When the cops arrive, I walk with my arm around Zeta to an office at the back of the hotel reception area. I keep Mike with us as the two detectives start asking her a bunch of questions. When they ask if she knew the man who attacked her or if he said anything which might reveal his identity, she glances briefly at me before shaking her head.
Everything goes on lockdown mode inside me, and I wipe my sweaty palms along the front of my jeans. That one look has confirmed my suspicions, but I’m trying not to let my mind go there, because I don’t want to fucking lose it in front of the cops.
When they pull up the camera feed from the garage and play back the scene, I work hard to contain my emotions. You can’t see his face, because it’s hidden behind a mask, but I’d know him anywhere. I start shaking, and I probably shouldn’t watch, but I can’t force my eyes away from the screen. When he shreds her top and shoves his hand into the front of her bra, I projectile vomit all over the floor.
I can’t stop shaking even as Mike helps me up, forcing me out of the room and into the adjoining bathroom. I rip my shirt off, twist the faucets on full, and splash cold water over my face and chest, but nothing quells the swirling tornado building inside me.
“Fuck!” I lash out at the wall, kicking it over and over. Then I slam my fist into the mirror, repeatedly, barely feeling the pain as little shards of glass embed in my skin. Mike tries to pull me back, and I swing at him, landing a glancing blow to his jaw. He grabs me into a headlock and ducks my head into the sink, directly under the flow of water, keeping me down until my inner fight has receded.
Yanking me up by my hair, he puts his face all up in mine. “Get yourself together. That girl needs you to be strong.”
“He hurt her, and it’s my fault!”
“You think I don’t fucking hate myself too? But bitching about it now isn’t going to change anything, so get your shit together and get back in there and support her.” He pushes me away, leaving the room for a couple minutes while I clean my hands and put a leash on my emotions. When he returns, he wraps my hands in bandages and hands me a clean T-shirt with the hotel logo imprinted on it.
Zeta has finished making her statement when we return. The detectives eye me circumspectly before handing me their business card, telling me to get Zeta to call if she remembers anything else.
By the time we’re in the SUV on the way back to the penthouse, I’ve somewhat gotten control of myself. The only way I can do it is to not think abouthim. To cradle my girl in my arms, holding her tight and whispering how much I love her.
We arrive back at my place a little after three a.m. Mike half-carries a semi-conscious Gar into one of the guest bedrooms. Scott kisses Zeta on the cheek before going to bed. Holding Zeta’s hand, I take her into the kitchen, helping her up onto a stool. I want to make her a hot drink, and I’m not letting her out of my sight. From now on, she’s going to be attached to my hip, and me to hers.
“Who is he, Ryder?” Zeta asks in a much too calm voice.
My spine stiffens, and I place both mugs down, turning to face her. My voice is shaky as I speak. “What did he say?”
“That the next time you ignore him I won’t be so lucky.”
Everything I’ve worked hard to contain detonates inside me, and I lose it as frustration and rage consume me. Swiping my hand across the kitchen counter, I knock all the contents to the floor with a loud crash. China smashes. A couple glasses break. Canisters roll, spilling their contents across the floor. The physical aggression sweeping through my veins can’t be contained. I race into the living room, tearing through the space, upending furniture, ripping paintings off their hooks, throwing glassware and ornaments at the wall and the wooden floors, watching them shatter and spray shards of glass across the room.
I’m vaguely conscious of Mike trying to pull me back. Of the other bodyguards entering the room. Of Scott shouting at me to stop. Of Zeta’s tear-stained shocked face as she watches me self-destruct.
I pick up everything that isn’t nailed down, destroying it with my fists or my feet. I even yank the TV off the wall, slamming it to the floor, enjoying the sound as it breaks into a hundred pieces.
Voices argue around me, and then her scent accosts my senses, swirling around me as her arms go around my neck. I try to push her away, but she holds on, pulling me into her body. “Breathe, baby. Just breathe.” Her soft voice penetrates soul deep, and I feel some of the anger slipping from my veins. I fall into her, exhaustion overwhelming me, and she wraps her arms around me, holding me up.
My arms snake around her, and I close my eyes, absorbing her scent and the feel of her against me, using it to bat the last vestiges of my rage away. “I let you down, when I promised I’d always protect you. I’m so sorry,” I sob, and then the dam breaks, and I’m crying. Huge, wracking sobs that rip from my very core. I cling to her, soaking her neck with my tears, crying and pleading with her for forgiveness. She’s crying too and clinging to me just as hard, and I wish I could rewind this night and get a do-over.
I don’t even remember going to bed, but the last thing I’m aware of is her curling into my chest and my arms automatically going around her as my eyes shutter.
35
Zeta
Beams of golden sunlight trickle through the blinds in Ryder’s bedroom as I sit in a chair watching him toss and turn in the bed. I tried to get some sleep, but it was futile. I couldn’t switch my brain off, so I got up, made some chamomile tea and toast, and then returned to his bedroom, taking this chair and trying to make sense of the mess in my head.
Kayla called a couple hours ago, and I went up to the rooftop terrace to fill her in. She wanted to come straight over, but I told her to stay at home with her baby. I’m not good company right now, and while I know she wants to provide moral support, I need to speak with Ryder, and that’s something I need to do alone.
I cast a glance at the bed with a heavy heart. He looks so vulnerable and innocent when he sleeps, and my heart aches for him. For me. For us. Even though I’m still pissed, I can’t help hurting for him. His pain is palpable. That scary demonstration of rage last night confirms it.
I think I must be in shock or denial because whenever I think about that man from the hotel, I feel a kind of strange numbed acceptance. Whatever is going on, I just know it’s something Ryder is dealing with by himself. It’s why I didn’t tell the cops what that man said or mention anything while the others were around. I know, deep down, I’ve got new scars and that I’ll carry the attack with me for some time. But, in this moment, the only thoughts I’m focusing on, the ones occupying center stage in my brain, are trying to figure out who he is, how he knows Ryder, and what hold he has over my boyfriend.
If that’s what Ryder still is. Because the other events of last night haven’t been forgotten. I should be more upset over almost being raped or killed, but my brain is seriously fucked, because I’m way more upset over Ryder’s actions. The image of that bitch touching and kissing him is seared into my brain, poking little daggers into my heart every time I think of it.
Ryder stirs, crying out a little, and I wonder if I should wake him. I need answers, and he’s going to give them to me today whether he likes it or not. I lean my head back, closing my tired eyes, feeling emotionally and physically exhausted.
“Zeta.” I slowly bring my head up, opening my eyes, watching Ryder scoot up in the bed, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “How long have you been awake?”
“I never went to sleep,” I admit, tucking my knees into my chest under the blanket.
