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Josh
Iwatch Emily sleep peacefully next to me. She passed out shortly after her sixth orgasm. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts. I can’t believe I let her go all those years ago. I’ve wasted so much time. She’s obviously endured a lot of crap that she shouldn’t have. And she wouldn’t have, had I manned up and kept her like I wanted to.
Tugging the sheets higher, I cover her up as I stand, gently kissing her forehead before I slip out of the room. As much as I want to stay curled up in this little world with her, and just her, I’ve got shit to sort out. Sam mentioned the Casey merger, which is code for confidential, and not necessarily something that’s work-related.
Fuck, I hope he’s got a better lead on who the fuck has been abusing Emily for God knows how long. I make my way out to the kitchen; I need a fucking drink. Of course, I find Sam, cooking some shit that smells fucking delicious on the stove.
“Make yourself at home, mate,” I say as I walk past him to the fridge. Grabbing the OJ, I drink from the bottle, not bothering with a glass.
“Don’t worry, I will,” Sam replies.
“What’d you do with Tony?” Not that I really care, but I’d like to know the fucker is not still in the apartment. Not still in the same space as me. Even with Emily draining me of every bit of fucking energy, I’m still buzzing to cause damage to that fucker—well, more damage than I did by blowing out his kneecap.
“Clean up crew. He’ll be fine,” Sam says. “I, however, am now in need of yet another new assistant. Thanks for that,” he grunts.
“Please, I did you a favour. What else have you got for me?”
“Not much—found a death certificate for her mother, dated two years ago.”
“Fuck, I was wondering why she didn’t turn to her mum for help.”
“That’s not all. Mum didn’t cark it; she’s alive and breathing. Same address you gave me as Emily’s last known.”
“What the fuck does that mean? Who the fuck’s out there writing up death certificates for people who are fucking alive and breathing?”
“No idea, man. That’s all I got. Everything’s been buried bloody good. It seems someone didn’t want anyone finding these documents. She tell you anything yet?” he asks.
“No, I’ve stopped asking. She did let a name slip in her sleep though,” I say, remembering the nightmare she had in the car.
“Care to share?” Sam prompts, as he serves up three plates of what looks like some kind of stir fry concoction.
“Trent.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “You expecting company?” I nod at the three plates.
“Nope, but you gotta eat. And I’m not gonna lie. I think I like Emily more than I like you. And it seems I have some serious grovelling to do to win her over.”
“She’s asleep. You’re out of luck.” I smirk, recalling just what exhausted her to sleepiness.
He hands me a plate and fork, walking around my fucking kitchen like he owns the place. “Eat,” he says, as he picks up another plate and fork before heading out of the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” I ask him.
“To wake her up. She needs to eat,” he offers simply.
“Take another step towards that bedroom and I’ll fucking shoot you,” I warn him. Like fuck, I’m about to let him walk in there while she’s fucking naked. Just the thought of a naked Emily makes my cock hard.
“Fine, but when she wakes up, make sure she knows I cooked this shit for her, not you.” He places cling wrap over the plate before putting it in the fridge.
“Why do you care if she likes you anyway?” I ask.
“Because she scares the shit out of me,” he admits.
I laugh. How the hell can a tiny little Emily scare the shit out of a six-foot something hulk of a man? “How so?”
He looks me in the eye, quiet for a moment, then with all seriousness, he says, “She’d only have to say the word and you’d slice my fucking throat for her, without a second thought.”
I’d like to say he’s wrong. But he’s not. So, instead, I just dig into the food. He’s one hell of a cook. I’ll give him that.
“So, Trent…? Did you happen to get a last name, or are we just going to run around the country burying every fucker named Trent?” Sam asks.
