Oh boy …..
She smelled like lavender and sin.
The scarf was soft in his hands.
Still carried her scent.
Faint, but there. He'd buried his face in it more times than he could count, but it never stopped making his chest ache.
He sat in the leather chair, staring at the wall. Dim light and heavy shadows.
The only light came from the single lamp beside the picture he kept of her.
Zariah.
Her smile was caught mid-laugh in the picture unaware, unbothered, untouched like a little child.
She was wearing a white blouse, the top few buttons open, her light fbrown skin glowing under the sun, eyes sparkling like she was born from light.
And that damn dimple.
She had no idea the photo was taken. But it was his favorite.
"I don't know what you're doing to me," he muttered, gripping the scarf. "But I can't stop."
A knock was heard at the door.
He didn't flinch.
"Come in," he commanded.
His advisor stepped inside tall, cold, clean-cut in a gray suit. "We tracked them. The building was wiped. Burned after extraction. All bodies accounted for, No trace of us left behind."
"And her?" he asked without looking up.
"She's safe. Unharmed. Just… shaken."
A long breath left his lips.
"I should've been there to torture and torment them slowly till there last fucking breath ."
"You gave the order. We delivered."
"She shouldn't have been touched."
"She wasn't."
The man stood now. Pacing. Bare feet on cold floor. Hair messy. Eyes darker than the devils.
"I want everything on the club. Everyone who saw her that night. Anyone who even looked at her."
The advisor nodded. "Already working on it."
"She….she could have been hurt taken away from me," he growled suddenly, his voice raw.
" Pathetic Bastards."
Silence.
" She didn't see any of your faces now did she?" He asked quietly.
" She did , but the place was too dim I doubt if she could barely make any of our faces….."
" Are you crazy ? Godamit when the police interrogate her she'll definitely describe you and when she describes you they are gonna find me you dumbass."
As much as he loved and wanted to protect Zariah , his identity wasn't supposed to fall in the wrong hands or there'd be war.
He worked so hard to build hi
"She doesn't know who you are."
He laughed bitterly. "Exactly. And that's the problem."
He walked back to the chair and dropped into it. Pressed the scarf to his face and inhaled like it was the only air he needed.
"I could burn the fucking world for her," he whispered.
A long pause.
"Why can't I have her?" he suddenly shouted, slamming his fist into the armrest. "Why can't she be mine?!"
The room shook with the echo of his voice. The advisor didn't flinch.
"She's not ready for you."
"No," he whispered. "She's not ready for the truth."
He stood again, slower this time, walking toward the photo.
His fingers brushed across her lips in the image.
"She'll hate me when she finds out. What I've done. What I've ruined. What I am."
"But she'll love you too," the advisor added.
He didn't answer. Just looked down at the scarf one more time.
"I don't want her to fear me," he muttered. "But if she has to fear me to stay alive… then so be it."
He turned his back to the photo.
"Send someone to keep eyes on her. Quiet. No mistakes. If anyone even breathes too close….." before he could finish his sentence, a small but firm voice from behind called him,
"Honey we need to talk."