Chapter 26: Zayna

Chapter Twenty-Six

Zayna

I follow each of Ruger’s steps through the thick pine forests, marveling at how quietly he moves. He mentioned the Army Ranger thing, but it doesn’t become real until I follow his large, heavy body through the woods and notice he doesn’t snap a single twig. If I take the same steps Ruger does, it’s like I can have a little bit of that stalker strength. It’s hard keeping up with his stride, but I manage it and he doesn’t have to look behind him to know I’m keeping up.

The light from a campus street light filters through the trees, so we must be close to the dorm. I move my body closer to Ruger’s. He takes a few more calculated steps, scans briefly, and then pulls me against a large tree. I don’t know why we’re stopping but I follow Ruger’s lead. Is he going to back out? Tell me to stay behind in the woods? He scowls at my face then grabs my chin, forcing me to look up at him.

My heart races with instant panic. What did I do? He keeps examining me with that scowl, and then he asks me one question in an oddly calm voice. “Scared?”

“A little.”

“Nothing to fear. I would never let anything happen to you. I take care of everything that belongs to me. I have a muzzle- loader that belonged to a Blackwood from the Revolutionary War…”

He trails off, most likely realizing that talking about guns isn’t romantic in the slightest. But his thumb trailing over my lower lip definitely feels romantic. Ruger leans forward and kisses me. It’s so much softer than I expected. None of his possessive roughness. This kiss is all about comfort. He pulls away and drops his finger from my lips.

“Follow my lead,” he says. “That’s all you need to do. Trust me?”

Slowly, I nod. But I haven’t known what the hell is going on in my life since the court case in Boston. I had dreamed of justice and getting my life back, instead I got a cold harsh taste of reality. These rich, privileged white boys learn early on that they can get away with anything and that’s how their world works.

I don’t even know what world I belong to these days. Ruger and I peel away from the trees. We’re behind a large, gray stone building. It’s the only one that I can see, but we’re not isolated on a giant plain. There are a few trees sprinkled around. A maintenance shed. No foot traffic from college students. I hear distant cheers from a sports game across campus.

Ruger leads me against the side of the building and then he points around the corner of the building.

“Ground floor, middle window on that side of the building. He’s in there. I need to send you in first. Pull out the gun and tell him to sit his ass down. You just need to hold him for thirty seconds. Can you do it?”

I see now why Ruger didn’t mention his plan before. He doesn’t want me to freak out, which is exactly what I’m doing. He notices instantly.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll be right behind you. I promise.”

“Ruger...”

“I trust you,” he murmurs.

He kisses me again. I love kissing him. I wish I could kiss him more instead of killing alongside him. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to feel facing Brooks Astor again.

Ruger pulls away from the kiss and I feel so exposed in front of him.

“He can’t hurt you. Never again.”

He squeezes my hand and then leads me around the side of the building. I feel my mind and body separating as I follow him. Are we seriously going to do this? Take a life? I know Ruger isn’t nervous, but that doesn’t make me feel better the way I thought it would. I wonder if he ever felt nervous, or if he has killed so many times it’s just the obvious solution to his problems.

I question everything at the worst minute possible, and when all my anxieties threaten to come out in the form of vomit, we’re right beneath Brooks Astor’s window. Ruger stops me from walking and then glances at my hips.

“I can lift you up.”

“What if the window is locked?”

“Won’t be,” Ruger says.

I guess men the size of Brooks Astor don’t worry about men — or small women — climbing through their windows. I put my hand on my pocket to keep my fingers close to the pistol handle and Ruger positions us right beneath the window. There’s a thick stone ledge — big enough that I can stand on it and lift the window open.

“Are you ready?” he asks. I nod. How could I ever be ready for this? Or anything that has happened in my crazy fucking life. At least if my life has to be this crazy, I’m not actually alone. I have this crazy ass man. Ruger…

Ruger lifts me to the window sill effortlessly. I must weigh almost 200lbs, so it shocks me how light I feel when he raises me over his head. My feet find the wide window ledge and it’s precarious, but I can stand. Brooks has the window shade pulled down, but I can hear Creed playing on the speakers loudly enough that I could rattle on the window without him hearing it. I glance down at Ruger. With his long ass arms, he can pull himself up easily. Everything about this man is both physically impressive and terrifying.

But I’m too nervous to get excited about how Brooks Astor will shit himself coming face to face with a man his own size, instead of his private school teacher, who he could easily stalk and pin down. I glance down at Ruger again, feeling too dangerously obedient to him, but knowing deep in my heart that I can’t do this without him.

That feels vulnerable. Dangerous. I have one hand on the gun and the other pressed against the window as my heart thumps. When I look down at Ruger, his eyes meet mine with nothing but pure calm. It’s hard not to feed off his calm and let it wash over me, even if this is a crime and any fear or anxiety would be justified.

“Open it,” Ruger mouths. The point of no return. I can follow this maniac and kill one of the men who hurt me, or I can jump off this window ledge and run away. I’m in Boston again. I still know people.

But out of all the choices laid out in front of me, the dark truth is that this is the path I want. I turn away from him and keep one hand in my pocket and the other to pop the window open and slide it up. A gusty Massachusetts breeze pushes the window shade like a cape and it flaps inside of Brooks’ room. I jump into the medical single and he’s there — right as Ruger said.

Brooks’ turns around in a fancy office chair with a bewildered look on his face. I watch the color drop away when he sees me. I whip the gun out and point it directly at his face. I’m not convincing. My hands are shaking and instead of words, I feel a hard lump pushing against my throat.

Say something before he runs…

Brooks moves and I find my voice.

“Stay right fucking there,” I hiss. My voice doesn’t sound like that. “Or I’ll blow your brains out in a second.”

He freezes. His ass was a couple inches above the office chair. My heart still feels like it’s going to jump out of my mouth. I don’t know where Ruger is. Thirty seconds. He said I have to hold this bastard here for thirty seconds. I can do it.

“You’re gonna go to jail,” Brooks says, his face growing calm. Serious. I never liked those kids and now this grown man looks me dead in the eye and I see nothing. No humanity. I want to pull the trigger. The desire surges in me and I can feel my hand moving and then… Ruger lands in the room behind me.

I hear his feet land and Brooks glances over my shoulder with a look like he’s going to shit himself. A woman holding a gun in his face doesn’t scare him as much as the presence of another man. I hate him. I hate him more than I realized until I found myself in this situation with absolute power. The room spins. I want to shoot him. But Ruger touches my shoulder, distracting me just enough. I lower the gun.

Brooks Astor’s shoulders relax visibly, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Ruger. He senses that will be his real problem, but he doesn’t know how bad it’s going to get. He hasn’t seen what Ruger can do.

Ruger looks all around the room with curiosity. I didn’t bother scanning my surroundings, but he seems to feel calm. He glances at Brooks’ dresser.

“You got ADD meds?” Ruger asks. I look at him, confused. What the fuck is wrong with him? We’re not here to get drugs to hawk on campus. I can’t help but take pleasure in how Brooks’ face contorts in terror at Ruger’s question. He’s trying to hide it, but I dreamed of seeing that scared shitless look on his face many times during the trial.

It’s hard to hide a smirk now that he’s stammering his way through his response to Ruger.

“Yes… If you want money and?—

“Quiet,” Ruger says. “Where are the meds.”

“Top drawer.” Brooks gestures towards the dresser and Ruger approaches it calmly, opening the top drawer and tossing out underwear until he pulls out three large orange bottles.

Brooks stares at him. Terrified. Confused. He gives me a quick glance, but it’s hard for him to keep his eyes off the biker rifling through his things. I become almost invisible, which tempts me to raise that gun to Brooks’ head and do something reckless. My emotions are stronger than I thought and I feel the power of the situation rushing to my head…

Ruger chuckles as he shakes the third bottle.

“You got a lot better than ADD meds,” Ruger says. He shoves one of the orange bottles into his pocket and he opens up a bottle with white pills. Brooks looks at him with a confused expression. Ruger cannot be serious about getting high right now…

I watch him with almost as much confusion as Brooks Astor has. Ruger pours out ten pills and walks over to Brooks with a firm, commanding step.

“Put your hand out.”

Brooks puts his hand out. It’s shaking. Pleasure surges in my chest. He’s afraid. I never got to see a flicker of fear on that fucking bastard’s face. Throughout the entire trial, he knew he would get away with what he did to me. But not anymore. Once he has the necessary pills, Ruger shoves the half-emptied bottle into his pocket. His gaze never leaves Brooks for a second, although if Brooks tried, I firmly believe Ruger could easily snap his neck in half.

“Swallow,” Ruger snarls.

Brooks looks at his hand and then at Ruger. “It’s too much.”

“I fucking know that you stupid bastard,” Ruger snarls, his tone and body language shifting in a terrifying instant at Brooks resistance.

“Take the pills or I’ll hold your neck and let Zayna shove each one down your fucking throat.”

Brooks puts one pill on the tip of his tongue. Ruger’s eyes flicker with rage. That wasn’t what Ruger asked him to do. He walks over to Brooks and grabs his neck so hard that Brooks yelps. The pills fly onto the ground. I don’t need Ruger’s instructions to pick them up. He cranks Brooks mouth open and he starts really freaking out. Shaking and whimpering in fear as Ruger just breathes slowly. Soundlessly.

I get all the pills and he tightens his grip on Brooks neck. Watching any other human in pain would make me want to stop, but watching this just makes me want to shove the pills in Brooks mouth. It’s rage that I can’t let myself feel on my own. Rage I never allowed myself because I was so busy surviving a horrific crime that was plastered all over the local news.

PRIVATE SCHOOL TEACHER RAPED, ALLEGEDLY.

PREP SCHOOL BOYS ACQUITTED IN RAPE TRIAL

THE LIAR: PRIVATE SCHOOL TEACHER EXPOSED

The headlines flash through my head. I had forgotten. I pushed the pain aside. Buried it with new pain. I sought out worse situations to push it all out of my mind and now… it all comes rushing back. My hands shake as I approach Brooks Astor’s open mouth. Ruger squeezes the sides of his jaw to keep it open.

Again, I don’t wait for his permission. I empty the pills into Brooks’ mouth like I’m feeding a bird. He writhes and fights against his chair and Ruger’s grip.

“Those pills fall out, I’ll spit in your fucking mouth,” Ruger snarls. Then he uses his other hand to clamp Brooks’ mouth shut and force him to swallow. He does. Then he retches violently as if trying to make himself throw up. Plus, he’s dry swallowing pills. But Ruger keeps his hands pressed to Brooks’ mouth. Forcing him to be quiet.

Forcing him to swallow.