Reaching up, I place a hand over his heart. It’s stupid, but I just want to feel his heartbeat. I want to know he’s human and not entirely cruel. Still, he doesn’t look at me. He leans in and turns his head to the left and then the right. His skin is so close I can almost feel him. I want to feel him, and I hate myself for it.
For every time Aunt Ruby showed me what it means to be a strong woman. For every intimate moment I’ve witnessed between Dad and Holly where I see who really wears the pants in that relationship. For how hard Nic made Duke work to earn her forgiveness, and for how strong Alex fought to have something with Ryan. They each took a chance on something they didn’t know would work out, but they did it anyway. I don’t have that kind of faith, so whatever I’m doing here is just torturing myself with what I want, but never will be.
And I’m here letting myself get sucked into the beat of Jeremy’s heart and the way he smells, even now. I feel pathetic and weak. Dirty even. I should want nothing to do with him. But he’s here, covering me with his body, and it doesn’t feel scary or like he wants to hurt me. It feels like he’s guarding me. Why is he so intense? Why won’t he look at me?
Carefully, I reach up and grab ahold of his sunglasses and slide them off his face. With the loudest voice I can muster, I say, “Look at me.”
He doesn’t move, and for some reason, I feel even more determined at his refusal. I pass the glasses to my left hand and then place the thumb of my right hand on his chin and pull down until he’s forced to face me. His red, swollen eyes stare down at me blankly. His eyes are misleading because his chest still expands and compresses quickly.
“You”—his deep voice comes out in a low growl, and he sucks in a breath—“fucked up.”
The commanding way he looms over me, the way his eyes come alive as he speaks, and the way he presses himself into me makes it hard to breathe. He’s so much man in this moment that it’s both exciting and intimidating. He’s still Jeremy, but he’s a Jeremy I’m not sure I know. This is Jeremy, the guy who’s prospecting for the club, not the cute teenage boy I usually see him as. And I fucking love it.
“I want to help,” I whisper.
He leans in and lowers his face to my neck where he sucks in a deep breath. “You should not be here,” his hisses into my ear.
“But I am,” I say stupidly. It’s the only thing I can think of with his face in my neck and his hot breath washing over my skin. I close my eyes, forcing myself to focus on why we’re here and not what my body wants to do. “I need your help.”
“You need me?” He holds his breath for a moment while he waits for my response.
“I need your help,” I correct. Quiet. We’re so freaking quiet. It’s making this moment private and weird all at the same time. “I have to find out who raped Mindy.”
His body goes completely still as my words register, and then he tenses and sucks in a deep breath. He grits his teeth as if he’s struggling to control himself. “Club business. We’re taking care of it. It’s fine.”
“Liar,” I say before I can stop myself. I hate that word, fine. “It’s not fine. Dad said it was fine when Scavo showed up at school, and he said it was fine when Holly moved in. He promised me we were safe, and then Mindy was raped.” Now my chest is rising and falling quickly, my heart rate is picking up, and I’m on the verge of tears. I hate how that word—fine—makes me react. Everything is so not fine.
“You’re safe,” he says, his voice softening just slightly.
“No, I’m not. None of us are.” My voice shakes.
He pulls his head back and looks me in the eye. “I will keep you safe.”
His words feel like a vow, like he really believes them. I’ll bet he does, but that’s the problem. They all think they can make that promise and keep it. I’ll bet Ryan made that promise to Alex, but then she was taken by her brother and beaten. I’ll bet Dad made that promise to Holly, but then she had to watch Mindy be violently raped. We’re all just sitting ducks.
“Whatever you’re doing here, you need to stop it,” he says. I give him a noncommittal sigh and continue looking in his eyes. I’m not going to stop what I’m doing, I can’t. He must sense this, because the fire in his eyes comes back and he’s back to looking at me blankly. I’m learning that this means he’s angry and maybe even a little scared. “I mean it, Cheyenne.”
“No,” I say loudly.
He removes his hand from the column and replaces the safety on his gun. He slides the gun into the back of his jeans and reaches around, grabbing me by my upper arms.
“You need to understand,” he barks loudly in my face. “You could get yourself killed.”
“I could get killed anyway!” I shout back. My arms ache as the adrenaline pumps through them, and my legs tingle with the desire to run. He’s not intimidating or scary now, just so freaking intense that it makes it hard to breathe.