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“I’m sorry, Emma,” Jamie said, sounding genuine. “I’m sure his family is going through a tough time. I’ll put your name on the list in case you change your mind.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, ripping the AirPods from my ears and ending the call.
My heart raced, and not from exertion. Jamie had connected my boyfriend’s last name to the most recent victim of the Babau. It was easy to imagine that my worlds were separate—Jack and his mob, then school and my family. But they were bleeding into one another, spilling across lines. I was splintering. There were two Emmas—the fierce woman who fought for the man she loved, and the coy girl who fought for no one. Not even herself.
“You okay, Emmy?” Mick cocked his head as he approached. He wore jeans and a black vest, as per usual. He always looked the same—shredded, tattooed, a few inches taller than me and hair a natural shade of deep red.
“Where’s the boss?” I asked. Jack was the only person who could soothe me at a time like this, erase my panic. Sure, it’d blur my worlds more, but he was what I needed. Just one moment of serenity.
Still, it wasn’t common for me to try reaching Jack during his work hours. Sometimes he’d shoot me a text to check in, but our conversations were mundane—asking what I’d had for lunch, whether I was naked in bed, if I wanted a coffee on the days he didn’t get home until five in the morning. He wouldn’t talk about his work, so I had no idea what he did when he wasn’t home.
Mick shuffled his feet on the mat, uneasy. “He’s in the office.”
“Here?” I squeaked, glancing toward the hallway at the back of the building. “And he didn’t say anything?”
How often had I been training at the Emerald while Jack was in his office? I didn’t give myself time to dwell on that as I jogged toward the hall. I needed him. He could take a break to see me—to fuck me on his desk, to touch me while the sun was still well above the horizon.
“He’s not to be bothered, Em.” Mick grabbed my wrist before I could get closer. “He’s in a meeting.”
I quieted my voice. “With who?”
Mick’s pale cheeks turned pink. He cast his gaze downward, looking anywhere but me. “I’m not sure.”
I almost laughed. Mick not knowing who Jack was meeting with was asinine. He was his first lieutenant, his second in command, his closest friend. Mick knew where Jack was at all times of the day. They’d grown up together in the Bostonian projects. If anything, he knew Jack better than anyone apart from his brothers.
Brother, I corrected myself.
“Let go of my arm, Mickey,” I ordered.
Mick grimaced, releasing me from his hold. I spun, opening the door to Jack’s office.
“I need you to—”
Jack stopped midsentence, turning his head toward the door as it swung open, clanging against the wall. He stood behind his desk, fingers splayed on the wood as he leaned toward a familiar woman. She shifted, her eyes wide like a rabbit caught in headlights.
Oh, shit.
It was the Italian informant. The same one Jack had cornered at Roisin’s. The woman I’d accused him of fucking before we’d found Connor. Jack glared at Mick over my shoulder, his nostrils flaring.
“I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed,” Jack growled.
The gorgeous woman turned, her gaze sliding over my sweaty, disheveled appearance. She didn’t appear smug, as I would’ve expected based on our first encounter. This time, I could smell the fear pouring off her skin. She didn’t want to be here.
“So, I’m a disturbance now?” I volleyed, betrayal thick in my throat.
Jack sighed, running his hand through his messy hair. “Mick?”
Mick took my arm, tugging me into the hall. Once he shut the door to Jack’s office, I yanked my elbow from his grip.
“There’s no need to be jealous, Em,” Mick pandered as I stalked down the ill-lit hallway.
I turned around, walking backward. “I’m not jealous because she’s a woman, Mickey! I’m jealous because she’s useful to him.”
Mick’s ocean eyes widened, aghast. “You’re useful, Emma. Not in the same way, but you are useful.”
“Oh, fuck off, Mick!” I hollered, entering the main floor. A few men glanced in our direction, trying to hide their amusement as I stormed through the building. “I’m not just a wet hole!”
I called that last bit over my shoulder, shoving into the women’s locker room and ripping at my sports bra.
