EIGHT

Leora

I changed into the T-shirt Zarek/Grant gave me, which was barely longer than the dress I had been wearing. In the bathroom, I ran the towel under some hot water and began cleaning myself up as thoroughly as I could.

As I wiped away the remnants of the night, the sight of dark bruises blossoming across my legs, ribs, shoulders, and neck stopped me cold. Each mark felt like a betrayal of my body's boundaries, a painful reminder not just of last night, but of a past I'd struggled to move beyond. I stripped away my smeared makeup and washed my face, the water mixing with a bitter sting of memories from my time with Adriano—times when bruises had been more common than I cared to admit. I was angry. Frustrated that I'd let myself into yet another situation that made me lose control of my life.

Climbing into the warm sheets, sleep quickly overtook me despite the aching of my battered body. When I awoke, the sunlight piercing through the window felt harsh, as though no time had passed at all.

I wondered what this place was. Zarek/Grant didn't seem like a police officer at all.

What have I gotten myself into?

The door creaked open and Zarek/Grant stepped in, carrying a tray of scrambled eggs, bacon, and juice. He placed it on the nightstand before sitting down at the foot of the bed. My gaze must have carried the weight of my unrest because his expression shifted to one of concern, his brows knitting together in worry.

"I am so sorry for what happened," he murmured sincerely.

"I got myself involved that night. It's not your fault, Grant ," I said, though confusion clouded my mind about his true identity.

"It's Zarek," he clarified softly, as if he could read the confusion etched across my face. "My name is Zarek Rivera. Born in January, I am 35 years old."

"Hmm. Leora Mateez. March. I turned 29 yesterday," I replied.

"I know. Happy birthday," he said solemnly, his gaze dropping to the bruises on my neck. I instinctively covered them with my hand.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his discomfort palpable. "Eat and then meet me downstairs, okay?" He said, rising from the bed. He paused at the doorway, giving me one last look that carried some regret before he left the room.

After finishing the eggs and bacon, I took the glass of juice and headed downstairs. Suddenly conscious of the scant length of Zarek's T-shirt, I tugged at the hem, trying to cover more of myself, a small gesture of reclaiming some dignity after feeling so exposed.

Once downstairs, I noticed a man with dirty blond hair seated at the dining table, leisurely sipping from a cup while scrolling through his phone.

Zarek approached with a cup of his own and nodded towards the man as I followed his gaze.

"That's Logan," he introduced, just as Logan shot a glare at both of us.

Logan exhaled sharply, his frustration evident as he tossed his head back and groaned, "Fucking hell."

"What's wrong with him?" I inquired, a hint of annoyance threading through my curiosity.

"He's just pissed that I blew his cover," Zarek explained with a slight shrug.

"Then maybe you shouldn't be doing that. What if I'm a spy?" I countered, half-joking but also genuinely concerned about the casual reveal of sensitive information.

"See? At least she has some brains," Logan barked from across the room. He then turned to me, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "Hi Leora, lovely meeting you yesterday. Perhaps you should slip back into that skimpy dress you came in and walk on back to your place." Then he looked at Zarek. "This is no place for civilians ."

His words, sharp and unwelcoming, stung more than I expected. "I don't intend to stay," I retorted sharply, my voice cold. I downed my glass of juice in one long gulp, handed the empty glass to Zarek with a forceful push against his chest, and turned to head back upstairs.

Their message was clear, I wasn't welcome here.