“It’s how it works in the world I grew up in. The more money I saw men throwing at women, the happier the women were.”
“I don’t want or need your money,” Jazzy says.
“I know.” I shrug. “But I also like seeing a smile on your face, and you were always happy when I gave you a gift.”
“Because it’d be rude not to be,” she huffs. “But I did like that you thought about me often enough to see something and want to buy it for me.”
“I bought you something today.”
“You did?” Her eyes light up a little. “What’d you buy me?”
“A bodyguard,” I tell her. “An ex-special forces bodyguard. There’re two of them actually, and they’re starting in the morning.”
“What?” Jazzy’s mouth drops open. “I don’t need any more security, Jake.”
“Yes, you do. You were shot at today because of me. I can’t just sit around and do nothing,”
Jazzy moves to sit on the edge of the bed. “You aren’t doing nothing. You have a plan, right? To end The Court’s craziness?”
“I can’t end The Court altogether, Jaz, but I can end the people who are targeting you. And I will,” I explain. “ThatI have a plan for.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you going to be safe? I can’t lose you, Jake. I can’t survive that kind of loss,” she says.
“You’re not going to lose me. I promise, no matter what happens, I will always find my way back to you.”
Jazzy’s brows draw down. “What do you meanback? Where do you plan on going?”
I press my lips against hers, silencing the questions that I can’t answer.
I’m sitting on the floor in Jazzy’s bedroom. She fell asleep about an hour ago and I slid out of her bed. I’ve written a note, praying she won’t fucking hate me when she reads it. I got as far as the other side of the room and fell to the ground. I’m willing myself to get up and walk away.
Memories of prom night hit me like a damn freight train, and it’s as if I’m a sixteen-year-old kid again with no idea what I should be doing. Except I’m not. I know what I need to do. I just don’t want to.
Leaning my head against the wall, I close my eyes, opening them when I feel a presence watching me. Carlo Bianchi walks in, looks at the bed, and then sits down right next to me.
“Is there a reason you’re sitting in my daughter’s room while she’s sleeping, Jacob?” he asks.
“I was leaving,” I admit. “But then, I just… couldn’t.” I shrug like it’s not a big deal. It’s a huge fucking deal. I need to walk away. At least for a little while.
“When she first came to me, I used to have to sit on her floor all night because she’d wake up with nightmares,” he says. “They stopped when she was about thirteen, and now they’re back.”
“I know,” I tell him. “But they’re not the same ones.”
“She’s told you about them?”
“She tells me everything. But I’m not surprised she’s having a hard time with killing her ex. She’s always been a lover, not a fighter. Cares way too much about other people’s feelings,” I grunt.
Carlo’s head snaps to me. “What did you say?”
“She cares too much about other people’s feelings,” I repeat.
“Not that. She killed her ex?”
“You didn’t know.”Fuck…I groan. Why the hell didn’t she tell me her father didn’t know about that? “It was self-defense. The asshole hit her.”