Chapter 32
SCARLETT
After my father jumped up and fled (I told you he was a goddamned coward), Jace stood in his three-piece suit between me and where he’d vanished, arms at his sides, a human shield against whatever danger might return.
Strange. Even in this moment of absolute chaos, my heart registered his act of protection and how much he must care to have intervened. I mean, hell, I didn’t know why he was here, but I was grateful he’d shown up when he did. That was for damn sure.
And appreciating his protection didn’t make me weak. After watching my mother take a beating for years, I’d learned the hard way that sometimes, you couldn’t keep yourself safe without support. Case in point, the help I was giving my mother.
In any event, I’d always felt like I had to be the shield. I’d never had anyone shield me.
Until now. And God help me, I liked it. Okaaay, file that under Uncomfortable Emotional Revelations I’ll Deal with Never.
Jace’s eyes blazed with a fury that wasn’t directed at me but felt scorching, nonetheless.
“You okay?” His voice was steel.
I turned to find Mom shivering, arms wrapped around herself, but physically unharmed.
“Hey,” I said, grabbing her by the shoulders. “It’s okay, Mom. He’s gone.”
“He found us,” she whispered, her voice small.
“It was only a matter of time before he found my apartment.” I squeezed her shoulders gently. “You’re safe. Your apartment isn’t in our name, remember?”
Her eyes remained glued to the spot where my father had disappeared, shimmering with tears, her nose red, but after a moment, she nodded. Affording me the opportunity to turn back around and face our unexpected protector.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
It was like he didn’t even hear me. His attention was too busy scouring my body, presumably for any signs of injuries, until finally, his gaze halted on my cheek.
“Fuck.” The single word carried concern and anger, and dare I say, it bordered on desire for vengeance. He brought his hand up, his lips hardening to a firm line as he swiped his thumb along my cheekbone.
I hissed, wincing away, but only for a moment. Because now that I was looking at him, I could see a red spot near his eye that was already starting to swell. Much more than mine.
“You’re hurt,” I said, reaching up without thinking. And then I scoured his body because, holy shit, my dad had a knife.
“Did he get you anywhere else?” Jace demanded.
“Did you get stabbed?”
“Your cheekbone might be broken.”
I lifted his suit jacket, looking at his abs, his chest, his arms for any signs of a slice.
“Your eye’s swelling,” I said, my hand hovering near his face.
“We need to get this looked at.” His eyes never left my injury.
“I’m fine,” I said, but it seemed to go unheard. “Are you okay?”
Jace pulled out his phone, called a quick number, and relayed our situation and our address. Moments later, as if summoned by magic billionaire powers, a black sedan pulled up.
“Get in the car.” Strange how those same identical words, spoken moments before from a different man, carried the weight of a threat while Jace’s carried the weight of protection.
Jace opened the door, motioning for me to get into the back seat with all the patience of a man used to being obeyed instantly.
“I’m not leaving my mother,” I said.
His expression softened. “Didn’t intend for you to. Both of you, please get in.”
An impatient driver pulled up behind the sedan, honking.
“I need to get my mom inside. And call the police,” I protested, even as the adrenaline started to ebb, leaving my cheek throbbing in its wake.
“The police have already been called,” Jace stated matter-of-factly. “They’re meeting us at the hospital.”
“What? By whom?” And why are they meeting us at the hospital? My eyebrows shot up, and then I immediately regretted the movement as pain lanced through my cheek.
HONK, HONK. “Move out of the way!” some dude shouted from his car.
Jace turned, and whatever look he flashed the driver must’ve been bone-chilling in its warning because the guy slumped down in his seat. Unfortunately, there was another car behind him, who joined in on the impatience train.
“My driver called them,” Jace said, turning back to me. “Now, please get in, Scarlett.” The way he said my name—not quite pleading, not quite commanding—did something to my insides.
Around us, the scene was unfolding like a bad movie: a line of cars honking, angry drivers waiting for us to move, while pedestrians slowed their movements, staring at us like freaks.
I looked at my mom, at Jace, at the growing spectacle around us.
“Get in, Mom,” I finally said, guiding her toward the car.
As I slid in beside her, I caught Jace’s eye. There was relief there and something else. Something that made me remember that not all men were created with my father’s capacity for cruelty.
“How did you know to come here?” I asked.