Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
Let it Be — The Beatles
W ith the reality of what was looming ahead of me remaining in the forefront of my mind, I never completely relaxed.
I was also too lost in life, cosplaying as Elliot Shaw’s girlfriend.
I spent time with his family, in his bed, intertwining our lives even further despite knowing I’d ruin everything.
Hence my nightly martinis.
I would’ve had the nightly martinis either way, granted, but I was drinking to drown my guilt instead of my sorrow.
I didn’t have any.
Sorrow.
Not while sitting in Elliot’s house, the windows open with the breeze blowing in, smelling of pine needles, tapping on my phone, returning emails while Elliot prepared to read after he’d cooked and done the dishes.
When Elliot clicked his tongue, I lifted my gaze from my phone to see his eyes scanning the room.
“What are you looking for?” I thought maybe I’d unwittingly left something important somewhere to make room for my laptop.
“My glasses.” A divot formed between his brows in a way I found both immensely sexy and adorable. “I could’ve sworn I left them on top of my book.”
I went stock-still, my fingers going numb around the stem of my martini glass. Normally, a man saying, “I could’ve sworn I left them here,” meant that he had no fucking clue where he left them and was looking for a woman to come find them because he was an overgrown child.
Not Elliot. He was not absent-minded. He didn’t just simply misplace things. Which was why my brain had registered the two other occasions he’d mentioned things not being where he put them.
Normal people brushed off such instances, because in a normal person’s life, you misplaced things. Again, not Elliot. If it had only happened once, I might’ve believed he’d been somewhere else in his mind. Twice was a stretch but enough to set off my alarm bells.
Three times confirmed a theory.
Russian spies used various techniques for their targets. To weaken their minds, to help make them more vulnerable.
One of those tactics was to routinely break into their targets’ houses then move around common objects to put them off-kilter.
I doubted Elliot had made it on the radar of any Russian spies. But I knew someone who’d studied every technique to unravel a person.
Jasper had been disturbingly quiet since he’d set the fire that almost killed Elliot.
I never let my guard down, never stopped expecting him to strike, knowing it wasn’t over. But life with Elliot in Jupiter, and being around my family had a way of sucking all of the urgency from me. It promised an idyllic version of life that I’d lingered in for too long.
I swallowed the last of my martini, fighting to keep my composure. Elliot was not going to sense my unease. He couldn’t.
“They’ll be around here somewhere,” I assured him, putting my glass and phone down to untie the sash on the robe I was wearing. “I’m assuming you don’t need glasses to see this.” I gestured down to my naked body.
Rather sad to resort to using sex to distract Elliot from the assassin for the Russian Mob who’s toying with him, but I didn’t know what else to do.
And I was hungry, desperate to suck the marrow of what remained of my life with Elliot.
The life that was already taking its dying breath.
He just didn’t know it yet.
Elliot snatched me by the waist, slamming my naked body into his clothed one. He cradled my cheek then ravished my mouth. “I don’t need glasses to see you.”
Then he got on his knees so he was eye-level with my pussy. I trembled as his hot breath met my already tightened core.
“But I’m going to have to get a closer look right … here.” He spread me apart to expose my clit, leaning forward to lay his lips on it.
My hands tore into his blond curls as I let his mouth drag me away from thoughts of Jasper, thoughts of death. Of endings.
For the moment.
“I’ll do the shrimp and another Bud, sweetheart.”
I looked at the vacationer with the sunburned cheeks and the slight glaze to his eyes, his buddies looking much the same. I’d watched them get louder and more obnoxious with every passing sip.
“You’ll do the shrimp, but I’ll reconsider the Bud if you drop the ‘sweetheart’,” I scowled at him. I wasn’t a waitress; I didn’t need his fucking tips. My man needed an extra set of hands, so I’d offered my own before I even understood what I was signing up for.
The patron looked properly chastised, his friends laughed and berated him.
I waited for him to try to save face by insulting me, my expression daring him to try. But he sheepishly mumbled an apology and broke eye contact.
I shook my head, hiding my smile.
It was my favorite sport, showing men what was underneath misogynistic bravado… Which was nothing much.
As much as my bedside manner and general disposition was not built for any kind of public service job, I was actually having fun playing waitress for the night.
Plenty of locals were dining in that night, most of whom not only knew me by name but smiled at me like they weren’t scared of me and actually liked me.
Elliot’s and my relationship was common knowledge by then, since I was often working at the bar when he was tending to it, because he was really into public displays of affection and because the town was small, and people were nosy.
Instead of being annoyed by the questions, compliments and general small talk, I … enjoyed it. It was like Invasion of the Body Snatchers , except I was turning into an almost-pleasant person because of Elliot’s influence.
As I began to walk to the kitchen, a cold breeze kissed the nape of my neck, signaling the approach of fall. For once, I wasn’t longing for summer to end.
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
My step stuttered as I froze in place, clutching my notepad and pen, not turning right away.
He’d caught me unaware.
He’d caught me … happy.
Carefree.
As if he’d sensed when I might be at my most vulnerable. That was impossible. Logic dictated that he’d had me watched and had chosen that moment carefully. He’d waited.
Before turning, I took a breath, my mask of indifference in place even if I didn’t have any of my other weaponry.
No expensive suit. I dressed up when I was working at the bar, but it would’ve looked comical wearing six inch heels and a designer suit while waiting tables.
Plus, it’d hurt the shit out of my feet.
I’d gone for jeans and a linen shirt, unbuttoned to show an expensive lace bra.
Diamonds, always diamonds. My hair wasn’t in a slicked bun, it was down, wild. Free.
My makeup was much the same as it always was, although I hadn’t slathered on enough foundation to make my face look flawless and porcelain. You could faintly see the freckles on my chin, emerging after days in the sun with Elliot.
Lately, I’d consistently felt war.
Yet now that I was standing in Jasper’s shadow, my skin iced over, and the remnants of the shield I used to wear when with him was not enough to ward off the chill.
A handful of seconds… That’s all it took, my reinforcements not fully erect due to being shocked. But it was enough time for Jasper. For him to see the weakness, the gaps in my shield.
He was in the middle of the dining area, standing out like a proverbial sore thumb amidst men in linen button-downs, polo tees and flip flops. As always, he was imposing, clad in a black suit, looking like a stain against the light décor.
People were already staring, whispering.
Someone like Jasper operated in the shadows.
Usually, people didn’t notice him until he was about to put a knife in their neck, but there were no shadows here.
And though people didn’t know exactly what he was, there was an aura about him that made you feel uncomfortable, scared.
Curious, if you liked to flirt with destruction.
He didn’t seem uncomfortable under the light, under the gazes of people who didn’t know what he was.
Blood pooled in my cheeks at how brazen he was being.
It was a statement. He was no longer going to be confined to the shadows.
I couldn’t hide from him, ignore him, nor could I hide him from the people in my life.
I grabbed him by the arm, although I really didn’t want to touch him, then I dragged him toward the patio.
Jasper was not a man who let himself be dragged anywhere or touched without his consent—doing so would be a good way to lose a hand—but he let me do both.
My heart was in my throat by the time I led us to a corner of the deck that was quiet enough to speak to him.
But it was not private. I didn’t dare glance toward the bar to see if Elliot saw us.
Jasper would note that, would take it for what it was, and he’d understand—if he didn’t already—what my feelings were for Elliot.
Which would put Elliot in a considerable amount of danger. Jasper had set a building on fire when he merely thought Elliot and I were just fucking. Who knew what he’d do if he ever found out I was in love with Elliot.
My throat constricted, making it difficult to breathe.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hissed at Jasper. Realizing I was still gripping his arm, I dropped it like it was charged.
His eyes dropped to my hands. His face was still blank, but there was something in his eyes that worried me.
An edge, something unhinged almost. I’d caught a quick glimpse of it the day of the fire, had made note of it, but I’d been too preoccupied with concern about Elliot to think too hard about it afterward.
But looking at him now, it was clear to see that he was unraveling. Clear to me, at least.
Apprehension gnawed at my insides like battery acid. If Jasper was out of control, he was more dangerous than ever.
“Felt like a lobster roll. Heard this is the best place to get them.” His dark eyes bored into me.
My chest heaved as I fought to keep my composure, to slip back into the dynamic between us that used to be second nature. That used to be enticing.