3. Amal
AMAL
Forest eyes hold me prisoner. I hug my arms to myself. Day is turning to night, and the brisk temperature of earlier has turned outright freezing.
“My coat,” I say because I don’t know this new version of Jet. The one who admits to liking the violence. Sometimes.
That ‘sometimes’ is bullshit.
Without a word, Jet slips his jacket off. He’s pissed. I can see it in the way he’s moving, in his narrowed eyes, the set of his jaw.
He slides his coat over my shoulders. It’s warm and smells like him and there’s some part of me that wants to believe that it’s safe.
That he’s safe.
Wordlessly, I climb into the SUV. He closes the door and walks around to the driver’s side. We don’t speak as he pulls off the property. It takes a few minutes for me to realize we’re headed to the cliff road.
The drive is quiet, the cloudless night lit by stars as we get farther and farther from the lights of the city. He doesn’t play music and we don’t speak. I should say something. Tell him I didn’t mean it. Tell him I know he wouldn’t hurt me. I’m not sure that would be the truth though.
I glance at his profile. Apart from a few days here or there, I haven’t seen Jet in four years.
Haven’t really talked to him, either. After Malek went to war with Cassian, a war that Cassian won, Cassian sent Daniel and me to our grandmother in Florida, which was a good thing, especially for my brother.
Since then, we’ve all realized just how many enemies Malek made in his lifetime.
I don’t really think anyone knew the extent of it.
Jet’s changed since then, but so have I.
When I first went to him for help, I was seventeen years old. I guess I had a lot more balls then. I called an Uber and walked out of my high school’s front doors because I needed to get to Allegra and he was the way to do that.
The Jet of four years ago was younger, although not more innocent. He’d always had a darkness to him, but it hadn’t consumed him. Not yet. Now there’s something colder about him. Harder and more ruthless.
Not to mention dangerous.
He won’t hurt me, I tell myself.
As if I were waiting for an answer, my subconscious replies instantly.
You don’t know this version of him.
We turn off onto a gravel road I’ve never been on.
“Where are we going?” I ask as the road narrows. It’s a few more miles before Jet slows the car and from my window I can see the eternal crashing of ocean waves against the rocks.
He pulls to a stop, the headlights illuminating the rocks of the cliff.
Jet steps out and walks around to my side, opening my door while I’m trying to get my bearings.
I shake my head because the question that so pissed him off now has me panicking.
“Out, Amal.”
“Where are we?”
“Out.”
I look around at the darkness, then back to him. He sighs. “I’m not going to hurt you. I wouldn’t. I can’t fucking believe you’d even think that.”
“Then where the hell are we?”
“My house,” he says.
That surprises me. It’s about the last thing I expect. “Your house?” I look at what the headlights illuminate and sure enough, I see a large steel door carved into the stone. “You live at the club,” I say.
“Not really.” He steps backward. I think he’s trying to look not dangerous. “You coming or am I carrying you out?”
I climb out. The instant I do, wind whips my hair around my face and I hug his jacket to my shoulders.
He closes the car door and leads me to the steel doors. He punches a code into the keypad. Something whirs and beeps several times before there’s a final click and the door opens onto an elevator.
I glance at him, raising my eyebrows, hoping to diffuse the situation.
He smiles but I can see it’s forced. Unnatural. He gestures for me to step inside.
I do.
He follows me in, pulls the steel door closed and punches another code into the keypad. When he does, a chrome door slides closed and the elevator begins its descent. Our reflections are blurred on the shiny surface. Once we arrive and the door opens, my breath catches.
Because this is not what I expect.
Because I’ve never seen anything like this.
“You live here?” I hear myself ask, looking around at the impossible space.
“Yeah,” he answers like this is the most normal thing in the world.
A sound captures my attention. Turning, I see a dog with a wildly wagging tail coming toward us, nails clicking on the cement floor.
At first glance it looks like an attempt to gain purchase as she tries to run but realize it’s a slight limp that keeps her from going full steam ahead.
One eye is half-closed and pale blue, the other eye black.
“There you are, gorgeous,” Jet says in a voice I don’t think I’ve ever heard from him.
He drops to one knee to pet her. She knocks her head against his face, sniffing and licking as he tries to avoid her tongue directly on his mouth.
It’s makes me laugh but there’s also a level of emotion between them, a very clear love, that takes me by surprise.
He’s so free with her, talking to her, petting her in a way that makes the dog whine excitedly trying to get her own love for him across as she laps up his attention.
“You have a dog?” I ask.
He straightens, his smile fading as he looks at me as if he had forgotten himself for a moment. Or maybe he’s just remembering what I said.
The dog stands at his side and studies me, taking my measure, and I get the feeling she would tear anyone apart who came near him and there’s some strange, broken part of me that loves her for it. Loves her for all that tenderness she very clearly feels for her master.
“Is that so surprising?”
“Well, yeah,” I say, crouching down to offer her my hand. She ambles toward me, cautious. She makes a little growling noise which I admit scares me. She must be eighty pounds of solid muscle and sharp teeth.
“Hey. None of that,” Jet says to her, his tone final. The dog glances up at him then turns back to me, no more growling and, after sniffing my hand, decides it’s safe to press the top of her head into my palm. “She won’t hurt you,” Jet reassures me.
“I know,” I say. “You’re just scared I’ll hurt you, aren’t you?” I ask her, scratching her thick fur feeling how sturdy she is, how strong. “Because you’re a clever girl,” I add on because most people majorly suck.
“That she is,” Jet says. I look up at him and when I’m distracted, the dog almost knocks me on my butt to get my attention back.
“Hey now, Cotton Eye, take it easy,” Jet tells her, snapping his fingers and pointing to her bed in the corner.
“She’ll knock you down if you’re not careful.
Don’t let the limp fool you. She fakes it,” he says and I can hear his pride, his love for her.
“Cotton Eye?” I ask.
Cotton Eye looks disappointed and for a moment I’m not sure she’s going to obey but Jet raises an eyebrow and the dog moves off.
I straighten to stand.
“Well, just Cotton technically but her eye was… let’s just say not as pretty as it is now when I first found her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone had beat the shit out of her and my guess is tried to throw her off the cliff. She’d landed on a boulder just below. Lucky girl. I heard her whimpering in the wind and rescued her, and we’ve been together ever since.”
“Oh my God. How could anyone hurt a dog?” I ask, looking at Cotton who is now looking at me as if she knows what we’re talking about. She makes a sad little sound and Jet shakes his head, although I see his smile. He gives her a treat.
“She’ll eat the whole house if I let her.”
“How long ago did you rescue her? And how? The cliffs of Devil’s Peak are treacherous.”
“Couple years now. And I just did. I wasn’t going to leave her there to die all alone.”
I’m not sure which part of that surprises me more. “What kind of dog is she?”
“Mix between a Cane Corso and Dogue de Bourdeaux.”
“Is she blind in that eye?”
He nods. “Doesn’t seem to bother her though. Come on.”
He crosses the concrete floor to a wall of windows that must be twelve feet high at least. The room itself isn’t huge, but it’s laid out thoughtfully.
All the walls, apart from the glass doors, are the natural rock the house was carved into or out of, jagged and curving.
Everything is gray or black to match the mountain and the sea below.
A sleek kitchen stands at the far end, the gold veins in the black marble countertop on the island offering a stark relief.
What must be a custom-made minimalist leather sofa is set to look out at the incredible view, the space expertly shielded from the weather with the curving of the mountain almost as if it were tucked inside its protective embrace.
A very modern steel fireplace is suspended from the ceiling.
Jet pushes a button on the wall and the flames flare up.
“What is… how did you build this?” My heels click on the shiny concrete. No carpet here. The coffee table has chrome legs and a glass top, every aspect of the place all sharp edges and almost brutal in design.
There’s no dining table, I notice. Only two barstools at the counter.
He walks ahead of me to a keypad beside the glass doors, punches in a code and the wall of glass begins to slide open.
“They’re doors?”
He nods, smiling a tight smile. Guilt gnaws at me.
The sound of the Atlantic raging below is awe inspiring, a display of the power of nature that we think we can control. The soundproofing is unreal because I’m not sure he’d hear me if I spoke now.
Once the doors open fully, I step out onto the balcony suspended over the angry ocean and wind instantly catches my hair, whipping it around my face, the salty air bracing. I breathe it in, hugging his jacket close for warmth.
Jet walks up beside me carrying a thick, faux fur blanket which he places over my shoulders, and I see another one draped over the arm of the sofa. They’re the only soft things in this hard place.
“This is your house?” I ask again, not quite believing it.
He nods, looks out over the water. “It’s the only place I can breathe,” he says so quietly I’m not sure I heard right.
It’s my turn to study him and I’m curious. So. Fucking. Curious.
He shifts his gaze back to me. “Enough air for one night?” he asks, and I’m not sure how he’s not shivering. He’s only wearing a button-down shirt. I still have his jacket.
I nod, speechless, and we walk inside. He pushes a button and the doors slide closed.
“Good. Let’s get one thing straight between me and you Amal,” he says, my heart hitching as he eats the space between us to close his hands over my arms. “I wouldn’t hurt you.
Ever. Not fucking ever. Even if Cassian gave the order, which he would not.
I want to be so fucking clear you never have to ask me that question again. Am I?”
I swallow, stare up at him, unable to utter a word.
“Am I fucking clear, Amal?” he asks in a tone I have never heard from him. It is wholly dominant and brooks no argument. It makes my heart race and my throat go dry.
I nod.
“Say it. Say the words.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t… I…”
“Good. That goes for your brother too. That’s done.” He releases me and I can breathe.
After a few minutes of heavy silence, I think I need to say something, anything, just so it’s not awkward.
“What do people say when they see this place?” I ask.
“I’ve never brought anyone here,” he answers.
He says it so straightforwardly, so honestly that it takes me a minute.
“Well, I mean you don’t strike me as a guy big on entertaining,” I say, really, really wanting to sound casual.
“Understatement.”
As freezing and loud as it is just beyond those doors so is it warm and utterly silent inside. We stay like that in that quiet for a long minute, neither of us speaking. Each of us just watching the other.
He’s beautiful. So beautiful. And that gray streak and the mark Malek’s bullet left? They make him dangerous in a way that has my insides doing flip flops.
“Why did you bring me?” I ask.
He takes the blanket from my shoulders. The fireplace is doing its job.
“Why did I bring you?” he asks, brushing a lock of my forever unruly hair off my face. The touch of his skin on my skin makes my pulse jump and his glance at my throat tells me he knows it. Knows how his touch affects me. “Because it looked like you wanted to crawl out of your skin back there.”
Goosebumps cover every inch of me and all I can do is stand there and look up at him, knowing how vulnerable I am right now. Knowing he sees right into the very core of me.
Me needing to get out of that place with all those people? It wasn’t nothing. I was struggling to breathe and he saw it.
I blink, look away because it’s a lot. Too much. To have someone see you? Fuck.
As if sensing I need a minute, Jet crosses the room to a small bar. He takes two tumblers out from a cabinet and pours whiskey into both. He carries them over and hands me one.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
I shake my head and take the tumbler. I raise the glass to my mouth. Jet’s gaze flits to my lips, a hunger in his eyes that tints the green to deepest, darkest emerald before he blinks, looks away.
He drinks his whiskey down like it’s water.
The liquid burns my throat, but I do the same drinking every last drop.
A buzzing begins near my chest. Surely the liquor doesn’t work that fast.
I glance down, confused as Jet reaches toward me.
Well, he reaches to his jacket, which is still draped over my shoulders.
He slides his hand inside it, his gaze locked on mine, hand grazing my breast before he pulls his cell phone out of the pocket.
It’s such an easy act, natural, and although I can’t be sure he intended it, a thousand butterflies flutter their wings inside my stomach, and I find I have to remind myself to breathe.
His eyes narrow momentarily, as if he can see inside me, as if he knows what is happening, what being this close to him, alone with him, here, is doing to me.
The phone vibrates in his hand, and he breaks eye contact to swipe the screen and read the message. His forehead furrows. He types out a quick response before tucking the phone into the pocket of his pants.
“You’re missed,” he says, bringing me crashing back to reality. To that place where breathing isn’t so natural, so easy.
“Daniel?” I ask. My brother is the sole reason I’m still here. That I haven’t run off somewhere. Disappeared. I can’t leave him behind. Ever.
He shakes his head. “Cassian.”
A beat passes. I’m relieved and disappointed.
“Want a tour before I take you back?” he asks.
“What if I don’t want to go back?”