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Ben locks eyes on me, storms past, pushes Leila aside, marches forward, grabs me by the wrist, and tries for a revengeful kiss on my mouth. He wants Jake to go for him again, using me as a weapon. As I see it coming, I slap him hard across the face, instantly defensive Emma, honed and acting impulsively, incensed with anger. I don’t even get a chance to feel the burn wave through my hand as I’m shoved hard from behind, making me fly forward like a rag doll straight into the arms of Arrick Carrero, enveloped in his surprisingly firm hold as though he was expecting it.
Shocked and winded and trying not to fight, I turn in the younger man’s arms—he’s strong for someone so lean—and I see Jake and Ben rolling around on the ground, going at it on the hard concrete street. Jake is getting the upper hand, and the look of sheer hatred emanating from his face sends chills down my body. I try to lurch forward, but Arrick keeps a tight hold, picking me up off my feet and marching away from the craziness. I squeal and struggle in protest, but it’s futile; he has Jake’s strength and iron will. I am no match.
I’m deposited into a waiting car, Arrick sliding in beside me holding my arm tightly with a vice-like grip, looking toward the scene from the window.
“Take us to Jake’s apartment,” Arrick commands the driver while I wriggle, trying to free my hand and protest.
“Hell, no! Your brother is back there fighting … I’m not leaving him,” I yell aggressively and try another twist at my arm to get free. His grip only tightens, and it begins to hurt a little.
“Jake’s a big boy,” Arrick says calmly. “I know him well enough to know this is the only way to get him home and away from Ben Huntsberger in a hurry. Jake used to spend much of his younger life beating the crap out of people, Emma. I’m seriously not worried. Ben should be, though; my brother is an accomplished fighter, and Ben just touched the one thing in the world that flipped Jake’s psycho switch.” He seems almost proud and is smirking as the car pulls away. Like this, he doesn’t look quite as young or immature as the boy I remember in Jake’s office. He looks eerily like him.
For the first time ever, I note a slight resemblance to Jake on his face; it’s in the smirk, the slight curve of his mouth, the straight brows, and the intense glare, and it silences me momentarily.
“Why would dragging me away make him come? He’s back there fighting over his ex-girlfriend,” I snap, tears biting at my eyes irrationally.
Arrick glances at me with a confused frown, then shrugs and murmurs, “Women,” almost sarcastically. When the car is up to speed on the road, he finally lets go of me and casually pulls out his phone, sticking it to his ear.
“Hey, Daniel … Tell my brother I’m taking his girlfriend back to his place … Tell him she’s absolutely livid with him and thinking of packing her bags.” He throws me a triumphant look, as though he’s just put the best master plan in motion, then sits back comfortably, a master of dominance and manipulation just like his brother. “Look, Emma, relax and let me take you home. I know him better than most. Trust me to get him home. Deal?” He holds out a muscular, square hand and throws me his most charming smile, asking me to shake on it. With Jake’s smile on a face that is weirdly both like and not like his, I soften a little despite my head being full of anger, insecurity, and chaos and stuck back somewhere on a New York street where my boyfriend is reenacting a scene from Fight Club.
“Thanks … I guess. Deal. I’m sorry Jake ruined your birthday.” I shake his hand and then look away, my mind still racing back to what’s happening with him, my insides writhing in chaos.
“Ben’s an asshole. Any chance he gets, he likes to start this shit with Jake. It’s been ten years, and he still won’t give it up.” Arrick shrugs in that annoying Carrero manner.
Jesus, can he have any more of Jake’s mannerisms?
“Wait, what? If Ben’s the one who hurt Jake, why is Ben causing an issue?” I ask him pointedly, confusion further muddling my already muddled brain.
“Ben’s been in love with Marissa since forever. Even after Jake broke up with her, she just kept trailing after Jake and pushing Ben aside. Ben’s never gotten over the fact she still picked Jake over him.” He checks his phone as it lights up and texts someone back absentmindedly. He’s annoyingly confident like his brother.
“So, this has happened before? Whenever they meet?” The thought makes me feel sick to my stomach.
“Well, yeah, in a way. Never as physical as tonight, though; Jake’s normally a lot more in control. He normally blows him off with sarcasm and a lot of posturing. Tonight is the first time he’s hit Ben in years.” He looks up from his phone at me, a small smile of assurance on his face.
Now that I can see him up close, I realize Arrick does have more of Jake in his face. He doesn’t have that devastating, domineering thing going on with flawless masculinity, but he has something more boyish and cute rather than rugged, like a little brother should, especially one who is still so young.
“Jake drank a lot tonight. Maybe that’s why.” I turn away to watch the passing scenery with a horrid heaviness inside me, waiting to burst open.
“I think Ben saw something he’s never had before … a weapon to rile my brother; that’s why he tried to kiss you.” He smiles at me, and I shake my head, inner anguish firing back up and tears threatening.
“No, the first punch was after he mentioned Marissa. You’re wrong,” I shrug, my emotions raw. I start biting my thumbnail anxiously, the fingers of my other hand instantly finding a strand of my hair to tug as old Emma's insecurity takes over.
“Jake wouldn’t hit him if he weren’t already riled, Emma. He started growling the second he saw Ben talking to you; I was beside him. As soon as he saw him near you, he put his drink down in readiness for battle.” He smiles gently and then disarms me with Jake’s most annoying trait ever—he pulls my fingers out of my hair and puts my hand on my lap with a gentle tap before letting it go. It causes a surprising shock to run through me with the sheer paternal way he did it like he’s the older one here.
“Look, stop worrying. Jake’s a trained kickboxer. He spent half his life fighting for fun; he’ll be fine. Ben is no opponent,” he shrugs, completely unphased.
I can do nothing but blink at him, much like his brother, but not; the fairer hair and hazel eyes had thrown me. Also, not once when he’s touched me have I felt any repulsion or fear, no different to what I feel when Leila or Sarah touches me, the quiet trust in someone who’s almost family. This is so new to me that I don’t even know how to process it.
“Jake will follow as soon as he gets my message,” he grins at me. “He’s got it bad with you. You’ll see.”
I relax back into the seat and close my eyes, trying not to picture Jake sprawled in the street with Ben Huntsberger, trying not to picture that smug face as he moved in to kiss me. Maybe Arrick is right—Ben honed in on me to get a reaction from Jake, not once but twice, and Jake behaved in a way that, to me, is so uncharacteristic of my old boss and friend. Maybe, boyfriend Jake is just overprotective and jealous. Or maybe it really is about her.
I’m so confused.
When we enter the underground car park of Jake’s apartment building, Arrick asks if I want him to escort me up to the door, but I refuse. I thank him for getting me home and mention that I left my coat somewhere in the nightclub. He assures me he will have the staff locate it in the morning, and I say my goodbyes.
I like Arrick. There’s something so very Jake-like about him, yet in a less macho package. He’s sweet in a little brother way, and I feel safe around him. Not once has he eyed me up or checked out my cleavage, and every sentence from his mouth is delivered with eye contact throughout. He has maturity and politeness about him, but there’s also an underlying capability and fire that most definitely matches his brother.
Jake loves his brother; they’re always texting and calling each other, and now I can see why. Arrick is the calm and sensible of the two, the grounding force in Jake’s life. He’s the quieter brother who idolizes him and makes him want to be a better role model, the yin to his yang.
I pass Mathews, one of Jake’s security guards, in the hall; he’s doing the night watch this weekend. We exchange brief smiles before I head to the bedroom. I throw my shoes off, aiming them at Jake’s wardrobe in a temper now that I’m alone. I am completely up and down about tonight.
I’m angry with Jake for ruining the night, but I also get it. Ben is an asshole of the worst kind and deserved that punch in the face. But if what Jake hit him for was past hurt over Marissa, then I cannot look at him tonight. It hurts too much.
I stomp around angrily, lost in a world of drunken pain and confusion.
On the other hand, I’m also upset because of the way he manhandled me; there was no love or care about his shoving me into Arrick. Even pulling me away from Ben the first time was aggressive, leaving me shaken up. I can’t handle aggressive behavior toward me, especially not from him. It opens deep insecurities and fears I can’t even begin to untangle.
If I had let Jake hold me, kiss me, and begged him to come home, the second half of the fight would never have occurred. Ben wouldn’t have used me as bait. We would have come home, and he would be here right now with me instead of God knows where doing what.
I strip, pull on a long loose T-shirt, and pad to the bathroom to use make-up wipes to clean my face. Tear-stained and smudged to hell, I look awful.
I don’t even want to try calling Jake. I can’t, I realize with dismay; I didn’t even pick up my bag when I left that damn club, and I groan at the realization. My phone and lipstick were all in it; I had left them on the table beside Jake when I was dancing.
I wander around the room, pacing and checking the time, looking at the door, and then walk to the window to try and peer down at the street below, but it’s too far down to see anything in the dark. I’m sick with nerves.
Where is he?
I walk to the kitchen and pour myself some orange juice, taking two aspirin now that my drunkenness has dissipated fully after the night's events, adrenaline killing it. There’s still no sign of him when I walk back to the bedroom and sit on the bed. I don’t want to lie down until he’s back, and I know he’s not harmed in any way.
I’m angry that he’s not home, that I can’t call him, and that my mind runs at a million miles an hour with the worst scenarios. I curl up in a ball on the bed and sit waiting, tense, and twisting my hair to death, my feet scrunching into the sheets and biting my lip all at once. Emma is in fidget overload.
Guess I haven’t lost my telling habits after all.
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