by Aly Martinez
Johnson pushed off me and straightened his tight, black T-shirt. “Suit up, gentlemen. Lark’s got a wild hair to play Casanova today.”
I rolled my eyes. Going after Mira had nothing to do with romance.
But, then again, I wasn’t sure what it did have to do with.
And, given the speed of my pulse and the heavy weight in my stomach, I was afraid to find out.
I awoke to the slam of the screen door. My eyes were swollen and thick with exhaustion. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep—or when I’d drifted off. Last thing I’d remembered was staring up at the ceiling as tears trailed into my ears, hosting a pity party for one, and trying to figure out how my life had gone so wrong.
After swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I patted the empty spot where Bitsy would so often sit, staring up at me with her cute little bug eyes while I got ready. Bile clawed up the back of my throat, and guilt slashed through me. And then there was Whitney. I allowed myself a second to imagine her sitting at the rickety table in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal, a textbook laid out in front of her.
I smiled at the thought and it forced a fresh tear to slide down my cheek.
I’d failed them both.
With shaking hands, I covered my mouth as if I could physically hold in the sob that so violently ricocheted inside me. Breaking down again wouldn’t solve anything. Then again, I had no clue what would.
Suddenly, the blast of a gunshot tore through the room. I wasn’t exactly an expert on firearms, but there was no mistaking the sound. It was so loud that I instinctively covered my ears and ducked my head. A myriad of men’s voices erupted in the other room. I prayed that it was the police and not more of Jonah’s guys.
Much to my disappointment, when the door to my room flew open, there were no uniformed officers on the other side. That would have been too easy. Instead, a monster of a man came storming inside. A thick, black beard covered his face, and his eyes were so dark I could see the malevolence swirling within them.
Christ, I’d have taken Jonah, Tony, and every other man they could brainwash into their army of idiots over this guy.
Scrambling across the bed to get as far away from him as I could, I threw my hands out in front of me. “It’s in the closet. The money… I…”
But he didn’t slow. His every step was heavy with purpose, and each one carried him closer…to me?
Fear consumed me as my back hit the wall. “No!” I screamed.
“Relax,” he grumbled, planting a knee to the bed and extending two long, tattooed arms toward me.
Yeah. Like that was going to happen.
I turned my head, squeezing my eyes shut, frantically trying to disappear as I chanted a dozen variations of, “Please, don’t.”
I waited for him to grab me. To drag me away like Jonah had done to Whitney. Or worse…
But, as I sat there, cowering in the corner, my knees tucked to my chest, my trembling hands lifted in surrender, God finally granted me a miracle.
“Get away from her,” was ordered from somewhere in the distance, but I didn’t dare open my eyes to see who it was.
My confusion intensified when the bed shifted and I felt the bearded man’s presence move away.
And then I swear the entire world tipped on its axis.
“Mira,” he rasped.
That single solitary word shook the Earth, or maybe that was just the sob that tore from my throat. I could have lived a million years and there never would have been another sound that beautiful. Tears hit the backs of my lids as hope soared inside me.
It had been seventeen years since I’d heard him say my name, yet I’d played it in my head so many times that it still seemed familiar. Every consonant and vowel fluttered across my skin like the softest feather. And, as my lids flew open, I found him standing in my doorway, his hazel eyes boring into me with the weight of the world, I knew I’d never see something so beautiful again, either.
He was leaning on the doorjamb, one arm across his chest, holding the opposite shoulder, his face more gorgeous than even in my dreams. And I wasn’t too proud to admit I’d dreamed about him a lot.
“Jeremy,” I breathed.
It was the wrong thing to say. Because the gorgeous man standing in front of me disappeared. His whole body jerked as if I’d slapped him, and his jaw turned to stone.
But I couldn’t stop staring.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” I stammered.
“I have no fucking idea,” he replied.
I’d never told him where I was. He’d had to have looked me up… Oh. My. God.
My hopes spiked to an all-time high, butterflies swarming in my stomach. Until I remembered the promise I’d made to him of seven hundred thousand dollars.
Money. Always fucking money.
The promise of it.
The pursuit of it.
The use of it.
Money had ruined my entire life. Why would this be any different?
My throat got tight as disappointment ravaged me. “The cash is in the closet.”
His jaw ticked as he cut his gaze to the closet door.
When he didn’t move, I decided maybe he wanted the information on how to find Whitney. And, while I didn’t trust my voice, I needed him to leave sooner rather than later so I could have an emotional meltdown in private. “Her name is Whitney Sloan, and the man who took her is Jonah Sheehan. He used to be Kurt’s—”
“Get her out of here,” he barked.
My body jolted. “I’m sorry. What?”
He ignored me. “Take her to the office.”
I’d been in such a trance that I belatedly noticed that the brute who had originally stormed in was still looming terrifyingly close. He seemed to be with Jeremy, so I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Did you get shot in the head, dumbass?” Scary Guy rumbled.
Jeremy’s face got tight. “I said—”
“Yeah, I fucking heard you. But that shit is not going to happen. You need to get to a hospital, and you show up with a GSW, questions are going to be asked. Questions that you do not have answers to without throwing your woman under the bus.”
“She’s not my fucking woman,” Jeremy shot back so fast that it was insulting.
However, I was still focused on the rest of his statement. Maybe it was shock. Or maybe I couldn’t keep up with the broken-sentence man-code, but they weren’t making sense.
“GSW?” I asked.
They both ignored me.
Scary Guy planted his hands on his hips. “Oh, really? That man’s face in the other room says otherwise.”
Oh, damn. Tony.
I leaned to the side and peered around Jeremy. Tony was lying facedown on the floor. His hands had been zip-tied behind his back, his legs turned up and connected to his wrists. Two huge men were standing around him, their thick arms crossed as they casually talked to each other, utterly unfazed.
As I righted myself on the bed, I allowed my gaze to sweep over Jeremy. Jesus, I really wished I’d changed into something other than jeans and an oversized long-sleeve T-shirt. I was seriously underdressed.
He was every bit as handsome as he had been in those Facebook pictures I’d tortured myself with over the years. Navy slacks and a pale-blue button-down stretched over his tall, muscular frame made him look like he should have been on his way to a boardroom rather than standing in my bedroom. His dark-auburn hair was clipped shorter on the sides than it was on the top, styled away from his face, not a gray in sight. Okay…so maybe he was even more beautiful than he had been in those pictures, mainly because he was there in the flesh rather than an image on the screen of my phone.
“That asshole is lucky he’s breathing,” Jeremy declared.
It made me a terrible person, but the idea of Jeremy exacting any kind of revenge in my honor did some seriously warm things inside me. My lips twitched, and I felt my cheeks heat.
And that’s when I saw it. Dark red pooled on his shirt at his left shoulder.
“Oh my God! You’re hurt.” I exploded off the bed and raced toward him.
He quickly sidestepped me. “Don’t fucking touch me!”
I froze, his scathing rejection blistering my heart. “I…I wasn’t going to. It’s just…” I flicked my gaze to Scary Guy, who was ten times scarier than before as he scowled at Jeremy. “You’re…bleeding a lot.”
“It just grazed me. I’ll be fine,” Jeremy mumbled.
Scary Guy laughed. “Well, would you look at that. He’s a fucking doctor now too.”
Jeremy’s lips thinned as if he were barely keeping his patience in check. “Get her out of here. I’ll deal with the rest of this shit.”
“Perfect. We’ll just leave you to it, then.” Scary Guy casually walked over to him and slapped his shoulder. It would have been a friendly gesture if, ya know, he hadn’t been shot.
“Motherfucker!” Jeremy boomed before folding over in pain.
“Hey!” I wedged myself between them and planted a hand in Scary Guy’s chest. So, one could say, putting my hands on him wasn’t my smartest move, but I was already committed, so I gave him a shove that didn’t move him at all. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I accused. “He’s hurt.”
I swear to God it was like I was invisible with these two.
Scary Guy leaned over me and whispered to Jeremy, “Your ass is not the only one on the line here. Shut the fuck up. And let’s make some magic happen. Yeah?”
If looks could kill, he would have been in an unrecognizable heap of flesh and muscle for the glare Jeremy aimed at him.
But their standoff didn’t last long. Scary Guy suddenly lowered his menacing gaze on me.
I startled and stumbled back a step into Jeremy’s rock-hard chest. He jumped away from me as if I were a leper. I pretended that it didn’t hurt. But, truth be told, it killed.
“Mira, babe. Call nine-one-one,” Scary Guy said in a tone so soft and so gentle that I had no idea how a man who looked like he did was capable of producing it.
“I can’t. Not until we get Whitney. Jonah said he’d kill her.”
“If we don’t report this and gunshots get called in by your neighbors, we’re all going to be fucked, and that includes your friend.” He patted my arm seriously gently and seriously sweetly. “Call the cops. Tell them the truth about everything that happened this morning. Maybe leave out the part where you got the fantastically ridiculous idea to offer Lark seven hundred thousand dollars instead of calling them in the first place.” His face got warm. “I promise you your friend is a hell of a lot better off with the CPD out looking for her than a team of bodyguards. Kidnapping and ransom is not our specialty, babe. Call the cops. Tell them Guardian Protection took on your case a couple months ago, after you heard your ex was going to try to drag you into his crap. We showed up today since you didn’t check in last night, apprehended the intruder, but not before Lark got shot.”
“I didn’t get shot! It’s a scratch,” Jeremy defended.
Scary Guy rolled his eyes, and if my life hadn’t been in the middle of falling apart, I would have laughed.
“Make the call,” he ordered.
“But I’ve never paid Guardian. What if they look into my bank records?”
“You don’t have to pay when your man is part of the team.” He grinned, clearly proud of himself.
Jeremy clearly felt otherwise. “No fucking way! We’re old friends. Nothing more. I took it on as a favor.”
Well, at least he thought we were friends. I could live with that.
I smiled with gratitude, hope once again singing in my veins.
That is, until, he gave me a quick head-to-toe and said, “If I’m going to lie, at least make it something believable.”
Woooooow!
I mean…he’d come for me. And I was pretty damn desperate for help, but insults? Seriously?
I couldn’t even pretend that it didn’t hurt.
Nor could I pretend that it didn’t piss me the hell off.
I spun to face him, all hope flatlining. “Was that really necessary?”
He loomed closer and glowered down at me. “Is it necessary that I’m here at all?”
I pushed up onto my toes and got in his face. “No, it’s not! If you recall, I never asked you to come here. And I sure as hell didn’t ask you to come in on what is quite possibly the worst day of my entire life, slinging insults. I asked you to save my friend, who I would like to point out is still out there, alone, and probably terrified.” I drew in a deep breath and attempted to calm down but quickly decided that it wasn’t happening. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful—”
“Well, you fucking do!” he snarled, ominously stepping forward, forcing me to back away. “I’m standing here, bleeding, after driving half an hour to save your ass after not seeing or hearing from you for the better part of two decades. You’ll have to excuse—”
“Not excused!” I screamed, my face vibrating with anger. Sure, he’d only made one rude comment. And he had technically taken a bullet for me, so he probably deserved a free pass. But, for fuck’s sake, a woman could only take so much. “You think I wanted to call you?” This time, I took the step forward and he was forced to back away. (Leprosy had its perks.) “I would have rather swallowed a rusty sword while walking back to Alabama in shoes made of broken glass—”
He stepped forward. I backed away.
“It’s not too late, Mir.”
I stepped forward. He backed away.
“Clearly, I made a mistake.”
He stepped forward. I backed away.
“Ya think? What part of this clusterfuck gave it away?”
I stepped forward. He backed away.
“You’re an asshole!”
“Says the bitch screaming in my face.” He stepped forward.
I did not back away.
I blinked. A lot. Predominantly because tears were welling in my eyes and I was desperately trying to keep them hidden. But also because I couldn’t believe that this was the same Jeremy Lark I’d known all those years ago.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
For the briefest of seconds, his face flashed soft, but he quickly covered it and dealt his final blow. “No one to you.”
Turning, he walked away without another glance.
I was stunned, aching from head to toe, inside and out, heart and soul.
“Mira,” Scary Guy murmured, stepping in front of me and giving my arm a reassuring squeeze.
“Well, that was pleasant,” I smarted, craning my head back to give him my gaze.
He smiled and, holy shit, it was anything but scary. It was actually quite…beautiful.
“Oh, wow,” I breathed.
His knowing smile grew, lighting his dark eyes and brightening his whole demeanor. “Mira. Nine-one-one.”
“Right,” I replied, but I didn’t move.
He chuckled and shook his head. “Now, babe.”
My feet didn’t want to move, and not because Scary Guy was suddenly Sexy Guy, but rather because it meant I’d finally have to snap myself out of my Jeremy Lark–induced fog and deal with my problems.
With a hollow sensation in my chest and a vortex of regret spiraling inside me, I pulled up my big-girl panties, picked my phone up, and made the call.
After that, everything became a blur.
Sexy Guy, who informed me that his name was Aidan Johnson, stayed close as I made the call. He even took the phone from my hand when I dissolved into a puddle of tears while recounting the part when Jonah had taken Whitney. He’d finished talking to the dispatcher with his arm hooked around my neck, my face buried in his chest. It was a sweet sentiment, but I was beyond the point where comfort from a stranger would do me any good.
And, minutes later, as I watched Jeremy Lark being loaded into an ambulance, something he was not happy about, an injury I had caused him in his shoulder, his furious gaze locked on mine, I knew with an absolute certainty that I was past the point where comfort
from anyone could do me any good.
I’d walked out of the hospital with a glorified Band-Aid, a script for antibiotics, and headful of fucked-up information about my ex-best friend. Leo’s brother-in-law, Caleb Jones, a detective at the Chicago PD had met me at the hospital. It seemed Kurt Benton didn’t just get around when it came to women. From the way Caleb had made it sound, Kurt had his finger in shit all over the map. By all accounts, it seemed Mira was innocent, and it enraged me to think of Kurt dragging her into that. However, I wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear she’d still been married to him the day he’d gotten locked away. Mira had never been strong enough to leave him. And knowing that that hadn’t changed pissed me off more than anything else.
Fucking Mira.
When we’d arrived at her house that morning, the truck had barely come to a stop before I was out the door. With every step closer, my heart had thundered louder. It’d had little to do with the fact that she’d told me there was an armed man inside and everything to do with the hum in my veins from knowing she was so fucking close.
I hated that I’d felt that way.
I loathed that my heart still felt a connection with her.
And I despised that my mind hadn’t been strong enough to sever that connection years earlier.
One fucking phone call and I was a dumbass, out of control, twenty-something all over again.
I should have waited for the rest of the guys. I should have been more cautious. I sure as hell should not have nearly torn that fucking screen door off the hinges as I’d tried to get inside.
Lucky bastard had gotten one shot off before I’d reached him. After that, I’d had to be dragged off him. The pain in my shoulder was sharp, but the hardest hit came from the realization that it could have been her body had she not called me.
Or, worse, had I been too much of a prick not to have gone after her.
And, when I saw her cowering on that bed, scared out of her wits, I didn’t give a single fuck that she was dodging Johnson’s hands and he was trying to help. I wanted to murder him all the same.
That feeling did not die when I saw him hugging her with a familiarity he had no right to have. Johnson was a stubborn bastard who needed a lesson in personal space. Back in the day, I’d laughed when Jude had gotten possessive with Johnson over Rhion in the beginning of their relationship. It’d made no sense. The guy dated men for the most part. But I was well aware he had more than once taken a woman to his bed, and it was that knowledge that had felt like nails on a chalkboard inside my skull when Mira was staring up at him all breathy and dreamy-eyed like she’d seen Adonis himself.