Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

JAKE

Panic wraps around me, my pulse jumping around wildly like someone sent a rabbit leaping through my bloodstream.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

I pace around the room, feeling like it's already closing in around me—a mouth, ready to chew and swallow. I roll up my sleeves and ditch the jacket, but it doesn't help. My skin itches; my head hurts. My stomach feels like it's eating itself. I need that door to be unlocked. I need it to happen now .

"Elaine?" I call out, but she doesn't answer. There's no sound at all other than the scuff of my feet on the floor and the creaking of the old boards.

I think of those sketchbooks, tucked away at the apartment, and the little bag under the floorboards. The things I carry with me from place to place are my anchor, my way of reminding myself that Jake Langston exists. I need them. If I don't have them, it feels like the particles of who I am will drift away into the night. All I'll have left is this body—anchored here. Caught.

" Elaine? " I call out a second time, not liking the shrill note in my voice.

I have to get the fuck out of this room. When I do, I guess I'll need to find a ride or borrow hers. Coming back is a must, unfortunately—they do have me cornered—but I have to get my things. If I have them, I might be able to calm down, to suck in enough air.

"Unlock the door," I call out, my voice ragged. " Please ."

Nothing.

I know it will do jack shit, but I pound a fist against the wood, then a jagged sound escapes me as I knock my forehead into it.

I need to focus. I need to think. I can pick the lock. It won't be easy, because they had a deadbolt put in, and I'm guessing they didn't leave any potential tools in here.

Ryan's better at picking locks than I am. When we work together, I'm usually the one who turns on the charm; he's the one who sneaks in through the back door. But I can figure it out. As long as I can get enough air.

The lock squeaks, the door opens, and I tumble out into the hall—into Elaine, who's wearing sweatpants and a short-sleeved red shirt, her hair wet around her shoulders.

She has a can of pepper spray in one hand.

"I can't be inside this room with the door locked," I say, ashamed by the way my voice breaks. "I can't ." It would obviously be overdramatic to say it would kill me, but that's what it feels like. It feels like it's already killing me.

She peers at me with suspicious eyes that soften from whatever she sees in my face. Fantastic. Roark always says, never show them your weakness, and here I am, flashing mine like it's an American Express Black. And not for the first time. I gave her Ryan's name. I told her about Roark, even if I didn't drop any details about him.

She knows more than she should.

She layers a hand on my arm, over the place bared by my rolled-up sleeves, her fingers moving over my flesh in a soothing gesture, soft and mesmerizing. I enjoy it for half a second before realizing the woman who caught me is now trying to comfort me, which makes me feel even weaker.

Never show them your weakness.

I pull away.

"I'm sorry," she says, her gaze holding mine. Earnest. "I could tell you were upset, but I didn't realize… You can come out or keep the door open. I don't mind." Her expression hardens. "Just—"

"Don't try anything or you'll put my nuts in a vise. Got it. And it was nothing. A lot of people don't like being in a locked room. No big deal."

She watches me, her eyes seeing more than I'd like. "Sure, but you think you'd be more used to the idea given what you do."

Given that I'm a thief, she means, and am probably heading toward a locked room one day, like it or not. It's nothing I haven't thought of a thousand times.

"If only people only wanted what was good for them."

"True enough." She looks like she's about to walk away, but she lingers, her eyes on my face. "I'll get your things later. After Damien and Nicole get back. I've already been seen at your place, so no one will think it's weird."

Unless they saw her leading that cat out of my apartment with the glue trap attached to its side. But I don't say so. After all, I don't have much room to talk. I went door to door selling Girl Scout cookies in October.

I run a hand over my face, my mind working fast.

If I let her do that, I'd have to trust her with my things.

No, no can do. She may have saved my ass, but she also gave up Ryan's name.

"It's okay," I lie. "I didn't leave anything important behind."

Her expression is doubtful. "I know you did. I saw the expression on your face earlier."

"Maybe I looked that way because you've imprisoned me."

She cuts me with a glare. "Leave if you want. Find your own way to the apartment."

"But if I take off, you'll keep Jake Jeffries's shitty car, and you'll tell Anthony everything. Got it."

"I'm glad we're clear on that. But if you're uncomfortable leaving your drawings at the apartment and you want your own clothes, I can…"

"I'm definitely uncomfortable with you going through my things again," I snap, feeling cornered. Stuck. The only person I've shown my sketchbooks to is Ryan. They're my way of making sense of the past. Of hanging on to myself. They're mine .

"How do you think the people you steal from feel?" she asks, her eyes blazing now.

She probably doesn't realize it, but her words aren't without impact.

"Just forget it." I start to turn back into the room, then rethink it. I can't be in there right now. I don't want to be stuck in my memories.

Elaine takes a step toward me. "You don't trust me because I gave them your brother's first name, but it was important. If anyone can help, it's Nicole and Damien. They're good at uncovering information."

My mouth hitches up. "Well, fucking fantastic, Elaine. Like your friend down there said, my brother's not as good at covering his tracks as I am. So excuse me if the last thing I want is to spoon-feed him to people who can find evidence to put him away."

"They want to help you, you idiot," she says hotly, and the cat yowls from somewhere and slinks up from parts unknown to stand beside her. Both of them stand there, staring at me with flashing eyes. It would be cute if I weren't here at Elaine's mercy, in this shitty cabin, hundreds of miles away from my brother.

"Why? I'm not a stray cat, Elaine . I'm a thief. My brother and I aren't good people. You were right about me. I befriended Anthony so I could steal from him, and it wouldn't be the first time. If you want to know the truth, most of the time I don't even feel that bad about it. So, no, I don't expect any of you to stick your necks out for me and my dumbass brother, because there'd be no benefit to you."

She looks a little taken aback, but she's not a hellcat for nothing. "Are you done?"

An amused sound escapes me before I start making my way down the stairs.

"You can't leave," she says as she follows me, her presence a phantom at my back, bringing back flashes of earlier, when she was literally hanging off of me.

"I know. If I try, you'll pepper spray my junk." Truthfully, there's a good chance I could disarm her first, but I'd be left with the question of what comes next. I meant what I said. I'd never hurt her. "Do you have any food?"

"You just had a seven-course dinner."

I laugh, turning toward her in the foyer at the bottom of the stairs. "You think I was going to eat anything after you made your little threat?"

"Rosie didn't mess with your food," she says, rolling her eyes.

I press a hand to my chest. "I missed seven courses of junk food for nothing?"

"Guess so." She nods toward the back of the house. "Kitchen is back there. You're in luck, because my best friend runs a bakery in town."

Once we're in the kitchen, I watch as Elaine reaches on her tiptoes for a Tupperware container stored on top of the refrigerator, her ass pressing against her sweatpants as she lifts up. A better man would probably look away—or get up to help her—but I've had a shitty day, and this is the best thing I've seen. Seconds later, she sets the Tupperware in front of me. I open the top and find myself looking down at half a dozen of individually wrapped cookies. All of them have Fuck you very much inscribed on them in the kind of cursive that's usually reserved for rich people's invitations. The designs differ, and some but not all have an exclamation point at the end.

I give her a sidelong glance. The red lipstick washed off in the shower, but her lips look just as delicious bare, that bottom one begging for someone to suck on it.

"You trying to tell me something, hellcat? Because all you need to do is ask for it. Seemed like you enjoyed what I had to offer the other day. You were hungry for it."

I'm being an asshole on purpose.

Her scowl is not the turnoff she probably thinks it is. It puts a pretty little crease between her eyebrows that I'd like to lick. "You're not the only one who knows how to act. My friend Claire makes them for the Love Fixers. It's one of our services, delivering these to people who deserve them. But she made a few extra because she was experimenting with punctuation. I prefer it with the exclamation point. I think it adds something extra."

I give her another sidelong glance as I select a cookie and unwrap it. I can't seem to help it. This woman has drawn me into a world of shit, but I have a strange fascination with her. It's probably because she turned my game around on me. No one's ever done that before. No one's ever seen me so well after knowing me so little. She dislikes me, maybe even hates me, but I strangely appreciate that. Because at least it's real.

I take a big bite of the cookie and find it delicious. "So who fucked you over so bad you decided to get into the revenge business?"

"It's better if we don't share anything personal."

I shrug, trying not to feel disappointed. "Suit yourself."

Her gaze lingers on me as she takes out one of the cookies for herself. Hers, I notice, has an exclamation point. Seems fitting. She's the kind of woman who'd give you the middle finger with a smile on her face. Or trash your apartment after dry-humping you on your couch. "It's not just about me personally," she says as I take another bite. "There are a lot of women who get stomped on and used. They need someone to give them back their power, their dignity."

"And a cookie's supposed to do that?"

She rolls her eyes. "The cookies are just for fun, but yes, there's something empowering in telling someone to fuck themselves by cookie. I'm not surprised you don't understand."

"I might understand better if you'd tell me about what inspired you to start this whole thing." I'm fishing, and we both know it, but this isn't just about gathering information. I'm genuinely interested in her answer.

She studies me for a moment, capturing that lower lip between her teeth, then says, "All right. A piece of information for a piece of information."

My eyebrows lift. "What do you want to know?"

"Who you did feel bad about stealing from."

"You're asking for more than you'd be giving."

She shifts her head, her black hair falling to her shoulder. "I'm a woman who likes a bargain."

"You won't be getting one tonight."

"What about the man who has your brother…how do you know him?"

"How do you figure I know him?" I ask, surprised.

"He asked you to get the necklace for him. That suggests he knows you could."

I nod slowly—and decide I might as well tell her something. I've given them no reason to help us, but I probably should.

"He's a thief too. You could say he mentored us."

"But he's not so fond of you anymore."

I trace the fox on my forearm. "No. I suppose not. I made a decision he didn't care for, and Ryan tried to steal something from him."

I hold back the for me , because truthfully it doesn't matter. I didn't ask him to do it, and even if he'd tried to steal from Roark simply for the thrill of it, I still would have risked my neck to save him. Despite our recent disagreement, that's what we do for each other; who we are to each other.

"Why would he do that?" she asks. "Seems like there'd be a pretty high chance of getting caught."

"Like I said, he can be an idiot."

"And this guy's solution was to have you steal something else entirely?"

She sounds doubtful, and I feel my usual ability to talk anyone into anything slipping away.

I look up at her. "I'd quit. That was the decision he didn't like. We had a…kind of profit-sharing agreement going. Heavily in his favor. This is his way of getting us both to fall back into line. I don't know why he chose the necklace other than that he probably knew it would be a challenge."

She studies me, her eyes fixed on mine, her regard sliding over me—hot and prodding, the way her hands were earlier—and I feel something change inside of me. I couldn't say what or why or what it means, but I feel it.

"I want to know why you quit," she comments.

"I know you do. I'd like to know who screwed you over."

She takes out another cookie and slides it to me, which is the first I realize that I've already finished eating one. This one is shaped like a giant hand, middle finger extended. I unwrap it and bite.

"It certainly sends a message," I say with a half-smile.

"I started the Love Fixers because my fiancée and I broke up after he started sleeping with his childhood sweetheart."

"Did you beat him with a bat?" I ask hopefully, remembering what Nicole said. I don't like thinking of any man pulling one over on the woman who's bested me. She's a worthy adversary and deserves the respect of one.

"I got out," she says. "That was enough. I was grateful it happened, because it gave me a reason to leave."

Something ugly stirs in my gut. There's an implication behind those words. An implication that makes me want to plant a boot in this guy's face. Even without her saying anything else, I know a fuck you cookie would be much too good for him for this piece of shit.

"He hit you?"

She lifts her eyebrows. "You think I would have let her stay with him if he had?"

No, actually, I don't.

Elaine might be my jailer, but she's a woman who cares about people and animals. Who wants to do what's right. If she'd thought that woman was in danger, she probably would have kidnapped her for her own good, same as she's done with me.

I'm not beneath admiring that sort of thing, even if it's not working out to my advantage right now.

I take a deep breath, let it out between my teeth. "I quit because the last job I took was to steal something from an old man. A pocket watch worth a lot of money. I had to get to know him as part of the job, but I got…fond of him, and I couldn't go through with it. The man who has my brother…he got someone else to do the job. I couldn't forgive him for it."

There's more to it, but that's enough for now, and more than I should have said. It's just…

She gave me something raw, and I couldn't repay it with nothing.

I pause, considering, then say, "I'd very much appreciate it if you could grab my things for me tonight. Thank you for offering earlier. There's a package hidden under one of the floorboards in the bedroom." I take another deep breath, then say, "the one under the top right foot of the bed."

Her expression darkens. "Is it drugs? Something stolen?"

"No. It's…personal. I'm the only person it would matter to. I'm just not comfortable leaving it there. I was going to sneak out later, but I don't want to piss off your friends."

Curiosity ripples across her face. She might not want to be interested in what's under the floorboards, but she is. Which means…

"I'd prefer it if you didn't look at it. I know that's a big ask."

"Is that because you're lying to me about what's in there?"

I lift my hands. "I guess there's no way I can convince you I'm being truthful unless you look. You can look if you need to. I'd just appreciate it if you didn't.

"You're trusting me," she says, leaning in a little. I wonder if she's aware of it. I wonder if she feels my presence next to her like I feel hers next to me. I'd like to believe the charged feelings I have whenever she touches me are nothing more than the adrenaline I get each time I steal something. But I know better. Elaine is the least convenient woman for me to be attracted to, but there's no denying I am. One of my foster mothers once told me that I'd cut off my nose to spite my face, and I suppose she had a point.

"Don't get used to it."