“Hmmm.” I trace her cheek with my index finger. She visibly softens, and I take sick pleasure in how much I can make her loathe and want me.
“I’ll find out myself.” I squeeze her jaw between my thumb and forefinger. “It won’t be pretty.”
Panic resides in the depth of her green gates. It’s too similar to that day when I forced her to her knees.
When I retrieve my hand, she takes it back in her softer ones, a plea covering her features. “Don’t. Please.”
My jaw hardens. She cares about the bastard enough to beg me. It’s not doing him any favours because my murderous thoughts spiral out of control. If anything, I’m going to torture him before granting him the mercy of death.
Zoe already feels like mine, and I’ll be damned if I let some arsehole take her away from me.
“She has nothing to do with all this.” Her voice trembles at the end.
I pause my assassination plots, feeling foolish. A feeling I didn’t have in… forever. “Who is she?”
“My friend.” She peeks up at me from beneath her lashes. “You’ll leave her alone, right?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
I approach her until I’m breathing her sweet, head-turning scent. Citrus. I never thought that shit could smell this good. “Tell me why you have the mini panic attacks.”
All fear purges out of her face and that familiar defiance takes place. “Tell me what happened to you between leaving Nonna and now.”
“Zoe,” I warn.
“You don’t get to know everything about me while I know nothing about you. That’s not how this works.”
“This?”
She throws a hand in the air. “Whatever this is.”
“You seem to be under a misconception.” I clutch her bare arm and yank her forward until her full tits crush against my chest. “There’s no this. I take what I want and that’s it.” I grin. “Got it, beautiful?”
Disappointment and hurt flash on her face. I hate myself for it. I only wanted to keep her at a distance, but it’s backfiring.
Everything backfires when it comes to Zoe.
She quickly tucks her feelings away and flushes me a bored look. “You won’t be getting anything from me anymore, so you better find a new toy.” She mimics my smile. “Got it, monster?”
I’m preparing a few choice words for her, but she pushes past me. I stare at her back as she saunters to the storeroom. Two clear thoughts run in my head.
One, I can’t let her close because the ugliness will be repulsive.
Two, I want her close so she’d see it all and I can swallow her whole.
“What are you doing?” Ghost appears by my side, his gaze focused and calculative.
He’s been keeping me on a tight leash these days. He knows boxing helps with purging the extra energy so we go at it every morning for hours on end.
I run a hand through my hair. “Mate, I don’t know what Mist has told you, but I’m in top shape.”
“Mist doesn’t have to tell me anything. One look into your eyes and it’s as clear as damn day.” He bores his dark gaze into mine. “They’ve been robotic for weeks now. Are you even detoxing?”
I break eye contact but smile. “Detoxification works differently for each of us. Remember?”
“You’re the only one without progress.” Ghost sighs and softens his tone. “What is this about?”
“Are we going to have a moment now?” I tease. “I love you, mate, but I’m not ready for a committed relationship.”
His expression remains stone cold.
I leave him and start down the hall. “Don’t make a castle out of a molehill. It’s nothing.”
He falls into step with me. “The saying is: don’t make a mountain of a molehill.”
“Same thing.” I quicken my pace, hoping he’ll go.
No such fucking luck.
“I’ve known you for decades. I might not remember much from when we were Omega-heavy, but I know when you’re hiding something.”
“I’m not,” I grit out.
“Mist is right. Zoe doesn’t deserve this drugged part of you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “So now you’re Team Mist?”
“I’m Team Logic. Have you looked in the mirror? You appear like a shadow of a person.” He pauses, and I know that whatever he’ll say next won’t be to my liking. “Are you scared that if you detox, you’ll go back to being that boy from decades ago?”
My jaw clenches. “That boy is dead.”
Ghost’s gaze roams over me like he’s searching for a shard of the past, but maybe he sees the hollowness, too. “Is he?”
“Nonna, am I hollow?”
She’s completely unfazed by my weird, sudden question. She