Out of the Storm(34)

Leaning across the table, he traces a finger down my cheek, but I back as far away as the booth will allow me. "It's not. But who are you gonna tell? Who's gonna believe a slut like you, Jules?"

Theo was right. This isn't the answer. Kicking him with my heel as I get out of the booth, I lean down and whisper in his ear, "Next time you call me a slut, that heel will be in your balls, asswipe."

He laughs. "Sit back down, Jules."

Shaking my head, I take a step toward the door, but he grabs my wrist before I can get out of his reach. "Sit. Back. Down," he says through clenched teeth, a small smile still on his face. Glancing over my shoulder at his grip on my wrist, I hold my tongue and my stance, waiting for him to release me. "Dammit. I said to sit back down."

"And I'm only going to say once for you to let me fucking go."

"This is the last chance you'll get. There won't be any other deals."

"I'll just have to take my chances, then, because one thing is for sure. I am not going to let you sexually harass me in exchange for my potential freedom."

"Potential?"

I lift my chin. "I don't even know if I can trust you."

He reaches into his back pocket and tosses some papers on the table. "Sit down and read them."

"Not. Interested." I sure hope Theo's plan is more solid than I think it is because I'm putting all my hope, all my trust in him in this very moment. As I should have done. I should have never come here. This was a mistake.

"You're going to regret this. We have a ton of evidence to suggest you're as guilty as you are sexy. Guilty as fucking sin."



       
         
       
        

"It's a setup is all I have to say about that."

He chuckles. "Right. That's what they all say."

"Jake, you said I could call you Jake, right?"

"Yeah."

"You don't seem to be understanding what I'm telling you. I'm not interested in your deal, and you have three seconds to let go of my wrist before I make a really big scene."

"You realize if you do that, I'll have no choice but to arrest you for resisting arrest."

My heart starts to pound in my chest. "Except you're not arresting me."

"I will be if you did that. So, I'm going to tell you one last time, Juliana Hemingway. Sit. Down."

Backing up, I slowly slide back into the booth. My mouth dries.

The waitress brings the water I forgot I ordered. Taking several gulps, I glance up to see her still towering above me. She stares at me with this unspoken language. "You okay, sugar?"

Jake says, "She's fine. I'll take a water too. Thanks for asking."

She glances over at him and gives him this look like go to hell, but she doesn't say a word. She just nods and walks away.

"You're a special kind of douche, you know that?"

He grins. "Only when I don't get what I want. You're pushing me toward my edge with your little hard to get games."

Arching an eyebrow, I cross my arms. "Don't even insinuate anything sexual, or so help me, I'll kick your fucking nuts so hard you won't be able to see straight while I make my exit."

"See," he says, shaking his head. "You don't follow directions well, and you give away your exit strategy. So transparent. So easy. But then again, I already knew you were easy." He winks as he pushes the papers across the table. "Read them over quickly and sign the last one."

I'm not an attorney. How do I even know if what I'm agreeing to is in my best interest? "Can I have someone look them over … make sure it's really in my best interest to do this?"

He tilts his head. "That would require you talking to someone about our investigation, so not only no, but hell fucking no." Condescension drips from his voice.

I do a slow nod. "I don't have a pen."

He motions for the waitress. "Sugar," he says in a fake southern accent that mimics. I swear, I wish I could beat him, and I'm not typically violent. Maybe I'll save that for after I sign the immunity deal. "Can we borrow your pen? And by the way, I'd like my water today. To go."

She puts her hand on her hip. "We don't do water to go. Would you like some tea? With sugar? Because you sure need a sweetener." 

I don't even try to hide my laugh or my smile. No. Everything in me wants to fist bump her. Or fist pump. Whatever. Maybe both if they're two different things. I don't even know her name, but I want to be her friend. Maybe I'll start eating here more often. Possibly, I shouldn't feel sorry for her at all. That's becoming clearer. I love her!

"Sweet tea is fine. Make sure it's not too bitter."

"Oh no. We don't make our tea bitter. But taste buds are all different, though, so we can't help if you find our tea is sour. It's likely more a reflection of you, not the tea."

"Burn. Burn, baby, burn," I whisper, pretending I'm reading the papers, when in actuality, I can't make out what most of this means. The only thing I see that I understand is a line that talks about immunity then another line that gives the stipulation for me to not have contact with Theo, and to not talk to anyone else about the investigation.

The waitress comes over and places a to-go cup of what I presume is sweet tea in front of Jake and hands him her pen.

Jake stares at her, then nods toward me. "I'm not the one who needs it. Give it to her."

She huffs. "Please."

"Huh?" he asks.

"Give it to her, please. You're like a damn child." She drawls out the child, and it sounds more like it's spelled with a Y instead of an I.

He smirks. "Give it to her, please, buttercup. How was that?"

She ignores him and hands it to me. "Honey pie, I sure hope he's not your fiancé. You deserve so much better than this dick."

There's no containing my laughter. This son of a bitch makes Charlie look like an angel. And Theo a god. My smile disappears, my laugh fades. How am I going to fix this with Theo? Will he understand that I didn't just do this for me, but for both of us, for his nephew? My heart feels like someone's ripping it out of my chest with each pen stroke of my name on that last page.

I don't even look up at the waitress as I hand the pen back to her. "He's not my fiancé."

"Oh good."

Instead, I stare into his eyes. Out of my peripheral vision, I notice she places the check on the table, then walks away. Once she's out of earshot, I sigh. "He just owns me now."

His lips curve upward in the biggest smile. "Glad we see eye to eye, Jules. I'll be in touch about what we need you to do next. And you have my number if you should need me for anything at all."

My stomach clenches. My spit increases, getting so hot I can barely keep it in my mouth. Bile starts rushing up. "I have to go."

This time, he lets me out without a fight, without any objection. Pushing through the doors, I make my way to my car, unlock it, and climb in. That's when tears start falling steadily, and my vision completely blurs to where I can't see anything or anyone else. I have to get out of here. My chest starts to heave as the sobs escape. I may have saved myself from prison, but I'm pretty sure I just lost everything I care about in one swift motion.





Marco and I have been eating at Sapphire Bistro, this Chinese place where we're meeting, since it opened ten years ago. We used to always go to the diner across the street after events in high school-football games, dances, prom. The diner's a cool place to hang out for teens. The food's always been really great if you're in the mood to clog your arteries. Their shakes are to die for. Literally. So. Sweet.

When this place opened, we couldn't wait to check it out, always looking for new favorite eateries, new hangouts. It's not like typical Chinese places. It's got a sleek, sapphire looking bar that overlooks the kitchen. You can see them cooking and preparing everything. The dim lighting gives off a chill vibe, and looking around, even all these years later, the décor is urban.



       
         
       
        

We didn't come here when we wanted to be rowdy, but when we were either hoping to take our dates on a romantic date or when we needed a quiet place to talk.

And that's why I'm thinking we're here. The thing is, I have no clue what he wants to talk about. Especially since he's avoided talking to me so much since all this shit started.

The hostess, Biyu, takes us to our favorite booth in the back corner. "Lei will be right with you."

Biyu dated Marco a few years back. But he fucked around on her because he can't ever keep his dick in his pants. Needless to say, that didn't end well, so she doesn't stick around for small talk.

"Thanks," I say.

Marco looks out the window, completely ignoring her, like she's not even here.

She bows her head slightly. "Theo. Always good to see you." She glares at Marco before walking away.

Shit, that was awkward. "I know we love to eat here, but damn, man."

He jerks his head around to me with a smirk on his face. "I do miss eating her."

"Fuck, Marco. TMI. Again." Shaking my head, I glance back over my shoulder at Biyu. She's gorgeous. Her hair isn't jet black like so many Asian women. It's more of a caramel brown. Her almond eyes are what really draw you in, though. She could easily pass for the girl next door when she's not made up, but when she has her hair pulled back like it is today with those flowers in the back of it with her makeup spot-on, she could easily be a model or a beauty queen. She's the epitome of exotic beauty. But I've never felt anything toward her more than deep friendship. I wink at her and shrug, and she shrugs at me while rolling her eyes. "You shouldn't have fucked that up, though. You can't land a girl any better than Biyu."