Drake wasn’t a deadly threat. He was a hero, the man just didn’t realize it.
She did.
Drake’s expression tightened. “Tell that to the dead I’ve left in my wake.”
Her gaze didn’t drop. “You won’t scare me. No matter what you say or what you do, because I know the real you.”
He laughed. “You’ve been with me for a few days. How can you possibly know anything but what’s on the surface?”
Jasmine swallowed. “You’ve known me for less than forty-eight hours, and you shot a man for me today.”
They stared at each other. “What would you say,” Drake asked her, softly, “if I told you that I would have killed for you? If I hadn’t been able to get that jerk to free you…if he’d tossed you in that van…”
She gave a sharp, negative shake of her head. “I don’t want you to kill for me. I don’t want anyone to do that.” She edged closer to him. “I want to get the hell I’ve brought out of your life, and I just want you—I want you to be happy.”
He gazed down at her. “This war isn’t on you. Maxwell and I were set to battle long before you came into the Arrow.”
Because of Anna Jean. The mysterious Anna Jean. A lover Drake had confessed to killing.
Goosebumps rose onto her arms.
She knew how Maxwell thought. He was old school, an eye-for-an-eye type.
There is no escape.
A low, pealing ring filled the air then. The same peal that had sounded right before the cops arrived on their last terrible visit. Drake turned at the sound, heading back into the main living area. Jasmine followed, grabbing for his arm. “Drake, no, it’s probably the cops!” And without Victor close-by, she did not want to deal with them again.
“Cops wouldn’t have gotten past my security—only a very select few could get to me now.”
Great. Wonderful. Not. He was almost at the door. Jasmine jumped in front of him. “Drake, I get that you seem confident about whoever might be on the other side—”
“I am confident, because I told them to get their asses down here.”
Wait, what?
He slipped around her. Took an instant to glance through the peephole—at least he checked that much—then Drake was opening the door.
“You made better time than I thought,” he said as he offered his hand to the first man in the doorway.
Jasmine inched back. Her guts were twisting into knots and she was so hoping that she was wrong about the identity of the men in Drake’s doorway.
She took another step back and realized she didn’t have on her shoes. They were still in Drake’s private elevator. She lifted a hand to her lips. They felt swollen—from Drake’s mouth. She touched her hair—oh, hell, yes, it no doubt looked as wild as it felt to her touch.
“Well, well…” A deep voice said, and Jasmine dropped her hand as she realized that the three men were now inside the apartment—and all gazing at her. “You must be Jasmine Bennett.” The man speaking was tall, with midnight black hair and startlingly bright blue eyes. He wore a suit cut perfectly to his broad shoulders, and the guy seemed to ooze both money…and danger.
Trace Weston. She recognized him instantly.
And if Trace was there…
Her gaze slid past Trace and Drake, and her stare locked on the third man. A man who wore jeans and a jacket, but still came off with a heavy air of power and affluence. His eyes were green, a shade that seemed less…cold…than Drake’s. His face was magazine perfect, his cheeks high, his nose slanting. He was about an inch shorter than Drake, but he was built along powerful, deadly lines.
She stared into his eyes, and realized she’d seen those eyes before.
“Jasmine?” Drake stepped forward, cutting off her direct line of sight with the man she knew to be Noah York.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.
“Are you okay?” Drake reached for her he hands. “You’re shaking.”
Noah shouldn’t be standing there. Not Noah.
“What happened to her hands?” Noah asked as he inched closer. His voice flowed over her. No accent. No hint of Texas.
Because he hadn’t been to Texas. Not in so very long.
“Some assholes shot at her SUV, and the windshield shattered around her.” Drake said this so matter-of-factly. “Jasmine, shit, I knew I should’ve used more care—”
“Uh, used care when, exactly?” Trace asked, his eyes gleaming as his stare raked from Jasmine’s mouth to her hair, then back down to Drake—and Drake’s gentle hold on Jasmine’s hands.
“I think I should sit down,” Jasmine managed. She had to figure something out, fast.
Drake pulled out a chair and got her settled. Then he stayed there, right beside her, frowning worriedly down at her.
He was worried? This was bad.
Because now all three of the men were crowding around her. Her gaze kept wanting to slide to Noah. He looked different in person. More approachable. Not that she would’ve ever approached him.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
She yanked her gaze off Noah, only to find herself caught by Drake’s hard stare. He’d realized that she was staring at Noah. Staring too long at him.
“It happens,” Trace suddenly said. “Women look at him and get a little crazy. I knew we should’ve broken his nose a few more times, Drake.”
Drake grunted. “Yeah, seems like a good idea right now.”
She felt heat race to her cheeks. “Wh-why are you here?” Jasmine turned her focus to Trace when she asked that question. Because of all the three men, he would be the one most likely to wreck her plans.
Trace was Weston Securities, and if he wanted to uncover secrets about her past…
Understanding hit and her focus shifted to Drake. “You had him investigate me.” She said it like the accusation it was.
Trace coughed into his hand. “You did try to rob him, correct?”
Her flush was just getting worse. So Trace and Noah thought that she was a thief—I am—and they also knew she’d just had sex with Drake. The floor could just open up and swallow her at any time—that would be awesome.
“There’s a lot going on that you two don’t know about,” Drake said to his buddies. “The past still isn’t dead.”
Jasmine focused on breathing, nice and easily. Unfortunately, her breaths came out sounding all ragged and desperate.
“Anna Jean’s lover is trying to destroy me,” Drake said. “Seeing as how you were both involved in what when down a few months ago, I figured you deserved to know what was happening.”
“Her lover?” Noah’s brows climbed. “I thought that was you.”
“Not this time.” Drake was still staring at Jasmine. “I think you might know him. It’s a jackass named Maxwell Case.”
Noah whistled.