Page 7 of Clipped Wings

I didn’t believe a word that nasty woman said, but it didn’t stop the jealousy from choking me like a sandstorm in the desert. I hadn’t known I was a jealous person. I had no reason to be until I met the likes of Jack O’Connell. Wherever we went, he turned heads. Waitresses, hotel staff, even random women on the street tried to flirt with him. They got dazed looks on their faces, their mouths turned up in sexy smiles despite my presence. Jack never gave them the time of day, taking his eyes from me only when necessary.

He’s looking for his brother, Em. Calm down.

Still, my heart was in my throat as I descended sixty floors. My fingers curled into fists, then I flexed them again. I was dead on my feet, an emotional wreck. My feet were bare, and I’d been wearing the same tiny sundress for more than twenty-four hours.

I exited the elevator and padded toward the entrance of Roisin’s, thankful I’d had the foresight to steal a pair of Shannon’s panties. I was vulnerable enough as it was.

A few of my fellow servers eyed me with suspicion as I carved a path through the restaurant, the dim lights reflecting off crystal dining ware and bronze crown molding. As usual, the place was packed with patrons. I was a fish out of water in my less-than-formal attire. Air blasted from the vents, making me shiver from both the chill and an impending mental breakdown.

I banked left down a darkened hall, approaching the solid oak door to the private room. Upon twisting the knob, I discovered it was locked. Hushed voices conversed on the other side. I recognized Jack’s deep tone immediately. The other was a woman.

Lungs burning, I pounded on the door.

A girl my age opened it. She was taller than me in high-heeled boots and her dark brown hair was curled to perfection, ending just above her hip bones. Her clothes were skimpy but expensive, and she was attempting to stuff a wad of crisp hundreds into her impressive cleavage.

She was a sex worker. By the looks of it, a high-end call girl.

“You’re in my way,” she chided, her displeasure evident.

Jack reached for the girl, tugging her toward him. He couldn’t see me standing there, his peripheral blocked by the half-closed door.

“I’m not done with you,” he growled, his hand still wrapped around her twiggy upper arm.

Stepping into view, I let my gaze rake over him, my skin sizzling with fury. Jack’s clothes were wrinkled, his chocolate curls a sexy mess. He had dark circles under his emerald eyes, which froze once he saw me. His already sharp face hardened to stone, his jaw clenched. There was a pained look in his eye, but the rest of his expression was one of annoyance.

“Go back upstairs, Emma.” His words were soft, but it was clearly an order.

The rage almost blinded me, but I refused to blink. If I did, the tears would fall. His betrayal hit me like a sword to the gut, spilling my entrails. I wanted to double over—vomit, scream, hit him—but I didn’t. I had to keep some shred of dignity.

“Fuck you, Jack,” I cursed with vehemence, the words struggling around the lump in my throat.

He ground his molars, preparing a retort. I didn’t give him the chance. I spun around and left the damn restaurant. Screw him and his orders. I wasn’t going upstairs to be with Shannon and her awful aunt. If he was fucking other women while his brother was missing, he didn’t deserve my devotion.

I repeated this over and over to myself, trudging across Park Avenue, still barefoot. A few heads turned in my direction as I sped toward the subway, but I was numb to my surroundings. The tears were falling, burning an acidic path down my cheeks. My nose started to run. I wiped at it angrily, MetroCard in hand as I descended into the underground.

Fuck him.

Chapter Five

Emma

When I got to my empty apartment, I forced myself to shower. I felt like crashing in my bed and crying myself to sleep, but I was filthy. After walking the streets and riding the subway barefoot, I should’ve checked myself into quarantine for a bleach bath and skin-melting steam.

But the shower would have to do.

I washed myself methodically, focusing on scrubbing my feet and legs as hard as I could. Images of Jack and the woman flitted through my mind, making me choke. I took my anger out on myself, cleaning until my skin turned red and raw, digging into the crevices between my toes to make sure I rid myself of the city.

When I had nothing left to distract myself, I threw the loofah over the shower curtain, hoping it landed near the trash bin next to the sink. My fury was fading, and so was I.

My legs lost their battle with gravity. My spine slid along the cool shower wall, and I fell with a thud. I pulled my knees to my chest and tucked my head into them, letting the water drown out my sobs.

Exhaustion would take over soon and that would be the only relief, assuming my dreams weren’t as dark as my reality. I knew I should get out of the shower and go to bed, but I was scared to move. Turning off the water and stepping into the central air would force me to face the circumstances of what I’d just seen.

Connor was missing, and Jack hadn’t sought me for comfort. He’d returned to his old method of stress relief—fucking and fighting. He met with his men, then hired a prostitute to curb his appetite. Not that he needed to pay for sex. He could grab a girl at random off the street and she’d climb into bed with him, no questions asked.

I’d always known something like this would happen. It was one of the reasons I had refused to move in with him, to jump into this relationship with both feet. There was always a deep-rooted fear that I wouldn’t be enough for Jack. Apparently, I’d been correct.

Don’t think like that.

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