We return to the party. Jake once again opens my car door and I slide out. “How are we going to explain the giant rock on my finger?” I ask, re-settling the skirt of my dress so it doesn’t catch in my heels. The fabric remains unscathed. It’s unusual, but we were careful this time. For some unfathomable reason, Jake decided I was fragile glass and his touch was slow and whisper soft. It was something new for us, and I found it drove me mad in the most delicious of ways. The added plus was sneaking in to my parents’ house and making use of my old room.
“Leave it to me,” Jake says smoothly and links his arm with mine.
“I don’t think so.” We stride toward the back entrance. “You’ll bungle it.”
He snorts. “Hardly.”
I fiddle with the ring, looking down at it. “Perhaps I should take it off,” I say, expecting an immediate protest. “It might be easier to explain tomorrow.”
“Now is the absolute best time to explain. Everyone is drunk.”
Jake has a point, but there’s been no time to prepare. There’s a lot of back story involved. We need to work out what to share and what remains better left unsaid. Perhaps we should tell them next weekend. We can plan a barbecue and get everyone drunk all over again. “How about—”
“You’re right,” Jake says in a rush. “Take the ring off. Now.” His voice is sharp and low as he pulls us both to a halt.
I stumble. Jake doesn’t help right me. He basically shoves me away until I’m situated half behind him. “What the …” I trail off, looking up. Elijah Rossiter and another man are walking toward the parking lot. It puts them directly in our path. It seems Eli stayed longer at the party than he was expecting to. It’s highly possible my father cornered him with scotch whiskey and World News conversation.
“Son of a bitch,” Jake mutters, standing tense in front of me as he stares at them. “Take it off,” he hisses through gritted teeth.
“Have you lost your mind?” My brows snap together. I’m thoroughly confused. “Why? And put it where? Up my butthole?”
“Give it to me. Discreetly. This is one of those times you need to trust me. Please.”
I do as he asks, knowing he better explain this later. I feel oddly bereft as I slide it from my finger, like I’m a cop on suspension handing in my piece.
Jake takes the bit of jewellery and slides it in his pocket imperceptibly. “Let’s go,” he commands and starts for the door, hands in his pockets and head down. He’s moving fast. I trot a little behind him to keep up.
“Fuck,” Jake mutters. Eli has spotted us. “He saw us.”
“So what if he did?” I say to his back as he keeps up his hurried pace. “What is with you, Jake Romero?”
Eli appears indecisive until the man beside him says something that leaves him oddly pale. Then they start toward us, leaving no option but to stop or appear rude. Jake’s expression is hard, yet he gives nothing away. He just stands there, stiff as a board, blocking me from both of them.
“A lovely party,” Eli says as I step around Jake and smile at my brother’s best friend. “I’m sorry I have to leave.”
“Thanks for coming.”
“Anytime,” he says in a soft tone. “You know that.”
Jake stiffens further.
“This is my little brother, Adam Rossiter,” he tells us, nodding to the man beside him, and I jolt with surprise. Eli has a brother? A not so little one. Adam has a tattooed neck, bulky shoulders, and a buzzed head. He looks like a thug. Not a sexy one like Jake. More like a scary one that would slit your throat in the night for a measly fifty dollars. His eyes aren’t just cold. They’re cold. Like ice. “But we just call him Ross.”
Ross makes no move to shake either of our hands. He simply stares at the both of us in turn, not speaking. Oddly enough, Jake doesn’t say a word either. The tension feels thicker than my homemade pasta, which no one even pretends to eat.
“Ross, this is Mackenzie Valentine and Jake Romero, the drummer in Jamieson. And if you haven’t heard of Jamieson, then you must be living under a rock. They’re probably the hottest band in the country right now.”
Eli’s jovial tone falls flat under the unexpected tension. I repress an instinctive need to roll my shoulders and instead I give Eli’s little brother a polite smile. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ross.”
His response is silence.
The tension heightens to impossible levels.
“Well, we should get back inside.”
“Of course,” Eli replies. “I’ll see you soon,” he says to me, referring to our lunch plans.
The comment doesn’t go unnoticed. Jake’s eyes narrow. We turn from them and resume our path to the back entrance of the bar. Rather than taking my arm like he usually would, Jake pushes me ahead of him. I stumble. Again. “What is wrong with you?” I hiss as we walk away.
JAKE
Everything. Everything is wrong with me. My entire body pulses with dread. Adam Rossiter is Ross. How is it possible that this notorious gang leader is the son of the Deputy Commissioner and Eli’s brother? Do the Valentines know? Because judging from Eli’s body language, he wasn’t happy to see us stumble across them.
Ross knows my true identity now. I’m not just ‘Jonah’ anymore, the alias I used years ago in Melbourne. He knows where to find me. And the worst? In one single moment of bad timing, he knows the person I love above all others.
I turn my head, looking behind me as we reach the back door and Mac steps inside. Ross is watching us. He holds up two fingers and a thumb, mimicking a gun. He aims it at Mac, and with a slow grin, he pulls the trigger.
My glare is hard and cold, but my insides are screaming with fear. Ross isn’t an honourable man. He fights dirty. And he hoards grudges like a squirrel hoards nuts. The only people who leave his gang are the dead kind and here I am, alive and breathing, and he hates it. I’m a marked man.
I turn back. Waves of tension roll through me as I step inside behind Mac and shut the door. I need to find Mitch and I need to find him right now.
Mac stops me in the coatroom with a hand to the chest. “What was that?”
I open my mouth and snap it closed. Jesus Christ. I want to tell her. There have already been enough secrets kept between us, but I can’t. She’ll get herself caught right in the thick of it. And the thought of Ross getting his hands on her is unthinkable. It chills my blood. “It was nothing. I initially thought Adam Rossiter was someone I used to know. Someone who’s not a good person.”
Her nostrils flare and her tone is an accusation. “The Rossiters are close friends of the family,” she hisses. I’d bet all my earnings on the fact that Adam Rossiter is the black sheep she’s never met. “They’re the good kind of people. And you were rude.”
“You’re right. I was,” I concede. “I’m sorry.”
Mac presses her lips together, annoyed. She was gearing up for an argument and my hasty apology has shut her down.