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“No!” he yells, his panic breaking through the speaker. “Don’t hang up, please Jackson!”
He never calls me that, and the use of my full name sets off alarms in my head. “What’s wrong?”
“Where is Gwen? Is she still with you?”
“She just walked into her building. I assure you she is safe, I watched her go inside. What’s wrong?”
“Remember when I told you that we caught the other robbers because they wouldn’t stop blabbering about the bank robbery at the bar? Everyone at the station has been talking about how lucky we were to close the case so soon and so easily, which was mostly thanks to Gwen’s positive ID of Sam Kemp. He refused to tell us who else was involved, but we were able to narrow it down to some key players in the gang, and the guys we arrested last night confessed to everything—”
“Get to the part where Gwen is concerned,” I say impatiently, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Right, you’re right,” he says, flustered. “Sam Kemp is . . . well . . .”
“The gang leader Gwen identified? What about him?”
“He escaped, Jax,” he says shakily. “He escaped from jail this morning, and I’ve just been told that they’re still looking for him. Apparently, he punched a cop while being taken into the infirmary, and . . .”
I tune him out, uninterested in the details of how the man managed to escape. My only concern is the girl who just left my car.
Gwen’s life is in danger!
I will fuck this guy up if he dares try to touch her.
He is dead if he lays a finger on her.
Chapter Nine
Gwen
Phew, that was close.
I almost got sucked back into more of Jax’s lies. The truth is, I want to believe him if only to keep him in my life, but I know better than to make the same mistake twice. I am going to gather the pieces of my broken heart, take a page from my sister’s book, and drown myself in ice cream. Dawn swore on her life that ice cream can cure all sorts of broken hearts, and I am willing to take her word for it.
I search my mind to remember if there is any ice cream in my freeze as I let myself into my apartment. The familiar scent of my home and the herbs I’ve planted on the balcony immediately calms me, but my nose wrinkles when I catch an unfamiliar smell that filters in as well.
It’s unpleasant, and I wonder if I left dirty dishes in the sink causing that foul smell, but I am a clean freak and would never leave my kitchen in anything but perfect order.
I walk into the living room, freezing at the sight before me. It’s a scene of utter chaos and violation. From the overturned furniture to the torn cushions, to the toppled bookcases, my apartment is in ruin. My breath hitches in my throat when I catch sight of the shattered picture frames of my family photos on the floor. Panic rises within me as I scan the room, my eyes darting from one disheveled corner to another, and I can’t help but notice the heavy weight of intrusion, as if the air holds the lingering presence of the monster that would do this.
I hear the creak of the floorboards behind me, and my body tenses. I turn slowly, my heart racing in a mixture of fear, anger, and even sadness. This is my safe space, and someone violated it in the worst way.
“There she is, my little banker!” My blood runs cold when I come face to face with the very man I sent to jail. Christ, I can’t remember his name to save my life, but I remember the look of him and the uneasy way he made me feel all too well.
“What do you want?” I ask, cringing at how dumb the question sounds even to my ears. I sent him to jail. Of course, he’s here to get his revenge.
“To remodel your home. What do you think?!”
“It’s not my fault that you were arrested,” I counter shakily, backing away. “You are the one who robbed the bank and got yourself in trouble.”
“If you’d shut your mouth about it, then we both could have gone about our lives as usual.”
“You held me at gunpoint!” I yell, reaching blindly to the floor, grabbing a throw pillow, and tossing it at him, which he easily swats away. “You held a gun to my head and put my life at risk. Excuse me for holding a grudge.”
The man’s eyes darken, and I question how I ever believed he was anything other than a criminal. There is no emotion in his eyes, they are empty green pools almost devoid of life. They’re terrifying.
“I’m going to teach you a lesson, little girl,” he hisses, approaching me with his raised fist, forcing me to reach down blindly and tossing the first thing I grab at him. Unlike the pillow, he’s not prepared for the shattered frame I send flying his way as the broken glass nicks his forehead.
As he gathers himself, I turn around and bolt for the door, hoping his confusion will slow him down a little, but when I turn around, it’s to see how awfully close he is to me.
