Page 83 of Collateral Love
Big shirts. Makeup wipes. Innocence on loan.
Chanel fell asleep fast.
I didn’t.
I waited.
Listened.
When her breathing deepened, I sat up, grabbed my phone, and texted Zayden:
Me:
I’m ready.
Zay:
Already knowing. Come on.
I stood, tiptoed past Camilla, past the front door, down the street, where his car waited under the streetlamp, engine humming low, bass thumping softly.
When I opened the passenger door, Zayden didn’t say anything.
He didn’t have to.
The way his eyes swept over me was slow, deliberate.
He reached across the console, hooked two fingers under my chin, tilted my face up to his, and kissed me passionately.
After we went round for round, I laid against his chest in the dark, and I realized something dangerous:
I would never leave Zayden willingly. But I also didn’t want Chanel anywhere near this life.
Both truths could not coexist without something breaking.
But that night, wrapped in his warmth, tasting his breath and hearing his heartbeat under my cheek, I made myself a promise:
Chanel will never know.
Chanel will always be safe.
And Zayden would always be mine quietly.
Even if it cost me everything.
They didn’t takeme somewhere cinematic.
I thought I would be going to an abandoned warehouse with flickering lights. But there was no dramatic basement with chains and monologues.
They took me to a small ass storage unit.
That was the first insult.
The floor was concrete. There were corrugated metal walls and one bare bulb dangling from a wire, as if it were tired of doing its job. The air smelled like rust, mildew, and old cardboard. Somewhere nearby, something dripped steadily, water maybe oil, I couldn’t tell, but I could feel that it was damp.
My wrists burned from the friction of the handcuffs. They’d cuffed me too tightly on purpose. A weak as Nigga like Charles did shit like that to send reminders that he was calling shots. Every inch of pain was supposed to say,you’re not in control anymore.
I tested the cuffs anyway.
