staying at his own place. I don’t know why that knowledge hurt more than the prospect of him being out with other women.
Is being around me so hard, so unappealing to him, that he has to stay at his home just to get away from me?
The only benefit of having him gone is it gives me a chance to build that wall back around my heart in order to protect myself. That’s the only way I’ll survive this with him. It also gives me the opportunity to get away from here without him privy to what I’m up to.
Our plan is simple. Jack will be here at two p.m. sharp to pick me up. He’ll park near the valet drop-off area, away from the view of the cameras. I’m not sure how many cameras they have out front, so, just to be safe, I asked him to park a little farther away. I don’t have an issue walking. There is no way I could invite him to the resort, without raising any red flags. Baz knows what he looks like and knows who he is. I will do anything I can to protect Jack.
The timer goes off on my phone at one fifty-nine p.m., and I make the trek down from the penthouse to the exit. Readjusting the strap of my purse over my shoulder, I glance behind me, before walking toward Jack’s car. He’s far enough that I can’t make out his identity but close enough that I can clearly see it’s him by his build. When I’m sure I’m not being followed, I get into the car and breathe a sigh of relief. That felt almost too easy.
“You look like shit.”
I grunt in response, knowing he’s probably right. I feel like shit, too. I’ve spent the last few days tossing and turning, thinking about Baz, thinking about Madison and the rest of the Savages. My head has been an endless loop of thoughts that I just want to stop.
Jack and I drive in a comfortable silence, until we pull up to a single-story house in the Van Nuy neighborhood. My brows dip, and I shoot him a look.
“Where are we exactly?”
“Airbnb, baby. I refuse to risk someone stealing my equipment at a raunchy motel.”
I nod, knowing he’s probably right. The last motel I stayed at wasn’t exactly the safest place for anyone, least of all a woman with no form of protection. And, of course, the second we’re inside, Jack doesn’t even give me a chance to sit, let alone breathe. He’s on my ass as soon as we step through the door.
“Before we go any further, you better fucking explain. What is happening, and why do you need protection?”
I break it down for Jack, telling him what I saw at Kings and what I learned about Zach using Vincent’s name at the mental institution. This isn’t just about me needing protection, but me needing to confide in someone else and have them reassure me that I’m not crazy. That everything happening isn’t just a coincidence, and it does need to be dealt with.
He sighs, hands on his hips, gaze fixed on the ceiling for help. He does this often with me. It’s usually how I know I’m about to get my way. Turning on his heel, he digs in a black duffel bag that’s on the floor near the couch, and my breath catches when he pulls something out.
“This is for protection. You understand me? I’m going to teach you how to use it, but I swear to God, Mackenzie, I need you to promise you won’t hurt yourself or anyone else with this.” I glance up at him and soften at the pleading look in his eyes.
My chest expands on an inhale. “I promise.”
I glance back at the black gun that’s in Jack’s hand. I’ve never touched a gun. Never had any reason to. But now I do. It’s just for protection, a safety precaution of sorts. Or at the very least, that’s what I tell Jack and myself so many times, I hope at least one of us believes the lie.
Jack spends the rest of the afternoon teaching me how to use it in case of an emergency. If possible, holding the weapon in my hands is a lot scarier than looking at it. It’s heavy as hell and has the potential to end lives with just the single pull of the trigger. It’s scary and thrilling. I don’t know how I’m going to bring