Page 82 of His Fake Fiancé

Jake stood outside the McKinney’s house, staring up at Claire’s second story window. It was dark in her room, which wasn’t surprising, since it was just after five in the morning. She was probably sound asleep.

He picked up a pebble and tossed it at the window. It made a plink and then fell to the ground. This wasn’t the first time he’d stood here, throwing rocks at her window.

A handful of seconds ticked by. Nothing.

He picked up another pebble and tossed it. Plink. He held his breath. Nothing.

His stomach twisted again, wrapping itself into a double knot. Well, looked like he’d have to knock.

He walked over to the trellis and gave it a small shake. It had been a few years since he’d done this, and the last thing he wanted was for the wood to give out and for him to break his neck in a fall. The trellis seemed solid, so he started climbing.

The rose bush that wound around the wood was bigger and thornier than he remembered, and his hands got all scratched up, but he didn’t care. At the top of the trellis he pulled himself onto the side porch roof. It was cold this morning, but not icy, but he still took careful steps over to Claire’s window.

The lacy curtains were closed, so he couldn’t get a good view into her bedroom. He crouched down and lightly rapped on the window. There was no sound or movement from inside.

He rapped again, straining to hear anything. Still nothing. He pulled his key out of his pocket and slid his truck key between the panes at the top of the lower window. The lock was broken, so if you hit it just right, it would pop open.

Unless in the last few years it had been fixed.

The lock popped open, and he blew out the breath he’d been holding. He grabbed the window and slid it open, trying to be as quiet as possible. He didn’t want to scare the shit out of Claire, or wake up the whole house. The last thing he needed was to be groveling in front of an audience.

He climbed through the window. Someone grabbed him and slammed him to the floor. All the air burst from his lungs with a whoosh. He reached up and grabbed the person’s arm, yanking them down. They hit the floor next to him and he rolled over, trying to pin them down.

They wrapped a hand over the lower half of his face and tried to push him away, but he leaned into them, pinning them down with his arm across their chest. The hand was way too big to be Claire’s. Did she have someone in here with her? Had she decided to mend her hurting heart with a fling?

The doubts distracted him, giving his opponent some wiggle room. The body underneath Jake heaved, flipping them over so Jake was on his back, now the one being pinned to the carpet. Something next to them crashed to the ground. Jake swung a fist hoping to connect with something.

His knuckled connected with what felt like a jaw.

“Motherfucker.” The curse was growled, the voice low and rumbly.

And stupidly familiar.

The bedroom door flung open and the light snapped on. “What the actual fuck?”

Jake blinked at the bright light, until his eyes focused on the two hulking men standing in the doorway. Brock looked like he was ready to rip someone’s head off, and Jax wasn’t all that far behind. Jake turned his head to see Linc looming over him, a bruise already starting to form on his jaw, his eyes spitting fire.

“Get off me,” Jake said, keeping his voice level. No sense in pissing them off even more.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Jake?” Linc didn’t let up on the pressure of his forearm across Jake’s chest.

“What the hell is going on?” Brock stepped into the room, his meaty arms crossed over his chest. From his place on the floor, staring up at Claire’s oldest brother, Jake was reminded of what a massive motherfucker Brock was. Jake was tough, but Brock would wipe the floor with him if it came down to it.

“I was on my way out when I heard someone knocking on the window. Then I heard it being opened. I looked inside and saw someone climbing through, so I grabbed them.” Linc looked from his brothers and back to Jake. Jake was lucky he didn’t need the coroner.

“Get off me, Linc.” He still kept his voice even, but made sure to thread some steel through the words. While he understood how it happened, he wasn’t fucking playing anymore.

And where the hell was Claire? Why wasn’t she gathered around with the rest of her family?

Linc finally loosened his hold, and Jake give him a shove and rolled to his feet. Linc stood, rubbing his jaw. Good. Jake hoped it hurt.

“Where’s Claire?” Jax moved in to stand next to Brock, his arms crossed, too. Jesus, it was a wonder that Claire ever had a boyfriend. Between her brothers and him, you had to have a huge set of balls on you to even ask her out.

And then Jax’s question sunk in. Jake glanced at the bed. It was not only empty, but it was made. As in someone was already done sleeping in it. He glanced around the room. Nothing else seemed to be missing, except… yup, her guitar case was gone. That wasn’t good.

His gaze snagged on a folded piece of paper balanced against the lamp on the bedside table. He went over and picked it up. It wasn’t addressed to anyone specifical. He flipped it open and read the note.

His heart sank into his boots. “She’s gone.”