Jersey Six - Jewel E Ann Page 0,42

just dead; it’s not really gone.

Forever doesn’t exist. It’s just what people tell themselves to make the now a little more bearable.

Jersey charged off the elevator the moment the doors opened. Ian gave her space, staying several steps behind her. She tapped the key card on the sensor. It didn’t open. She waved it quickly in front of it. It didn’t open.

Then she punched the door and jerked her hand back against her chest, cradling it. Ian rested his hands on the door above her head, caging her with his body, his chest to her back.

Jersey leaned forward and rested her head on the door. “Why did you do it?” Defeat weighted her words. “Why did you take off your clothes?”

“Why did you take off yours?” he whispered back to her.

She didn’t take all of her clothes off, but she would have … that much Ian knew.

Jersey rolled her head side to side, eyes closed. “On the plane … you … you didn’t say one word. Why? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Jersey …” he sighed. “I’m just trying to give you what you need.”

Her head stilled. “W-what?” Jersey pushed away from the door, forcing Ian to take a step backward. She turned to face him. “What I need?” she sneered, pinning him with cold eyes and widening her stance.

“Forget it. Go shower.” Ian refocused on the schedule he needed to keep. Sliding his phone out of his pocket, he used his digital key to open the door to his room.

“Don’t just blow me off,” she spewed through gritted teeth.

“Not blowing you off. Just staying on schedule.” He slipped into his room and shrugged off his shirt to get into the shower. While tossing it on the bed, he paused. The door didn’t click behind him. He sighed. “Fuck, Jersey, just …” He turned.

The door clicked behind her as she stalked toward him, hands fisted. “You should have left me on the street.”

He shifted right to avoid her fist, but she landed a hard hook to his ribs instead, followed by another, and another …

“Back the fuck off!” He guarded his face and twisted his body, stumbling a few steps. When the back of his legs hit the bed, he blocked her jab and shoved her with enough force to knock her on her ass.

“There are no shiny rewards for adopting the homeless, you rich, fucked-up asshole!” She scrambled to her feet. Blood oozed from the cut by her eye where she hit her head on the leg of the barstool.

Ian cringed, finding it hard to defend himself without hurting her.

Jab. Cross. Hook. Uppercut.

Jersey exploded onto him like a tornado touching down in a crowded town. He fell back onto the bed. She straddled him, using every inch of him as a punching bag.

He hid his face behind his arms, wincing at the stabbing pain in his ribs from her relentless jabs. Ian rolled to the side and shoved her from the bed.

She came at him again.

Again, he shoved her away. When she stumbled to the floor, he grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back, forcing her onto her stomach. Then he lay on her. Just … restrained her with his sheer size and bodyweight, needing a few moments of reprieve to assess the damage.

He underestimated her mental stability, her self-control. That was on him. But he couldn’t let her do that anymore. Licking the blood from his lip, he blinked both eyes. The left one throbbed, along with his jaw and bruised ribs.

“I’m not yours to fix.” She grunted, trying without success to free herself from the weight of his body.

Ian rested his cheek on the backside of her shoulder. “I never said you were broken.”

She wasn’t broken, just really damaged.

“Here’s how this will go … I’m going to let you out from under me. You’re going to walk out that door, shower, and wait for me in the hallway—on time. And we’re not going to speak of this again. And it’s not going to ever happen again. Understood?”

Jersey moved her head into a tiny nod. Ian released her arm and eased off her one inch at a time, readying himself for her to lose it again. He lumbered to standing, and so did she. They faced each other, both bloodied and bruised.

“When’s the last time you spoke to your family?” Her question gave him whiplash.

“When’s the last time you spoke to yours?”

Jersey’s mouth turned downward. “What makes you think I have a family?”

“What makes you think I