“Jaime,” Cage says, and I can tell he’s reading my emotions all too well. His eyes are warm as a palm comes to my cheek. “I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. That’s the important thing I need you to know right at this moment, because I can see you’re scared.”
And just like that, I’m okay again.
He loves me.
He is in this for the long haul.
The commitment he made is real, and we are going to start a wonderful life together.
“Okay,” I say, a smile even coming to my face. “Are you hungry? I can fix something.”
“I wouldn’t say no.” He laughs, and we roll out of bed.
We clean up, use the bathroom, and tug back on the clothes we had on before, with the exception we both remain barefoot.
In the kitchen, Cage opens up two beers while I whip up some sandwiches and grab some chips. We bring the food into the living room and sit side by side on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, with paper plates on our laps. While we eat, Cage asks me how this week has gone, so I fill him in on some happenings at work—which he’s always interested in—as well as the fact I told Laney about us.
“And your week?” I ask, sensing this is what he wants to talk about.
“Yeah,” he says in a low voice, wiping his mouth with a napkin. His feet go to the floor, and he puts his empty plate on the table. “About that.”
I mimic his actions, turning my body toward him so that our knees are almost touching and we can look each other in the face. Cage takes my hands in his, stares down at them a moment before raising his eyes to mine.
My heart starts beating hard because I can see whatever he’s getting ready to tell me is painful to him, and it will most likely be to me, too.
Oh my God… is he dying?
I open my mouth to ask that very question, my chest now constricting painfully at the thought of losing him when I just found him.
I don’t get a single word out though as the door to my apartment bursts open in a resounding crash. Cage had only engaged the lower lock so a hard kick rips the strike plate right out of the door casing causing wood and splinters to go flying.
An involuntary scream tears free from my throat as four men dressed in black with ski masks on come rushing into my living room. Cage leaps to his feet and vaults the coffee table to put himself in between me and the men, and it’s only then that I realize they’re carrying guns.
One of the men raises a pistol, pointing it straight at Cage’s face who stops dead in his tracks. He doesn’t back away though, nor does he even hold his hands up in surrender. Instead he looks pissed and like at any moment, he’s going to take the man on.
I’m so intent on watching that interaction that I fail to notice another man coming my way. He grabs me by the arm, jerks me up off the couch hard enough he wrenches my shoulder causing me to cry out in pain.
“You son of a bitch,” Cage barks and takes a step toward me. The rage on his face is scary and I see murder in his eyes. “Get your fucking hands off her.”
“Sorry,” the man with the gun pointed at his face says, and there’s no mistaking his distinct Irish brogue. “But she’s necessary to us.”
“I swear to God,” Cage says through gritted teeth. “If you don’t let her go, I’m going to—”
“You’re going to what?” the man demands as he advances a step in on Cage and puts the pistol to his forehead. Cage doesn’t even flinch or cower, but looks the guy right in the eye with a hard glint. “You’re going to shut the fuck up, is what you’re going to do.”
And then in a swift move, he pulls the pistol back, only to slam it into the side of Cage’s head.
“No,” I scream, trying to get to Cage as the man holding my arm restrains me in a full body lock. “Leave him alone.”
Cage crumples to the floor but he’s not unconscious. He immediately puts a palm to the floor and starts to rise again, so the man with the pistol knees him under the chin, causing Cage to fly backward,