Page 75 of All Jacked Up

A deep chuckle just pissed me off more.

“You have a tracker on her. I can’t wait to fucking tell Oz this.”

The sound of my teeth grinding in my ears was loud enough that I was sure he heard it too.

“Ah, damn, Ransom. How does it feel to be … what was it you called us … oh, right—psychopaths?”

“It’s not the same thing,” I snapped at him. “Oz was stalking Winslet. Do I look like I’m stalking anyone?”

His eyes dropped to my phone, then back to me. “She know you can track her phone?”

I could track a lot more than her phone, but I didn’t say it. His figuring this out was bad enough.

“It’s for her safety. She lives alone in New York City.”

He smirked. “You say that as if she’s living in Brooklyn or some shit. She’s in Manhattan.”

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” I told him.

He shrugged. “Maybe not, but if she’s keeping you up at night, yet you’re in some denial bullshit, then I’m a good one to ask. I’ve been there, done that.”

“And now you’re married with a kid. Not what I’m after.”

He smiled as he leaned forward and held his arms out. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go snuggle up in bed with Mommy.”

Hawks dropped his toy at the mention of his mother, and his eyes lit up. He ran to Bane and jumped into his arms. Bane stood up with him and then looked down at me.

“Yeah, I am, and I’ve never been this fucking happy in my life. They own me. They’re the reason I wake up in the morning, and the thought of a life without them”—he shook his head—“seems dark and empty.”

I watched as he walked back toward the door he’d entered from, and Hawks looked over his shoulder and waved his little hand. I held up mine and waved back before they disappeared around the corner.

Dark and empty. Wasn’t that why I needed to keep Noa in my life? She kept the dark and emptiness back. She made me smile.

I reached for my phone and picked it up.

Me: Checking to make sure you made it back safely.

I hit Send and waited.

Time seemed to move at a snail’s pace, and the three minutes it took for dots to appear, showing that she was responding, felt like an eternity.

I sat up straight and held the phone a little too tightly while I waited for whatever it was she was typing.

Shakespeare: I’m good. Still out. Wishing I were in bed, sleeping.

I was wishing she were too. But not in fucking Boston. Here. In my room. No, not in my room. But here. In the guest bedroom. Where I knew she was safe.

Me: Can you tell her you want to go back? She’s with other people too,right? You could get an Uber and head back to her place.

I hit Send, hoping she’d do that and maybe I could get some sleep.

Shakespeare: That would be possible if she hadn’t set me up tonight.

I frowned. Set her up? What did that mean?

Me: What did she set up?

Was she the sober friend who was supposed to be getting everyone home safely?

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