words before pulling her hand back and letting her head fall into both her palms. “What am I going to do? He will only get out on bail again, and now he knows where to find the kids. There’s nothing to stop him from taking them.” I can barely make out her words from behind her hands as her sobs gets louder. “There’s nothing legally in place to stop him. They’re his kids, and as it stands he has a right to them!”
My chest aches for her and the fear she harbours for her children. That’s one thing I’m thankful for with my situation. I’m now glad for my own infertility that I’m not trying to navigate my separation from Daniel with a baby involved.
“Don’t worry, Beth.” Sam reaches forward to rub her back comfortingly. “We won’t let him step foot back inside this house. You’re safe here. We’re taking extra security measures to ensure it.”
“Is there any way you can legally prevent him from taking the kids?” I ask, carefully taking another sip. The hot liquid stings my cut lip as it passes, causing me to flinch and place my cup back down.
“I need a lawyer for that,” Beth says miserably as she lifts her head. Her round face is twisted in anguish. “I don’t have much money so I’m on the waitlist for a duty lawyer. It could take months to even get an appointment.”
A spark of hope ignites in my chest. “I might have someone that can help.”
There’sa knock on the front door within ten minutes of me making the call.
All of a sudden, it’s stifling hot in the old kitchen and my jumper itches and clings to my clammy skin. To distract myself, I take a small sip from my now tepid tea and wrinkle my nose at the taste. My hand shook harder dialling his number than it did when I faced off against Beth’s psychotic husband, but for a whole different reason that I simply can’t acknowledge now that I’m moments away from seeing him again. I shift restlessly in my seat while Sam jumps up to answer the door, only lasting a few seconds before I stand and go tip my tea down the sink. I’m focusing hard on rinsing and drying my cup when I hear voices coming down the hallway.
I sense when Zayn enters the kitchen. It gets hard to breathe, like once again all the air gets sucked out of the room. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and goosebumps erupt across my skin like wildfire, attempting to destroy every inch of my willpower in their wake. I toldmyself I would fight my attraction to him with everything I had now that the truth has been revealed.
Zayn is no longer an innocent indulgence with no strings attached. I couldn’t weave the threads of my life closer to him if I was a funnel-web spider, and the only person who’s going to get caught in that mess of a web and eaten alive is me if I can’t keep my feelings contained.
Drawing in a steadying breath, I turn around and keep my gaze down at the foot of the table in an attempt to hide my injuries from him. Alas, the attempt is futile. Long strides bring him straight toward me, his black Gucci loafers stopping directly in my line of sight as I feel the dark touch of his eyes on my face. I try to focus my attention on Beth, who’s sitting wide-eyed at the table.
She’s staring at Zayn with unmistakable little hearts in her eyes, and out of nowhere, a stab of something similar to possessiveness settles under my ribcage. Things are not looking good for my resolve to stay away from Zayn if one look from an innocent woman turns me greener than Shrek.
“What happened? Who did this to you?” His voice is low and calm. Too calm.
Vanilla and sandalwood fill my nose and I swallow, not moving my eyes from Beth’s perplexed face. “It was my fault-” Beth starts to say, snapping from her daze, but Zayn cuts her off like she’s not even there.
“Who did this to you, Gianna?”
My mouth goes dry as his thumb and forefinger gently grip my chin and turn my head to face him. My heart hammers at the touch, now that I knowwho’stouching me. I look down at his black silk tie. I can’t meet his eyes. I’ve stuffed down every thought I’ve had of Zayn since Sunday, and I know as soon as I look into those eyes, all of my repressed emotions will bubble to the surface like acid. Tenyears of repressed memories waiting to explode like fireworks. Yeah. There’s no time and place in existence for that.
“Beth’s husband,” I say, my voice tiny and hoarse. “He came for the kids.”
“And how did you end up on the end of his fists?”
I can’t stop my eyes from flicking up to his at the pure violence that laces his words.
Big mistake. His irises are dark with unbridled fury as he assesses the bruising on my face.
“I stepped between them.”
He takes a deep breath and speaks between clenched teeth, “Of course you did. And where is he now?”
