Chapter 15
Gage
I walk out of Chelsea’s office, completely wrung out. It’s as if my arms, legs, heart, and mind have all been taken apart, reassembled, and jammed back together.
The bad news is one therapy session does not a well mind make.
The good news is Chelsea believes I’m on the right track. She approves of how I’m taking smaller steps toward more intimacy with Leah.
I parallel parked on a quiet stretch of Caro Boulevard. As I get into my car, my phone vibrates in my jacket pocket. I pull it out and see a name I don’t need to see or hear again. Seth Colton .
I debate tossing my phone into the street.
Instead, I answer the call. “What.”
“Jannik, look. I owe you an apology. I should’ve realized it was more serious for you two.”
“You could have talked to me before hitting on her.”
“Yeah, I could’ve. I should’ve. I made an ass of myself. She wouldn’t have anything to do with me—you know that, right?”
I take a deep breath, filled with that knowledge. “Yeah, I know it.”
“She’s special.” Colton is quiet for a second. “You’re a lucky man, Jannik.”
“I know that, too.”
* * *
Leah
“Oh my god, are you okay?” A woman kneels next to me and puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. At the moment, all I can see is her artfully ripped jeans.
“Yeah.” I roll to my side to push myself up. But as soon as I put pressure on my wrist, agony stabs up my arm. I cry out in pain.
“Ooh, that’s probably a nasty sprain.” She braces a hand behind my shoulder and helps me sit.
I take stock of the area surrounding us. The woman at my side has long, black braids with purple and blue tips. A couple of people have their phones out—taking video, I assume. An older man appears to be speaking with emergency services—he’s giving them our location.
“Fuck you, slut!” My blond attacker spins on her heel and marches away.
A man tries to grab her, but she wrenches out of his grasp and starts running.
More people look like they will descend to help me, and I’m already feeling vulnerable and claustrophobic.
“No more video—the show’s over,” the helpful woman says in a forceful voice.
People actually listen to her, putting away their phones. Sometimes a strong, authoritative voice is all it takes.
She helps me stand up and dusts off her jeans. “I’m Beryl Crake. Full disclosure, I’m a reporter, but I won’t report on any of this without your permission.”
My mind whirls as I try to make sense of everything. “Okay, uh, thanks.”
“I would love to interview you.” She hands me a card, which I accept with my uninjured hand. “There’s still a lot of interest in your story, especially after Gage Hawthorne’s statement. If you want, we could duck into that café over there?”
Before I can respond, a car parks illegally at the curb and Ella jumps out of the passenger seat. “Leah! Are you okay? Kingston and I were passing and saw—what happened?”
“I’m—I’m okay. Sprained wrist, I think. Nothing a little ice can’t handle.”
“Ms. Crake.” Ella faces the journalist. “This is not the time for an interview.”
To her credit, Beryl Crake looks ashamed. “You’re right, you’re so right. I apologize. Leah, if you want to get in touch, you have my card.”
Ella watches regally as the reporter strides away. The man at her side—Kingston, I assume—stands motionless, but there’s a restrained energy about him. I have no doubt he’d intervene if necessary.
“Leah, let’s get you to a doctor to check out your wrist,” Ella says. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“You don’t have to worry about me.” I offer her a quick smile. “I can get to the doctor on my own, I promise.”
I’m shaking, but I don’t think she notices.
Or maybe she does, because she nods at Kingston. She doesn’t even need words, and the two of them are ushering me to the car.
One doctor’s visit and a brace for my sprained wrist later, Ella tries to convince me to go to the police station to file a report. That’s the last thing I want to do.
“I have a date tonight,” I argue. Detective Wentz’s face appears in my memories, along with his brother’s. “And…I’m not super keen on the police after some recent experiences.”
Ella’s brown eyes widen in sympathy. “Say no more. I’m sorry for mother henning you. At least let us drive you back to your building? Then I promise we’ll leave you alone.”
After everything, I actually am grateful for the ride back to Gage’s place.
I thank them both profusely, even while I’m a bit uncomfortable at all the fuss. Apart from being introduced to Ella at the club, I only really met her an hour ago. And she’s a celebrity, no less.
As I ride the elevator up to Gage’s penthouse, I check my phone. Dmitri texted. He’s looking forward to our date.
I need to get myself together and calm the heck down. It’s Dmitri’s night off and he wants to take me to dinner. I glance at the clock—I still have plenty of time to get ready.
I don’t think Gage knows about the date. This will be the true test of his jealousy, I guess.
Once I close the door behind me, Gage calls from somewhere down the hall. “Leah?”
I follow the sound of his voice to the exercise room. “Yeah, I’m here.”
He’s shirtless and doing some complicated move involving lunges and hand-held weights.
I don’t know what it’s called, but he looks hot doing it.
I stand and watch him for a moment. This is the first time I’ve seen him shirtless for longer than the couple of minutes it takes for him to change clothes.
Finally, I find my voice. “How was your appointment?”
“It was productive.” Finishing with the weights, he stands, fully facing me. His brow furrows in concern. Half a second later he’s in front of me, holding my wrist gently in his hands. “What happened?”
“Wrist sprain.” I’m tempted to lie about how it happened, but that isn’t right. If I want him to be more open with me, I need to be more open with him. “Um, someone called me a whore and pushed me down.”
“What?” Horror pulls his face slack. “Where?”
“On Caro. This lady knew my name. I think she recognized me from Nicola’s videos.”
Gage stiffens. His hands remain gentle on mine as before, but everything else is rigid—his shoulders, his jaw, his stance. “Did the police get involved? I can take you to make a report.”
“Ella and Kingston already offered—they showed up right after it happened. I don’t want to make a report right now. I’m supposed to go out with Dmitri later.” I force a smile. “Do you think I have a dress that would match my wrist brace?”
“Leah.” Gage wraps his arms around me, tugging me close. “This isn’t a joking matter. Someone attacked you, and you’re hurt.”
“I’m not joking, but even if I were—shouldn’t I get to decide if it’s a joking matter?”
He leans back slightly, frowning. “You’re right.
It’s up to you. But I still want to take care of you and make sure you’re okay.
Because from my perspective, when I left the house, you were happy and uninjured.
Now you’re coming home to me with a sprained wrist. If you’re truly unbothered by everything, then by all means we can joke about it.
But I have a niggling suspicion you might be more upset than you’re letting on. ”
Tears sting my eyes. Damn him for calling me out like that.
“You don’t have to be strong for me.” He cups my chin, tilting my face up. “You can be vulnerable. It’s okay.”
I grab onto his exercise shorts with one hand, fisting the material to keep him close. “You’re right, too.”
“Do you want to talk about it, little girl?”
I shake my head. “Not really. It was scary. I want to sit and not think for a little while. I don’t want this hanging over my head tonight when I’m with Dmitri.”
“Understandable. Let’s get you somewhere comfortable.
” He holds my uninjured hand and walks me toward the door.
On the way, he stops to grab his T-shirt.
“I’ll make you a snack and set you up in the living room with whatever show you want to watch.
Then I’ll pick out a dress to drive Dmitri wild on your date. ”
“Fine, I’ll allow you to pamper me.” I give a big, heavy sigh, like being taken care of is such a chore. “But I do have one request.”
He raises an eyebrow, his shirt held loosely in hand. “Yes?”
“While you take care of me, can you leave your shirt off?”
Laughing, he plants a big, smacking kiss on my cheek. “Sure, baby girl. I’ll leave my shirt off.”
* * *
Dmitri
My date with Leah will be somewhat casual. A little cliché—dinner and a movie. But we already know each other. We’ve slept together—our days at the cabin were paradise. Tonight, the point is to spend time together where we aren’t fucking each other’s brains out.
And then I’ll convince her to come home with me and we’ll fuck each other’s brains out.
I want to choke her again. Her throat is so smooth and soft. I want to hear her gasp for daddy, and I don’t even care if she’s talking about me or Gage—either daddy is fine. But it’ll be my dick she’s riding while I hold the power of her breath.
Fuck, gets me hard just imagining it.
I’m pulling on my button-down shirt when a buzzing sound from my dresser grabs my attention.
It’s my phone. Danica’s calling. We still haven’t made up.
And we haven’t talked since she showed me her tattoo.
I think she should cover it up, but it’s not as if our family symbol is a direct link to organized crime.
Sure, the Laytons might recognize it, but it can’t be found in any crime registries or anything like that.
I don’t want a conversation with her to derail my good mood for tonight. I’m tempted to ignore the call, but it’s Danica . I can’t ignore my sister.
With a deep, steadying breath, I answer. “Hey, what’s up?”
“D-dmitri.” She’s crying.
“Dani, what? What is it?” I was already on my way out, so I turn off the lights, lock the door behind me, and rush to my car.
“I—” She breaks off in a sob.
Fuck, I hate hearing my little sister cry. “Are you hurt? Where are you?”
“It’s Granddad.” She sucks in a deep breath, gathering herself. “He’s in the hospital—he had a heart attack.”