Page 91 of King of Power

“Eve—”

“No, let me finish.” I push away from the desk, swaying again. “You want me to be honest? Fine. I’m terrified, Zeke. Not just of losing you, but of what this life is doing to all of us. To Leo. To me. Every day, I watch you walk this razor’s edge between justice and vengeance, and I don’t know how to reconcile that with who I am. With what I do.”

He reaches for me again, and this time I let him catch my wrist, his touch burning through my skin. “Tell me what you need,” he says.

The whiskey burns in my throat as I stare at him, my vision blurring. “What if it had been you?” My voice cracks. “What if that bullet had hit you instead of Seb? What if—” I swallow hard, the words jagged like pieces of glass. “What if next time, you don’t come home at all?”

“That won’t happen.” Zeke’s grip on my wrist tightens, his thumb pressing against my racing pulse. “I’m too careful, too well-protected—”

“Bullshit!” I yank my hand away, stumbling back. “Seb was protected too, wasn’t he? And look what happened. He’s fighting for his life because someone got lucky with a bullet.”

The memory of Seb’s blood soaking into the carpet flashes through my mind, followed by Leo’s terrified face. My stomach lurches. “You can’t promise me anything. You can’t guarantee you’ll come home. Every time you walk out that door, I—” My voice breaks. “I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll see you alive.”

“Eve—”

The whiskey churns in my stomach as another possibility hits me. “Or what if they come here? What if they decide to hurt you by hurting us? You can’t be everywhere at once, Zeke. You can’t protect everyone all the time.”

His face darkens, jaw clenching. “No one would dare—”

“They already have!” The words explode from me. “I was attacked in my own home. They shot your brother. They got close enough to cut you! How can you stand there and tell me we’re safe when your blood is barely dry on our bathroom floor?”

My breath catches as I stare at him, the whiskey making everything soft around the edges except for the sharp ache in my chest. The afternoon sun streaming through his study window catches the silver in his hair, highlighting the worry lines aroundhis eyes. God, he’s beautiful. Even exhausted and injured, he radiates a strength that draws me to him.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m falling too hard, too fast. Again.

“I can’t do this right now,” I whisper, setting down the crystal tumbler with trembling fingers. “I need … I need to get out of here.”

“Eve—” He reaches for me, but I step back.

“I need to talk to Olivia. Tell her what happened.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue as it mixes with the whiskey. “Then I have my support group meeting.”

“We need to talk about this,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

“I know.” I grab my phone from his desk, needing something to do with my hands. “Just, not now. Please.”

The word hangs between us, heavy with everything I’m not saying. That I’m terrified of how much I feel for him. That every time he touches me, every time he looks at me like I’m his whole world, I fall a little deeper.

Without waiting for his response, I hurry past him, my shoulder brushing his chest. The contact sends electricity through my body, and I have to force myself not to lean into him, not to let him pull me close and make me forget why this is so dangerous.

I pause at the door, my hand on the knob. “I’ll ask Eli to drive me. Keep Leo safe while I’m gone. I’ll be back later,” I say softly, not turning around. I can’t look at him again or I’ll never leave.

His silence follows me down the hallway, speaking volumes more than words ever could.

I findOlivia in a secluded back booth at the diner she often visits before support group meetings. Her long black hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and she’s wearing one of her signature scarves that makes her pale skin glow. This one is midnight blue silk. She looks perfectly put together, as always, but something’s off in the way she’s methodically shredding her paper napkin into tiny pieces.

“Hey,” I slide into the booth across from her, noting the untouched coffee in front of her. That’s not like Olivia at all—she usually downs caffeine like it’s going out of style. “Thanks for meeting me early.”

She gives me a bright smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Of course. Though I have to admit, your text has me worried. What’s so urgent?”

I take a deep breath, studying her face. “It’s about Seb. There was an incident last night.”

The napkin in her hands tears with a sharp sound. “What kind of incident?”

“He was shot.” I keep my voice low, even though there’s no one in earshot. “He’s stable now, but it was touch and go for a while.”

Olivia’s face goes stark white, her carefully maintained composure cracking. Her hands shake as she sets down the shredded napkin. “Shot? Where? How bad—” She cuts herself off, pressing her lips together. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. We’re not … I mean, it’s not like…”

“Liv.” I reach across the table and grab her hand. “It’s okay to be worried about him.”

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