Chapter 6 - Zane

I hand off the recording device to Keira without meeting her eyes. She’s one of the more observant people I’ve met since coming to Rosecreek. I should know—I’ve spent my fair share of time observing her in turn. I know her type because I’m like her, too.

She takes it, slipping the small black device into a slick black bay plugged into the laptop on the table. Her fingers skip over the keys with practiced efficiency as she begins to download the files. The mission was clean. I did my part. I almost want to protest—I got us what we needed. I don’t know why I feel so defensive. Nobody has told me I did anything wrong.

This should all feel like a victory, my first real job for the pack I’ve hardly felt like a part of all this time, but all I feel is guilt squirming in the bottom of my stomach like a bed of snakes.

"Good work," Keira says, glancing up at me briefly, but it’s like she’s waiting for something more. She prompts me: "How did Maisie handle the mission?"

I shift, my shoulders stiffening as I glance away, scanning the meeting room as if the rest of the team’s chatter is suddenly fascinating.

"Fine," I answer, too quickly, trying to sound dismissive, like the whole affair didn’t matter. Like Maisie’s reaction to me didn’t matter.

Keira raises an eyebrow but says nothing. She isn’t stupid. None of them are. I don’t give her anything else; I just nod curtly and walk out of the room before anyone can ask more questions.

I don’t want to talk about Maisie. I don’t want to think about the way she looked in that dress tonight—the way she looked at me like I was something more than the wreck I know I am.

Her breath caught as I leaned close to her. I knew I should have stepped back. Why couldn’t I?

I push open the door to a smaller living room on the other side of the pack center and step inside, the quiet of the space washing over me. It’s late, the pack center is empty, and exhaustion is finally starting to hit me. I could go back to my crappy apartment, but the couch by the window calls to me like a siren, the immense burden of the day’s events pressing down on my shoulders. I collapse onto it, my body sinking into the worn cushions as I let out a slow breath. I did my job, I keep telling myself. I did my job—if nothing else, nobody can say I didn’t do my job.

My mind won’t stop racing. I close my eyes and try to force it to quiet, but instead, images of Maisie flood my thoughts. Her in that dress—the one that hugged her in all the right ways, showing just enough skin to drive me to the edge of sanity.

I shouldn’t have noticed, but I did. I always do. How would she feel if she knew that?

The couch is soft, and Maisie isn’t far from here, I think blearily, just down the street in her tiny apartment over the clinic. She vanished as soon as we got back without saying a word to me. Of course she did. Exhaustion takes me before I can stop it, my body giving in to the pull of sleep.

I’m back at the gala.

The ballroom is filled with soft golden light, the clink of glasses, and the hum of conversation swirling around me, but I don’t hear it. Laughter shimmers through the air but I just barely feel its vibration rumbling through me, a force that can’t shake me.

All I can focus on is her. Maisie, standing there in that blue satin dress, the one that makes her glow under the chandeliers. The way it hugs her curves, the way the fabric shimmers as she moves. Her hair in its intricate series of braids, the front loose, delicate dark waves framing her face. Her pale face is pinched and focused, a slight flush high in her cheeks.

My pulse quickens at the sight of her, my breath catching in my throat.

She turns, and then her back is to me, the bare curve of her shoulders exposed, the soft line of her spine disappearing into the low dip of her dress. My fingers twitch at my side, aching to touch her. To feel her skin, warm and smooth beneath my hands.

My feet move before I can stop them, carrying me toward her. She doesn’t turn, but somehow, she knows I’m there. I stop behind her, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume—something sweet, like vanilla, but sharp at the edges, like danger hidden beneath the surface.

"Zane..."

Her voice is soft, barely a whisper, but it wraps around me and pulls me closer.

I reach out, my fingers grazing the bare skin of her arm. Her body shivers under my touch, and the heat between us ignites. She’s too hot to touch suddenly. I’m going to burn us both to ashes.

She turns to face me, her eyes bright and impenetrable, their blue deep as the lake, full of something that pulls me off- balance. There’s a question there, one I don’t know if I can answer. But I want to. God, I want to.

My hand slides to the small of her back, fingers brushing over the cool satin of her dress. I trace the curve of her spine, and she arches into me, her breath catching as her lips part, a soft sound escaping her. It drives me wild, and suddenly, I can’t think straight. I can’t stop myself.

The zipper of her dress is right there, under my fingertips. My hand trembles as I grip it, slowly sliding it down, the sound of it hissing loudly in the abruptly quiet space that stretches around us.

The dress falls to the floor. She stands there, her skin glowing in the soft light. I take a step forward, my hand brushing over her hip, my heart pounding in my chest. My body burns with the need to pull her to me, to lose myself in her.

Her lips part, wet and pink. Something cold sweeps over me, and I remember the smell of alcohol on her breath that night by the lake, the way she looked at me with those same dark eyes, the same question hanging unspoken between us, a car crash we couldn’t help but stare down.

My fingers hover over her skin, and I can’t do it.

The dream pulls me in two directions: one where I give in to every desire, every fantasy I’ve had about her, and another where I throw a dart at a map and drive until the landscape changes for good and I can be certain nobody knows me. I could be an outlaw again. I could do it, I know. When I was a kid, my favorite characters on TV were always the cowboys.

I see moments of the past stuttering through the space in front of me like pieces of film. Scenes of a show I don’t watch anymore. I can’t. I can’t do this again. I won’t.

The dream shifts, the golden light flickering like fire. The image of Maisie blurs, fading, its acrid, sickly-sweet smoke slipping through my fingers.

I reach for her, but she’s gone.

***

The morning sunlight filters through the windows of the pack center’s meeting room, but it does little to warm me. I woke up cold in the middle of the night, and I’m still feeling it.

Keira stands at the head of the meeting table, her expression neutral as she clicks through the mission brief on the screen behind her. With a faintly wounded energy, head bowed, Maisie sits across the table from me, arms crossed, her face carefully blank. She hasn't looked at me once.

“Given that last night’s mission didn’t yield the intel we wanted,” Keira says, her voice steady, “We’ll be infiltrating another high-profile event again next week. A private dinner party. Smaller crowd, higher stakes.” She pauses, glancing at me. “And to maintain your cover as a couple, you’ll need to live the part.”

I stiffen, already sensing where this is headed.

“You’ll be moving into a condo together in Stratfell for the indefinite future,” she continues, not waiting for my reaction. “It’s already on the books, so there’s no fighting this unless you have a real, serious reason. It’s a nice area and a nice property—affluent, upscale. Your mark is currently living in the area, and if he becomes suspicious of your repeated presence and surveils your movements, we need to give him and his people no reason to doubt.”

What the fuck. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, waiting for a response. Olivia shifts in her seat on the other side of the table, already looking uncomfortable. Aris is watching me, arms crossed over his chest, a frown pulling at his mouth.

“Wait,” I finally say, voice low. “We’re moving in together?”

Keira doesn’t blink. “The more convincing the cover, the less suspicion you’ll draw.”

I press my hands against the table, leaning forward. “There’s got to be another way. I can—”

“There isn’t,” Keira cuts in, her tone sharp. “You either sell this relationship, or the whole operation could fall apart. These people don’t take chances. If they suspect you aren’t the high-society socialite couple you’re playing, they’ll kill you, and the entire pack is at risk.”

Veronica, sitting beside Maisie, leans forward.

“Keira, is this really necessary?” she asks, her voice careful. “Surely there’s some other way? You’re talking about them moving in together for potentially… months. That’s... a lot.”

Keira’s stony demeanor cracks for a moment. This is the first mission she has led on her own for the pack, and she’s clearly working hard to keep up appearances. “It is necessary, though I know it isn’t ideal,” she sighs. “The stakes here are high, and Maisie and Zane are our best shot at getting close enough to this pack without drawing attention. If they can infiltrate their circle, we can take them out before they’ve established influence in the region.”

Maisie’s still silent, staring down at her hands. She hasn’t said a word since the briefing began, and I can’t tell if it’s anger, resignation, or something worse that’s making her so still.

I’m about to argue again, say something, anything, to push back when Byron speaks up.

“Zane,” he says, his voice low, steady. “You sure you wanna fight this? Seems like a pretty straightforward assignment.”

I shoot him a look, but he just raises his eyebrows, waiting. I try to convey silently that I didn’t ask for his opinion. He seems to convey back that he thinks I’m being an idiot about this.

“We’re overcomplicating this,” I start. “I don’t want to—”

But then I catch it. The smallest shift in Maisie’s posture, the tension in her shoulders. Her lips press together just a little too tightly, and I see redness in the whites of her tired eyes.

She’s hurting. She expects me to hurt her more. I realize all at once that if I keep fighting this, I will.

I lean back, exhaling through my nose.

“Fine,” I say quietly, the word dragging from me with reticence. “We’ll do it.”

Byron doesn’t say anything, but I can see the flicker of surprise in his eyes. Aris sits back, nostrils flaring, something approving in his face, and Keira nods, already moving on as if nothing happened.

“Good,” Keira says briskly, “I’ll send you the details. The condo will be ready for you to move in tomorrow, and we’ve already started the process of figuring out your temporary replacement at the clinic, Maisie.”

Tomorrow. My chest tightens, but I just nod, jaw clenched.

Veronica glances between Maisie and me, worry clear in her eyes.

“Maisie, you okay with this?” she asks softly, her concern genuine.

Maisie finally lifts her head, her voice quiet but firm. “It’s just a mission. I’ll be fine.”

The group disperses slowly and carefully, as if everyone’s walking on eggshells. She stands up, collecting her things, and for a second, I think she’s going to look at me. Maybe even say something to me. We were so close last night that I could feel her entire body against mine. Now, she might as well never have met me.

She turns on her heel and walks out of the room without a word, her shoulders still stiff with anxiety.

I stay sitting as people move around me, their silence and noise alike a fuzz of information I can’t take in. Maybe one of these days, I’ll get my sea legs when it comes to sharing any measure of space with her. Maybe one of these days, the sight of her won’t sucker-punch me.

Soon, it’s just me and Keira. She watches me for a beat, her expression unreadable, then taps a few keys on her laptop before standing and walking toward the door.

“You know what’s at stake here, Zane,” she tells me on her way out. “And you know she’ll get hurt if you get too emotionally involved. You know how these things go.”

Of course I do. The con, the act, is all I’ve ever known.