Be Mine (Jackson Boys 2)

“Right. That’s why I got fired today. Because I messed with his friend. Fuck you, bitch.”

The sound of a knife leaving the butcher block sends chills down my spine.

“You’ve always loved your hair, Lainey. You know what they say? Pride goes before the fall.” He chuckles again.

When he applies the knife to my hair, I can’t stifle my sob. He’s right. I do love my big, messy, curly hair. But I love my life more. I shut my eyes and force myself to concentrate. When the hair is sliced off, I’ll have a moment of freedom. I wait for that. I ignore the strands of hair that fall to the floor and concentrate all my energy on the tiny window of opportunity that will be coming.

“You must have a magic pussy, huh? What’d you offer him that some other jock chaser couldn’t? Did you let him fuck you up the ass? Does he have some fetish? That’s it, isn’t it? He’s got some weird-ass kink, and you’ll do anything for him, won’t you?” He grabs me by the chin, the knife’s blade precariously close to my face. “What is it?”

I clench my jaw shut. “Tell me!” he screams, leaning down to make sure his spit hits my face. But as he does, his grip loosens. And there it is—my chance.

I spring forward, right into his hand holding the knife. It slices me across the cheek, but I keep going. I keep running, pushing toward my bedroom. There’s a roar behind me. His feet slam against the carpet.

I lunge for my nightstand, and in one smooth, superhuman motion that I’d never be able to repeat if I practiced it a thousand times, I pull out the handgun my momma gave me all those years ago and swing it around, shooting Chip in the chest just as he reaches for me.

The blast sends him backward. I pull the trigger twice more. There’s a gurgling noise, and then the sound of a body crashing to the floor. The recoil from the handgun knocked me down too. I push myself up on an elbow, holding the gun up with my other hand—just in case.

But the body in the doorway doesn’t move. I reach up and grab the phone from my nightstand—it’s a miracle I didn’t knock it off—and dial Nick’s number.

“Lainey? I’m on my way to meet with—”

“I shot Chip in the chest,” I interrupt. “I may have killed him.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I’m on my way.”

“Okay.”

I hang up and call 9-1-1.

“This is 9-1-1, please state your emergency.”

“I’ve had an intruder…”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Nick

“Tell me again why Miss Valdez called you before calling 9-1-1?”

“Like you said, I’ve already explained multiple times,” I snap. The lawyer the team sent over clears her throat from the end of the sofa, a sign she wants me to answer the question. Except I’ve answered it three times already. Gathering my composure, I say evenly, “I don’t know.”

“Can you elaborate?” The detective—her nametag says Ramos—poises her pen on her notebook as if waiting for something revelatory to fall from my lips.

“I don’t know. I’m guessing because she was afraid that her attacker would hurt her again.”

“And what’s your personal relationship with Miss Valdez?”

“She’s my fiancée,” I lie.

The lawyer starts to choke. The detective’s pen skitters off the edge of her notebook. Across the room, at the kitchen table, Lainey’s head pops up. She’s too far away to hear us, but she must see something in my face or something in the detective’s face that makes her eyes narrow. Her suspicious expression makes me want to smile.

That’s right, sweetheart. No backing out now. It’ll be in all the newspapers.

It’s a shitty thing to do, bind her to me in a way she can’t back away from, but we’ve danced around it for too long. We might as well dump all our baggage into one giant pile and let the vultures pick through it.

The detective recovers first. “Congratulations,” she says. “No ring, though? I’d have thought your three month’s salary would have conjured something with a little more…bling.”

We both glance at Lainey’s ringless left hand resting on her thigh.

“The ring’s being resized,” I answer, eyes still locked with Lainey’s. Hers are full of accusation. I press my lips tighter together to prevent the inappropriate smile.

She looks vexed, which is a hundred times better than the shocked and half-terrified expression she wore when I busted in thirty minutes ago. Her irritated face turns pained as the emergency tech swabs a tender spot on Lainey’s head. Seeing the pain on her face drains all my humor away.

“What jeweler did you say?” the detective prods.

“I didn’t.” Suddenly, I’m in a rush to get this over with. “Any more questions?”

The lawyer senses my annoyance and jumps in before I can make a mess of things. “It’s a clear case of self-defense,” she argues. “The deceased was fired today. Angered, he came directly here and decided to assault his replacement’s fiancée. She fought back, and in the ensuing struggle, the deceased was killed.”