Page 35 of The Alpha's Assistant & The Dom Next Door
“Shayla posted bail immediately, in cash. She’s a free woman until her court date, which is in threeweeks.”
“Three weeks?” I can’t keep the panic out of my voice. Carl immediately cuts in, as if sensing that I’m at mylimit.
“The potential for violence here was explained to the judge, correct? Her history of harassment and abuse?” He sounds so businesslike, in spite of standing there in his leather jacket and jeans, with his scruffy hair brushing against his collar. I wonder where he learned so much about criminallaw.
There’s so much about him that I just don’t know.And maybe I should be afraid of that fact. After all, he might like me now, but that couldchange.
But I have to have faith in him. I have to believe in all that he’s done, that what he says is true, and that he won’t fail me when I need him most—by abandoning me, by betraying me, by being cruel ... or by dying and leaving mealone.
“I’m sorry. But Judge Carhart saw the lack of violent history here, and decided that he couldn’t keepher.”
I drift off in my head to that dark, cold place where I once lived, where everything pretty was stolen or smashed. Where Shayla gave me misery day and night and my parents tried to patch it up with apologies, excuses, and gifts.She can’t be stopped,I think illogically, and wonder if I’ll ever befree.
Then Carl’s hand wraps firm and warm around my wrist, and I turn my head to catch his fierce gaze. “Don’t check out on me, sweetheart,” he commands gently, and I snap back suddenly into thepresent.
I shudder and blink the tears out of my eyes.He promised he would help me and protect me. Can I believe in him? Can I put my life in hishands?
Can the two of us together do what I have found so hard to do on myown?
“Okay,” I mumble. “Let’s talk about what options I dohave.”
Chapter8
Carl
“You did really well in there, sweetheart. I know it was tough to sit and listen to all that and make a decision right there. Not to mention all the extra paperwork. But believe me, starting an investigation into Shayla’s abuse of you and filing an order of protection against her were both smartmoves.”
Emmeline sits quietly in my kitchen as I grill us up some chicken for sandwiches. She asked if we could be somewhere less public for a while, and I immediately proposed my place andlunch.
The preschool’s now got Jenny until five, which she’ll love because most of her friends stay until five too. That way, I can make sure Emmeline’s looked after before I send her home for anap.
“Do you do anything for your PTSD, sweetheart?” I ask verygently.
“Huh?” her head snaps around and she blinks at me as if she’s worried that I just read her mind. “How did youknow...”
“Dealt with it myself for a while. You can recover, though through during a lot of the process it feels like you never will.” I keep my voice low and calm as I turn the chicken breasts on my hibachi and paint them with lemon, olive oil, and pulverizedherbs.
“I barely know anything about you,” she mumbles. “I’m scared I’ll tell you things about me and you’ll reject me forthem.”
It’s the most naked confession I’ve ever gotten from a woman. Sweet Mary, whom I adored, hid her pain from everyone until she snapped. I’m glad as hell that Emmeline isn’t doing the same. At least, not withme.
I turn down the heat, flip the chicken one last time to finish the sear, and then leave them to cook through as I walk over to take Emmeline in my arms. She gasps and slides her hands up my arms, hips tipping against mine in subtle reflex. “I have my own skeletons in mycloset.”
She nods, looking up at me searchingly, then murmurs, “Carl ... I feel better when I’m with you. I don’t mind that you’re notperfect.”
I flash a brief, wry grin. “Well, I don’t mind that you’re not perfect either, all right? Look, I’ll start if youwant.”
It’s a risk. A risk that could end with me getting thrown in jail if she spills it to the wrong people. And she might judge me.But ... here goes. If I want trust, I have to giveit.
“My uncle ran pot into America over both borders for twenty years, starting in the nineteen sixties. You could say he came back from Vietnam a changed man. He had six bullets in him that they couldn’t pull out, and though he lived another forty years, he always hadpain.
“This was way before medical pot, but people have been using weed as medicine for a long time. So, he ran—and smoked—a ton of it. He would give half his stuff out to other vets like him. He didn’t care about the risk—he just wanted to helppeople.
“So eventually he retired, and I took over the plane while he handled the connections. And we made a ton of money. But then pot started going legal all over theplace.
“Uncle Jake and I decided to go legit. We poured our seed money into a legal pot farm out in Humboldt County, and settled down to become growers and producers. That’s where my money came from.” I shrug, wondering how awkward this is going to be. I have hinted around at it with her, but she had no idea of the scope untilnow.
“Wow, that’s kind of a new one for me. I’ve never even smoked.” Her voice has a nervous laugh in it, but she doesn’t look angry or putoff.
