“I know that,” she agreed, closing the space between us, then pressing her lips to mine.
I couldn’t linger, though.
We had to be careful.
I’d already been in her place for too long.
“You have to go,” she said, looking up at me with heavy-lidded us.
“Fuck, babe, don’t look at me like that. It’s hard enough to go.”
To that, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then the look was gone.
“Thank you,” she said, giving me a small smile.
“Anytime,” I assured her, pocketing the money, then going over toward the food containers to grab my jammer, but leaving the rest since the last thing the cameras caught was me dropping it off, and it needed to look like she’d eaten. “I mean that,” I added as I went back for the kitchen garbage bag, empty save for the spent condom and an old coffee pod.
“I know you do,” she agreed, starting to move toward the door with me.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You stay there. Actually, go grab the food like you are finished and are getting rid of it. As soon as I am by the elevator, those cameras are going to be working right again.”
“Okay,” she agreed, going back to the food.
“Ezzy,” I called.
“Yeah?”
“Find a way to keep that phone close,” I told her, not knowing why I felt the need to say it, like some part of me was worried things weren’t as black and white as they seemed.
“I will,” she agreed, frowning a bit at the seriousness in my tone.
And then I was gone.
It wouldn’t be long before I realized my instincts were right.
And shit was a lot more fucked than anyone of us had ever realized.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ezmeray
Can you imagine trying to move around your life, knowing cameras were watching every single moment, but needing to act like you were oblivious to that fact?
It isn’t easy.
I caught myself several times about to do something because it directly avoided being in the line of view of the cameras, then needing to force myself to sit near them just to appear natural.
Granted, there was no proof that anyone was watching. They could have very well just been hooked up to an app on Eren’s phone, and since that was in police custody, there was no real reason to assume Berat or Deniz had access.
But, well, the paranoia had a firm grip on me. A part of me was even okay with that. It wasn’t a comfortable way to exist, but I felt like it made me less of a victim.
Over the next few days, I did what Brio suggested.
On the first day after moving back in, I went to the grocery store. Because no one would think twice about a woman having food in her house. Even if she was supposed to be a grieving widow.
I also continued to check off things on my list that I’d written down. And had dinner with Judy. Twice at her place, once at mine.
I got the boxes.
I started to pack.
Then, late at night, I would take my phone into the privacy of the bathroom and text or call Brio.
All of that without any interference from Berat or Deniz.
But then, on the fourth day, there was an unannounced knock on the door.
Brio would have called ahead.
Judy would have told me it was her.
And I wasn’t expecting anyone.
Stomach tensing, I made my way across the apartment to check the peephole.
Sure enough, there he was.
Not Berat this time.
Deniz.
He wasn’t stocky like Eren nor thin like Berat, but someone who spent a lot of time in the gym, and you could tell. He, like Berat, favored slacks and dress shirts, but he had his tailored more tightly to show off his frame.
He was in all dark blue.
Unlike both his brothers, Deniz had a full, but perfectly manicured beard, the hair brushed and oiled straight, which gave his face a little more structure than the Polat weak jaw had.
Taking another steadying breath, I slid the locks.
“Deniz,” I greeted, giving him that sad half-smile that grieving people were supposed to offer one another. The look that said ‘we are in this together,’ and ‘this is a hard time, but I am glad to see you.’
Both were false.
But he couldn’t know that.
“Ezmeray,” he said, reaching out with both hands to grab my forearms in his strong hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “How are you holding up?” he asked.
“Okay,” I said, following him as he moved into the apartment. “Keeping busy helps,” I added when his gaze scanned the room to find my filled boxes, my donation piles, and my still-folded pile of cardboard.
“Did that asshole say you had to get out of the apartment?” Deniz asked, whipping around to face me, brows drawn low.
“Well, in a way,” I said, shrugging. “I understand. There isn’t enough money to keep living here.”