Known

~ ZEV ~

Nick was a fifth level black belt in Karate. Faster than lightning, he grabbed for Zev's arm and almost caught him.

Almost.

It was an eye-opening moment for Zev, who though he had been stronger than the thirty-something Nick since he was fifteen, had never been as fast. But they hadn't sparred in almost a year, and suddenly, Zev discovered, he was keeping up.

Nick's eyes narrowed as he tried to reach Zev with blows, thrusts, and kicks, yet never quite made it. Instead, the quiet room filled with the echo of thwacks and grunts as Nick tried to over power him, and Zev defended every blow so the older man never got a firm hold on him.

But all the while, in Zev's mind, the images of Sasha walking out of her front door and falling to a bullet, being slammed into the windshield of her car, or screaming under the hands of a monster, flipped through his head in slow motion. And as he kept his surrogate father's hands from reaching him, he knew it didn't matter whether he could win this fight or not.

Nick could kill her with one phone call. Had probably already made arrangements for her to die if Nick didn't check in within a certain period.

It was the kind of thing Zev had seen him do to others.

That was the day everything changed for Zev—or started to, anyway.

As he blinked away the memory, he realized he must have been describing the scene to Sasha. She was still turned in her seat, but one of her hands was on his upper arm, and her face was lined with sorrow and fear.

"Surely it was just a threat? He wouldn't really have—"

"I tried to tell myself that later," Zev said quietly, shaking his head. "But I was lying to myself to keep myself from losing my mind. Nick is my dad, Sash. I mean, as far as something like me can have one, he's what I've got. And he… he would have killed you in a heartbeat. He still will. Why do you think I've dragged you out here?"

*****

~ SASHA ~

Sasha yanked back the hand she'd on his arm—his steely, warm arm—and clapped it to her mouth, the pictures of those men chasing them, the bullet that splintered the railing in the old apartment stairwell, the guy who stopped them in the parking lot, that man—that thing—that attacked him when they got to the car.

She knew her eyes were too wide. That she was showing her fear—and she saw Zev's throat bob. But she couldn't move. She couldn't say anything.

They really would have killed her. She'd known they needed to escape, had instinctively felt the danger, but… but she'd been separate from it somehow while it was happening.

Now… now, that she could think and breathe and look at Zev's face… now it hit her.

She almost died. And Zev had saved her.

Of course, it sounded like he was the only reason they wanted her dead, too.

Zev kept his focus on the road ahead, the headlights making cones on the black road and catching the reflectors on the barrier between the north and southbound lanes. But his eyes slipped to her face every few seconds, checking in, just like he used to, measuring her to see if she was okay, ready to put himself between her and whatever might harm her.

That was it, right? He wanted to help her. He was watching her to see if he needed to reach out. Not… not because he was going to hurt her if she did the wrong thing?

"What's that, what are you thinking?" he asked suddenly, the frown lines beside his mouth deepening.

"I… what?"

"Your scent… something just changed. Something that made you fearful and… what? I can't figure it out. What were you thinking?"

Sasha blew out a breath and shook her head. "This is crazy. This is all crazy. You're scenting my feelings now?"

"I've always been able to scent your feelings, Sash, remember? Remember how you used to say I always knew just when to hug you, and when you leave you alone? It's because I could always tell what was happening—at least, some. I just didn't tell you that's how I did it."

The emotions that rose in her then were so wildly conflicting, she felt like she was being torn in half.

It seemed like everything he said took her memories, the best memories of her life, and changed the colors and textures of them.

He loved her. He'd said that—he still loved her. And he'd been forced away from her. If she'd heard that days earlier she would have wept with joy.

But this… every word out of his mouth told her that he wasn't who she'd thought he was. And how did she know if she loved him if he wasn't who she thought she loved?

"I'm so confused," she murmured, dropping her face into her hand and rubbing her eyes. "I don't know what to think about that."

"All you need to think is that I cared enough to pay attention, that's all."

Sasha groaned and dropped her head back against the seat.

She turned to tell him what a ridiculous statement that was just as lights in the opposing traffic played across his face and her heart fluttered.

His forehead was lined with worry, his eyes, deep set and glinting, shone with determination as he scanned the mirrors. His jaw, heavier than it was five years ago and shadowed this late in the day twitched as he clenched his teeth.

She scanned down the long cord of his neck that disappeared into his tight shirt, the way his shoulders and biceps rolled under the clinging fabric, and how the tendons on the back of his hands stood proud because he was gripping and regripping the steering wheel, the only gesture that truly betrayed his tension.

She'd given up. She'd gotten in a Jeep with this man that she didn't know anymore. But everything within her sang just to be in his presence. Yet, every word out of his mouth made her doubt that.

"You know me, Sash," he said and his voice was so much lower than it had been a few years ago. She shivered. "Don't doubt it."

"I know nothing," she said, shaking her head. "None of this. I didn't even know this part of my world existed… let alone you."

He turned then, jaw tight, and their eyes locked. "You know me," he repeated, emphasizing the last word. "The rest doesn't matter when that's true."