Zeke’s POV
“You can’t keep me locked up forever, Zeke.”
Lena’s voice was sharp, edged with frustration as she paced back and forth across the living room.
She was driving me insane.
Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, her lips pressed into a thin line as she glared at me every time she turned. Like I was the villain in her story.
Maybe I was.
But I wasn’t letting her go.
Not when someone out there wanted her dead.
Not when I had waited five years to find her.
I sat on the couch, legs spread apart, one hand resting on my knee as I watched her wear a hole into my expensive rug. “You done yet?”
She stopped abruptly, spinning to face me. Her eyes flashed with anger. “No. I’m not done. I never started because you don’t listen!”
I arched a brow, fighting a smirk. “Oh, I listen just fine.”
Her fists clenched at her sides. “Then let me go.”
“No.”
Her breath came out in a sharp exhale. “What if I leave? What if I take my chances?”
I stood, closing the space between us in three slow steps. Her chin tilted up defiantly, but I saw the way her throat bobbed, the way her fingers twitched.
She wasn’t afraid of me.
But she was afraid of something.
“Then you’ll die,” I said, voice low, deliberate.
Her lips parted, just slightly. She swallowed hard. “And what if I stay?”
I didn’t answer.
Because the real danger wasn’t just outside these walls. It was inside them, too. It was us.
A silence stretched between us, thick, charged.
Lena’s breaths were uneven now, her chest rising and falling too fast.
I wasn’t any better.
I could smell the faint traces of vanilla clinging to her skin, could feel the heat radiating from her body.
She was so close.
Too close.
I lifted a hand, brushing my knuckles along the scar on her cheek. Her breath hitched. She didn’t pull away.
I lowered my voice, my fingers tracing along her jaw.
“Are you scared of them, Lena?” I murmured. “Or are you scared of me?”