Zane's Redemption
Page 40
When Eddie walked over to her and shook her hand, Zane clenched his fists. He was touching her! The tips of his fangs descended as he fought the urge to separate their hands.
“I’m Eddie. You must be Portia.”
From the corner of his eye, Zane noticed Thomas shake his head in stunned disbelief.
“Yes, hi Eddie.”
Zane snapped his head back to Thomas who still hadn’t moved and stood only inches from him.
“You little shit,” Thomas hissed so low, only Zane could hear it. “What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?”
Zane blinked and dropped his voice to the same level. Thomas had connected the scent on him with that of Portia. “Why don’t you go fuck Eddie and leave me the hell alone!”
Thomas’ face dropped, shock rolling off his features. Zane knew the blow was low, but somebody had to finally say it. Maybe if Thomas wasn’t frustrated with his own situation, he wouldn’t stick his head into things that didn’t concern him.
“You fucking asshole. You’re going to see Dr. Drake now, no protests, or I’ll report this to Samson and your gig is up.”
The sternness in Thomas’ voice and face was undeniable. It left Zane no choice but to give into blackmail. Without a word to Thomas, he turned fully and motioned to Eddie. “Eddie, we’re leaving. Now.”
“Where are you going?” Portia’s tone had accusation written all over it. Her smile had disappeared.
Before he could find the right words, Thomas spoke up. “Zane has a prior engagement. I’ll be his relief for the next couple of hours.” He went to Portia and extended his hand. “I’m Thomas. Pleasure meeting you.”
Zane stalked to the door, Eddie on his heels.
“You can take my bike,” Thomas called after him, but Zane didn’t bother replying.
“Asshole,” he muttered under his breath.
Chapter Thirteen
Cool night air greeted him as he walked into the driveway. Zane halted for a moment for Eddie to catch up with him. Still seething about Thomas’ blackmail, he glanced around and noticed Eddie’s motorcycle parked near the gate. He craned his neck.
“Where is Thomas’ Ducati?”
“He didn’t take his Ducati today. He brought the BMW,” Eddie replied and sauntered past him.
Zane followed. “I didn’t know he had a BMW.”
“That’s because he just only finished restoring it. It’s an antique.”
Zane reached Eddie’s bike and rounded it. Behind Eddie’s Kawasaki was a smaller motorcycle. Zane jerked to a halt, his heart stopping in the same instant.
“It’s an R6, a 1937 model,” Zane echoed with the remaining breath in his lungs before his vocal cords ceased working.
“Yeah, you’re right. Thomas is quite proud of it. Paid a high price for it. But he did a great job, don’t you think so?”
Eddie’s words faded in the background while Zane’s eyes took in the features of the bike he remembered well. It was all black and chrome, just like the one he’d had back then; the R6 that had belonged to him when he’d still been Zacharias, when he still had hair and a promising future ahead of him.
Even now, he could feel the wind ruffling his hair as he rode through the streets of Munich.
The cobblestones sent tiny shocks through his body as he throttled up and passed a car. Behind him, his sister Rachel sat on the miniscule luggage rack, which wasn’t really meant for passengers, and held onto him for dear life, her legs stretched out toward the curb.
“Not so fast, Zacharias!” she cried out but giggled at the same time. She was having as much fun as he was.
“Are you scared?” he teased and laughed. There was no better feeling than being on his bike and feeling the air rush past his ears.
“No, but Papa will be mad if we fall and hurt ourselves.”
“Don’t worry about Papa.”
His father wouldn’t have given him this birthday present—a 3-year-old BMW R6 motorcycle that looked like new—if he didn’t want him to use it and enjoy it. Rachel was still too much of a child. At only fourteen, she obeyed her father and mother one hundred percent, whereas he had rebelled from time to time. At one point, he’d been close to moving out from home, but his mother had thought it a ridiculous idea. Besides, as an aspiring poet, he still relied on his parents’ money for survival.
“We should go home. Mama is waiting with supper,” Rachel urged.
“Just one more time around the block,” he cajoled and twisted the grip to increase the speed.
“I’m Eddie. You must be Portia.”
From the corner of his eye, Zane noticed Thomas shake his head in stunned disbelief.
“Yes, hi Eddie.”
Zane snapped his head back to Thomas who still hadn’t moved and stood only inches from him.
“You little shit,” Thomas hissed so low, only Zane could hear it. “What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?”
Zane blinked and dropped his voice to the same level. Thomas had connected the scent on him with that of Portia. “Why don’t you go fuck Eddie and leave me the hell alone!”
Thomas’ face dropped, shock rolling off his features. Zane knew the blow was low, but somebody had to finally say it. Maybe if Thomas wasn’t frustrated with his own situation, he wouldn’t stick his head into things that didn’t concern him.
“You fucking asshole. You’re going to see Dr. Drake now, no protests, or I’ll report this to Samson and your gig is up.”
The sternness in Thomas’ voice and face was undeniable. It left Zane no choice but to give into blackmail. Without a word to Thomas, he turned fully and motioned to Eddie. “Eddie, we’re leaving. Now.”
“Where are you going?” Portia’s tone had accusation written all over it. Her smile had disappeared.
Before he could find the right words, Thomas spoke up. “Zane has a prior engagement. I’ll be his relief for the next couple of hours.” He went to Portia and extended his hand. “I’m Thomas. Pleasure meeting you.”
Zane stalked to the door, Eddie on his heels.
“You can take my bike,” Thomas called after him, but Zane didn’t bother replying.
“Asshole,” he muttered under his breath.
Chapter Thirteen
Cool night air greeted him as he walked into the driveway. Zane halted for a moment for Eddie to catch up with him. Still seething about Thomas’ blackmail, he glanced around and noticed Eddie’s motorcycle parked near the gate. He craned his neck.
“Where is Thomas’ Ducati?”
“He didn’t take his Ducati today. He brought the BMW,” Eddie replied and sauntered past him.
Zane followed. “I didn’t know he had a BMW.”
“That’s because he just only finished restoring it. It’s an antique.”
Zane reached Eddie’s bike and rounded it. Behind Eddie’s Kawasaki was a smaller motorcycle. Zane jerked to a halt, his heart stopping in the same instant.
“It’s an R6, a 1937 model,” Zane echoed with the remaining breath in his lungs before his vocal cords ceased working.
“Yeah, you’re right. Thomas is quite proud of it. Paid a high price for it. But he did a great job, don’t you think so?”
Eddie’s words faded in the background while Zane’s eyes took in the features of the bike he remembered well. It was all black and chrome, just like the one he’d had back then; the R6 that had belonged to him when he’d still been Zacharias, when he still had hair and a promising future ahead of him.
Even now, he could feel the wind ruffling his hair as he rode through the streets of Munich.
The cobblestones sent tiny shocks through his body as he throttled up and passed a car. Behind him, his sister Rachel sat on the miniscule luggage rack, which wasn’t really meant for passengers, and held onto him for dear life, her legs stretched out toward the curb.
“Not so fast, Zacharias!” she cried out but giggled at the same time. She was having as much fun as he was.
“Are you scared?” he teased and laughed. There was no better feeling than being on his bike and feeling the air rush past his ears.
“No, but Papa will be mad if we fall and hurt ourselves.”
“Don’t worry about Papa.”
His father wouldn’t have given him this birthday present—a 3-year-old BMW R6 motorcycle that looked like new—if he didn’t want him to use it and enjoy it. Rachel was still too much of a child. At only fourteen, she obeyed her father and mother one hundred percent, whereas he had rebelled from time to time. At one point, he’d been close to moving out from home, but his mother had thought it a ridiculous idea. Besides, as an aspiring poet, he still relied on his parents’ money for survival.
“We should go home. Mama is waiting with supper,” Rachel urged.
“Just one more time around the block,” he cajoled and twisted the grip to increase the speed.
