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"What? No!"
"Sounds like she's your type."
"This isn't about that. She's in danger, Jax, and I pushed her away from me."
"Sorry. Not trying to be an ass. What are you going to do about it? Is communication open?"
"I don't know. I think she thinks I'm a jerk. Or a creep."
"You'll work it out," his brother said.
"I hope so," Blake murmured, rubbing his temples as the memory of Savannah's defiant expression flashed through his mind.
Jax gestured at the TV. “Speaking of creeps and jerks, you should hear Alderman Anderson talking at City Hall today. The sooner we expose this guy’s filthy little habits the better.”
Jax had uncovered evidence of some extremely unsavory activity on the dark web involving underage women, and it was highly likely the asshole was paying for sex with young girlsin real life, too. Not just that—it was probable that he was involved in the citywide trafficking problem, possibly keeping immigration numbers down by funneling young women into the sordid scheme he was running. The guy wasn’t just bad—he was evil.
“Look, I want to take down this asshole as much as you do,” said Blake. “But I can’t ignore an individual who clearly needs my help.”
Especially one I feel like I met in a previous life.
“I don't know, man, she says she doesn’t need your help anymore. Maybe you should leave it,” said Jax with a shrug. “We run a security business, and it’s exactly that: a business. For paying customers. But this other work we do, taking down the bad guys . . . that’s our calling. You get me?”
Blake sighed. “I get you.”
Jax unmuted the TV. “You should watch this with me. Prep for the gala.”
Blake yawned. “I would, man, but I haven’t slept in two days. I’m like a bear with a sore head.”
“Nash won’t be happy to hear your head’s not in the game,” Jax called after him.
“Nash can swivel!” Blake called back.
He retreated to his room, alone with his thoughts. He needed to keep his emotions in check. Forget about the girl. Focus on the alderman.
But it was easier said than done.
There was something about Savannah—her determination, her vulnerability, the way she reminded him of someone he couldn't quite place—that made it impossible for him to just walk away.
What was it about this girl that had gotten under his skin?
As he collapsed onto his bed, Blake couldn't shake the persistent image of Savannah at the beach, her pink tongueteasing the ice cream, the curve of her hips in those hotpants. He groaned into his pillow, knowing that sleep would be a long time coming tonight.
Chapter six
SAVANNAH
The moment Savannah opened the door of her apartment, she knew something was wrong.
It was the smell. Normally, her place smelled of strawberries (from her conditioner) and mint (from her tea). Today though, she could smell sweat, hard liquor, and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something intimate and disgusting, made by another human being’s body. A stranger.
She stood frozen in the doorway, her heart pounding like a jackhammer, as she took in the destruction before her. Her eyes darted from the overturned furniture to the shattered remnants of her once-treasured possessions strewn across the floor.
"Help," she whispered, a tremor running through her voice.
She didn’t want to go inside, but she couldn’t stop herself. In spite of everything, this was her home. Her safe space. She needed to know how badly it had been turned upside down. And why.
The living room was a disaster zone. Her favorite reading chair, where she used to curl up with a good book after a long day of investigating, lay on its side, its upholstery slashed viciously.Her beloved collection of mystery novels had been torn from their shelves, their pages ripped out and scattered like confetti. The small wooden coffee table that had once held her morning coffee and late-night snacks was now a pile of splinters.
