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Zeke laughed. “If she gets it sorted without bloodshed, I’ll fuck your ass with lube because I’m not a psycho, unlike you. But I won’t let you come for a week.”
My eyes narrowed. “Bet.”
Azadeh reached the guards. They said something to each other before she crouched by the black-haired guy. He thrashed and bared his teeth at her. It took everything in me not to go over and kick his ass. But thirty minutes later, the most fucked up thing happened. The guards backed off, and he followed her back to our table.
“Guys, this is Lev,” Azadeh said as if we were at a picnic and she was introducing us to a new friend. “Lev doesn’t like to be touched. I need the two of you to make sure everyone knows that.”
Zeke smiled and moved over, making room for Azadeh’s new stray. “Hey, man. I’m Zeke, and that one is Cyrus. Nice to meet you.”
The Lev guy didn’t say anything. He sat with his head hanging.
“You hungry, Lev?” Azadeh asked as she grabbed a paper plate and filled it with the food meant for us.
“We share our food with the stray too?” I asked, annoyed. “You know if you feed them, they keep coming back.”
Azadeh raised her right eyebrow. “Cyrus, should you be casting stones when you were brought into the inner circle the same way?”
“Yes. I told you, feed a stray, and they keep coming back.” I turned to Lev. “So why don’t you like to be touched?”
“Why do you have those hideous marks on your face?” Lev parried.
Fuckin’ smart ass. “Parents.”
“Same.”
Chapter 15
Lev—Age 30
Present Day
Iconsider myself an intelligent man. Or I did until I came up with an idiotic scheme to kidnap Mona. I figured everything would go smoothly, and we’d finally have Azadeh home. Never in a million years did I think my plan would be flipped on its head.
She should’ve stabbed that blade into my jugular. Put me out of my damn misery. I grind my teeth as my rage ignites. None of this would’ve happened if she'd come home as promised. I can give her everything she wants. She says she wants her freedom, but we never held her in a cage. The manor could be her home base while she continued to save her lost souls. Fuck, doesn’t she get that her job with the three of us isn’t complete? Who leaves a project half-done?
At least I’m bleeding on the marble. That's easy enough to clean up. It could’ve been on the Persian carpets. I only bought those carpets for Azadeh. They were supposed to be hung on the walls. I got pissed and put them on the floor. I also wear shoes in the house because it irritates her.
How did she find out about the surveillance?
She’s lucky you didn’t put one under her skin.
I shut my eyes, trying to block out that voice. It’s the same fuckin’ voice that tempted me to drug her evening tea so I could sneak into her room and defile her. I thought that was a one-and-done, but nothing is that simple for an addict. Especially when they’re given the best fucking high of their life. She’d kill me if she saw the videos. But it’s the only way I can touch her. I try to fight that voice, but occasionally I can’t. Guess it’s in my DNA. Mother only loved me when I was a good boy, and Father only loved me when she did.
Zeke is by my side. He mumbles something I can’t make out while holding his hands out to me. We’ve been working on my issues for a couple of years, and for the most part, I was getting better. In the beginning, his touch was like being encased naked in an icy casket, but now I can somewhat tolerate it. At least my brain doesn’t recoil, leaving me an empty husk. We decided to keep it a secret, not wanting to let the others know until I had it under control.
I don't understand why I have such an aversion to touch. I never cared about my little issue until I fell in love with three misfits who gave me my first taste of family. Shit, before these three, I assumed love was your mother forcing you to watch the defilement of screaming children. The woman held me to her, lovingly brushing my hair out of my face as she told me how much she loved me and was glad I’d never be one of those boys. The nightmares from those screams still wake me at night in a cold sweat.
When the cops found me curled in a ball, rocking back and forth, bloody knife in my hand beside my mother’s mangled body, which was slashed like a pinata, they thought I was the next Edmund Kepner. A serial killer. They were half right. I am a killer, and my moral compass is skewed at best, but there's nothing serial about me.
The evening sun sets, and the seductive allure of dusk shrouds the manor. The floor-to-ceiling windows are a nice touch. Azadeh once complained that the manor was a stuffy crypt and needed light. That forced me to demolish the stone at the back of the house and install glass walls.
My body stiffens as Zeke brushes his fingers against me.
“Take a breath,” Zeke says, leaving one hand on my arm while ensuring the other is visible.
He’s using the method we’ve been working on. He touches me casually to allow my brain to register that he’s safe. That I’m safe. I force myself to make eye contact with him. Shutting out the world and seeing only him. Zeke. He’s my safety point. He’ll never harm me. I’m safe.
He must recognize something in my eyes because he asks a simple question. “Feel better?”
