Page 2 of King of Ashes
If the Syndicate wanted me dead, I would be dead, but they can’t afford to get rid of me yet. I should follow Tristan’s example. He married into their family and has continued fraternizing, unbothered, with their biggest enemies.
Done with this conversation, an idea sparks to life, and I tap my chin. “He would have to pass a test.”
“Zara,” he sighs, the sound ringing with annoyance.
“Get past my men, and then we’ll see.” I shrug, pick up my purse, and head out. I just made it impossible for him to find a suitable suitor. No sane man would contemplate the idea.
It would betray the girl I used to be, the life I could have had, and the marriage I never began. I can’t even grieve or overcome my loss—I can’t even put a face to the man who was taken from me.
Once I returned from the hospital after my crash, I found the compound in ruins. My father and his men were attacked; those responsible killed every person who could have revealed his identity. I never discovered who was behind the ambush, and that plagues my every waking moment.
Conrad showed up the day I was released and introduced himself as an ally. I accepted his support and never looked back. He’s my best friend, my trusted right hand.
Sadly or luckily, we lack any romantic spark. Our friendship even survived my attempt at hitting on him one night, desperate to feel something.
His swift rejection made me realize I had to fill the hole on my own. Years later, I think nothing ever will. Work keeps me sane, anchored in this reality, far away from a past that was wiped out with a cruel snap of the fingers.
Two of my men follow me as I step into my jet. The three crew members greet me, and I take a seat by the window.
Once we’re in the air, the flight attendant brings me a glass of sparkling water. Sipping leisurely, I pull my laptop from my tote bag and work.
After finalizing some orders, I lean back and close my eyes.
The dream unfolds as it always does. I watch from the outside as two people stand with their backs to me. I recognize myself in her, but he doesn’t turn. I never get to see his face. He remains a blurry image. Like a damn voyeur, I observe the couple embracing and kissing in their own intimate world. Though this world is mine, I cannot enter it.
I shout at him to turn, but he never does—so cruel, not letting me discover who he is—and I wake with a sigh, utterly frustrated, as if it’s my destiny to look from the outside in and never get the answer to the question tormenting me.
My mind loves playing tricks on me. It’s a game I always lose.
The flight attendant informs me we’re about to land, and I nod, rubbing at my temples, where the headache pulses, as familiar as my longing for a ghost. A ghost I have been faithful to. A man who couldn’t be more out of reach, even if he tried. I can’t move on as long as the unknown persists. Until then, I am trapped in this unforgiving limbo, held hostage—a prisoner with no chance to escape.
Outside, I step out onto the tarmac, my men trailing behind me, while one of the staff members carries my luggage to the trunk of the SUV.
My men hold a stiff position, angling their heads as if wanting to sense the danger before it unfolds.
I’ve survived threats, bombs, and war zones riddled with terrorists. New York might be a concrete jungle, but it doesn’t intimidate me. The only thing I fear is my brain, tired of fighting with myself and wishing for the impossible.
The driver opens the rear door, and I climb inside, watching as he takes me to the hotel next to the wedding reception.
New York is the opposite of my place—shadowed by skyscrapers and pedestrians bustling along the sidewalks in a raucous blur. Loud and too much.
Once the driver parks the car, my men follow me inside the hotel. Tristan’s men mingle with the other guards, letting us know not so subtly that he has the power and that we’re in his city.
My attendance is a cursory show, not a display of power.
“Ma’am, welcome. Let me show you to your suite,” one man says while my guards flank me, waiting for instructions.
I nod, wanting a bit of privacy.
Inside the elegant suite, I unpack my luggage, hanging the dress in the closet. Then, I head to the bathroom to start filling the claw-foot tub, eyeing my reflection in the mirror.
The woman looking back is simultaneously familiar and a stranger. The duality is such a heavy part of me; I stopped questioning thewhysand accepted thethats.
There’s no flicker in my brown eyes––dimmed just like my heartbeats.
Pulling my shoulder length, blond-highlighted brown hair into a loose bun at the back of my head, I undress and submerge in the water, instantly relaxing. Bathing is my happy place.In my dreams, they are always by the lake on my property, swimming, kissing, making love.
Submerged to my neck, I lose all notion of time, but my skin prunes, reminding me it’s time to get out.
