Jake Forever (Jaked Book 3)

by Sabrina Stark

  I glanced toward the elevator's control panel. "You wanna talk? Fine. But let's talk at your place, okay?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I don't know who the fuck's there. That's why."

  I drew back, startled by his language. Sure, I'd heard that word before, plenty of times – from Jake and from my own lips. But if he thought that cursing at me now was going to get him the answers he wanted, he had another thing coming.

  I gave him my snottiest smile. "So we have company? Who the fuck is it?"

  He wasn't amused. "What do you want? An apology?" His tone grew sarcastic. "Does my language offend you?"

  Did it? Not really, except when he sounded so mad.

  I didn't know what to say, so I shrugged and left it at that. Let him figure it out. And if he did, maybe he could tell me, because I was so confused I could hardly think.

  He was still looking at me. "Get offended all you want. But you're gonna tell me." His voice grew a shade darker. "Here. Now."

  What the hell?

  "This isn't a conversation," I told him. "It's an interrogation." I dropped my arms and stiffened my spine. "And I don't like it."

  "You don't like it, huh?" His jaw tightened. "I bet there's a lot of things you wouldn't like."

  Something about the way he said it sent a cold shiver down my spine. There was a nasty edge that I couldn’t quite decipher. What, exactly, was going on?

  With an effort, I shook off the chill and demanded, "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Just answer the question. Is there something you wanna tell me?"

  "Yeah," I said. "You're being a jerk. How's that?"

  I waited for him to argue the point. But he didn't. Instead, he just stood there, looking like he'd be willing to wait all day, if that's what it took.

  I didn't want to wait all day. I was cold and tired, and Vince's hoodie wasn't nearly as dry as when I'd put it on. Suddenly, all I wanted was a hot bath and a glass of wine. Or hell, how about the whole bottle? The day had been that craptastic.

  Again, I thought of that picture on Jake's phone. How, exactly, did he get that?

  "What's going on?" I demanded. "Are you having someone spy on me? You think I'd cheat on you or something? Is that it?"

  It seemed far-fetched, but what other explanation was there? Everything about him – his demeanor, his words, the way he was looking at me – it felt like one giant accusation, which totally sucked, because I'd done nothing wrong.

  When he made no response, I took a deep breath and kept on going. "Because it seems to me, you have a lot more opportunities to cheat than I do. Maybe I should have someone follow you around. See how you'd like it."

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized that I had to be missing something. If Jake really were having someone follow me around, they probably would've stopped to help me when those two losers had cornered me on the street.

  I paused.

  Oh.

  Already, Jake had shoved his phone back into his pocket. But in my mind, I could still see the picture, not just of me, but of my surroundings. And suddenly, I knew exactly where that photo had come from. And I also knew why Jake was so pissed off.

  He knew those people.

  Crap.

  And worse, the way it looked, those psychos had told on me.

  Chapter 20

  Inside the elevator, I held out my hand, palm up. "Alright, lemme see it."

  "My phone?" Jake gave me a hard look. "Where's yours?"

  I made a sound of frustration. "What does that have to do with anything?"

  "Just tell me. Where is it?"

  I knew exactly where my phone was. It was up in Jake's penthouse, inside my purse, on the small table near the entryway. But that was hardly the point.

  I wanted to scream in frustration. But instead, I took a deep, steadying breath and said in a voice that was far calmer than I felt, "I'm not looking to make a phone call. I want—"

  "Why'd you leave it?"

  The questions were coming so hard and so fast that I was having a hard time keeping track. "Why'd I leave what? My phone?"

  As an answer, Jake reached into his back pocket and pulled out a cell phone. Not his cell phone. My cell phone. Silently, he held it out vaguely in my direction, as if to say, "You want it? Well, there ya go."

  Well, that was rich. So all along, he'd known exactly where my phone was? If so, why the third-degree?

  I stared down at the thing, still in Jake's possession. "You took my phone?"

  Given where I'd left it, it felt like a huge invasion of privacy. What was he doing, anyway? Going through my things? And why?

  Feeling ready to explode, I snatched the phone out of his hand and shoved it into the front pocket of my borrowed hoodie. I glared up at him and waited for some sort of explanation.

  Jake looked down at the hoodie and frowned, as if noticing it for the first time. From the look on his face, he'd also noticed that the hoodie was a few sizes too big and obviously not my own.

  But he said nothing about the hoodie. Instead, he lifted his gaze to my eyes and said, "You gonna answer my question?"

  At this point, I didn't even know what question he meant. But I did know one thing. I'd had just about enough of this.

  "No," I told him. "You answer my question first." To drive the point home, I spoke very slowly and clearly. "What were you doing with my phone?"

  "Screw your phone."

  "Oh yeah?" Suddenly, I felt like crying. "Well, screw you, too, Jake."

  He had no reaction, not even a flinch. That shouldn't have been surprising. Jake had a long, public track-record of pissing people off. A basic "screw-you" would be nothing to him. And pathetic or not, I wasn't willing to go any further.

  As a kid, I'd seen my own parents go through the whole name-calling thing. That wasn't going to be me, not if I could help it.

  So I took a deep breath and tried again. "What were you doing? Checking my text messages? Reading my email? Because I have nothing to hide, and even if I did…" I threw up my hands. "Well, I don't, okay?"

  At this, he gave a small laugh. "Right."

  "God, what is your deal today?"

  But part of me knew what the deal was. And it had to do with that stupid picture. For the second time, I held out my hand. "Your phone. I need to see it."

  When he made no move, I added, "What's the big deal? You had my phone. So fair is fair, right?"

  After a long, tense moment, he finally reached into his front pocket and pulled out his own phone. Silently, he dropped it into my open palm.

  I went to work immediately, sliding my finger across the smooth screen. As usual, I was greeted with the password-prompt. Assuming he hadn't changed it, the password was my name.

  I paused. But what if he had changed it? How humiliating would that be, to try my own name and have it fail?

  Trying not to sound pathetic, I said, "Is the password the same as before, or…?" Stupid or not, I couldn't bring myself to finish the sentence. I looked up and was startled to find Jake staring, not at the phone, but at me.

  His eyes were dark, and his mouth was tight. "You know what the password is."

  When I answered, my voice came out embarrassingly small. "Do I?"

  "It hasn't changed." His own voice grew softer now. "It's not gonna change."

  At this, I felt a pitiful surge of relief. "Really?"

  "What do you think? That I’m gonna grab my phone and change the password – or shit, change how I feel about you – just because you pissed me off?"

  "I pissed you off?" I tried to smile. "Funny, I hadn't noticed."

  Jake swallowed, and his face, all hard angles and shadows, softened into something that melted my heart. "I was so fucking worried."

  The look in his eyes hurt to see. "You were?"

  He glanced down at his cell phone, still cradled in my hands. His voice grew raw. "You have no idea."

  He was right. I didn't. But I was desperate to know more, so I
looked down at his phone and tapped in the password. The answers had to be in there somewhere. I was sure of it.

  And, as it turned out, I was right.

  Chapter 21

  Holding Jake's cell phone, I scrolled until I found it, that awful photo of me. Trying not to cringe, I gave it a quick glance, but noticed nothing new.

  I kept on scrolling, not through his pictures, but through the other screens. I knew exactly what I was looking for, and I wasn't planning to stop until I found it.

  By now, I had a theory. The scary duo had taken that picture from the window of that gold SUV. And then, trouble-makers that they were, they'd texted that stupid picture to Jake, along with some sort of message.

  Finally, I found it – the series of texts that accompanied the photo. Turns out, I'd been right.

  Score one for me.

  Hey, I needed the point. Today, I was so far behind, I needed all the help I could get.

  I squinted down at the sender's name. "Who's Moe?" I recalled the two losers who'd given me such a hard time. "The guy or the girl?"

  "If there was a girl," Jake said, "it's first I've heard of it."

  I looked up. "So, that guy, Moe, you know him?"

  It was a stupid question. Of course, Jake knew him. Not only had Moe practically fled at the mention of Jake's name, he was a personal-contact on Jake's cell phone. And to top it all off, the way it looked, he and Jake were on texting terms.

  What were they? Best buddies or something?

  Jake gave a shrug. "Yeah, you might say I know him."

  "How?" I asked. "Are you friends or something?"

  "I wouldn’t go that far."

  Well, that was a relief. I guess. I looked down to the phone and started scrolling up, looking for the first text in the series.

  "If you're gonna read them," Jake said, "read them out loud."

  "Why?"

  "Just do it."

  Well, that wasn't bossy or anything. But fearful of Jake snatching his phone away, I decided not to argue.

  Already, I'd found the first text. It was the one that accompanied the photo. It had only four words, from Moe to Jake. Reluctantly, I read those words out loud. "This belong to you?"

  The words burned in my throat. This? Meaning me? What the hell?

  I looked up, meeting Jake's gaze. "So I'm a 'this'? Like a possession?"

  "In Moe's world? Yeah. You are." His jaw clenched. "But you're my 'this,' which is why you're standing here, nice and safe, right now."

  His words, filled with hints of unspoken danger, sent another cold shiver down my spine. Trying for a bravado that I didn't quite feel, I said, "Yours, huh? As opposed to what? Moe's newest party girl?"

  Silently, Jake looked down at me for a long, tense moment. And then, when he finally spoke, his voice was deadly quiet. "That's not a party you'd enjoy."

  "Well, obviously." With an effort, I shook off the chill and looked back to his phone, determined to keep on reading. "And then you say, 'Yes. That's mine. All mine.'" The "all" was in capital letters. But that wasn't what caught my attention. It was the way Jake had phrased it.

  With growing resentment, I said those first words again, this time as a question. "That's mine?"

  In a sense, it was true. I was his. And he was mine. But the phrasing was off in so many ways.

  It felt wrong and foreign. I was so offended I could hardly speak. And yet, I'd be lying if I didn't admit, if only to myself, that it sent an embarrassing thrill straight through my heart and lower, to places covered by the cold denim of my soggy Daisy Dukes.

  That was so seriously messed up.

  Jake's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Get mad all you want, but that's the way Moe talks, which means it's what he understands."

  "Oh." I guess that made sense in a weird, twisted sort of way.

  "And," Jake continued, "I sure as hell wasn't gonna waste time looking for a nicer way to tell him hands-off." He gestured toward his phone, still cradled in my hands. "Now, go on. Finish the rest."

  I scrolled down and winced. This text was from Jake to Moe. Reluctantly, I said, "And you say, 'Where the fuck is she?'"

  I looked up, meeting Jake's gaze. His eyes looked haunted for reasons that I was only beginning to understand.

  Lamely, I mumbled, "I just went for a walk."

  "Yeah. So you said."

  "You think I'm lying?"

  He closed his eyes for a long, painful moment. "I thought you were upstairs."

  Something in his voice caught me off-guard. "What?"

  "When you left my office, I thought you were going upstairs."

  "To your penthouse?"

  He shook his head. "Not my penthouse. Our penthouse."

  "Oh come on, Jake. That's really nice and all, but you don't have to put it like that. I mean, I know it's yours. And that's okay. Really. I'm just glad you let me stay there. Honest."

  It was true. The place was a palace. I'd arrived as a house guest, and hadn't quite left. Part of me was thinking I might never have to leave – the penthouse or more importantly, Jake. But it seemed a supreme arrogance to simply assume so.

  Inside the elevator, Jake was looking at me like I'd lost my mind. "Let you stay there?"

  "Well, you know…"

  "No. I don't." He made a scoffing sound. "But forget that. We'll talk about it later." Again, he gestured to the phone. "Keep reading."

  I scrolled lower. The next text was from Moe. Looking at it, I felt myself frown.

  "What?" Jake said. "You want me to read it?"

  "No." I squared my shoulders. "That's fine. I'll do it." Trying to sound casual, I read the message out loud. "Bitch gonna get herself killed."

  In truth, I wasn't sure what bothered me more – that he'd called me a bitch, or that he had such low expectations for my survival. After all, I'd made it back to Jake's place just fine, a little soggy maybe, but thankfully unharmed.

  I looked up, wondering what Jake would say now.

  He said nothing, and the silence stretched out.

  Trying to make a joke of it, I said, "Well, he seems nice."

  "You think it's funny?"

  "No. That's not it." In a softer voice, I added, "I know you were worried, but everything was fine." I tried to smile. "See? Here I am. All in one piece."

  Jake's gaze slid down my borrowed hoodie, and then lower, as if recalling how I'd looked in that stupid picture. Even now, I wasn't quite decent. Vince's hoodie, as large as it was, fell nearly to the bottom of my shorts, which to be honest, were a little too short for my own good.

  Probably, I looked half-naked, even now. I shifted uncomfortably, wondering what Jake was thinking. From the look on his face, it couldn't be good.

  He was no prude, and he didn't mind me dressing sexy. I knew that firsthand.

  But he was protective. And I didn't need a crystal ball to tell me that everything would've been fine if only that guy – Moe – had just minded his own damn business.

  Desperate to put all of this behind us, I tried again. "Oh come on, Jake. That guy was totally wrong. He got you worked up for nothing."

  Okay, that wasn't quite true. In reality, I had a sneaky suspicion that my poorly timed walk could've ended a lot differently. But saying so wouldn’t make Jake feel any better now, and if nothing else, I owed him a certain peace-of-mind.

  Going for a distraction, I said, "And a little rain isn't gonna kill me. Right?"

  But Jake was frowning again. "You think it's the rain I was worried about?"

  "No. But I'm just saying—"

  "Wanna know why I had your phone?"

  Startled by the change of subject, I managed to say, "Um, yeah. That would be really nice, actually."

  "I had your phone, because as soon as I got that message – the first one – I called you. You didn't answer."

  "Well, yeah, because—"

  "So I ran the hell upstairs to grab my car-keys."

  I blinked. "Ran?"

  "You think I'm gonna wait for the damn eleva
tor?"

  "Oh. Sorry." I wasn't sure why I was apologizing. The building did have that emergency stairway, but no one actually used it, except, apparently for Jake, especially when psychos in gold SUVs got him worked up for no good reason.

  "And the whole time," Jake continued, "I'm calling you, thinking, 'Please, fuck, answer.' But you don't." His voice grew ragged on the edges. "And so I'm grabbing the keys, and I heard this ringing. I recognize the ringtone. It's your phone. And I find the damn thing in your purse, where it's not gonna do you a damn bit of good."

  He sounded so worked up that I didn't know what to say. Finally, I mumbled, "Yeah. I know. I forgot it."

  "You forgot it," he repeated.

  "Oh, come on. You don't take your phone everywhere."

  "Yeah? Well, you're not me."

  And there it was again. That same double-standard. Probably, I should be angry. In principle, I guess I was. But looking at him now, so worked up on my behalf, lofty principles seemed kind of unimportant in the big scheme of things.

  And, as much as I hated to admit it, Jake did have a point.

  It wasn't his fault that I'd ended up on the wrong street at the wrong time. And it wasn't his fault that some psycho had sent him that stupid text. And it sure as heck wasn't his fault that I'd forgotten my phone at a time when he'd been so desperate to get ahold of me.

  And he had been desperate. Even now, I could see it in his eyes. I could hear it in his voice. And a few minutes earlier, after he'd practically jumped out of his car to get to me, I could feel it in the intensity of his embrace.

  I looked down and stared at my soggy shoes. Never in my whole life had anyone cared so much for my wellbeing. Even when I'd been a kid, my parents had been too wrapped up in their own things to obsess over where we were, or what we were doing.

  For most of that time, I'd been doing a lot of things that I shouldn't have been, not that my parents realized half of it. But unlike my parents, Jake was street-smart in ways they could never be. He saw it all and didn't look away when things got bad.

  I felt myself frown. Of course, it didn't help that he literally had people telling on me.