Chapter Twelve
“Yourname?”Alexyelled as he barely slammed his truck door closed. He turned his head so fast to face me, I was surprised he didn’t get whiplash. “You gave him your fucking real name? What the fuck were you thinking, Stevie?”
I sat in silence, the words to make up an excuse for my recklessness failing me whilst he continued with his lecture. “And not to mention, you look like you. That wig is practically the same colour as your natural hair, and you have no coloured contacts in. You’ve changed almost nothing to fucking protect yourself. That’s fucking sloppy! Are you even armed?”
“Of course I’m fucking armed. Don’t treat me like a child,” I spat, annoyed that his words hit their mark more than I wanted to admit. Everything he said was true; I had been sloppy. I couldn’t get my goddamned contacts in thanks to back-to-back assignments from Will. My eyes were dry and scratchy as fuck from the over wear, but I could have tried harder. And because I was so pissed that my eyes had started to go red with the amount of poking I’d done, I grabbed the first wig on my shelf and put it on without a second thought.
To be fair, it was a brown wig, so there was still a difference from my actual hair. He was overreacting a bit with that point.
“Stevie, we don’t know enough about this guy, and Will still hasn’t told me jack shit about him. We just have to be cautious.” Alex’s voice softened as I continued to stare out of the front window. Rage radiated out of every pore in my body. I couldn’t care less that he thought we had to tread carefully.
“Then why did we even agree to take this assignment?”
He shrugged, dragging his hand down his face. “I don’t know. You know Will’s trying to step out from our dad’s shadow, so maybe Jake is the shark he’s been looking for. Maybe he doesn’t trust us enough to tell us anything, or maybe he is just being his usual cagey self. Who fucking knows when it comes to him.”
I curled my hands into tight balls, the sharp ends of my nails digging into my palms with a tiny sting. I was angry at myself for whatever the fuck was going on in my head, angry at Alex for getting on his incredibly high horse, and angry at Will for just being Will.
But I was also angry at Jacob Weston, the arrogant prick. Who the hell did he think he was? Approving my drink order at the bar. Practically being God’s gift to the world through his charity and kindness. Mostly, I was pissed at how, for the first time in who knows how long, I was actually attracted to someone but that someone happened to be a job.
“Maybe if you were better at your job, I wouldn’t be diving in blind, would I?” I said through gritted teeth. I was being an asshole, and I knew it. Alex was ridiculously good with his research, so to say I was being unfair was not unreachable. “You don’t put yourself in the field, in the direct path of a threat. You sit behind a computer screen, safe as houses. So instead of passing judgment on how I work, take me the fuck home.”
“Fuck you, Stevie. You can be a real bitch, y’know that?” he snarled, starting the engine and skidding out of the parking lot, driving us home in awkward silence.
We had barely made it to the bottom of the driveway when I hopped down from the truck, stormed through the front door, and slammed it hard before Alex had even locked his car. I was pissed, and the only way I could deal with my clusterfuck of emotions was to beat the crap out of something.
I stood in my bedroom dressed in the first sports bra and pair of sweatpants I could find after frantically pulling my dress off and tearing the wig from my head, no less riled up from the mess of the evening as I stared at Jake’s suit jacket lying across the bottom of my bed. My skin had the faint smell of his spicy aftershave, and my lips still tinged where he had brushed his against mine.
With frustration fuelling my need to drive my fists into a wall, or better yet, Jake’s stupidly handsome face, I shoved my hair in a bun and stomped my way to the basement we had converted into a gym. Cliché as fuck, but the amount of heavy crap we had accumulated over the years meant we couldn’t convert a spare room into a home gym unless we wanted the ceiling to collapse.
The large basement had been kitted out with black rubber mats that fit together like a jigsaw. Three of the walls had been stripped back to reveal orange brickwork and a large mirror completely covered the fourth. It took a lot of time and effort to make it what we wanted, and Alex had even got a state-of-the-art sound system installed.
On the left side of the room hung an old, once jet-black punching bag that had definitely seen better days. The bag was a relic I’d bought from a second-hand store when I had enough money to afford one and needed to work on my upper body strength. For sentimental reasons, it had never been replaced, rather patched up with different coloured duct tape.
Sitting on the gym floor, I taped up my hands and stalked towards the punchbag. The first contact of skin against the beat-up leather sent a jolt of welcomed pain. It had been too long since I’d last done this. My mind replayed the last couple of hours with Jake, each thought demanding retribution in the form of physical discomfort.
The way my heart sped up when he had caught me looking at him from the balcony - an agonising crack as my right hand smacked the bag.
The way his laugh seemed to pulse through my body as he tilted me during our dance – the distinct tear of skin across my left knuckles.
The intoxicating warmth he provided as he held me close after putting his jacket around my body – friction burned across my knee as I brought it back and forth against the flesh of the bag.
That non-kiss kiss. I paused my punches and brushed the tips of my fingers along my bottom lip. If I ran them light enough, I could almost imagine… I let out a jagged scream, pounding the bag relentlessly, forcing down that last thought.
Fuck, fuck, fuuuck.
I didn’t hear Alex come into the gym until he tapped my shoulder, dragging me out of my internal spiral of hatred and self-loathing. Startled, I spun and landed a punch straight into his gut with an oomph, smearing blood on his white shirt from my split knuckles.
“You didn’t tape up properly,” he muttered, pulling my hands in his and tearing off the stained tape to inspect the cut. I tried to tug out of his grip, but he didn’t let go.
“If you’re here to lecture me about poor life choices, then save it,” I panted, sweat dripping down the side of my face. Alex let go of my hands, but swiftly caught my wrists to haul me into his body. His big arms wound around my small frame and my shoulders tensed. I kept my arms hanging loosely by my sides, feeling as if I hugged him back that it was admitting defeat, although what was I even conceding to?
Alex was right, I had been a real bitch.
He kept me there for a few minutes before sighing. “I wasn’t lecturing you before, Stevie,” he said, his chin resting on the crown of my head. “I was caught off guard hearing him say your real name and the fact it was you.”
“It’s always me,” I whispered back, pressing my sweaty forehead into his chest.
“It’s you, but it’s not. You’re normally decked out in one of your disguises that even your own father wouldn’t recognise you.” I flinched hearing him mention that man. He tightened his grip at my body’s response. “You know what I mean, Stevie, a figure of speech. Seeing you, practically the real you, and the use of your real name. It shocked me.”
I leant against him and closed my eyes. To tell the truth, it had shocked me too, and it took a lot to shock me.
We stood in silence, Alex with his arms around me and me standing like a lifeless doll, keeping my forehead buried in his shirt so I didn’t need to look into his soulful brown eyes. I hated fighting with Alex. He was my person in a platonic sense, but I loved him with all my heart. Being angry at each other and saying harsh words, regardless of how much I didn’t believe or mean them, left a sour taste in my mouth.
“I’m sorry I called you a bitch.”
I chuckled into his chest and gave in to his hold, wrapping my arms around him. “I’m sorry,” I finally said, moving so my cheek was pressed against his hard chest. “Tonight was…different.”
“How so?”
“I’m not sure. He’s not like the usual marks, Alex. He seems kind and sweet and like he actually cares about people. So instead of giving my alias, my actual name just fell out before I could stop it.”
“Maybe you should stop with this one. Don’t do the next part. You can refuse…” Alex paused to pull back, holding me by the shoulders as he scanned my face. “You won’t, though, will you?”
I huffed a laugh and cocked my head as I tilted it back to look into his dark orbs. He knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t back down.
“Nope,” I said, popping the P. He gave a small sigh and led me up the stairs, muttering to himself something about a stubborn bitch gonna get herself killed.
“C’mon, let’s clean your hands and then you can go to bed. You look dead on your feet.”
“Why? Where are you going?” I asked, only now realising he had been dressed in jeans and a shirt rather than his usual grey sweats and vest top, which was ruined thanks to my blood and sweat.
“When you texted needing rescuing,” he started, grinning as I side-eyed him. I didn’t need to be rescued. “I was out.”
I took my place at the kitchen table where Alex already had the first aid kit waiting. Always one step ahead, that man. He pulled out its contents and started to clean my cuts.
“Out?” I echoed, raising a brow.
“Mmhmm.”
“Doing what?” I widened my eyes, urging him to continue, but he didn’t look at me. “Alex, why won’t you tell me what you were doing?” He lingered with my hand in his, a wicked grin creeping up his face. Reaching over, he grabbed an adhesive dressing and slapped it onto my hand.
“Ouch,” I hissed, pulling it back to inspect the sterile white plaster stuck over my knuckles. Alex laughed and slid his phone over the table. An image of a very pretty, yet very naked, curly-haired redhead sprawled out on a queen-sized bed, stared back at me. I put my hand over the screen and shut my eyes tight.
“For fuck’s sake. Is this the girl you were with the other night?” I scoffed when he shook his head no. “You’re such a slut, Alexander Jones.”
Alex zipped up the first aid kit and grabbed his phone back, laughing. “What? You wanted to know what I was doing…” He stood up and started to unbutton his soiled shirt before continuing, “Besides, just because I enjoy sex does not make me a slut. Whatever reason you’ve taken a vow of celibacy doesn’t mean I have to.”
I knitted my eyebrows together in a scowl, about to argue that I had not done that, when in all honesty, I hadn’t had sex in… I couldn’t even say how many years. I’d been telling myself I’d just been too busy working, or that I didn’t have time to date and most guys in my line of work are pigs.
But that was a lie.
I had only slept with two people in my lifetime, one of which was more of a ‘friend helping out a friend’ kind of deal. But even if I did want to be intimate with someone, the guilt that consumed me when getting close to a man always stopped me.
“You know you’re allowed to date and have sex if you want to, right? She would hate to know you’re still being plagued with the past,” Alex said softly, placing a kiss on top of my head before walking to the kitchen doorway. I gave what I hoped was a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “But,” he paused, his head popped back around the doorjamb so it looked like it was floating six feet off the ground, “remember, Stevie baby, if you do need someone to help you out, I’d happily take one for the team.”
I laughed out loud, a real one straight from my stomach. “I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole, Alex baby.”