Chapter 37

“Tell me what you want me to do with him, Emma.” His voice is breathy, the serious tone terrifying,
hinting that he’ll literally do whatever I ask even if that means killing him. I catch the rage in his green
eyes, making them almost luminescent. This is not my Jake. This is a primal, carnal version of my Jake
and I want him to leave. I need my normal Jake back. I need his face, his voice, and his arms here with
me.

“Leave him here, leave him to rot in the street.” I whisper, burying my face against his neck and his
hand comes to cradle my head protectively. He rests his mouth against my temple and breathes out
slowly, some of the tension in his body releasing as he sags against me. Using me to calm down and
disperse all the anger and adrenaline coursing through his veins.

We stand silent for agonizingly long minutes as I watch Ray’s huddled body on the damp, dark ground.
He doesn’t stir at all and I begin to worry he has killed him.

“We should call the cops.” Jake utters flatly, finally. His breathing has calmed to normal with his arms
around me and it is all I can focus on.

“No … Let him go. My mother blames me for enough already … This will only send her over the edge.”
I stammer hopelessly; his fingers slide under my chin to bring my face to his, showing the confusion in
those green depths and I shake my head.

“Please don’t make me tell you … Not right now … One day, Jake, I promise.” He frowns, pushing his
forehead against mine firmly, as though he’s trying to reel in the frustration and anger, but still respect
my wishes. The fire blazing in his eyes, but he just exhales deeply. His jaw tense, which only adds to
that male aggression in his look.

I can’t help but think how breathtaking he looks in protective mode, fighter mode, scariness gone, and
just overwhelming masculinity left. He’s nothing like the men from my childhood who were aggressive



and cruel. They liked to inflict pain on me, but Jake isn’t that way. For all his strength and power, he’s
the gentlest person I’ve ever known when it comes to women. A real man in my eyes.

He hauls me away from the lifeless body on the ground then stops, thinking a moment, he swoops
down placing one hand on Ray’s throat to check his pulse, his other hand still on my waist. He pauses,
taking a count, sneers, then straightens up.

“He’ll live … Unfortunately,” he growls, then delivers a swift kick to the man’s ribs in passing, extruding
a muffled grunt. He pulls me off in the direction of the apartment, his arm tightly around my shoulders,
keeping me pressed against him. I can feel the ripple of adrenaline still coursing through him, but we
walk in silence.

“Thank you.” I smile up at him honestly. I know thanking him for physically beating someone up for me
is wrong in so many ways, but somehow teen Emma, broken and cowering at the hands of that evil
man raises her sweet innocent head and smiles. Jake says nothing, just leans down kissing me
tenderly on the forehead, lingering a moment before giving me a gentle squeeze. We walk as he pulls
me along until he stops to pick up my discarded shoes. Realizing I’m barefoot, he picks me up and
carries me the rest of the way. I don’t protest, just hold on and curl up within his hold and feel safe.

Jake my boss. My friend, my protector. The first person in my life who has ever risen to the challenge of
being one for me. No one else in my life deemed me worthy of fighting for.

* * *

In the apartment we sit drinking coffee, we don’t talk about what happened, instead, I tell him about
Sophie and that I want to help her. I can’t tell him why without explaining about my mother’s injuries. I
know that if I tell him Ray is the reason she’s in the hospital he will go back out and find him, drag him
to the police station or worse and I know it’s pointless. My mother will never point a finger at him. I



already know that she won’t even break up with him after what he’s done. She’ll be angry at me for
letting Jake beat him.

Such is the twisted logic of my mother.

“Isn’t that what your mother does?” he asks gently. I watch him carefully, realizing I’m still scanning his
face and hands for injuries obsessively. I’ve been doing it since we walked into the apartment and I still
can’t rest at seeing no evidence of any, aside some bruised knuckles. He’s indestructible, like a hero
should be.

“No … She runs a homeless charity; she helps adults find shelter and food. Children are not her forte.”

Obviously.

“Sophie has real abuse issues; she needs a place that will help her heal … not here.” Never here.

“I’ll call my mom … She has places she can put her while she deals with the legal side. Sophie will
need protecting, legally. So, her parents can’t just come and take her back. My mother has lawyers
who deal with all that.” He frowns at me softly, reaches out and entwines our fingers on the table with
one hand, giving reassurance. It feels so normal and necessary, sending warm rivers up my arm.

“Thank you, Jake, this really means a lot to me.” I look down staring at our hands, my small pale fingers
in his large, strong, tanned hand; chalk and cheese yet they fit perfectly. They look right together.

“Where is she right now?” He’s gazing at our hands too, yet his expression is blank.

“The hospital still. I stormed out … I should call her, she gave me her cell number.” The questions arise
in his face, the twitch of an eyebrow but he decides to leave it alone. Thankfully. I reach into my bag,
retrieve my cell, and text Sophie. I notice the email notification still in the top corner and think back to
the song.



“Why did you send me that song?” I ask in distraction.

He shifts back in his seat; his arm is at full stretch, so he doesn’t need to break the hold of my hand; he
looks thoughtful then shrugs.

“It came on in the club and it made me think of you … I just didn’t think you gave me any really good
reason not to follow you. You didn’t respond, so I figured you still didn’t have any good reason. Here I
am.” His expression gives nothing away, but his eyes darken slightly, his pupils expanding a tiny bit. His
gaze is steady on me as I study him, neither of us say anything.

The moment is broken by my cell buzzing across the wooden tabletop and I pick it up to check the text.

“Sophie is coming back, she got a bus … Jake, I want to go back to New York tonight.” I say it without
looking at him, sure the questions will come this time.

“Okay,” is all he says as he squeezes my hand a little. I’m confused, this is so non-Jake, but I don’t
push it. He’s being agreeable for once; no questioning, no pushing, just letting me be and I love him all
the more for it.

* * *

By the time Sophie walks in I’m cooking dinner for the three of us as Jake watches an action movie in
the sitting room. He’s lounging on the couch as if he’s always lived here, his shoes discarded on the
floor and I smile at his ability to just exist in any surrounding that he’s put in. He just adapts effortlessly
and never questions or criticizes. I’m sure he’s on the verge of sleep; I can tell by his relaxed posture. It
all seems very domesticated and normal, like this is how we always are.

When Sophie’s changed and returns from my old room, she casts me a timid look. I know she wants to
talk about what happened at the hospital, but I shake my head and nod towards Jake on the sofa. He’s



engrossed in his movie. She smiles softly, an understanding nod and lets me instead introduce them
properly.

They seem to get on immediately. He keeps casting looks from Sophie to me throughout the
introductions and I know what he’s thinking; he can see the resemblance. He’s wondering how deep it
goes. I’m apprehensive; I try and ignore it while Sophie seems awed at his presence at first but that
Carrero charm soon lulls her into relaxation and he has her joking and laughing with him before long. A
cute camaraderie developing easily between them. Eventually, she joins me in the kitchen to finish
preparing the food while he returns to lazing on the sofa.

I tell Sophie my plan to leave, but it’s met with compromise as she wants to stay until my mother is
healing and home, to be here to take care of her. She wants to make sure she can cope alone. I think
of Ray and shake my head. Sophie shouldn’t be here at all; my mother won’t throw him out or give him
up and it won’t be long before he’s back. Jocelyn Anderson would never give him up. Not for her, not
for me, not for anyone. I try and talk quietly, so Jake doesn’t hear the conversation.


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