Page 95 of Stay with Me

One eyebrow rose as he reached around to his back, and when his hands returned to where I could see them, he wasn’t holding the gun anymore. “You know me.”

I blinked up at him as I sat up. “That ... that was pretty impressive. You know, the whole thing.”

“Had a lot of practice dodging shit in the past, honey.”

That’s right. Military training. Duh. “And the gun?”

“Working at Mona’s, I’ve ended up face-to-face with people that make me feel a bit better chatting with knowing I’m holding a gun.” He reached down, took my hands in his, and hauled me onto my feet. “Plus, holding and firing a gun aren’t anything strange to me.”

Double duh. Military training. “What ... what do you think that was all about?”

A door—most likely Ritchey’s—slammed shut. “Probably not something good.” He gripped the sides of my face, tilting my head back. “You really okay?” he asked once more.

Breathing heavy, I nodded. Other than a little sore and scared out of my mind, I was okay. “Someone tried to run us over.”

“They tried and they failed,” he pointed out.

“Buttheytried.” And then it really hit me. That someone did try to run us over and Jax carried a gun because of Mona’s, or more likely because ofMona,and someone seriously tried to run us over.

My knees started to knock together. It made me feel weak, but in all my life, no matter how crazy or how crappy it got, I’d never had a knife held to my face and almost been run over in less than twenty-four hours. That was kind of scary.

“Shit,” Jax said, and then he tugged me forward, against his chest, and I went, clutching the sides of his stomach. “Honey ...”

I closed my eyes, soaking up his warmth and his strength, and I held on.

There were no naps or afternoon orgasms after almost being run over. Which sucked for various reasons. Besides orgasms just being a great thing to experience, I could really have used a nap after the morning and afternoon I had.

Jax had called Reece the moment we got in his truck and got the hell out of there. We ended up filing a police report with a cop I’d never seen before, an older gentleman with dark skin and tired eyes, but a warm smile. His name was Detective Dornell Jackson, and he seemed to know what was going on, because he asked a lot of questions that had to do with my mom and Mack and even Isaiah. Then we’d met up with Reece, and Jax had filled him in. Reece did not look happy, especially when we got to Jax’s house and both guys noticed a few tiny—and by tiny, I mean harmless—scratches along my upper arm.

This discovery resulted in me being dragged into the half bath downstairs, peroxide being whipped out, and cotton balls being dabbed along my arm like there was a chance they’d get infected and my arm would fall off.

It was assumed that someone had been watching Ritchey’s place, most likely for Mona, and that’s how we ended up almost getting run down, but it didn’t explain why. If I was potentially vital in handing over my mom or luring her out, why try to turn Jax or me into roadkill?

No one had an answer for that.

Before the start of my shift, Jax had taken me back to the house so I could get ready. Instead of leaving, he hung out until it was time. At some point, he’d made the universal decision that I was riding with him to and from work.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I told him.

Jax dropped down on the couch, brows raised. “I want you safe, Calla. And obviously shit is going down. So you’re going to stay safe. Besides that, we literally work the same damn shift. You can save gas money.”

I really couldn’t argue with that.

“Pack up some clothes, too, you’re staying with me tonight,” he went on, and my mouth opened. “Calla, it goes back to keeping you safe. My place is better. No offense, but I have more than oodles and noodles in the cabinet and I have cable TV.”

Okay. Real food and cable TV were a bonus. “That’s a lot, Jax. I mean, staying with you is—”

“Good,” he cut in, grinning. “Fun. Better than staying in this house?”

I pressed my lips together as my eyes narrowed.

He leaned forward, resting his hands on his thighs as he sighed. “Calla, I just want to make sure you’re safe while we deal with this crap, and, honey, you know this house isn’t safe. No one is going to barge into my house, but this place? Anything goes.”

Hesitating at the doorway to the bedroom, I had to acknowledge that he had a point and he was right. This house wasn’t on the up-and-up. I would be safer at his place, but it was his place, and staying at his place meant something, and ...

Damnit.

It did mean something. That was the third duh of the day. Jax wanted me at his place because it did mean something to him, to us—to ourthing.

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