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I curse and drop the envelope inside the bag. “Don’t open it,” I order.
He gives me a belligerent look. “I have to know if it’s a threat. I have a job to do and that’s to keep you alive.”
“Then clear the damn toxins and come back here before you open it.”
He arches an arrogant brow. “You sure about that?”
“I have nothing to hide,” I say. “I’ve beenpainfullyhonest with Emma.”
“Has she been honest with you?” he challenges.
“You know her now. Do you really think that’s who or what this is?”
“She seems like she’s a cool chick, on the up and up and all that shit, but my job isn’t to trust her. It’s to protect you.”
My jaw clenches. “It’s to protect her above me,” I insist. “Consider that a financial directive.”
His eyes narrow on me. “This won’t take long. I’ll be back.” His lips thin. “We all need to know what kind of love note this is. Wash your damn hands. Use soap.” He starts to turn and then pauses. “You have an hour to come to your senses and let me read the message first.”
“I’m not keeping this from Emma.”
“One hour,” he repeats, and with that, he walks away.
Bastard.
He really is a damn bastard, but I also have a strong sense that he’s good at his job. I shut the door and press my hands to it, lowering my head. I want to listen to him. I don’t want Emma upset any more than she already is. My brother has to be behind that envelope, somehow, someway. After what he did last night, I don’t even want to know what he put in that envelope. I scrub my jaw and push off the door. I don’t want Emma to run. I don’t want her alone in San Francisco either. I’ve hired an army of protection that will be here today. I need to think. I need to wash my damn hands.
I head up the stairs and walk into the kitchen to find Emma standing on the opposite side of the island, her hair sexy and wild, mascara smudged under her eyes. All the bad between our families fades at that moment and how can it not? What I feel seeing her here, in this castle, in my home, is inexplicably right. Right in a way I didn’t think I’d ever feel with a woman. I need to protect her. I need to consider Savage’s advice.
And then, Emma asks, “What aren’t you going to keep from me, Jax?”
Chapter fifty-five
Emma
Jax doesn’t answer my question. He doesn’t tell me what Savage wanted him to cover up, to hide from me. It’s not the response I expect from him.
He stands there, just inside the kitchen, more the stone of the castle than the man who owns the manor. He’s unreadable, his jaw set hard, the air between us and around him crackling with tension. His fingers flex and then curl into his palms, a man of control who seems to be battling to maintain it. He doesn’t want to tell me what’s going on. He told Savage he had to tell me, but it seems that he said one thing to Savage and when he walked up the stairs, he intended to do another. Considering how upfront he’s been about his intentions, I’m not sure what to do with that information. What pulls him back now and not previously?
A million possibilities burn a path through my mind, taunting me, and I focus on his brother’s death and my family’s potential involvement. “Jax,” I prod, going crazy in my own head right now.
As if my voice snapped him back to the present, as if he was locked in his own mental hell, he takes a deep breath. But still,he doesn’t speak. His spine straightens, and he starts walking, deceptively casual, slow steps that I think will lead him to me, but he cuts toward the sink, steps to it and turns on the water. I blanch, confused at this response. He’s literally washing his hands and even his forearms, his shoulders bunched, instead of speaking to me. Jax isn’t someone to do such a random thing. No. No, that is something I’ve admired about him. He knows who he is and what he wants. He dares to be who he is, to own his place and his actions.
What the hell is this?
“What the hell is this?” I demand voicing my thought, feeling like this is a time bomb about to go off, my heart racing, my adrenaline surging.
I step to the space behind him, at his back as the island is at mine, determined to get answers, but I don’t yell or shout nor does he immediately turn to face me. Nor do I demand that he turn right now and give me an answer despite wanting to do just that. I force calm because that’s what I do. I’m calm. I’m rational and that has nothing to do with my preaching to myself about never making assumptions because assumptions make you look stupid. My mother was always afraid of my father’s contempt for all things stupid. I’m not her, and Jax is not my father, but I recognize that the effects of last night’s events still linger. I recognize that the idea of my family doing bad things is messing with my head.
Jax turns off the water, grabbing a towel to dry his hands, his chin lowering to his chest, an obvious struggle inside him and that calm evaporates. “I can’t take it,” I say. “What’s going on, Jax? What is—”
He tosses the towel and turns around. The next thing I know, he’s pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it. I blink, and he’s leaning forward, planting his hands on the island on eitherside of me. “Do you know why I just took my shirt off after washing up?”
“You want to have sex?” I ask cautiously, confused right now, my brow furrowing. “Though I’m not sure why you would wash your hands to have sex.”
His expression tightens. “If only we could just have sex and forget the rest of this hell.” He pauses a beat and then adds, “There was an envelope left by the door with your name on it,” he says. “And Savage insisted he test it for toxins. I washed up because I touched the package. I didn’t want to expose you if I’d been exposed. Savage didn’t want me to tell you. He knew I didn’t want you upset.”
I can feel the blood run from my face, demons, my family’s demons, attacking me left and right. They just won’t stop attacking. And this is about my family. It’s clearly all about my family. “What’s in the envelope?”
