Page 41 of Twisted Hearts

Knowing he was looking and didn’t know where I was yet almost made me feel better. It meant they weren’t going to show up here any time soon, not if he hadn’t been able to find me after a week. Jaxon said he’d check with other men he trusted to see if Matthew had reached out to others.

“We’ll figure this out, Addi.” He hesitated like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. Instead, he reached out and placed his hand on my thigh, squeezing, and another rush of emotions flooded me through the heat of his hand, through the strength of it, but also the gentleness as he kept his eyes on me.

“I’m scared.”

“We’ll figure out a way to get you past that and living easy, too.”

With his hand on me, comforting me, my body began heating in places wholly inappropriate for the moment. Earlier, when he had pulled me to his chest, I’d wanted to climb into his lap, hold on to him, and never let go. That was only after I’d had the almost overwhelming desire to press my lips to his throat, taste his skin, feel his pulse.

Probably not the best time to have my hormones go haywire, but I couldn’t control the reaction my body had when he was near.

Which meant him volunteering to be the one at my side at all times spelled trouble with a capital T in the future.

Yeah, I was definitely in trouble. In more ways than one.

“Come on.” He squeezed my leg and let go, leaving tingles in the wake of his touch. “Let’s go get you some pepper spray and mace, and a phone to call your mom.”

Back to reality.

As I stood, he held out his hand, and as naturally as it was to breathe, I slid my hand into his. “What’s Jaxon going to do now?”

They’d talked some plans, but then I’d asked if I could go to Shawn’s office so I hadn’t heard the rest. I had needed to decompress and be alone, but I didn’t want to be kept fully in the dark.

“He’s got someone he knows who used to be a police sketch artist. He’ll get a sketch made of the description you gave us so you can tell us if we’ve got the right guy or not. Then he’ll start looking into the Johanssens and your dad, find their connections. Trust me, Jaxon’s the best about digging into shit like this.”

“Wonderful,” I murmured. The fact that I’d gotten thrown into a life where sketch artists and bodyguards and investigators were becoming a fluent part of my conversations still made my head spin.

Shawn squeezed my hand, comforting me, and led me down a back hall to a door that had to rival any bank’s safe. There, he punched in a keycode that stretched longer than any number I’d ever memorized and then used a fingerprint scanner before we heard the click of the door unlocking. I almost commented on the overkill of it, but then he swung open the safe’s door and my eyes almost leapt to the floor they went so wide.

Holy buckets.

My hand fell from his as he stepped inside, and I stood in the doorway, gaping at the safe-slash-room that was bigger than my living room. It was packed with weapons. Boxes of what I figured was ammo were stacked on shelves, and there were guns hanging on walls. All sorts of them. Handguns like Shawn wore and some larger, some smaller. There were other rifles and long guns, some that looked like they belonged in a tank. In addition, multiple vests were slung over hooks, cameras dangling from others. There was more than I could see, and most of it I didn’t recognize, like helmets with flashlights stuck to the top. Shawn dropped something cold and heavy into my hand.

“Put this in your purse.”

“A gun?” It was black. Metal. Had a trigger. I gaped at Shawn. “You want me to have a gun?” Had he not seen how nervous it made me for him to have one, even if I knew it made sense?

Shawn chuckled. “Stun gun. I’ll show you how to use it later.” I stared at the thing like it’d grow teeth and bite me, and Shawn curled his hand around mine, closing it in my fist. Bending down, he met my eyes. They were dark blue. Serious. “It won’t kill anyone. It will incapacitate them long enough for you to get away. Trust me.”

Right. Made sense. “Okay. All right.”

As soon as I zipped it into my outside compartment, he handed me something else: a small metal stick with a white cap at one end, dangling from a keychain. “This is pepper spray. It can go on your keychain. Bonus points, it can act as a mini billy club. If you’re able to smack someone on the knuckles, it’ll shock the hell out of them long enough for you to spray them in the face.”

Oh God.This was overwhelming. My hand shook as he set it in my palm, and I stared at that too for a second before dropping it into my purse. I wiped my palms. This was necessary. I understood it. That didn’t stop the fear of needing to use them from coursing through me, or the fear of overreaction. Yeah, Daniel hadhurtme, but would he track me down like a psychopath?

The fact that I didn’t know almost made me reach for the pepper spray, to find comfort in it. If he was more horrible than I imagined, I needed this.

“Okay,” I said, exhaling a heavy breath.

“You still doing okay?”

“Yup.” Not really, but I would get there. Eventually. And he was giving me tools to help.

I waited while he grabbed more items, tucked them into some pockets, and then flipped a small black phone in the air before he closed up the safe.

“Come on.” With the gear he’d taken from the safe room, he had his hands full, so gestured for me to walk with him.

“Where?”

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