Page 127 of A Little Jaded
What if she thinks it was me? We’re at my place. She’s sucking me off. Who else would she think did this? Drakedoesn’t know where the cabin is. If he did, he would’ve pounded down the door to get to her the first night she arrived. So, where the hell did this video come from? Panic surges through me as I realize the easy assumptions she’s likely made about the humiliating video footage and how easily it might’ve broken her trust—did break her trust—if her running out the door is anything to go by. What if she never forgives me? Fuck. What if she thinks I would betray her like this?
“Raine!”
I look left and right, desperate to find her. To fix this. To apologize and see if she’s okay. What kind of question is that? Of course, she isn’t. No one would be okay after finding out that not only were they filmed without their knowledge, but said film was distributed to dozens, if not hundreds, of people.
It’s dark, and even with the streetlights, there are so many cars it would be easy for her to disappear. To hide herself from me and anyone else who might’ve seen the video. By the look of things, I’d say it’s damn near everyone.
How did he get their numbers? It had to have been him. It had to. There’s no other explanation. No other culprit who would stoop so low.
I’ll fucking kill him.
“Raine!” I yell. “Raine, I swear it wasn’t?—”
“Open it, please,” a quiet voice begs. I search the street again and find a lump leaning against my car’s passenger door.
Patting my pockets, I find my keys and unlock the vehicle. Part of me wants to rush toward her and drag her into my arms, but I stay glued to my spot instead. Does she think it was me? Does she think I would do this to her? Her movements are slow but controlled as she climbs inside, rests her head against the headrest, and stares at the ceiling.
Forcing myself to move, I wipe my palm against my jeans, then join her. I’ve never been good at this. Feeling helpless. Handling emotional shit. Putting out fires, I can do. Feeling like my hands are tied? Not so much. I know she thinks I handle it all the time, and fuck if I don’t try my best, but this? Seeing her like this? It wrecks me. My hands itch to reach out and hold her. To pull her to my chest and promise to gut the motherfucker who filmed us together, let alone shared it. But is this what she wants? Or is space what she needs? Do I take her home? To a hotel? What can I fucking do?
She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t say a word. It’s quiet. Too fucking quiet. Only her shallow breathing is heard as she tugs at the sleeve of her shirt and wipes at her eyes. I swear, I’ve never felt anything like it. The silence. Heavy. Thick. Charged. It’s like a live wire, and I have no idea what happens if I reach out and touch it. If I plead my case. If I ask if she’s okay when I already know she’s the furthest thing from it. But the silence? The unanswered questions? The what-ifs? I can’t fucking take it, and I sure as shit can’t spend another second letting her believe I had anything to do with this when I would never,everbetray her like this.
“It wasn’t me,” I rasp. “I swear?—”
“I know.” Her voice cracks. “I know it wasn’t.” She sniffles and stares out the passenger window, refusing to look at me. “I’m ready to go to the police station now.”
“T-the police?”
Chewing on the edge of her sleeve, she gives me a jerky nod. “It’s time, don’t you think?”
The car rumbles to life, and I pull away from the curb. “Whatever you need.”
CHAPTER FORTY
EVERETT
It’s funny. With my fear of Raine thinking the video was in any way my fault somewhat resolved, I’m fucking pissed. Who the hell does this asshole think he is? I hate feeling out of control. Feeling like I can’t protect what or who’s mine, and Raine is mine. Keeping my grasp tight on her, I tug her into the precinct, my nostrils flaring when we approach an empty reception desk. A man appears around the corner before I can barrel into the bullpen but stops short.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
“Is McDonnell here?” I growl.
“Uh,” he glances toward the bullpen, and I move around the front desk, heading straight toward the only officer I know firsthand.
McDonnell was Reeves’ dad’s partner until Reeves’ dad planted cocaine in the back of Reeves’ car, hoping to arrest him. Yeah, Drake’s not the first abusive asshole we’ve dealt with as a friend group, but I’m determined to make him the last.
“McDonnell,” the man from the front calls.
Officer McDonnell’s head snaps up. His eyes fall on Raine and me as I tug her with me.
Grabbing the closest chair, I set it beside the one tucked on the opposite side of McDonnell’s desk, then motion to it for Raine. Once she’s seated, I do the same while McDonnell watches us carefully.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
“I’m Everett,” I say, forcing myself to keep a straight head when in reality, I feel like I’m fucking spiraling. “Everett Taylor. Oliver Reeves’ friend. And Dylan,” I add, hoping her name sparks his memory. “I’m Dylan Thorne’s friend.”
His brows pull. “Okay? Uh, how can I help you, Mr. Taylor?”
“My girlfriend’s ex is stalking her.”