It was a perfect place to hide.
The time has come.
A good hour later, I sat in my furnished room. Not much filled the place—a bed, desk, and an old television on a stand. Pictures of Zola covered every wall. There were more images of her than anything else.
I stared at the images glued in front of me.
A siren howled in the distance.
Zola. Zola. Zola.
I yearned for relief.
I craved it on my tongue.
And I would get it soon.
Zola was the answer.
8
A Break in His Armor
Zola
Apparently, security pays as good as modeling.
At over 10,000 square feet and on the 7th floor, Hunter’s hotel suite had been one of the most luxurious ones I’d seen. It had a glitzy Art Deco-inspired décor with precious marble and glimmering crystal on nearly every surface. The living room was white and gold with slanted reflecting walls. Brilliant white Chesterfield sofas by Fendi sat in the back of the wall. But that wasn’t it. There were two terraces overlooking Manhattan, a private spa with a Turkish bath and a Jacuzzi.
There were four bedrooms. Each held a dramatic presence. Hunter had given me the diamond-inspired Princess Room—a shell-shaped headboard bed with a canopy of crystal and glass dripping from the ceiling.
“Is this nice enough for you?” Hunter asked.
“This is more than nice enough. But I would be fine with anything as long as you’re right next to me.”
A muscle twitched under his eye. I grinned as I caught sight of his same old beat-up army surplus duffel leaning against the living room wall.
“I’ll take you to the album release in two hours,” he said.
I turned to him. “I can go?”
“Yes.”
“Cool.”
“I’m glad you’re happy.” If he was conscious of the delicious image he made leaning against the wall, he didn’t show it. With his big arms crossed over that hard chest, he looked yummy enough to eat.
I strolled over to the dining area. It was the only other place in the space that had Hunter’s private items—his books and two large notebooks.
“You still haven’t changed.” I studied the book titles and read one out loud, “Spy, Run, Spy.”
“I’ve always been a fan of action and suspense.”
I read out the other book. “Death and Dismay.”
“A few dead bodies between pages don’t hurt either.”
I looked up. “I’m just surprised.”
“Why?”
“Usually, people choose books for an escape. They want to get lost in a different world.” I touched them.
It’s just that…you’re so much like the heroes in your novels. Dangerous, dark, and deadly.
Hunter shook his head. “I still get lost in these stories. Trust me. Real life is more horrific and has less happy endings. I would rather pick up a book on mystery and action than deal with it in reality.”
I thought about back in the day when we would read together. I missed those simpler times. When he came to our house, he’d been thirteen. I was eight.
He was five years older than me, but we had one huge thing in common. For Hunter and me, consuming books were like breathing. Every spare moment, we’d settle down in his room, endlessly turning page after page. Hunter with his crime and spy novels. Me with my romances and fantasies. Sometimes we found a middle ground novel that piqued both of our interests—court-intrigued elves, diamond burglars that fell in love.
Mom let Hunter watch me. She was mischievous that way because I knew it was my job to watch him too.
“Let me know if he looks sad or anything.” Mom patted my head.
“But Hunter looks sad every day.” I blew out a huge bubble of gum.
“Then, let me know if today is the day he doesn’t look sad anymore.”
The bubble popped, splatting sticky stuff on my lip. I peeled it off and stuffed it all back in my mouth.
She shook her head. “And behave when you’re with him, Zuzu.”
“I always do.” I chewed on the gum to prepare it for another bubble. “I take care of Hunter the whole time, Mom. You should be paying me.”
She huffed and then a chuckle came next. “You just better keep it together, little lady. He’s been through a lot. I want him to have a relaxing, lazy summer for once.”
And that was what he had. Those lazy summers, we would hang in libraries. Long sunny days, sneaking ice cream into the back, dripping it all over plastic-wrapped books. Hunter always cursed me for that as he cleaned them up the best he could, scared we would get in trouble and not be able to return.
Mr. Follow-the-rules.
During fall and winter seasons, we lounged in secondhand bookshops, hot cocoa warming our hands as we lost ourselves in wrinkled paperbacks. We sat close, almost cuddling, but not too much. Enough to not make Hunter uncomfortable, since he wasn’t a touchy person. However, near enough to feel each other’s energy and get lost in that.