“It’s okay. Where can I take you?”
“Back home, please.” I needed more answers.
I still had no idea what I intended to say when Jenson drew to a halt outside my apartment building. Chewing my bottom lip, I paused outside the elevator to the penthouse suite. Zayne had given me a way out and I should be in that car on my way to Trent. “This is stupid.” Inhaling, I rotated to step back inside the elevator. The abrupt sound of muffled music filtered through the large black doors and had me spinning on my heels. Curiosity got the better of me. It was only when I turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, did my first stirrings of unease begin. Backstreet Boys‘Show me the meaning of being lonely’blasted my ears the second I stepped inside. That song. I hesitated. Did I break Zayne’s heart? He asked me to go.
Four steps in and I blinked. The sharp smell, like someone had washed the apartment in alcohol, hung in the air, attacking my nasal passages. Frowning, I took another couple of steps. The music was way too loud. Clamping hand hands over my ears, I rounded the wall that divided the living area from the foyer.
“What the—” I stopped short, my eyes round balls of shock as I scanned the room. My breathing peaking to hard pants with each discovery.
Shattered glass littered the gleaming black tiles scattered with a knocked-over lamp and cushions from the two overturned couches. I gasped taking in the baby grand piano in the corner of the room. Now a thrashed version of its former glory with a heart-wrenching fissure down the center. My gaze shot to the bar. Five empty shelves absent of its mirrored wall and rows of alcohol more for display than actual consumption, stared back at me. I took a step forward, crushing glass under my foot. I shifted my gaze to the bottle of Macallan, the only one left standing next to Zayne’s discarded shoes.
Anxiety roiled in my stomach at the same time an indescribable shiver raced through my body. I took another tentative step in between the overturned dining chairs and several occasional tables.
“What the hell happened here,” I muttered under my breath. “Zayne,” I called out. Realizing he couldn’t hear me above the music, I crossed the room, jumping over upended furniture, to the stereo and killed the music. An eerie silence filled the apartment. I shivered, clasping a hand to my chest as panic began a slow ascent up my spine. “Z-Zayne,” I stammered his name, fearing the worst. Only, I didn’t know what‘the worst’was because I had no damn idea what Zayne did for a living. It could’ve been any number of things that would produce these results.
I surveyed the room once more, looking for signs of...I immediately blanked out the thought. “He’s safe,” Even as I mumbled the words, I couldn’t stop the sudden flow of tears. I bit my lip, trying to curb them but the tears were relentless. My eyes darted around the open space, willing Zayne to appear. I had to do something. Moving on tiptoes, I headed for his bedroom. I peeked in at the door before stepping inside. Except for the‘The Starry Night’painting now lying on his bed, the room was tidy. Maybe he was in the bathroom. “Zayne,” I stammered on a sniffle.
“What are you doing back here, Rika?”
I screamed at the same time as I swung around. My yell died immediately when I came face to face with Zayne...or rather a poor representation of the put-together man I knew.
He stood at the door, swaying from side to side, clutching a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and a framed picture in the other. I stared, but couldn’t make out the photo from where I stood. I clasped a hand over my mouth, taking in his disheveled appearance. One tail of his charcoal shirt opened three buttons down, hung out of his pants. His hair looked like he’d raked his hands through it one too many times and his beard somehow took on a deeper shade-giving him an ominous look.
Dark, broody eyes narrowed to slits as he tried to focus on me. I couldn’t decipher whether he was angry at me or just hated me for whatever the reason was for the tornado that had blown through our apartment.
“You haven’t answered my question, Rika.” A deathly quiet, one I’d heard him use on the phone before, lined his tone. “Have you come back to taunt me, baby,” he mocked, staggering toward me.
I took a step back, frowning. “Taunt you?”
He ignored my question. “Or have you come back to see the pathetic shit I’ve turned into.” I flinched at the contempt in his voice.
“What’s wrong, Zayne. What’s all this?”
In response, he took a swig from the bottle then sent it flying across the room. It smashed into the wall above his bed. I jumped, my shrill scream piercing the room.
Whether it was my horrified expression, the jump, my scream, or all three together it startled Zayne and he stepped back. He threw the frame on the bed and held up his hands, palms out in apology. “I’m sorry, baby,” he consoled.
My fear palpable, I shook my head. “Why?” I needed answers—and fast—or I was likely to go scurrying out the room if I could get past his large frame filling the doorway. “Why are you drinking? Why the mess?”
He lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. “It blocks out the pain.”
“What pain?” I asked. “Trent and I?” He just looked at me, eyes blank, emotionless and I wasn’t sure what to read in his expression. Frustrated, I swiped at the tears blurring my vision. “You told me to leave, told me to go be with Trent. Why all of this then? If it made you angry why didn’t you stop me from leaving? Why the hell didn’t you just fuck me, then?” Breathing hard, my fear took a back seat.
He gritted his teeth. “I don’t fuck, Angel. I steal hearts and yours is not available.”
“What do you mean?” I shouted, annoyance coiling the tension between my shoulder blades.
“He loved you first.”
“You’re not making sense. Who loved me first? Trent?” His irritated grunt was all the answer I received. “How can he—”
“Just go, Rika before I do something I’ll regret.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, Angel. I’m letting you go.”
“Just like that,” I goaded.
