Infuriating - Onley James Page 0,73
never going to put your life at risk, Day. No matter how much you pout or stomp your foot or cry about it. If you don’t like that, then I don’t know what to tell you. This is who I am.”
Day’s face turned bright red, humiliation flooding through him. He had said that. After telling Jackson just last night that he needed time to trust him, not twelve hours later, he’d vomited all his deep, dark longings and how much he needed Jackson to take care of him. No wonder Jackson had whiplash. Still, Day didn’t want to give an inch. Maybe he was trying to sabotage himself, or maybe he just wanted to get his way, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “I finally trust you enough to tell you my feelings and you’re going to use that against me to get your way? Wow. That’s really shitty, Jackson.”
“You know what?” Jackson said, sounding angry for the first time since they’d met. Angry with Day. Day’s chest burned. “I’m sorry if you’re mad, but I’m never going to let you risk your life. Never. You can get over it or not, but you’re mine and I protect what’s mine. And I’m sorry if you don’t like that either, but it doesn’t change the facts, so if you want to sit here and be a brat and give me the silent treatment, go ahead. It won’t change my mind because I’m a grown-ass man who isn’t easily manipulated. But, if you want to play this game, I’ll be happy to show you what happens to brats as soon as we get home.”
Day’s head whipped around to look at Jackson whose stubborn expression and flared nostrils made his heart skip a beat. He didn’t know why Jackson’s words put a lump in his throat but they did. Still, he didn’t say anything.
Jackson’s gaze strayed away from Day to look out the windshield toward where a man was dumping a duffle bag and a garbage bag into the trunk of an older Dodge. “That’s him.”
Day squinted. The man wore a ratty blue t-shirt, well-worn jeans, and converse. He didn’t look like a stalker…but he also didn’t look like a rapist and a murderer, so Day supposed looks could be deceiving. Jackson reached across Day and opened the glove box, removing a gun and tucking it into the waistband of his pants before smoothing his black sweater over it.
The man left his trunk open but jogged across the parking lot and back up the stairs that led to the next floor. “Linc should be here in a minute. Do not get out of the car. I’ll see you back at the house.”
Jackson didn’t give Day a chance to respond, just leaned over to pop a kiss on his slightly open mouth, and then he was gone, bounding up the stairs after a potential murderer, leaving Day behind to try to wrap his head around what had just happened. Had he really made Jackson mad right before he ran off to confront a killer? What the fuck was wrong with him?
A car pulled up beside theirs, and Day’s heart sank. Linc was there to whisk him away. Day unlocked the car door and stood, turning to greet Linc. But it wasn’t Linc. He had just enough time to process that information before lightning rocketed through him, paralyzing his muscles. He felt himself falling, but he never hit the ground. Instead, he was being dragged, his shoes bouncing along the pavement before he was forced into a trunk, leaving him semi-conscious in motor oil and gasoline soaked darkness.
Day tried to keep his eyes open, but even though his assailant no longer pressed the taser against his skin, his muscles still twitched and his brain still felt like scrambled eggs. “Jackson,” he whispered before he lost consciousness.
“Salazar,” Jackson called, using the man’s alias so as not to alarm him.
The man stood in the doorway of his apartment, a trash bag in each hand, gaze darting back and forth, like a squirrel deciding if he should run home or continue on his current mission.
Jackson held up both hands. “Listen, man. I just need to ask you a couple of questions about Dayton Daniels.”
The dark-haired man frowned. “Who?”
“Dayton Daniels. He goes by Danny on the cam sites.” Before he even finished the sentence, he knew Salazar wasn’t his guy. The man clearly didn’t recognize Day by name.
Delgado slowly lowered the trash bags, his gaze shifting to the