Broken Process

by Bethany Jadin

  The look on her face has my blood trickling like ice water in my veins, and I move in front of her immediately, putting both of the women behind me. Standing in the doorframe, I take it all in within the span of half a second.

  Havoc. Torn cushions, shattered glass, the kitchen emptied onto the floor — every single goddamn cabinet and drawer. Automatic reflexes take over, one hand reaching for the pistol grip at the small of my back, and the other motioning for the ladies to step back. A crash comes from inside the apartment, and I immediately pinpoint it as emanating from Emma’s room.

  The girls aren’t moving fast enough.

  This isn’t a time to be gentle. I push Emma to the side, smashing her into Zoey, and they both stumble away from the door. A spike of remorse stabs in my gut at the roughness of my shove, but I’ll have to apologize later. Right now, I need them out of sight and up against the wall in the building’s hallway. I draw my gun and ready myself, stepping into the apartment.

  My eyes scan the space, and I’m debating whether to take up position at the corner of the hallway leading to the bedrooms, or slip behind the couch to lay in wait and take these motherfuckers out when they show their faces, but I’m only three feet into the living room when my ears pick up the click of the main townhouse door a floor below us.

  Fuck.

  I can’t go inside and leave the girls alone. I step back into the hallway and lean against the wall beside the girls, where they’ve clutched hands and are standing as still as statues. I pull out my phone, bringing up Jude’s last text and tap out a terse message with one hand.

  Intruders. Get Jax. Evacuating girls.

  I pocket my phone, knowing he won’t text me back and risk anyone hearing the alert of an incoming message. I look over my shoulder at the two women and point toward the stairs. They nod silently, and I hold up a hand, gesturing for them to wait. Glancing around the doorframe, I sweep the space again, double-checking that no one’s made their way back out into the living room yet. It’s still clear, so I reach for the door handle and quietly pull the door shut, taking care to make sure the latch doesn’t make so much as a soft click as it closes.

  In the silence, I can hear whoever came in the building a second ago unlocking an apartment door downstairs. One threat neutralized. I motion for the women to get moving, and they scamper past me quietly, Emma in the lead, Zoey shadowing right behind her. I follow them down the stairs with my pistol still drawn, and I keep it at the ready all the way out the main door. As soon as we’re outside, the girls take off at a dead sprint down the sidewalk, fleeing in the direction of my car, and I tuck the gun back into my holster and break into a run behind them.

  Grabbing the key fob from my pocket, I unlock the car just as they reach it, and they both jump inside. A moment later, I slide in the driver’s seat and slam my thumb on the push-start ignition.

  The car roars to life, and I whip out of the parking spot. I have to resist jamming my foot down on the gas pedal as soon as we’re free of the tight space. Squealing tires would draw attention, and I want those assholes to be there when Jude and Jax arrive.

  I fish my phone back out of my pocket and toss it to Emma as I mentally map out the quickest route. “Here, text Daniel and Gunner. Tell them I’m taking you back to the Penthouse.”

  16

  Jude

  I want to see her — I need to see her — but I also need to fuck someone up. Whatever assholes were in her apartment really fucked that shit up good. It’s a goddamn mess. Emma and Zoey won’t be able to go back there — they never should’ve been there to begin with. Whether the assholes realized someone had come home, or if they were just at the end of their ransacking, they weren’t there when Jax and I reached the apartment, which I’m pretty fucking disappointed about. I would have loved to catch them red-handed.

  I’m not sure it’s a good idea to be going up to Gunner and Trigg’s penthouse right now. My adrenaline has rocketed into space, and there’s no way I’m going to be the comforting support that Emma needs right now.

  Jax isn’t helping. Unlike me, he’s just standing there, staring at the elevator doors, but I know that look. He’s in that too calm space. The eye of the hurricane. But at least he’s pulled it together, for now.

  The elevator dings, and the doors open into Gunner and Trigg’s entryway. My fists clench. I shouldn’t do this. I need to go beat the shit out of something. I should head back downstairs to the gym and hit a punching bag until my knuckles bleed. Usually, I funnel my aggression into something constructive — barking orders, getting a plan underway. But right now, there’s no command to run. If I walk in there, all I’m going to be is an asshole.

  Still, I follow Jax out of the entryway and toward familiar voices. Gunner, Trigg, and Daniel are tending to Emma and Zoey, and everyone is huddled together in the grand room.

  The second I see Emma, I also see the edge of concern and fear she’s harboring. Goddammit. I should have just thrown shit around while I was in her apartment to get this out of my system — it’s not like it would’ve made a difference with how broken and torn everything already was.

  We don’t make much noise as we come into the room, but Emma looks up and meets my eye. Her lips part and curl into the hint of a smile. The concern and fear drop away, and she steps free from the group. She breaks into an actual run to close the space between us, and something crazy happens inside my gut. All my muscles relax, and my fists uncurl. My stomach is doing aerial aerobatics, and my lungs tighten. I get my arms out in just enough time to catch her as she vaults and slams into my chest.

  Holy fuck.

  I wrap Emma against me, her lips tucked against my neck. It’s hard to breathe. I close my eyes, not able to concentrate, my anger slipping away. But I can’t let it go entirely, not yet. I tuck some of that rage down deep, because those assholes are going to pay.

  Emma lets out a whimper, and I realize she’s crying. I squeeze her tighter. “You’re okay. You’re safe here.”

  “It’s not me.” Her words are muffled against my neck. “I was so worried about you! And Jax!”

  She inhales sharply and leans away. It’s the goddamn hardest thing I’ve had to do in a long time, but I drop my arms from the tight hold I have on her. Emma flings herself into my twin’s arms next, and my stomach does that goddamn flippy thing again as I watch him scoop her up. Shit. Now I’m the furthest thing from angry. This isn’t how this works. I’m used to subsisting for days on nothing but the burn of rage inside to fuel me. But Emma just soothed every tattered nerve in my body with that embrace, and now I’m getting all sentimental watching her with my brother.

  I tear my eyes off them, needing something — anything – to take my attention away. I catch Gunner giving me a sly thumbs-up off to the side. And I give that fucker the middle finger in return.

  I know he always has a good stock of beer in the fridge here, so I storm over to it, trying to get my anger back. I pop open a beer and get to chugging. I take another hard pull as Jax presses his forehead against Emma’s, their eyes locked on each other’s as they whisper. Damn. I’ve never seen him with that look before, and over the years I’ve seen every look Jax has — but this one is new. Which can only mean one thing. That’s love. All over his face. He’s just covered in it, as plain as the tattoos on his arms and chest. I tip the bottom of the bottle into the air. He deserves her. The man needs to find some happiness, and from that look right there — she gives it to him.

  I swallow again, but the liquid is gone. That one went down too easy, and my anger is still nowhere in sight, so I reach into the fridge for another. I straighten back up, cracking the top, and nearly jump out of my fucking skin when a hand touches my arm.

  “I’m sorry for turning you down when you offered protection.”

  Emma’s fingers stroke against my skin, sending a burning sensation up and down my arm, and I struggle to get the words out. “Have you called the police?”

  She shakes her head, concern flashing in her e
yes. “Zoey said no police. Remember?”

  There’s the anger. It flashes through me like a hot bolt, and I take a deep breath. “Fuck their demands.”

  Emma lets out an uneasy sigh. “Nothing’s really changed from earlier, though, has it?”

  The beast is coiling inside me, eager to strike, and every muscle in my abdomen flexes to contain it. “They were in your goddamn apartment. For the second motherfucking time.”

  “Yes,” she says, looking down, a flush washing over her face. “I should have accepted your offer from the beginning. But I was too…” she lifts her eyes and looks off in the distance.

  I could fill her unfinished sentence with a million words, because I’ve been there myself. More times than I care to admit. Emma has that same stubborn streak I do.

  “I dunno... proud? Pig-headed? Naïve?” she says, trying to put a name to that stubborn streak of hers, looking at me with regret in her eyes.

  “I was going to say independent.” I love Emma’s tenacity and strength, even if those qualities sometimes slide right into sheer stubborness. There are moments when Jude can be bullheaded and orney as hell. He and Emma have that headstrong determination in common. It’s who they are. We all have our flaws, but they’re part of what make us beautiful.

  She tilts her head, a small smile on her lips. “That’s not quite true, but that’s a very kind way of putting it. Either way, what it boils down to is that I would love whatever help you can offer. All of it — whatever you think needs done, you won’t get any argument from me.”

  I roll my shoulders back. Now is not the time for anger. I’ve just been given the green light for protection detail, and I have some phone calls to make. But before I can jump into action, Emma’s hand moves down my arm, and her palm slips into mine. The warmth is back, surging through my body, but it’s not rage. It’s something else entirely.

  Emma guides me toward the group, and my eyes dart from face to face, waiting for some type of reaction to her holding my hand right in front of them. Maybe it’s not as intimate of a gesture as it feels, because no one seems to mind.

  Trigg nods as I join the circle they’ve made. “There isn’t anything to sleep on down in Emma and Zoey’s old apartment, so they’re going to stay here tonight. Gunner and I can sleep out here.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Zoey says. “I don’t want you guys to have to sleep out here. You’ve been sleeping on the floor enough lately.”

  “Hey, I don’t mind sleeping together.” Gunner grabs his roommate, spinning him around in a dramatic dance move before Trigg can get his bearings.

  Trigg stiff-arms him in the chest when they came to a stop, pushing Gunner back. “As long as you don’t sleep naked tonight.”

  The big guy doesn’t miss a beat and runs a hand down his chest and stomach provocatively. “Afraid this would be too tempting to pass up, aren’t ya?”

  Emma and Zoey laugh while Trigg and the rest of us roll our eyes at Gunner. The man does not have a serious bone in his body. Well, I know that’s not true. But he does have one hell of a knack for lightening the mood in a room.

  “Really, we can get a hotel room,” Zoey says.

  “You can if you want,” I tell her. “But for my own peace of mind, I’d prefer you two stay here in the building with us.”

  “I agree,” Jax says, and nods from the rest of the guys follow.

  Zoey breaths out a sigh of relief. “Okay, thank you, guys. Honestly, I can’t think of any place safer. Except maybe the Space Station. Unless BHC has people up there, too.”

  I glance at Emma, who is equally relieved at the decision.

  “Alright, well that’s settled, then,” I say with finality and step away from the group. I lower myself into one of the large leather chairs next to the fireplace, already going through a checklist in my head of what needs done — a few phone calls to some friends to see if there’s another angle we can approach this BHC situation from, a text to the head of our security team to tell him to double-up on guards in the building, an email to Magnus to have him put together a field team for both ladies, a cleaning service for Zoey and Emma’s apartment, and—

  My thoughts are interrupted as everyone wonders over to join me in the living room. The six of them find their spots on the sofa and the other armchairs, taking my settling as a cue to get a little bit more comfortable.

  Emma winds her way through the group and picks my lap as her seat. She curls her legs on top of my thighs and tucks herself into the crook of my arm.

  Yup, it’s a lost cause. The tension and anger that had begun to rise again as I ran through my list of action items is already ebbing away as she snuggles against me. No way am I going to be able to keep the rage inside me tonight.

  17

  Emma

  Daniel didn’t seem like the type to tell a lie… but… he said he could make French toast.

  Maybe it’s just me? Daniel served me first, then Trigg and Jude. I barely get the first bite down and need to chug half my glass of juice to wash the taste out of my mouth, but the guys are digging right in. Trigg and Jude sit on either side of me at Daniel’s dining room table, their hands and mouths busy as they use their forks to slice off bite after bite and shovel them in.

  Daniel is humming away happily in the kitchen, working his way through the soundtrack of a famous opera as he prepares servings for the rest of the crew, who have yet to show their faces this morning.

  I poke at the food on my plate, trying to decide how to eat the rest of it. It looks like French toast. The battered and fried bread has the loveliest golden-caramel color, and the dark flecks of cinnamon are evident. It even has a beautiful dusting of powdered sugar on top. But it tastes like I imagine soured gym socks would.

  Maybe it just has an off-flavor to me because I used Jude’s potent mouthwash this morning before we came here for breakfast. The guys seem to be enjoying their servings just fine.

  I cut off another bite and spear it with my fork, bringing it to my lips hesitantly. As soon as my mouth closes around the fork, I have to try not to gag. What is that godawful taste? What the hell did Daniel put in this?

  Jude looks up from his plate and watches me. “What’s wrong, Emma?”

  Trigg glances over and raises an eyebrow as he swallows down a big mouthful. “Do you need more syrup?”

  I look down at my plate, only two bites gone from the generous stack Daniel served me. I don’t know how I’m going to get through the rest of it, but I don’t want to hurt Daniel’s feelings, either. I glance at the guys, trying to decide how truthful to be. For all I know, this is their favorite breakfast of all time.

  “I’m not sure a gallon of Vermont’s finest could help this,” I admit.

  The briefest look passes between the guys before Jude leans back from his plate in surprise. “You don’t like French toast?”

  Trigg scoops up a big forkful and holds it up in front of him, a look of bliss on his face. “This is the best way to start the day, right here.”

  “Agreed,” Jude says, taking another big bite. “Mmm, delicious,” he murmurs as he chews.

  I watch them eat enthusiastically, feeling utterly confused. Are we eating the same food, here?

  Trigg waves his fork at my plate. “You better get going on that, Daniel will be over here with second servings any minute.”

  Another subtle glance between the guys.

  Ah-ha. I think I’m being played.

  Daniel emerges from the kitchen, skillet in hand. “Ready for more?”

  Jude gestures at his nearly-empty plate. “Right here, thanks.”

  Daniel slides the new pieces of French toast out of the pan, and immediately Jude reaches for the maple syrup, drizzling it over them.

  Then Daniel turns to me, looking so freaking adorable in his white chef’s apron that I can barely stand it. His eyes fall to my barely-touched serving. “What do you think?” he asks.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see both Jude and Trigg pretending to
be absorbed in their food, but their eyes keep darting over to see my reaction.

  “Well,” I say, “it’s, um…” I waver, searching for the right words — normally, I err on the side of always being honest, but I just can’t bring myself to say anything that would erase that hopeful smile from Daniel’s face. “It’s delicious. I was just really thirsty, so I drank my juice first.”

  Jude lowers his head at my comment, his body vibrating silently, and Trigg turns his face away. But Daniel doesn’t notice; his attention is trained on me.

  “Okay, good,” he says. He gives my shoulder a squeeze and flashes me a satisfied grin before heading back into the kitchen.

  As soon as he’s out of earshot I kick Jude’s shin under the table and then swiftly give Trigg the same treatment. They both jump and wince, but their faces are pictures of innocence.

  I glare at them. “You two.”

  “What?” Trigg says, looking angelic.

  “Don’t give me that shit, Trigg. I know something’s up.”

  Jude talks through a big mouthful. “Whaddya mean? We’re just having breakfast, Emma.”

  I wave my fork at them threateningly, wishing the tongs were sharper. “I swear to all that’s holy, I’ll stab you both right now if you don’t tell me what the flip is going on.”

  Trigg breaks first, a laugh fighting its way out of him in fits. Then Jude gives in, too, and he sets his fork down with a big grin.

  “What is it?” I ask, shifting my eyes back and forth between them. “Did you do something to my food?”

  Trigg takes a big swallow of his coffee and shakes his head. “No, no. I swear we didn’t. Ours is exactly the same.”

  I lower my voice to a whisper. “Then how on earth are you eating it? I’m not crazy, right? It’s really… bad, yes?”