Falling For The Mob

60 Marks

Zoë

"Zoë?" The confusion is prominent in her voice. Understandable since I have made it clear that I'm avoiding her. I should be avoiding her. Still, somehow, my drunk mind chooses to bring me to the woman who skillfully manipulated me for months. "It's past midnight, is everything alright?" I shouldn't be here, and I definitely shouldn't be this drunk.

Her brows furrow as she tightens her bathrobe. Why do I constantly feel the need to reach out to her at every sign of discomfort? Why can't I simply walk away and leave her alone?

"Is this your childhood bedroom?" I move past her, not caring much for common courtesy as I invade her space.

"It has changed over the years, but yes, this has always been my room."

Quickly, I scan my surroundings in hopes of finding some indication of the version of her she's been hiding, but if she doesn't keep anything personal at her own apartment, why would I expect to find something here? Why do I keep looking for something when it comes to Sam, and keep setting myself up for disappointment like this?

Addy had promised me answers, and she delivered—with a strong dose of alcohol. She probably knew that if she tried this sober, it wouldn't end well. After everything Sam put me through, after everything I heard today, I should walk away and never look back. Yet here I am again, looking for answers that I know she won't want to give me. Answers that I'm not even sure I want to know.

I turn back toward the door with the intention of leaving, but I lose my balance in the process.

"You've been drinking," she states with a strict expression as she reaches out to steady me.

I nod, ripping my upper arm out of her grasp. "Liquid courage, isn't that what they call it?" I was also hoping the drinking would help me finally sleep, but so far, no luck.

"Courage for what?" She whispers, but then she quickly straightens her back, trying to hide the small amount of emotions she almost let show. Her eyes intensely study me the way they always have, but for the first time, she actually seems afraid of me.

Courage for what? she asks.

I scoff, not caring how insane I must look. For the last half week, I've been scared for my life every second that I'm awake, and here she stands in front of me, having hurt countless people, and being the source of my heartache. She asks what I need courage for?

Truth be told, I'm tired. Tired of being on high alert, and if someone is going to kill me, I'd rather get it over with now. I'd rather get it all over with—everything with Sam.

I take a sobering breath, hoping this isn't a mistake, but I've come too far to turn back.

"Take off your robe." She arches one of her perfect eyebrows as a smirk appears, one I've seen all too often.

"You can ask nicely." Her voice deepens, her eyes darkening.

"Just do it." I make no attempt to hide my irritation. The last thing I plan on doing is ever sleeping with her again.

Not two seconds later, the fabric hits the floor, and I find myself staring at her in a whole new light.

Against my will, my eyes burn as I study the same scars I've been avoiding for months. I hate that I still care this much.

I reach out, my fingers grazing her stomach as she sucks in her breath. My hand moves to the side, landing on a thick scar that, by my estimation, must be ten years old. "How did you get this one?" Hating how broken my voice sounds, I keep my head held high.

She stares at my hand for a moment before moving it away and stepping back. "This is not a good idea. These are all reminders of horrible things I've done, things you should never know about me."