Chapter 6 #2
“You’re right,” Sebastian said quietly. “Please tell him I said hello. And that I’m truly sorry about how everything went. He didn’t deserve any of that.”
I studied his face, seeing genuine remorse there. But remorse didn’t undo the damage, and it didn’t change the fact that Penny had been hurt by getting involved with people whose relationship dynamics were far more complex and volatile than my innocent friend had realized.
“I’ll tell him,” I said finally, meaning it but not softening my protective stance.
We said our goodbyes, and Jake and I began walking back toward the pickup point where Blake’s driver would collect us.
Confronting Sebastian about Penny aside, the afternoon had gone better than I’d expected—Victor and Sebastian’s passion for their work was surprisingly infectious, and the commission promised to be both challenging and rewarding.
“They seem like good people,” Jake said as we strolled down the tree-lined street. “I was expecting more…” He paused, searching for the right word.
“Pretentious?” I suggested.
“Yeah, maybe. But they actually know their stuff. And they clearly respect what you do.”
We walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Jake pointing out restaurants and chattering about their fare—particularly pastry offerings—he’d heard about.
It was the most animated I’d ever seen him.
The afternoon felt peaceful, normal even—exactly the kind of routine interaction that made me appreciate how well Jake was settling into things at Blake’s.
“I’m actually looking forward to seeing your sketches for this project,” Jake said. “The silver work sounds incredible.”
“It’ll be challenging, but that’s what makes it interesting,” I replied. “My grandfather’s techniques were—”
I stopped mid-sentence as Jake suddenly went rigid beside me, his entire body freezing in place. The color drained from his already pale face so quickly I thought he might faint.
“Jake?” I moved closer, my instincts immediately on high alert. His scent had shifted to something sharp and terrified that made my own distress response spike. “What’s wrong?”
Jake didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on something across the street, tracking a figure in a dark coat who was walking into what looked like a family-owned Italian restaurant—“Bella Vista” according to the modest sign above the door.
From this distance, I could only make out general details—rather tall height, dark curly hair, confident alpha stride—but whatever Jake was seeing had triggered a fear response so intense I could practically taste it in the air.
“Jake,” I said more urgently, placing a hand on his arm. “You’re scaring me. What is it?”
He blinked hard, as if trying to clear his vision, then shook his head slightly. I turned back to look at the front of the restaurant. The man had vanished, probably went inside to eat.
“S—Sorry,” Jake stammered. “I just… I thought I saw someone I knew.”
His voice was hollow, and his hands were trembling slightly where they emerged from his jacket pockets.
“Someone you knew?” I pressed gently. “From before?”
Jake’s jaw worked silently for a moment, his gaze still fixed on the restaurant entrance even though the figure had disappeared inside. “Someone I thought was dead,” he said finally, so quietly I almost missed it.
My stomach dropped. Jake’s “before” life had involved witnessing things that no one should have to see, specifically people who solved problems with violence. If he thought he’d seen someone from that world—someone who should be dead—
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I mean, from this distance—”
“I watched him die.” Jake’s voice was flat, emotionless in the way that suggested he was fighting to maintain control. “I saw the blood—all that blood...”
The words hung between us like a physical presence. Whatever Jake had witnessed, whoever he thought he’d just seen, this wasn’t paranoia or imagination. This was the kind of bone-deep certainty that came from traumatic memory.
“Okay,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and steady. “What do you want to do? Do you want to get out of here? Do you want to call Blake?”
Jake finally looked at me, and I saw something raw and vulnerable in his expression that he usually kept carefully hidden. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I’m losing my mind or if—”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. If someone Jake had seen die was alive and walking around Downtown Millcrest, it meant either his memories were unreliable or something much more sinister was happening.
“Come on,” I said, gently taking his arm. “Let’s go home. We can figure this out somewhere safe.”
Jake nodded, allowing me to guide him down the street toward our pickup point. But I could feel the tension radiating from him, the way his eyes kept darting back toward the Italian restaurant as if expecting someone to emerge and confirm his worst fears.
Back at Blake’s apartment, Jake went straight to his room without a word, closing the door quietly behind him.
I stood in the hallway for a moment, listening to the muffled sounds of him moving around—probably changing clothes, maybe lying down.
The terror I’d scented from him during the walk home had faded somewhat—it now hung around him like a thin mist rather than the suffocating fog from before.
Blake was busy at his laptop as I entered the living room. “How did the meeting go?” He asked, without looking up.
“The commission discussion went well,” I said, setting my message bag containing Victor’s portfolio on the coffee table. “Victor and Sebastian are genuinely passionate about the project. No red flags there.”
“But?” Blake prompted, closing his laptop.
I shook my head. “It was okay, really. How’s Mayor Fairfax settling into office?"
Blake's expression was wry but not bitter. "About as well as you'd expect. I can’t fault her—I was hardly present for the final stretch. Besides, she’s been helpful. Her first act as mayor was assisting Katherine in filing an emergency injunction.”
“What does that do?” I asked.
“Temporarily halts all demolition activity pending investigation of document fraud,” Blake said.
“The injunction is holding for now, but Vertex has pivoted to increasing their harassment tactics.
They can't demolish legally, so they're trying to force businesses to sell voluntarily through bureaucratic pressure and financial coercion. "
“But the shops are safe for now?” I asked, feeling hope unfurl in my chest.
“For now,” Blake replied. “It’s bought us time.”
Penny emerged from his room carrying a mug and an empty plate, his cotton candy scent tinged with curiosity. “Why does Jake look like he’s seen a ghost? He’s so pale—well, paler than usual.”
“He might have,” I muttered, then immediately wished I’d chosen different words. “Sorry, poor phrasing. But something happened after we left the boutique.”
As Penny brewed some tea, I described Jake’s reaction to seeing the figure enter the Italian restaurant—the way all color had drained from his face, his insistence that he’d seen someone he’d watched die. Blake’s expression grew increasingly serious as I spoke.
“He said he watched this person die?” Blake asked.
“Those were his exact words. ‘I saw the blood—all that blood.’” I sank into the armchair, exhaustion from Jake’s secondhand terror finally hitting me. “He was terrified, Blake. Not just startled or confused—genuinely afraid.”
Penny set down the spoon he’d been using to stir his tea with a gentle clink. “Didn’t he say he watched his old boss shoot someone?”
I nodded. “A mob hit, I guess.” I looked toward the hallway where Jake’s room was. “He’s been carrying that trauma for months, and now he thinks he’s seeing a dead man alive and walking around our neighborhood.”
“There are a few possibilities here,” Blake said carefully. “Either Jake’s memories are faulty—trauma can do that—or he’s mistaken about who he saw, or…”
“Or someone he thought was dead is actually alive,” I finished. “Which raises some very uncomfortable questions about what really happened that night.”
Blake was quiet for a long moment. “Do you think Jake knows much about the background of his boss or the man who was murdered? You know, other than what he’s told us so far? Family connections, business associates? Things of that nature?”
"I don’t know. He's never mentioned relatives or close associates, and from what I understand, their relationship was..." I paused, trying to find the right words.
"Professional but distant. Jake did the booking and pastry work, but he witnessed conversations and meetings he shouldn't have. He wasn't part of the inner circle, but I think he saw more than they probably realized.”
“Jake cooked the books?” Blake asked, genuinely surprised.
I shook my head. “He didn’t do that sort of cooking. He booked reservations for the restaurant and worked as an apprentice pastry chef.”
Blake nodded thoughtfully. “If this person—whoever they are—is connected to organized crime, then their presence in our district could be related to the investigation. We already know criminal networks were operating here through Holloway and Cretch. The timing of this sighting seems suspicious.”
“That’s what I was thinking too.” I glanced again toward Jake’s room. “What if the criminal connections we exposed last year were just the beginning? Maybe Holloway and Cretch were small fish in a much larger operation? We know Holloway had ties to Jake’s boss.”
"I wish Dominic was here," I said quietly. "Jake confided in him. Trusted him. That’s how we got the proof of Holloway’s corruption."
"I recall," Blake said. When I looked at him, his lips curled into a broad grin. “Ol’ Dom was acting as a double-agent for me, remember?”
He winked deliberately, his lips still curved in that knowing smile.
Just how much had Dominic told him about our relationship?
“Should I check on Jake?” I cleared my throat, feeling my cheeks heat. “He looked like he might be sick when we got back.”
“Give him a little time,” Penny suggested, suddenly appearing at my side with a cup of ginger tea and a plate of crackers.
I managed to hide my startled reaction, taking the cup from Penny as I mumbled a quiet "Thanks."
“Maybe in an hour or so,” Penny continued, “we could bring him some tea? He might be ready to talk by then.”
I nodded, though part of me wanted to go to Jake’s room immediately. My omega instincts were still on high alert from his distress, and leaving him alone to deal with whatever memories had been triggered felt wrong.
But Penny was right. Jake needed space to rest and collect himself before we pushed for details about what he’d witnessed—or thought he’d witnessed.