Day after day with no word from Jessica and only updates from Luke . . .
He was going stir-crazy. And from what Luke was saying, she wasn’t getting any better.
After every fight he attempted a phone call.
No answer. No surprise.
A few more texts would be sent once he was five drinks in. Maker’s Mark. The good stuff. Yeah, well, the good stuff also made him eerily vulnerable and had him giving in to his desire to message her like some frat boy with a crush.
No Maker’s Mark tonight, he’d already decided.
“You two okay?”
It was maybe the first time he’d ever been relieved to be rescued by Angelo. Of course, the guy was also the reason his sister had shown up tonight. He didn’t like her here, and not just because of Angelo or the fighting—it made him edgy to have her anywhere near violence or violent people.
What am I, though?
He was living two lives lately. It’d been easier back in the day. He’d never walked the fine line. No need to balance.
Now, he was a SEAL by day and an animal by night. A man who turned into a beast in the cage, tearing everyone apart to the near brink of death.
He’d become the man he’d run away from. And all it had taken was nearly losing a woman he cared about, a woman he wasn’t even allowed to have.
“I should go.” Asher heaved out a deep sigh.
“Damn right, you should!” Sarah hit his chest again and then winced. “You made of titanium or something?” A fraction of a smile touched the edges of her lips.
“Sorry I ratted on ya, but I was worried about you.” Angelo shrugged.
“Like I said, I should go.” Asher started to turn but then halted. “You shouldn’t be here, either.”
Sarah stepped closer to Angelo, and he looped an arm around her. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”
Asher grumbled and rolled his eyes, still hating the idea of them together. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t kill Angelo. Could he?
“See you again tomorrow?” Angelo asked.
“What?” Sarah spun out of his grasp and now slammed her palm against Angelo’s chest. “No!”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Probably. His visits to the club had become a welcome routine.
Let the first fighter get in some good shots.
Feel the pain.
Be the pain.
And then unleash.
He needed to leave before his sister hit him again. He’d already taken enough punishment tonight.
Asher grabbed his jacket and boots, and once he was fully dressed he left the club and made his way to the bar he’d been hanging out at every night.
“Damn you, Maker’s Mark,” he said to his glass before he poured the liquid down his throat an hour later.
“You okay, honey?” A women’s voice crawled over the back of his neck and had him flinching as if someone had gotten the drop on him.
He glanced back to see red nails atop his shoulder. “Not interested.”
She huffed and flitted away. Thank God for that.
He found his phone in his jacket pocket and scrolled through his messages.
Still nothing from Jessica.
Valentine’s Day was in a week, and he hated the idea of Jessica pent up in her apartment on that day.
She deserved better. She deserved the fucking world.
After downing another drink, he tossed his money on the bar and then went out into the night. No snow, but it was the bitter and bone-chilling kind of cold that could freeze a man’s balls off.
He hopped into a taxi and, twenty minutes later, found himself parked outside Jessica’s.
He paid the driver and then tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and lifted his eyes to the third level. “What am I doing here?”
I should go.
But for some reason, he couldn’t get himself to move.
Chapter Eighteen
Jessica rolled to her side and took a calming breath, trying to shake off her nightmare. She caught sight of the time on her alarm clock, but when her phone buzzed from a text alert, she fumbled for it, nearly knocking it off the nightstand in the process.
Asher: You alone?
She sat upright, her heart skipping a few beats as she stared at his words.
Her fingers splayed over the screen as she thought about whether or not to answer.
Asher was like water. A vital force. But water had nearly drowned her in Germany, and so . . .
She set the phone back down but kept her eyes locked onto the screen, her thumb wedged between her teeth.
Asher: I’m on the street outside your place. Tell me to leave, and I will. If you don’t respond, I’ll just hang out here.
Her gaze swung over her shoulder to the window, and she stood.
Her heart effectively in her throat, she maneuvered to the window and peeled the curtains back a hair to see if Asher was joking or not.
Leaning against a streetlight, Asher had his gaze pinned on her window. A quick salute her way had her staggering back and losing her grasp of the curtains.
“Shit.” Her phone buzzed again, and she grabbed it.
Asher: You’re awake. But are you alone?
Damn it. She didn’t want him to see her like this, but she couldn’t let him stay out in the cold.
Jessica: I’m buzzing you in.
After a minute, she heard the heavy sound of a rap at her door.
“Give me a second,” she said, her voice weak. Barely used, even when her parents visited. It wasn’t like she was going to chat about her feelings with them.
“Of course.” The sound of his voice did something to her. It was like a reset button had been pressed, refreshing her.
She gathered a breath and opened the door.
“Hi,” he said and his Adam’s apple moved with a hard swallow as he eyed her.
Her hand swept to her mouth at the sight of the bruises on his face, and she rushed forward a step, a gasp slipping from her lips. “What happened? Were you on an op I didn’t know about?”
Had Luke kept something from her?
She brushed the back of her hand over his cheek, and he swallowed and wrapped his hand over her wrist.
He shook his head, and his gaze narrowed.
Standing so close to him now, she could smell the alcohol.
“You’ve been fighting,” she said, and her lungs felt as if they were going to collapse.
He paused, his brows drawing inward. “It’s not what you think.”
She retracted her hand from the circle of his loose grip and pivoted out of his reach to face her home. “You’ve been in New York for months, and you never went to that club. Why now?” She briefly peered at him from over her shoulder. “Don’t lie to me, either.”
He held his hands up in surrender before closing the door behind him. “I needed to release some tension.” He circled her to find her face.
“Oh.” She didn’t like the idea of him revisiting his past, a past she knew would be hard for him to walk away from again. But she was in no position to criticize.
“I’ve been worried about you.” He removed and tossed his jacket. “Are your parents at a hotel?”
She nodded. “They leave tomorrow. They were going to cancel their cruise in the Bahamas, but I convinced them to go.”
“Have they been driving you crazy?” He smiled.
“Of course.” She folded her arms as a brush of cold air moved across her skin. Somehow, Asher had brought the outside in with him.
She glanced down, remembering she was only wearing a tee that stopped mid-thigh, along with her slipper boots, one of the pairs Grace had given her.
Asher observed her from head to toe, and his gaze somehow warmed her, eliminating the chill that had brushed up her spine moments ago.
“I wasn’t expecting guests.”
“Guess not since you banned us from coming by.” His forehead creased, a touch of frustration gathering in his eyes.
&n
bsp; “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you guys to see me like this.”
“Like what?” He cocked his head to the side, studying her. “I see a beautiful woman in front of me.” His voice lowered. “A strong-as-fuck woman.”
She lightly shook her head. “How is fuck strong?”
He cracked a smile. “Back to busting my balls already?”
His brown eyes found hers, pinning her in place. He felt like home.
“Maybe I should’ve had you come over sooner.” She said the words without allowing her typical filter to hold them in.
Being near him, even for a minute, already had her feet touching the ground again—he was like a magnet, pulling her back to where she needed to be. To who she needed to be.
“I’d ask you how you’re doing,” he began, “but it’d be a stupid question, I’m guessing.”
Not sure how to respond, she sidestepped him, strode into her living room, and dropped down on the couch.
He followed slowly, glancing around the room. “Did you not get any of the flowers we sent?”
She looked at him as he sat in the armchair opposite her. “I did, but flowers die, and I couldn’t handle watching that happen.”
His mouth rounded in understanding, and he was quiet for a minute before asking, “You want to get out of here? Go for a drive?”
She nearly laughed. “You don’t have a car in New York, and you’ve been drinking.” She pressed a pillow to her lap when she realized he could probably see her underwear. “And I’m not ready to drive.”
“Right.” He nodded. “Next idea.”
“It’s late, Asher.” Her stomach muscles tightened as she eyed him. She didn’t want him to leave, though. Not yet.
“I know. I’m sorry.” He started to stand, but she patted the air, and he slouched back into the chair and pressed his palms to his thighs. His gaze drifted across the room as if he didn’t know where to look. “You’re healing.”
“Yeah, on the surface, I suppose.” Shit. More words she hadn’t meant to say slipped through.
He shifted in the seat. He was about as good at dealing with emotions as she was. They both sucked, to put it mildly. But he was trying to be there for her, and so, she’d do her best not to muck it up.
“My friend is dead,” she said a moment later and blinked a few times. “I’ve lost people before. It should be a been-there-done-that thing, right? Why isn’t it?”
He was on his feet in an instant, and she found him sitting next to her. She shifted to better face him.
His hair was tied back, a few of the lighter amber-colored strands out of place, and she instinctively reached out and touched them, smoothing them down.
There was a cut above his eye and another on his lip. A few bruises on his cheek, too.
“Are you trying to look like me, to make me feel better?” A lame attempt at a joke, but she was doing her best. Unchartered territory and all. “How’d someone manage to hit you?” When he didn’t speak, she lowered her hand atop the pillow on her lap. “You let someone hit you, didn’t you?”
His gaze dropped, and he reached out and brushed his knuckles across the top of her hand. “You consider talking to someone about what happened?” he deflected.
“You’re serious?”
“It could be the alcohol talking because I know you’re as stubborn as me.”
“You’re much more stubborn than me.”
“True. We’re both fighters, I guess.”
“I’m not a fighter.” Her jaw clenched tight. “Not anymore. I failed.”
“No.” He covered her hand with his, and the gesture had her closing her eyes. “You’re the strongest woman I know.” He paused. “But everyone needs help once in a while.” At the sound of a subtle throat clear, she blinked her eyes open. “I could try and help if you’ll let me.” He shrugged, trying to play off the show of emotions. “I mean, we’re a team. You. Me. Right?”
She let go of a deep breath. “Luke’s back now. You don’t need to—”
“I do need to . . .” He lifted his hand and rubbed his jaw before rising to his feet. “Jessica, you could have PTS—”
“I don’t,” she cut him off. “I know the signs of PTSD, and I don’t have them. I have some nightmares, but they’re not about what happened to me.”
He nodded in understanding. “You’ll get through this,” he slowly said. “And I’ll always have your back, and not just because we’re—”
“I know.” She fought the rise of tears in her eyes. Unexpected. Unwanted.
“We’ll find the men responsible. I promise.” Turning his back to her, he squared his hands on his hips. His head dropped forward.
“It won’t matter.”
He spun to face her in the space of a heartbeat. “What?”
She tossed the pillow off to the side and stood. “There will be another Egon. Another Samir. A string of bad guys to replace them once they’re taken out. These unresolved conflicts in the Middle East will keep producing men like them.” A tear escaped and touched her cheek. “Maybe we should just let it go. Stop interfering with everyone’s problems.”
He closed the gap between them to stand directly in front of her and lowered his head to find her eyes. “You don’t mean that.”
She’d been thinking about this for days now, but it was the first time she vocalized her thoughts. “Maybe I do.”
“Don’t quit on me.” His hand wrapped over her shoulder, and her lip quivered at his touch.
“Maybe I can’t do this anymore.” Tears started to burn a trail down her cheeks. “Maybe I can’t be this person anymore.”
“What person?” He gathered her into his arms and pressed her cheek to his chest, holding her in place.
She’d opened up and cried in front of him in Berlin, but she’d blamed the medicine. What was her excuse now?
“Maybe I want to give up.”
He continued to hold her firmly in place, and she could feel his chin resting atop her head. “You’re a fighter.” He was quiet for a moment. “You’re supposed to grieve. To recover. To take time, but you’re Jessica Annaliese Scott. And the Jessica I know isn’t a quitter.”
“I just don’t think I can.” A sob tore from deep within. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but—”
“You could never disappoint me.” He pulled back, gathered her face in his hands, and focused on her eyes. “But you need to find the fight inside of you. It’s in there. I know it.”
Her chest hurt.
Everything fricking hurt.
And she wanted to bow down to the pain and let it consume her. Let all of the losses over the years sweep through and take her away. Take her to a place where it wouldn’t hurt so much.
She’d spent years honing her ability to remove emotions from her work, to be a woman who wouldn’t cave to the pressure of pain and loss. To grieve quickly and then move on for the sake of the job. But now . . .
“I ca-can’t. Too many people are gone.” Stolen from the world too soon.
“You can do it.” He dropped his head and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ve got you, okay?”
She pulled back a moment later to find his eyes, his warm hands still on her cheeks. “I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I want to.”
“Maybe it’s too soon to talk about this.” He wet his lips, hesitating to say more.
The words from the CIA officer who’d recruited her from MIT blew to the forefront of her mind.
People will die. Good people. Because you won’t be able to save them all. You won’t be able to help everyone. Probably not even one percent. But that doesn’t mean what you’re going to do won’t make a difference.
Those had been the words that had won her over, convinced her to join the agency.
One percent. Screw that, she’d whispered to herself before stepping into Langley.
“Jessica?” Asher brought her focus back to the room. “I’m sorry if coming here was a mistake.” He released her cheeks and moved back
a few feet. “I should’ve given you space.”
“No.” She sniffled. “I’m glad you came.” Two steps was all it took for her to be back in front of him. For her hands to land on the hard planes of his chest.
His heartbeat quickened beneath her palm, and he dropped his head forward a touch as if he wanted to kiss her. As if he wanted to steal her pain and make it his. And he would if he could—she knew it in her heart.
He’d always have her six, wouldn’t he? “Most days you drive me crazy,” she whispered. “But I never want . . . to know what it’s like . . .”
“You’ll never have to know.” His words brushed across her lips; he’d received her message even though she wasn’t able to fully deliver it.
“Let’s get you to bed.” He lifted her into his arms, and she didn’t protest.
How could she?
He placed her beneath the covers of her bed—a place where she’d guiltily fantasized about him for years, force-feeding herself the lie that the only thing between them was lust. An insatiable need to fulfill desires and nothing more.
“Goodnight,” he whispered and pressed his lips to the top of her head.
Chapter Nineteen
A hard-hitting electronic song pounded through the room, hiding the heavy swipes Jessica was taking at the punching bag. The surround sound was so loud he could feel the vibrations pulse through him.
He stared at Jessica in her black yoga pants and black sports bra, sweat dripping down her spine as she worked her gloves at the bag.
What the hell are you doing?
He lowered the music, and it had her whirling to face him. “Good. You made it.” She propped her gloved hands to her hips and sucked in a sharp breath.
As he made his way through the gym, which was hidden in the basement of the skyscraper of their office building, he couldn’t help but notice the light marks still on her stomach from the motherfucker who’d hurt her.
“Last night, when I said you should fight,” he said, stopping in front of her, “I didn’t mean literally.”
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