35. Jasper
35
JASPER
I wake up with a start, my hand wrapped around her ankle, as if grounding myself even in sleep. If this were the Regency era, this kind of touch would be cause for marriage. The thought makes me chuckle softly as I gently sweep my thumb over her ankle bone.
Coraline stirs but doesn’t wake, lips slightly parted, lashes dark smudges against her cheeks, and face relaxed in the early morning light. The sight of her here, in my house, with my cat wedged between her thigh and the couch cushion, feels like a stolen moment. A secret for me alone.
I allow myself a moment to look at her. To memorize the slope of her nose and the curve of her lips and the shape of her brows. She looks different like this, vulnerable and unguarded. It feels like a privilege to witness it, and I’m positive she’d be pissed if she knew.
I wonder what secrets her dreams hold and what demons haunt her in slumber. Is she dreaming about what happened last night? My imagination filled in the details she didn’t supply, and all I can hope is that it’s not as horrible as what my mind conjured up.
Which reminds me, I still have to watch the footage.
I slip off the couch and head to the kitchen. Pudding opens one eye, his yellow gemstone iris assessing me. He stretches his front legs, kneading his little paws against her thigh.
As quietly as I can, I head to the kitchen and pull out everything I need to caffeinate us. One of the pantry cabinets by the stove has a pullout drawer, equipped with electrical. My espresso machine, frothers, and a few other things I like to use. When I crash at the clubhouse, it’s easy to swing by the Coffee Shop to grab something, but it’s just far enough away from my house to make it mildly inconvenient.
And right next to my coffee arsenal is my brand-new matcha machine. Sleek matte white and shaped kind of like a little rectangle. An impulsive purchase on the off chance I’d find myself with a house guest who prefers the green stuff. Or maybe it was a manifesting purchase.
Pudding’s soft head butts up against my ankles, his polite way of saying good morning, please feed me now . I bend down and scoop him up with one hand, cuddling him against my chest. He purrs, his little motor already revved up from his night snuggling my girl.
“I bet you liked that, hm? Getting all cozy with my girl,” I tease him in a hushed voice. He blinks up at me, his wide eyes reminding me of one of those Disney cartoon cats. I swear he knows what he’s doing, giving me his version of kitty eyes.
He rubs the side of his face against the palm of my hand, a quiet impatient demand. “Alright, alright,” I mutter, scratching around his ears to give him the attention he so rightly deserves.
“I know we usually have our coffee together on the couch, but it’s a little occupied right now, bud,” I murmur quietly. I glance over my shoulder to make sure she’s still sleeping.
But fuck me though, because how the hell does someone look so perfect while they’re sleeping? No drool or weird noises. Not even a single wayward kick to the face, given our positions on the couch could’ve been a real fucking terrible way to wake up.
Nah, not Coraline Carter. She had to go and continue being fucking perfect for me. I mean, I’d still take her if she snored even a little, just saying.
I grab Pudding’s fancy cat food and give him breakfast, setting him down on the floor next to the water and food bowls I made for him at the pottery studio in Rosewood. They’re a little wonky, not quite even, but I think he likes them. I even painted a pretty detailed rainbow trout on one bowl, since it’s my boy’s favorite.
I wash my hands and get to work on making both of us something to drink. I pull a few shots of espresso and froth a little chocolate milk for me, both machines humming as they work. And while that’s going, I pull up a video tutorial on how to best use the matcha machine. It seems pretty self-explanatory, so I follow the directions, and in just a few seconds, the machine purrs as bright green matcha pours out.
I let myself get lost in the routine. Yesterday’s tension lingers in the air like the scent of fried food. I can feel it in my hair and on my skin, like some kind of film I need to wash off.
Once her matcha is ready, I add the frothed milk and some vanilla syrup and dump it over ice. She’s still asleep, so I leave it on the coffee table in front of her, a silent good morning. Then I grab my own drink and step out onto the porch.
The early morning air feels good in my lungs, and I pull another deep breath. Goddamn do I love it here. I settle into one of the cushioned lounge chairs and take a sip of my coffee. Though, it’s more espresso shots than latte, but that’s because I need the fucking pick-me-up this morning.
And I think I’m going to need the straight shots to fortify me for what I’m about to watch.
With a deep breath, I pull out my phone and open Coraline’s security app. After I left her in my room last night, my foot barely hit the first floor before I was pulling up the app. But because yesterday was an unexpected shitshow, the app was down for routine server maintenance until four o’clock in the morning. Instead of analyzing the footage, I spent an hour researching new security companies and their app and server providers to make sure nothing like this ever happens again.
I pull up the feed from last night, fast forwarding until I see the familiar dark head of hair walking up to her front door. My breath freezes in my lungs when the two figures emerge out of the camera’s sight. It stays trapped by an invisible force as I watch them crowd her against her door.
I see it then. The moment she straightens up a little bit, her lips moving as she says something to them. The video continues to play, and I watch, my muscles coiling tighter with each passing second. Four minutes. They talk for four fucking minutes before he makes his fatal mistake.
Red descends my vision and rage boils in my veins like a vicious storm.
I watch, my grip tightening on my phone as the scene unfolds like something out of a nightmare.
Birds sing their morning song, the morning sun warms the porch, and the breeze rustles the trees around me. It’s an idyllic morning, one of those things you see in a montage of a movie. I should be enjoying it.
Instead, I’m casually plotting dismemberment. I’ve never really been a fan of it myself, finding it too gruesome for my tastes. But I’ve witnessed parts of the process before, during those exceptionally dark days when the Reapers were at war with rival MCs.
But now? Now I fucking get the appeal.
Because that asshole with the hoodie touched something that didn’t belong to him. So now he has to lose his hands. It’s really as simple as that. An efficient message. How else will he learn to keep his hands to himself?
I text Hawke, switching to our vanish mode messaging app.
Me: Find Falcone and his two henchmen.
Hawke: What, no good morning text?
Me: Good morning. Find Falcone and his two henchmen.
Hawke: You good, man?
Me: I’m fine. I’m not coming in today though.
My phone vibrates in the next second, and I already know it’s Hawke before I see his profile picture on my screen.
“What’s up?” I answer.
“My question exactly. What’s up with you, man? Asking for location and missing work? Something I need to know?” Hawke asks, his tone uncharacteristically serious.
I exhale. “Our new friends paid my girl a visit last night.”
“Fuck. Is she okay?”
I look behind me, a direct view into my living room and the woman in question sprawled across my couch. “She’ll be alright.”
“Shit. Okay. What do you want me to do when I find ’em?”
“Wait for me. We gotta be smart about this.”
“I’ll rope Rocks in on it. Kid’s a fuckin’ natural at this shit. Too bad he wasn’t around when we went through the trenches with the Savages way back, yeah?” Hawke muses.
Bringing up one of the bloodiest times in Rosewood Reaper MC history raises my blood pressure, which is not the goal right now. Not when I have big plans to woo my woman into staying with me, here where it’s safe. I’m having a hard enough time getting the images from outside her bakery out of my mind as it is.
“Just let me know when you find them. And Hawke? Thanks, man.” I clear my throat, the gratitude thick on my tongue.
“Anytime, bro. Later.”
He hangs up, and I pocket my phone. The sound of the door opening pulls me from my doom spiral. I turn to see Coraline standing there, wearing only my tee, her hair tousled and a smile playing on her lips.
She’s a vision, all soft curves and warm light, like a goddess who’s decided to bless me with her presence. She takes a sip from the straw, eyes sparkling as she leans her shoulder against the doorframe.
Her eyes look bright this morning, stark blue against the darkening bruise underneath her eye. I grit my teeth at the sight, my rage reignited too quickly. That prowling beast inside of me is all too quick to rush to the surface.
“The weirdest thing happened. I opened my eyes, and poof, an iced matcha latte appeared. You don’t happen to have a house elf you neglected to mention last night?”
“A wizard reference this early? You must’ve slept well last night,” I muse. I hold out my hand, curling my fingers toward me in a soft beckon.
She pushes off the doorframe and saunters toward me, the little smirk never leaving her lips. “Actually, I did. Thank you for letting me crash here. I appreciate it.”
She slips her hand in mine, and I apply a little pressure, gently pulling her in toward me. She sinks into the cushion next to me, and I toss my arm over her shoulders. After a moment, she leans back and settles against me.
“God, this view is incredible,” she says, her voice carrying a note of awe.
She rolls her head along my arm to look at me. It’s such an innocent gesture. Casual enough that she can trick herself into thinking it’s meaningless. But it’s intimate too.
I smile, a real one that reaches my eyes. “It’s better with you here.” My voice is rough, betraying the emotions simmering beneath the surface.
Her gaze zeroes in on my bicep, and I know the moment she spots the tattoo—her tattoo. I stifle the giddy anticipation that fizzes inside of me like candy. Her brows crash together as she continues to look.
“Hey, Jasper?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“What’s this tattoo of?” she whispers.
I reach over and tap the design. “Don’t you recognize it?”
She flicks her gaze to me, arching a brow. “Should I?”
I dip my head so my lips ghost over her forehead. “Considering it’s your bite, yeah, baby, I think you should.”
Her eyes widen, a hint of disbelief flickering across her face. “ My bite?” She reaches out tentatively, her fingertips grazing the inked skin. The touch sends a shiver down my spine.
“Don’t tell me you forgot, baby,” I murmur, my voice low.
She traces the outline of the tattoo, each stroke igniting sparks beneath my skin. “I can’t believe you actually got it tattooed on you. I don’t know if anyone told you yet, but that shit’s permanent.”
A low laugh tugs out of me. “Yeah, baby. I know.”
A soft blush creeps up her neck as shakes her head and withdraws her fingertips. “Thank you for the matcha. This tastes like one from a real coffee shop, not the gritty stuff I make at home.”
“I have a matcha machine.” I zero in on the way her lips wrap around the straw.
Her brows rise. “I didn’t know you liked matcha that much.”
I drag my gaze up to look her in the eye. “I don’t.”
She breaks first, her gaze darting to the lake, then back to me. “I should get going. There are a few things I need to work on at the bakery. And my car is still at the clubhouse.”
The thought of her leaving, of stepping back into the world and the dangers that lurk there, tightens something in my chest. I reach out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Why don’t you stay a little longer?”
The vulnerability in her eyes tugs at something deep inside me. She clears her throat. “That’s really nice of you to offer, but I feel like I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’m sure you have to get to work too.”
“Nah, no work today,” I answer easily.
She lowers her head, her eyes narrowing on me. “You always work on Tuesdays.”
My crooked grin hitches into a smirk. “You checkin’ up on me, baby?”
She tilts her head straight, flicks her hair over her shoulder, and looks out at the lake. Her nose couldn’t get any higher. “Puh-lease. As your fake girlfriend, I had to do a little homework. Don’t read into it.”
I shouldn’t want to kiss her as bad as I do right now. It’s some kind of fucked-up Pavlovian response to her sass, I’m sure of it.
I toy with the ends of her hair, tugging gently. “Spend the day with me, baby.”
She looks at me from the corner of my eye. “Doing what? You live in the middle of the woods.”
I grin at her, an idea forming in the back of my mind. “Exactly. First, I’m going to feed you. Then we’re going to play in the lake.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and she chuckles. “Yeah, no. I don’t have a swimsuit.”
I raise an eyebrow, teasing. “Don't tell me you’ve never been skinny dipping before?”
She shakes her head, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
I lean closer, my voice low and full of jealous gravel. Yeah, I need names so I can personally ensure those images are burned from their eyes, forgotten like they never existed . But I can’t say that.
Instead, I say, “Yeah, baby. I would like to know. But I’m a patient man, and I’ll wait until you’re ready.”
She looks at me, her eyes bouncing all over my face, searching for something. Finally, she nods, a smirk playing at the edge of her perfect mouth. “Alright. I’ll spend the day with you since you begged me so nicely.”
A genuine laugh spills from me, and I lean into her space further. “That’s not begging, baby. But don’t worry, I’ll show you the true meaning of it later today.”
She inhales sharply, her gaze darkening to the color of a clear lake reflecting the night’s sky. “Promises, promises.”