Jess: I want to meet.
I’d been to her studio.
I’d seen every painting she made. Saw every new one the next time I walked through.
I’d been to her apartment. Walked through when she wasn’t there.
It was really fucking obvious she wanted nothing to do with me.
Shit hit the fan.
My uncle was calling, demanding to know what was happening. Who was talking to the FBI, to NYPD, to whoever else because it was a whole joint task force by the time the raid happened. And Ashton, the shit he pulled.
“You did what?” I must’ve heard Ashton wrong, what he did, what he did to Jess.
A wall slammed down over his face, and he raised his chin up. “You heard me. I did what I had to do. We had to know if it was her—”
“It wasn’t! I told you it wasn’t.”
“I had to know.” His jaw tightened.
His goddamn jaw. The jaw I was going to break. The jaw that he’d have to have surgery to put back in place. “You fucking did not do that to her.”
“I did, Trace. I’d do it again too. I had to know!”
“No! You didn’t believe me.”
“I did it FOR YOU!”
“Bullshit.”
“NO! No, Trace. No. We have to know. This life, we have to know. Anyone can turn on us, and you know it. Anyone. Even the women we love. They’re the ones who’ll do it first. I did it for you.” His eyes were blazing. He meant every word he said, but he took my woman.
I turned, facing him directly, and I reached up. My coat was taken off first.
Ashton’s eyes flickered now. He cursed, lowering his head, but he faced me too.
He took Jess. He had her tied to a chair.
Ashton was studying me. His eyes were lidded. He knew what was coming.
I no longer cared what was in his head, because he tortured the woman I loved.
“If anyone should’ve been the one to question her, it should’ve been me.”
He closed his eyes, his head low, and a savage curse slipped from him.
I raised an eyebrow. Yeah. He’d fucked up, and he was getting it now.
“My woman. My interrogation.”
“You wouldn’t—”
“Don’t tell me what I wouldn’t have done. There are always ways to do it without needing to make HER FEEL LIKE SHE’S DROWNING!”
I was done with words.
I knew exactly what he’d done, and he’d pay.
They’d all pay, but Jess was gone.
No calls. No texts. She was gone from the club.
Now she was gone from her apartment.
She came here, to her mother’s house, the mother who had spewed hate toward her. I didn’t know who the hell the woman I loved was surrounding herself with, but they were not her friends. They were not her allies.
Leo Aguila.
Patrick Rivera, a.k.a. Bear.
They lied. They said one thing to her face and did the opposite.
Then Kelly. She made sense. Justin made sense, but they were both caught while the fight hadn’t paused between the Worthing family and mine. It escalated because Jess wasn’t the mole. Someone else was. I just needed to find out who.
But Jess. She was almost a sick obsession by now, and here I was, walking through her mother’s basement because this was where she had moved her canvases. The studio she was using was being torn down. I saw the notice to the tenant myself.
I stopped at the latest canvas, seeing that this was a new one. She hadn’t painted this two days ago.
I crouched down, studying it.
It’d been me. Then storm landscapes. Now she was painting herself. This latest one was her as a child. She was in the corner, arms wrapped around her legs. The shadows were large, threatening, looming over her. Two male shadows were outside the window. The door was open an inch, the light shining in, and there, right where the doorknob should’ve been, was a hand instead.
Who was that? What were they going to do? Comfort her? Terrorize her?
Harm her?
I had an irrational need to know what happened on that night, find out who put her cowering in the corner, and tear them apart.
I’d been having that feeling a lot lately.
Click, squeak.
The sound of a gun cocking and a step protesting under someone’s weight told me the jig was up.
Jess’s voice trailed down from the stairs. “Do not move. I’ve called the co—oh.” She came down three steps, squatting enough to see me. “Wha—you’re in my basement?!”
I cocked an eyebrow. “You texted earlier. Said you wanted to meet.”
“Not in my own house.”
“Your mother’s.”
She came down the last few steps, putting her gun away. “Are you kidding me?”
“No.” Fine. She wanted to fight. So did I!
I needed it because this last month was bullshit.
I got in her face. “Where were you?”
“Wha—” She faltered, stepping back. “I’m having the locks changed. And what are you talking about?”
“The raid. Where were you?”
“Did Ashton not tell you?”
“I know what he did, and believe me, I am not happy about that, either, but during the raid, where were you?”
“I was tipped off.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you asking?”
Christ. I wanted to fuck her.
I wanted to grab her, turn her around, press her against the post, and sink my dick inside of her until I didn’t come out until next week. Instead, I lowered my head so I was three inches from her, and I asked it again. “Where the fuck were you?”
“I couldn’t tip you off. I am in law enforcement.”
“Where were you?!” I was roaring.
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t care. She stood taller.
She raised her voice. “I was at Easter Lanes!”
“Why?!”
“Because I was hiding. Okay?! Is that what you wanted to hear? I was hiding because I wanted to make sure you knew I wasn’t choosing them, but I also wasn’t choosing you. I’m in law enforcement. It’s my moral code. That’s who I am at my core. I can’t not be me.”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“Bullshit. It’s not ingrained in your moral fiber of being. If it was, there’d be no you and me. You would’ve tried arresting me once you found out who I was. You never considered that.”
“I did.”
“Being a parole officer is what helps you make sense of the world. I get it. I do. Your dad was a criminal. Your mom was an abusive drunk. Your brother was an addict and is in prison. You went against the grain because you had to. It gave you some semblance of control, but don’t tell me you’re someone you’re not. I know you. I’ve been inside of you.”
She drew in a ragged breath, but she was hearing me. She was looking away, but she was listening.
“And before you get almighty with me, let me remind you that I don’t care. You could be a federal judge, and I would try to move heaven and hell so I could be at your side, but you know where you were that night? Not at my side.”
She flinched, grimacing. “Trace.” She began to reach out for me.
I stepped back. “I don’t care that you didn’t tip me off. You know I’m smarter than that, but what I do care is that you hid when someone was doing a whole lot to pull the ground out from underneath me. You weren’t there to either help, support, or to be the one slapping the cuffs on me. I don’t care what role it is. I just want you. I love you. That has not changed for me. I’m goddamn obsessed with you.”
“Stop!” She was crying. Tears were falling down her face. She didn’t move to wipe them away. Her hand started shaking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that’s how you felt. Next time—”
I bit out a laugh, and it sounded ugly even to my ears. “Next time. There’s not going to be a next time because I’m going to find who’s leaking my information to the police, and I’m going to extinguish them. That’s what I’m going to do whether you’re by my side or not.”
Her eyes closed a brief second, and when they opened, I saw how stricken she was. Haunted.
Fuck.
Something in me snapped.
I reached for her, almost blind about it because my god, she was mine, and she wasn’t in my arms, and this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I touched her arm and waited. Would she push me away? She gasped, her hand finding mine, and we held still for one second. One moment. Her eyes were on me, mine on her, and I saw the burning desperation in her right before she launched herself at me.
Her mouth on mine.
God. I could breathe her in again.
I could feel her again. Taste her.
We were fast, rough. Frenzied.
Hands on each other. Touching everywhere. Mouths. Tongues. I ripped her pants down at the same time she was undoing mine, then reaching inside for me. She found me and wrapped her hand around my dick. I stilled, because that felt so good. So right. She began stroking me.
I groaned, resting my head to her shoulder as she kept going.
Her other hand clapped the back of my head, holding me in place. Her legs lifted up, going around my waist. I caught her, moving, putting her on something, anything. I had no idea what. A table? It held our weight, so I didn’t care.
“Baby,” I rasped, lifting my head and looking into her.
Her eyes were blind, glazed over. She was beyond talking.
I reached for her, sliding a finger in, and she moaned, her head falling back.
A second finger.
I loved how tight she was, and I worked her. In and out.
She paused, savoring what I was doing to her, but I needed inside of her. It’d been too long.
I moved, pulling her pants the rest of the way off, shoving mine down, and I lined up. I held still for one second, looked at her. She was watching me, biting her lip, and her eyes were dark, melting. The slightest of nods from her, and I slid inside.
Pushing.
I paused once I was deep, and we both started trembling.
I had to move. Had to.
Thrusting in, I began moving. She rolled her hips with me.
This was a moment in time that was a dichotomy. Slow and loving, but also frantic and rough. I kept moving in her, and she was clenching around me, her legs tightening their hold on my waist. As soon as I felt her body begin shaking, her own release, I let out a growl and began slamming into her.
She clutched at my shoulders, but she was pulling me to her. Her legs holding firm, and once her release had moved through her, she began meeting me, helping me.
God.
Please.
Damn.
I growled as my release pounded through me, and I held her, riding out the rest of the waves. I could still feel hers, too; her body was doing this little jerking movement. She lay fully out on the table, and I rose up when I could, looking down at her.
I couldn’t speak, but I touched the side of her mouth, where she’d been biting down.
Her chest rose, and she closed her eyes at the touch. A new tenderness came through me, one that was new to me even with Jess. Pulling out of her, I turned and saw her painting. It was propped in the corner, just in line of eyesight.
A little girl was in the corner. “What happened there? That night?”
A door was opening, showing the light shining on her. In the corner of the painting, an arm was opening that door.
The floor just rolled out from under my feet. I couldn’t look away from that painting.
“What?” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“That’s you. I know that’s a memory. I know that night occurred. What happened after whoever that is came into your room?”
“I—” She choked off again. “I don’t remember.”
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been painting in the last month, and I’m starting to have these memories come back to me. This one, I don’t know what happens, but I know there were two bad men outside my house. And I remember that something happened that night, something bad.”
The desire to murder whoever that was in her painting was fresh, rising up in me. It was swirling with all the other shit inside of me. Some of that was anger at her, but anger at myself too. “You’ve shut me out.” I dropped my voice.
“I was trying to do the right thing. Ashton—”
“I do not give one fuck what Ashton said to you. He’s my best friend. I’ll always love him, but right now I could twist his head off of his neck. He took you away from me.”
She jerked, her head flaring back.
It was that look again. The haunted look.
I’d put it there, but it wasn’t just me.
“Trust me, I am not okay with what he did.”
Her eyebrows moved together. A faint frown pulled at her mouth. “What’d you do?”
“I put him in the hospital.”
“What?”
“He’s out by now, but he was in there for a few days. We had words, and the words weren’t enough, so we went up a notch. He’s quite aware that if he ever fucks with my relationship again, there’ll be permanent damages.”
“Jesus, Trace. A punch would’ve sufficed.”
“No.” The same rage from that day came back, and it was the lethal kind. “It wouldn’t have. I’m sorry for what he did.”
The haunted look was there, but it shifted a little, looking more hollow. She ran a hand over her face. “That’s why I wanted to meet. Or kinda why I wanted to meet. Kelly called today. She said something happened. Justin is terrified of his family. She couldn’t get into it with me over the phone, but she said it’s not safe to meet. She was adamant that they’ve not done anything against you, and I believe her. I’d know. Kelly’s a lot of things, but she’s not a liar. She’s a horrible liar. She hiccups when she’s trying to cover something up.”
Hiccuping when you lie. That’s a tell that’s funny at times. Another day and I would’ve grinned at that. Not today.
I was beyond exhausted today.
“What do you need from me?” At her look, I clarified. “You didn’t call to get back together. Your best friend called. You need something from me?”
“Kelly asked if I knew someone who could help her and Justin hide? Leave town and basically disappear. She asked me, but the only person I know who could do that is . . .” Her hand spread out, indicating me. “If they need to disappear, I can only guess that something bad happened with his family. She wouldn’t call me if they needed to hide from you. They’d just go, probably to Mexico. You mentioned the 411 Network. Do you know someone that could help Kelly and Justin?”
“They don’t typically hide people from this situation. It’s where the person is getting abused.” She started to open her mouth. “But I’ll reach out. I have a different reputation from my uncle. They’ve worked with me already.”
She expelled some air she’d been holding back. “Thank you. I mean that.”
And the reason for the meeting had been unearthed.
The next part was me leaving.
“It’s creepy that you’re in my basement.”
I smiled now because she’d just opened up a whole other conversation. Which gave me time. I could stay a little longer.
“I don’t care.”
She was looking around, frowning. “I just put these down here. How’d you know . . . ?” She gasped, whirling back on me. “You do have a guy watching me, don’t you? I thought I was going crazy, but you do. Don’t you?”
“I’ve always had someone watching you.”
“Trace,” she started.
“It’s what we do in my world. I worry about you. I want to protect you. Don’t ask me to pull him from you. Not again. Not after what Ashton did to you. I can’t do it. I won’t do it. I’ll never stop worrying about you. It’s what you do when you love someone.”
“Trace,” she whispered.
She drew in a breath, but the emotions were there. Wetness was shimmering just on her eyes, slipping, pooling on her lower eyelids. She closed her eyes, and some of the tears were pushed out. They tracked down her cheeks. “I hate crying. Hate it.”
I reached for her, praying she wouldn’t step back.
I needed to touch her.
My hand grazed her face, and she sucked in her breath, but she didn’t push me away. She stepped toward me, opening those eyes, and I saw the pain. I saw the plea, too, and that was all I needed.
I moved in as she was reaching for me.
I needed her, but she needed me just as much.
We were both addicted.
