Jersey Six - Jewel E Ann Page 0,44

would it land her on the street again, with no answers, no job, and no way to get back to Newark?

Jersey slipped off her shoes and crawled up the bed, in uncharted territory, with her thoughts warring between revenge and redemption—a second chance at a life lost eight years earlier.

Was Ian the Devil or her savior?

He leaned a few inches to the side to see the screen past her. She straddled his legs, this time wearing jeans and a gray, fitted tee, more clothes than Ian wore.

Jersey took his glass from his hand, bringing it to her lips. It burned her mouth as she swallowed it. “Not water,” she mumbled, setting the glass on the nightstand.

Ian’s gaze followed the glass, lingering there even when Jersey released it.

She ghosted her thumb over the red haloed bruise around his eye. “I’m nothing…” she whispered “…insignificant … forgettable … no one would miss me if I died. No one would look for me if I were lost. No human has ever cried for me.”

With her index finger, she used a feather’s touch to trace the cut on his lip. “I am unloved.” Her words snagged in her throat. They hurt a lot less when they were just thoughts. “I am unlovable.”

His inward gaze focused on her as if her words woke something up inside of him. She gave him her truth. Maybe he would give her his truth. A risk she had to take, knowing she might fall for a lie.

Was Ian a lie?

“So why …” She brushed his cheek with her nose, closing her eyes. “Why do I feel like you’re making up for something? Why do I feel like you didn’t simply meet me by chance? Why does it feel like you found me?” Her lips touched his mouth.

“Jersey …”

Her hands pressed to his cheeks as she kissed him.

Softly.

Slowly.

A shy kiss.

An inexperienced kiss.

A simple touch that made her tremble.

Pulling back an inch, their gazes locked. “Tell me to go, Coop.”

His eyes flitted along her face. “I can’t.”

“Then ask me to stay.”

Ian’s brows turned down. “I can’t.”

Revenge held its own intimacy. Jersey felt it when she killed the man who sexually abused her and took photos of her. Before he completely bled out, she kissed his cheek and thanked him for making her a little bit stronger. For a single blink—a second, a flash—she felt the intimacy between them. He came into her life. He took something that wasn’t his to take. And she returned the favor. They both learned from each other, a messed-up symbiotic relationship that ended when she no longer had anything to take from him.

Jersey slid her fingers into Ian’s hair. “Then give me what I need.” There was only one way to find out how much she needed to take from Ian Cooper.

“What do you need?” He brushed his nose along her cheek the way she did to him.

The truth. She needed the truth. But something told her he wouldn’t hand it to her. She would have to take it from him, one piece at a time.

Jersey pulled back just enough to see his eyes. “I need you to know I’m not sorry.”

“For what?” A slight crease formed along the bridge of his nose.

Her gaze swept along his face and neck, taking in all the marks she left on him. “For anything.”

Ian nodded in tiny increments for several seconds before pressing the pad of his thumb to the cut by her eye. “Neither am I.” He pressed it with enough pressure to make her flinch, as if he meant to draw pain from her.

The tremble. The weak moment of insecurity that she surrendered to his touch minutes earlier vanished. Jersey grabbed his wrist and jerked his hand away, narrowing her eyes.

Ian smirked.

“You’re going to lose your hand, Coop.”

He expressed everything through a look, a code waiting to be cracked, a challenge waiting to be accepted.

The truth.

Just get the truth.

Jersey leaned in to kiss him again. Ian pulled away, leaving her hanging and slightly off balance in her mind. She clenched her teeth, her gaze hard and fixed to his. He taunted her again with his silence and indecipherable expression.

Swallowing her saliva instead of spewing it in his face, she climbed off his lap, shoved her feet into her shoes, and made slow steps to the door, pumping her fists and fighting the urge—the need—to control him. Ian Cooper liked control. He liked the game. Little did he know he would never win.

“Oh!” Max jumped back with her