She doesn't appreciate it much, it seems. "Let me go, Jarett."
"You're so fucking welcome," I hiss as the guy keeps advancing on us.
On me, dammit.
"Nobody asked you to come rescue me."
"You sure about that?"
"What do you mean?"
But my attention is on the guy.
"Hey, man, relax." What's his name? Ben? Bart? The crowd parts to let us through. Nobody wants to find themselves at the point of a knife. I lift my hands to the sides. "Just let her go, okay? No need for this."
"Get out of my way, bitch." He's still coming at us, knife held out, pointing at me. Anger burns in his eyes. "That woman should stop asking questions. She has to learn her lesson."
I couldn't agree more, but not on my watch. "Let her go. She meant nothing by it. I'll talk to her."
Another swipe of the knife, and I stumble back, dragging Sydney with me-only she jerks her hand free, and I turn to find her being hauled away by another guy whose face is totally unfamiliar.
"What the hell?" I mutter, starting to turn after her.
The moment of distraction costs me. Someone gasps, and that's when the burn on my back registers.
The fuck. I twist away, years of fighting alerting me to the fact I'm about to get gutted like a pig, and bring up my arm to stop another hit.
Which is already coming. His wrist catches on my forearm, and then I let my other fist fly and punch him in the stomach.
His breath goes out in a groan, and he doubles over, knife dangling from his fingers. I kick at it, send it skidding on the floor, and more gasps sound all around.
Yeah, good show, huh?
I chance a glance over my shoulder, but Sydney and the guy who grabbed her are nowhere to be seen.
Fucking awesome.
"Jarett!" A hand lands on my arm, and I jerk, too tense, adrenaline making my blood pump faster, my heart racing.
Then the voice clicks, and some of the tension leaves me. "Gigi."
She tugs on my arm. Her blue eyes are huge in her heart-shaped face. "Come on. Let's go."
"Go where?" I spare a glance at the guy who's now down on his knees, cradling his hand and moaning, making me distantly wonder if I broke his fingers and God, I fucking hope so.
"Away from this awful place," she says, her voice shaking, and I nod, because it makes sense, and fuck, nothing else right now does.
I turn, grab her hand and start once more toward the exit, this time determined to reach it. I'm getting her out of here, taking her someplace safe, because I'm holding Gigi's hand, and strangely it feels as if I'm holding everything I need in the world.
"Where's your friend?" I ask as we exit the club and walk down the alley.
"Sydney? No idea." Gigi glances up at me, and I stumble, so caught up in looking at her-her eyes, her flushed cheeks, her mouth. "She left. Again. I'm so frigging pissed at her right now, I can't even."
I swallow hard and manage to tear my gaze away as we cross the street. "A guy pulled her away. I hope she's not in danger."
"A tall, dark-haired dude?"
"Yeah? You know him?"
"Must be one of her friends." She squeezes my hand as we reach the other side. "You saved her again."
"Well, some of us can't help our awesomeness," I drawl. "That's how it is."
She huffs. "Jerk."
I shrug and hiss at the burn in my back.
"Hey, stop. I thought he cut you but … " She steps behind me, and pokes at my ribs, making me hiss again. "Shit, he did."
"Will I die?" I try to see over my shoulder, but all I see is the streetlight glancing off her bright hair. "I'll need to get my affairs in order. I'll leave you the cat."
"God, will you stop being a smartass for a minute? You don't have a cat. And you're not going to die."
"You promise?"
"But you should clean the cut and tape it," she goes on, ignoring me, and it makes me grin. "To avoid infection, and stop the bleeding. What?" She mock-punches my shoulder. "What's so funny?"
I lick my lips, fighting the grin, but it's no use. "Nothing."
"Right."
I turn and grab her hand again. "Come with me."
"Where are we going?"
I haul her into a side street, and then across another, until we reach the main street. "My place."
She's laughing, but she hasn't pulled away. "So that I can clean the cut? Why, you can't reach your own back?"
"Exactly that." I lift my hand and hail a cab. "I knew you'd get it."
The cab stops, and we pile in the back. I give directions and lean back in the seat, only to twist at the burn. Shit, I'm probably getting blood all over the guy's seat.
Then I turn and see Gigi beside me, her eyes bright in the dim car interior, her cleavage drawing my eyes like gravity. Her neck, the blond strands curling on her shoulders, her red mouth-and I'm caught in a web of desire, unable to escape.
I don't know what the hell's gotten into me. Why I thought taking her home would be a good idea. Sebastian could be home, and the last thing I want is for him to see me with Gigi, especially if he manages to rally his memories from that first night when I pulled him away from her. Hopefully he was too drunk to remember her.
We sit in the cab in warm silence. It's strangely comfortable, to be sitting there with her, our sides touching, lights streaking by outside. It reminds me of that time three years ago, when we'd walk side by side on the street, and sometimes she'd fall silent, but not press me to say anything, and we'd just walk. It felt so right.
But the ride is over way too soon. I pay the cabbie and scramble out of the car, walking around to open her door.
She blinks when I reach for her hand to pull her out. "Who are you and what have you done with Jarett?"
I have no reply to that. Hauling her to her feet, I pull her against me for long seconds before I come back to my fucking senses and slam the door shut so the cab can go.
All I want is to drag her back to me, feel her tits pressed to my chest and crush my mouth to hers, but when I reach for her, she steps away from me.
It hurts more than the cut in my back. For just a few minutes, those it took for the cab to drive us here, I'd fantasized about holding her in my arms, kissing her again, kissing her like there's nobody else in the world, nothing to worry about, no danger, no past and no future.
But that's not the case. I asked her over to help dress my wound. That's all.
What the hell am I doing?
Crossing the street, we hurry to my building and I unlock the door, glad Seb doesn't jump out of the shadows at us. Thank fuck for small mercies.
Uncomfortable heat spreads down the back of my neck as we ride up the elevator, and my heart is hammering. I'm so fucking pissed at myself for slipping like that. Because having her near, pretending she's my girl, is not real.
It can't ever fucking be.
Still, she hasn't run away yet, I think as I unlock my apartment door and push the door open for her to enter. I eye her as she steps by me, my gaze instantly locking on the curve of her waist, on her ass. It's not the end of the world if I let her tape that cut closed.
Then she goes. I'll call her an Uber to take her home, and I'll drink until I forget her taste on my tongue, or pass out, whichever comes first.
I limp inside after her and close the door, all the pains that had faded in the adrenaline rush-of saving Gigi's friend and then walking away with Gigi and escaping in the fantasy of being with her-returning.
She's walking in a circle in the living room when I turn toward her again. "You live here?"
"Yeah, why?"
"I don't know. It doesn't … look very lived in."
What is she talking about? Distracted, I glance around, trying to see the place through her eyes. A TV set. Worn furniture, a couch covered in a blanket to cover the holes, a table covered in take-out containers.
"Shit. Sorry for the mess. I wasn't expecting any visitors." In fact I rarely have any, and most of the mess was left behind by Sebastian, but I can't heap all the blame on him.
Then I turn toward the kitchen, and through the door I see empty bottles huddled on the counter and wince.
Jeez.
"What? Oh no, don't worry about that." She shrugs. "I meant mostly, you know -bare walls, bare tables. Nothing of yours."
"I don't own anything," I mutter, the back of my neck heating for a different reason this time.
Embarrassment. Just fucking great.
"What do you mean?" She's watching me, I realize, and I start moving, to avoid talking about myself. Gigi always had a way to make me talk, even when it was the last thing I wanted. She pulled words out of me that hurt like razorblades, and she didn't even know.
Didn't know I hadn't talked to anyone in years until she came along. That her appearance in my life had been my own personal little miracle.
And then she was gone, proving miracles don't exist.
Even more importantly, miracles don't happen twice, much less with the same girl. So I really should put the flicker of hope out before it fucking burns me down to ashes.