Unleashed (17 page)

“I don’t have anything to wear,” spills out my mouth befo
re I can stop it. Even though Ezra just asked me to go with them, my fear gets the best of me.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,
Ava and I picked out a dress for you today. If you hurry, we won’t be too late. We may make it just in time for dinner.” I cling to Cort’s back, my eyes wide from fright. I bury my face against his suit jacket and pretend he is a life-sized Monkmee. I may need comfort, but I need courage more.

“Katya, I suffered through
eleven birthdays without you. I will suffer no longer. Go get dressed,” Ezra commands, and I listen.

Cortez finds me pulling on my thigh-high stockings. I ignore him while I shimmy into my new dress. I was told to hurry,
but Ezra underestimated me. I’m not your typical woman. In ten minutes time, I’m almost finished getting ready.

The fitted dress is tea-
length with a deep v-neckline. Its silver-metallic fabric looks iridescent in the light. I pile my hair on top of my head, leaving a few auburn tendrils curling down to my waist. I continue to ignore Cortez as I apply kohl shadow, making my green eyes smoky and dark. I dab a bit of pale color on my lips, hoping for the appearance of a fresh kiss.

“It’s Ray Hunter,” I declare as I face Cortez.

“How?” His face drains of blood before my eyes.

“I’m not sure. But i
t’s definitely him. I’d love to say it’s my imagination playing tricks on me. I heard his cackle inches from the back of my head. I was sitting on a park bench with the woods at my back. I know he was there. I raced home, tripping along the way. He kept pace. The feeling of being watched didn’t leave me until I entered the building.”

I pull Cort into a hug and squeeze
for dear life. I release him and step back. “It’s been a hellacious day. It’s the anniversary of the attack, for fuck’s sake. We can wait until tomorrow to fret over this. Actually, until we make Ezra fret over this. I would protect him from this if I could. But if it really is Ray- I’m not sure there is protection for any of us,” my voice breaks.

“We need to see if the monster
is still in prison. We should’ve been notified if he was up for parole again. That’s how the system works.” Cortez is practically growling as he paces the small bathroom.

“And if it’s Ray?” I ask.

“And if it’s Ray,” he retorts.

“We kill him,” I profess.

“We kill him,” Cort agrees.

“We kill him
, not for us, but for Ezra- for Ava- for Diane- for Aaron- for every victim he ever took.” I’m overcome with the rightness of my statement. An inner-resolve infuses my soul. If the higher power is against justice via death, than why do I feel so righteous to the depths of my soul?

Chapter
Thirteen

We’
re not late. In fact, we’re early, thanks to my ability to transform myself from stalked victim to high society maven in less than half an hour. The twenty-minute ride to ShadowHaven Estates I used to blank my mind and shore up my courage. The house where Ezra and Cortez grew up, and later Aaron came to call home, is out of my league. I grew up in a three bedroom ranch-style house… ShadowHaven is the size of all the houses in my neighborhood… combined.

We had
a security checkpoint at a ten-foot tall, black iron gate, followed by a mile long, scenic driveway. ShadowHaven is an enormous stone house with perfectly spaced windows and an oversized pair of medieval looking front doors. It’s gothic and oppressive. Its appearance screams malevolence, and for some odd reason I feel right at home. But I’m not normal. 

The security around the grounds, the gate, and even at the front door is impressive. A billionaire doesn’t keep their m
oney by letting people rob them blind. But then again, I bet it’s because the heiress was attacked at eighteen, and then the attacker returned for the product of the attack, and three nights later kidnaped her best friend’s child and the housekeeper’s son from their beds. Yeah, I’m guessing that’s the reason for the over-the-top security.

I lag at the back of the pack as we approach the house. Ezra, Cortez, and Ava are in the front
, followed by Kayla and Aaron. I drag my heels up the wide, flagstone stairs, scared shitless for the night to come. I feel inadequate, and it’s not an emotion I feel often, and it gives me new insight on Monica.

I should have known better by the
attire we were required to wear that I’m out of my league. I’m wearing a metallic flow of fabric. Ezra is wearing a designer, black suit with a gray pinstripe and a tie the same shade as my dress. Cortez is wearing a solid black suit with a fancy shirt the same color of my dress and no tie. The three of us are completely coordinated.

Ava’s dress is pale blush
, showcasing her very pale skin. Her champagne colored hair is held back with a silver headband. A small necklace flashes on her dainty throat. Ezra had something commissioned from a jeweler himself: a small, platinum heart embossed with
AZ.
I guess Ezra is placing his
mine
stamp on his daughter with the Z for Zeitler. I don’t know why I ever doubted Ezra’s need to claim Ava as his. I’m still waiting for him to start pissing on our legs.

Kayla’s dress is soft pink
, flowing to her ankles, with a sweetheart neckline showcasing and minimizing her ample chest. The pink dress gives the illusion that her skin is glowing. She looks absolutely beautiful as she gazes adoringly at Aaron. Her cheeks pink and she tries to hide her satisfied smile. Aaron smiles back at her and he places a possessive hand on her waist.

I was surprised what a de
signer suit can do to a man. Aaron’s bulk is minimized, taking him from thug to the boy next door with baby blues, skullcut fair hair, and a dimple in his cheek.

I follow the herd through the impressive front doors
, pausing a moment to check out their design. If I didn’t live in an apartment, I would love something like this, but on a smaller scale. But apartment or not, I couldn’t afford castle-like doors.

I step to the side and try to make myself invisible. Ezra and the gang are huddled near the center of the fo
yer talking to a group of partygoers. I see Adelaide’s bleached head above the crowd. If I didn’t already feel short, her freakishly tall, Amazon height would do the job. She is the epitome of a blueblood, waifish, willowy, classy, and pretentious. I want to dissolve into the walls and disappear. I do not belong here. It’s not the house- I love the house. It’s the people. I can almost scent the arrogance flavoring the air.

I imprint every detail of a painting hanging on the foyer wall as I
twist my fingers behind my back and I nibble on my lips.

“It’s
a masterpiece, isn’t it? It’s a Monet,” Adelaide’s nasally voice chirps near my ear. She even has to bend to speak to me. I glance down and notice she’s wearing flats. What a tall bitch.

“I guess if you’re into that sort of thing.” I shrug like I don’t give a shit. In reality
, the painting is a masterpiece and I would love to stare at it for hours. Admitting I love it would be agreeing with Adelaide. I refuse to agree with her. After all, the last time I saw her she was underneath Ezra as he sang sweet nothings into her ear. No, not nothings, they were words of adoration. The last time Adelaide saw me, she screamed bloody murder at me and called me a worthless whore. So yeah, I’m not agreeing with her even about the weather. The future is going to be ever most bright as I share my daughter’s milestones with this bitch.

“Yo
u don’t belong here,” Adelaide hisses in my ear.

“I agree,” I quietly reply.

“Then why are you standing here?” She looks at me like I’m brainless.

“I was invited,” I mumble back.

“You could have said no.” She narrows her icy, blue eyes at me.

“No, actually, I couldn’t,” I defend myself.
“You know how Ezra is- he commands and I obey. I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here.”

“Oh, I doubt that
,” She haughtily purrs. “I would rather eat garbage than have you in my presence this very instant. You’re nothing but Ezra’s whore. He feels nothing but pity for you. He’s too good of a man to admit the truth to you. If I were Ezra, I would take my daughter and throw your ass on the street like the trash that you are,” she says with a voice infused with condescension.

“Actually, you’
d love to throw my daughter and me on the street. We both complicate your life,” I hiss at Adelaide. “You can’t throw someone on the street when they are independent of you. I can take care of my daughter just fine on my own. It’s Ezra who has insisted on having us live as a family.”

Our conversation
, the equivalent of showdown at high noon, is cut short by the appearance of an imposing, handsome man in his mid to late thirties. Adelaide straightens up as if she hadn’t been hissing in my ear for the past few moments. I school my face with a pleasant expression.

“What are you doing, Adelaide?” His voice is smooth and deadl
y quiet. Terror flashes over Adelaide pinched face as she hears his voice.

“I was just discussing the Monet with Katya. She is ignorant to art.” I shake my head in agreement.

The man looks to both of us, knowing we are lying. I wouldn’t have agreed with Adelaide, but he is scary. He is a tall, lanky, handsome man with black curly hair and warm brown eyes. His demeanor is frightening- no, overpowering. He is scary in the way that I would do absolutely anything he says to avoid whatever punishment he would dole out. The way he looks at us, studying us, makes me wonder if he is a Dom. He would make one hell of a dominant.

“I believe you are finished now. Don’t talk to Katya again, Adelaide,” he warns.
I take a step back from them.

“Yes, Marcus,” Adelaide
replies, and hurriedly strides from the foyer.

“I apologize for anything upsetting that Adelaide may have said. She is to be on her best behavior this evening.” He gives me a sad littl
e smile.

“No need to apologize.
We really did talk about the Monet.” I defend Adelaide and manage not to lie, if you count saying the name of the artist as talking about him. I defend Adelaide- must be hell just froze over. I sigh. This is how I’m behaving and I’m just the victim who ended up pregnant. I’m not the one with rights to him. I’m acting appallingly, and I’m the one who is living, working, eating, and sleeping beside someone else’s fiancé. I try to stick to my moral high ground by not having sex with him, but what does that matter when you do practically everything else. I’m living someone else’s life- their joys, fears, tears, and laughs. I’m sharing in all the things that should be exclusive to only Adelaide. It’s no wonder she hates me. I would hate me, too. I do hate me. I hang my head in shame and cast my eyes to the floor.

“It’s nice to meet you, Katya. I’m Marcus.” He extends his hand into my vision since I am staring at the floor.
I take his hand in mine and look up. His expression changes as he sees my face. The way he uses body language to read people is proof that he is a dominant.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” I
meekly say.

“Why are you hiding out over here?”
His voice is soft with concern.

“I thought I
’d give everyone a chance to greet each other without me in the way,” I honestly say.
Marcus just stares at me- looks through me. For a good minute we stand like this- Marcus holding my hand with his eyes boring into my soul. He shakes his head and smiles at me as if he’s come to some conclusion about me.

“Well, let m
e properly introduce myself. I’m Marcus Zeitler- Ezra’s father.” My eyes bug from my head. No wonder he is so overpowering. He may not be Ezra’s biological father, but clearly Ezra picked up most of his traits from this man. It takes a strong person to enter this family and survive.

“I would love to introduce you to m
y wife. Please, come with me.” Marcus keeps my hand and places it on his forearm as he walks me towards the crowd. He comfortingly pats my hand as we walk.

I find my
daughter first among the partygoers. Ava is happily chatting with her father and a woman- an ethereal being with fine, pale hair, wearing a long, gold gown. She is stunning. My mind conjures up an image of Ezra sitting in his favorite chair, and I remember thinking that he looked like an angel. This woman is an angel. She is the being who created Ezra. Ezra who helped create my daughter. I remember Monica saying, wait until I see her, and I’d asked who. Now I know. Mother, son, and the son’s daughter huddle together, and it’s impossible not to see the connection. This is how Monica knew Ava belonged to Ezra- there is no hiding it. Diane Zeitler stands in all her glory with her son and her mini-clone- her granddaughter.

Diane turns her large gray eyes on me as if feeling my scrutiny. I approach her with my hand on her husband’s arm. She studies me, studies Ava, and then Ezra, noting our differences and likenesses.