Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

JAKE

I watch, fascinated, as Elaine steps out of her room with the baseball bat white-knuckled in her hands. I'm standing behind my own door, cracked open to give me a view of the hallway, because I could tell she wasn't just going to lie down for a good cry. Maybe the cat knows it too. She slunk out of the other bedroom after me and is hunkered at my feet.

Elaine had the truth written all over her face, her light brown eyes full of the kind of rage that can lead a person to do something impulsive and potentially dangerous.

None of my business, and yet…

I've never been this drawn to a woman.

I'm fascinated by her. I'm smitten. I'm her prisoner in more ways than one, and I hope hell exists, even if I'm doomed to spend eternity there, just so her parents and that piece of shit Todd can be forced to suffer too.

Stupid. It's stupid of me to let these people become human for me, but it's too late. Elaine has had a hold on me since the night she showed up at my apartment door, and Damien and Nicole are already growing on me.

I know Damien had a purpose for taking me out with him this afternoon. Sure, unpaid labor is the best kind you can get, but he was also sussing me out—and giving me a chance to suss him out. I appreciate that. It also felt good to do something that got the adrenaline pumping but didn't make me feel guilty.

Elaine slips past my door, her footfalls nearly silent, and I wonder if she learned to walk that way while she lived with him—to make less of an imprint, the way Ryan and I did when we lived in foster care. Rage fills my cup too.

I wait, listening to the slight creak of the stairs, listening to the beep of the alarm system being disengaged. Knowing that I could get away.

I could leave.

I could break into Anthony and Nina's house and question them. If I threatened them with my knife, I know Anthony would fold and tell me everything. If one of them has it, I'd be able to grab it and go. I could get in Jake Jeffries's car and drive until I'm far enough to ditch it and go to the airport. But the thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

I'd hate myself again if I did that.

All of the progress I've made over the last year would take its last gasping breath, and I'd be the Jake of before, who ended each night lonely, no matter who was around.

I tell myself that's the entire reason why I don't leave, not because Elaine both stuck her neck out for me and confided in me, and abandoning her would be a shitty repayment.

And when I follow her downstairs in the dark, Professor X padding behind me, I tell myself I'm only checking on her because if she does something stupid, I could be drawn into the aftermath, not because I want to make sure she's okay.

When I approach the front door, I see her through the window beside it, advancing on that shitty little car with the Yankees bat poised to strike.

"Fuck," I say conversationally to the cat at my feet.

She meows her agreement.

I don't wait to see what Elaine does next, because her intent is pretty obvious. Instead, I open the door.

She turns to look at me, her eyes gleaming like the cat's in the dark.

"You're going to stop me, aren't you?" she asks, her voice a jagged thing.

It makes me want to put my arms around her, to offer her the kind of comfort no one's ever offered me. But here's the thing—neither of us were raised on hugs and soft words; after our talk today, I understand that she's like me. Forged from harder things.

She needs this. She needs to prove to herself that she's not broken but is instead someone who's capable of breaking things.

"No…but do you need the car? Maybe you'd be better off beating the bat against a rock or—"

She swears, and taps the bat against the pavement at her feet. I see some of the fight going out of her, and I'd do anything to keep it from happening, to keep her mad instead of desolate.

"Just beat up the back of it," I say quickly. "It should still drive fine, and if it doesn't, you can have my Jake Jeffries car." I run a back through my hair. "If I don't have to burn the identity, no one's going to come looking for it. It's clean."

She watches me through the dark for a moment, the cat sitting its butt down on my bare foot. "You'd do that for me after…everything?"

"Sure. I can't take it with me."

Maybe my words downplay the gesture, but they're meant to. Because I'd like to believe that I don't have anything personal riding on the outcome of this moment.

Her eyes shutter, but she nods. "Thank you."

Then she hefts the bat up in a position that would do Babe Ruth proud, and she brings it down hard on the backend of the car.

A dog starts barking in the house next door as Elaine brings the bat down again, putting a dent in the back passenger side door this time, then again, and again.

I don't know for sure, but I think I see tears tracking down her cheeks. It feels wrong to stand here and watch her instead of helping, so I glance inside the front door and find a broken pink umbrella in a stand by the door. I grab it and then heft Professor X into the house, shutting her in and earning a paw swipe and some scratch marks on my arm.

I stride up next to Elaine as she swings again, splinters flying off the bat, already half-ruined. I wail on the dented car with the broken umbrella, making her laugh as she swings again, this time cracking the rear passenger window, the glass spiderwebbing.

The door to the cabin bursts open. Damien's in the doorway, Nicole peering over his shoulder. The cat's standing with them, her eyes glowing in the dark.

"Oh, it's okay," Nicole says. "Lainey's finally processing her shit. Proceed with the destruction."

"She right about that?" Damien asks, glancing between both of us. "Everything okay?"

Elaine nods heavily. "It's going to be."

Damien nods to me once—an I'm trusting you with this nod—and then shuts the door. I feel like someone just cut me down at the knees.

It's not that people don't trust me: they do. Many of them. But no one's ever known what he knows, what Elaine knows, and still decided to trust me. No one other than Ryan.

I'm unworthy, and I know it.

Elaine glances at me, her eyes shining. Definitely tears.

"Are we going to disturb your friend?" I ask, nodding to the house next door. They said her friend's boyfriend is a big guy, and I'd rather not piss him off.

She shakes her head slightly. "They just had their windows replaced. The ones in this house are still old."

Then she hefts her bat again, her expression fierce, and says, "Ready?"

And the only possible answer is to smile at her and nod, because I can see all the way down to her steel backbone, and in this moment, I'm a little bit in love with her. This near-stranger. This fellow thief. This woman who's so much stronger than most people would give her credit for.

But she still needs this. So I raise that stupid umbrella, and I hit the hatchback, hurting my fingers and loving it. Loving the strength Elaine is putting into each of her blows, the wood splintering, the metal groaning. Both the bat and the car giving in to the sheer force of her will.

Finally, she drops the broken bat, and I follow suit, letting the shitty umbrella, now a twisted, broken mess, fall to the pavement.

"I think the car actually looks better now," I say, but I barely get the words out before she grabs me roughly by the front of my shirt, pulling me to her. Her bare lips lifted to me.

Maybe this is another part of her revenge. To destroy her parents' car with her ex's precious bat and then give herself to a thief on top of the ruin. Maybe I should have a problem with that, a feeling of being used, but I don't. All I care about is that she's mine tonight.

My hands are raw, but I wrap them into her hair, tugging her even closer as her hot mouth presses into me, her tongue finding mine while her hand slides under my shirt. It must be sweaty, but the hand continues gliding up, undaunted. Her touch is as demanding as her mouth. I sigh into her, feeling a moment of pure contentment with the broken things around me, so much better than the ones inside of me.

My mouth still on hers, I lift her by the hips and whirl her around, her bare feet flying in a circle, and she laughs into my mouth before stopping the twirl by cinching her legs around my waist and nipping my bottom lip. My arms circle around to hold her in place, cupping the curves of her butt as she tips her head to try my lips from a new angle.

When she feels my hardness, she lets out a gusty sound and pushes herself into it, immediately making my problem more pressing. And then she reaches down to caress me through the pants, her hand cupping me, rubbing. Raw, uncontrolled need floods me. I want to take her out here, against this ruined car, the destroyed bat under our feet. I want to slide into her—to feel her clench around me and beneath me, her body working with mine to bring her what she needs. But I remember what she confirmed for me. That asshole never made her come.

I don't have much to offer her, but I can right that wrong. I can do that for her. I will .

I can give this beautiful, smart, funny-as-hell woman something to remember.

Pulling my mouth back from her, I say, "You got the key to this thing?"

"You want to bring it for a test drive right now ?" she asks, her tone disbelieving. "I honestly don't care if it works. I'd much rather continue what we're doing."

"I had something else in mind," I say, setting her down on her feet. Relief filters through me when she pulls the key out of her pocket. The back is dented to hell, like a high school kid in a minivan backed into her ten times before managing to turn, but it opens. And I back her into it until she's sitting.

"What happens next?" she asks, smiling up at me, and I can see the adrenaline rush in her eyes as she parts her legs.

Oh, hell yes. She's wearing a dress—grey, like she couldn't find it in her to wear red today—so I have the access I need.

I get onto my knees, splinters on the pavement digging into them, and spread her legs wider, running my fingers over her panties. Even through the fabric I can feel that she's wet.

"I'm greedy," I say, leaning down to kiss her thigh, then run my tongue over the territory my fingers just traced. She digs a hand into my hair, pulling. "I love your taste," I say, "and what I got yesterday wasn't nearly enough."

Her eyes are dark in the night. "They could look out of the window and see us. From either house."

"You said the windows were soundproofed next door, and I have a feeling Nicole and Damien are actually giving us some privacy. Besides…" I grin up at her. "Isn't the danger part of the fun?"

My answer is for her to close her legs…and then lift up and pull her panties off before opening to me again, offering herself to me in a way that makes me harder and also unleashes something intoxicating in my chest. Like I just took a bottle of honey bourbon and swigged down the whole damn thing.

I push them open wider, getting a gusty sigh from her, and I meet her gaze again. "Don't pretend, Elaine. I don't need a participation award for eating pussy. I want to earn it. I want to hear you scream my name and know it's because you can't help yourself. I want to know I drive you as crazy as you make me."

She nods, and I touch her first, needing to feel how wet she is for me. A hum of appreciation escapes me as I curl my finger up and in, the sweet slide of it confirming she's as turned on as I am. "You like being bad, don't you? I can feel it."

She lifts her hips toward me. "You can put your lips to better use than taunting me."

I'm not taunting her. I appreciate the wild spark in her that I noticed the first night I met her, when she was spreading chaos in Jake Jeffries's apartment, but I'm not going to waste this opportunity I've been given by being contrary, so I lean in and kiss up her thighs, the skin soft and hot, fragrant with her scent. And then, when I can't take it anymore, I hike her thighs over my shoulders, burying my face in her slick, sweet heat.

"Oh shit," she murmurs as she pushes into me, her hips bucking as I lick and suck like the desperate man I am. I need to give her what he didn't—I need it. Those breathy cries, those desperate movements of her body. I crave them.

I'm barely aware of anything but her taste, her thighs flexing around my neck, and the feeling of her against my mouth and tongue. She spears a hand into my hair again and tugs, holding onto me as if I'm the only thing keeping her anchored to the earth—and also the reason she's floating. And it hits me that the only times I've felt anything approaching good in the last few months have been here in this house, where I'm a semi-prisoner. With this woman who sees right through me like I'm made of glass.

I feel her tightening, her body shaking slightly, and I look up at her, needing to see her lose herself to it. To me . But when I meet her gaze, something like fright passes through her eyes, and she starts to pull back.

I instantly do the same. "What's wrong?"

"I can't…" she says through breathless panting. "I can't…"

She can ; she's so close. This isn't a physical problem, but I'm not about to force an orgasm on her. So I pull away, my dick a hard, persistent ache. She arranges her skirt and sits up straight, but there's no way she's going to be able to make herself look chaste right now. Her hair is mussed, her lips swollen from me, and she's so fucking beautiful like this that I almost take out my burner phone to snap a photo. Instead, I sit beside her on the back of the ruined hatchback. There's barely room for both of us, our thighs pressed together, the top of the hatchback digging into me. It's uncomfortable, but I want to be close to her enough that I'd bear worse.

She gives me a sidelong look, her expression sad. "I'm sorry."

"Jesus, Lainey," I say with a groan, "don't tell me you're sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for."

She nudges me with her shoulder. "You called me Lainey."

"I'm guessing we're friends now. We just ruined your car together, and I know how you taste."

Another nudge. "You're a pig."

"How am I pig?" I ask, turning my head to face her. "You're gorgeous and smart, and you taste delicious, and you should own that. You should wear it on a fucking badge."

Something flashes across her face, her lips turning up slightly, but then they drop. "Maybe I'm broken." She gestures to the ruined bat and umbrella, the wreckage of the car. "This isn't normal."

Rage rips through me—not at her but at the lowly piece of shit who made her feel this way.

"It's not abnormal. Haven't you heard of rage rooms? You just made your own." I pause, studying her face in the dark. The firm set of her lips, the slight line between her brows. "And I don't like hearing you say you're broken. That douchebag didn't break you. He may have wanted that power, but he doesn't get to fucking have it. No one has that power unless you give it to them."

I think of other locked rooms. Of the contents of that bag from under the floorboards.

A sniff escapes her. "It looks like I have. I don't know how to take it back."

I lift a hand to her chin. I trace her lips. I press a light kiss to them. They're soft and pink, and it's as if they have a gravitational pull all their own. "Practice makes perfect."

She smiles again before shaking her head slightly. "We shouldn't do this. I barely know anything about you."

It hits me that our scales are off, the balance gone. She told me something big tonight, something true, and I've given her nothing. Usually I'm a bargain seeker, the way Elaine told me she is, but I feel compelled to give her something. More disturbingly, I want to.

"You gave me something by telling me about him. About your parents. You want a truth for a truth."

" Yes ."

I pause, thinking, then say, "My brother's in trouble because of me. You remember that pocket watch I told you about?"

She nods, her eyes glistening in the dark.

"Ryan's the one who took it. He thought he was helping me because I couldn't bring myself to finish the job, but I was really upset. I…we haven't talked for months after he took it. So he tried to steal it back, and he got caught. That's why he's in trouble."

"How's that your fault?" she asks, cocking her head.

"He's a hothead. If I'd been paying attention to what he was up to, it never would have happened. But I was pissed, so I shut him out."

"It's not your fault," she tells me, giving me those words I love hearing. "I'd like to know why you didn't want to take the watch."

I shrug, staring off into the night. It's dark out here, secluded, with the closest street light far enough away that it's no more than a wink in the night, almost like a distant star. It's surprisingly nice. Usually, I want to lose myself in the chaos of a city—the noise, the bodies, the people. But it feels good to be sitting out here, in the back of this car, with this woman. It feels soothing, like slipping naked into a cool lake, knowing you could get caught but doing it anyway.

I can feel her waiting, and I'm not sure why, but I decide I'd like to tell her. She's given me a deeper knowledge of her, and I want her to have the same for me. "The guy who trained us…he always told us to demonize the people we steal from, to think the worst of them. Because if you let yourself see them as people, it would feel wrong." I give her a half smile. "Because it is wrong. Anyway. This guy…he was an older man, and he was all alone in the world. He'd lost his son. So it was easy for me to befriend him, but the more time we spent together, the more I realized he was a good person. Lonely. And he told me about the watch. It wasn't some expensive toy, Elaine. It had been passed down in his family, from his great-grandfather, to his grandfather, to his father, to him. He'd wanted to pass it on to his son. It was registered with the Sons of the American Revolution." I take a deep breath before letting it gust out, the truth stabbing into me. It's a persistent pain I've carried around, the way hard lessons always are.

She surprises me by taking my hand, our thighs still pressed together, and in a strange way, it's more intimate than what I was doing to her five minutes ago, when I was crouched on the ground with her thighs around my shoulders.

"He wanted to give it to me."

She squeezes my hand. "And you said no."

"I said I didn't feel worthy of it. He told me to think it over, and I called the guy we were working with and said I was done. I'd been working on a freelance business. Designing websites. I had some money in the bank, and I figured I could try doing that full time." I shake my head. "But he didn't want to let me walk away. If Ryan hadn't taken the watch, he would have found another reason to pull me back in."

"How'd you get mixed up with him in the first place?"

My mouth hitches up. "Ryan. I told you he was an idiot. We were teenagers, living with our foster parents. We didn't have a pot to piss in, but at least the state kept us together. He started stealing so we could save up some money, maybe get ourselves emancipated, and he took something from the wrong person."

"The man who has him now," she says, catching on quickly, not that I'm surprised. Give her two and two, and she'll get four every time.

I nod. "He told Ryan he had to pay the price for stealing from him."

"I'm guessing it wasn't a hand in the beginning?"

I smile and shake my head. "No, we both had to learn from him, that was the price. So that's what we did."

She calls him names under her breath.

"Sure. He was a lowlife," I agree. "But it was also the only real attention we'd ever gotten from an adult. It felt pretty good at the time. The money did too."

Her expression hardens, and for a moment I think I've lost her. "He took advantage of you," she finally says. "My parents were like that too. I was a tool for them. A way they could get what they wanted for the price of their approval. That's not a real family."

I nod in agreement. I'd learned that lesson too. I'd learned it when I'd told Roark that I'd had a change of heart and I couldn't do it anymore. He'd looked me in the eye and told me to do what he'd sent me to do or someone else would.

And then he'd arranged for my own brother to do it to really twist the knife.

"Why won't you let Damien and Nicole help you?"

I shrug, feeling the weight of the situation. Even if I find the necklace, even if Lainey and her friends allow me to bring it to Roark instead of returning it to the old woman, is he really going to leave us alone? Ryan and I have been working together as a pair, earning him money since we were teenagers. Why would he give that up?

"Maybe," I demur, turning her palm over in my lap to trace my fingers over it. Which is when I notice it's bleeding. Concern rips through me, stronger than it should be over a couple of scrapes. "Shit, you've got splinters from the bat. We're going to have to treat that. My brother got a wicked infection from a bunch of splinters in his hand."

"How'd he get them, from scaling someone's fence?"

A laugh escapes me. "Please. We're more professional than that. It was from punching a tree."

"I'm guessing the tree won?"

"Hot tip, Elaine," I say, getting up and pulling her with me. "The tree always wins." I glance at the splintered bat on the ground. "Unless it's turned into a bat and beaten into splinters by a hellcat."

Her laughter fills me up, and the moment feels as near to perfect as I'm likely to get it.

Except that I didn't get her to come. Yet.

I'm going to, before I have to leave her.

I want that almost as bad as I want the necklace.

No, the truth is that I want it more, because this is something I want for myself.