We held each other for minutes, or hours, or at least until the firefighters gave him the all clear and then we ate dinner as if nothing had happened. Then I took his hand and guided us to his bedroom.
I returned to his arms. I tasted his lips. I touched him all over.
I made love to him. Sweet, tender love. I watched him unravel like it'd be the last time. I devoured him. I memorized every detail of his body and every detail of his orgasm so I could escape to these moments with him when my life changed again.
I held him as he surrendered to me and I caressed him until he fell fast asleep.
Then, in the dead of night, I packed my stuff and went back to my worst nightmare. Back to the man I'd fought tooth and nail to escape.
Back to Victor.
TWENTY-NINE
DARE
There was fire.
Fire everywhere. Fire in the house. Fire in the fields. Fire in my skin. It blinded me. It choked me. It killed me.
I opened my eyes and patted beside me, looking for his warmth and affection. The bed was empty.
Shit.
I sat up at once and blinked several times trying to clear my vision, searching for him.
"Zach!" I shouted.
He wasn't in the en suite or anywhere in the room. I approached the bedroom door trying to convince myself he'd be in the kitchen cooking up something new and exciting for me. Why wouldn't he be? That was where he always was. The kitchen. Surely he'd be there again.
He wasn't.
My heart raced before I even reached the kitchen counter. It was deathly silent but for the pitter-pattering of Lookah and the goats in the other room who must have heard me get up.
A knot formed in my throat and my vision became blurry. I steadied myself on the kitchen island and tried to breathe, to think, but I couldn't.
I didn't know what had possessed me to sleep in, to pretend like everything was normal, when Lombardi knew where we were. I shouldn't have gone to bed with Zach. I should have packed our stuff and gone someplace else. Anywhere but here.
I reached for my phone and dialed his number, but it went straight to voicemail. Of course it had. I called Wyatt next.
"Dare?" He sounded startled.
I couldn't blame him. It wasn't every day I willingly called him.
"He's taken him, Wyatt. He's taken him. What do I do?" I said and ignored that feeling in my chest as if I was doing something wrong.
Everything felt wrong when speaking to Wyatt. Especially speaking about Zach as if he was my world when Wyatt used to be my everything.
It was weird and absurd and I didn't care. I only cared about finding him.
"Huh? Who's taken who?"
"Lombardi. He's taken Zach. He's not here. He's gone," I said, pacing the room, still trying to come up with a plan but coming up empty. "I woke up and he wasn't here. He's gone."
"Okay," he sounded firm. "Have you tried calling him?"
"What do you think?" I snapped.
"Are you sure he's been taken? Wouldn't you have heard something?"
