Page 72

Jackson spits blood in Ricky’s direction. “Yeah,Ricky, what happened?”
Ethan moves forward, an arm out, ready to intervene if necessary. I try to break free, but he grips me tighter.
“Hold on. Jax, are you good? I need to know if you’re calm. Do you need medical attention?”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ricky snarls. “I barely touched him. I?—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Ethan cuts him off, tone low and menacing. “Your explanation can wait.”
I’m so confused. I know Jax isn’t fond of Ricky, but I’ve been careful not to trigger his jealousy. Although conflicted, I’ve kept my distance from my bodyguard, hoping Jax would come to realize he wasn’t a threat.
But now Ethan?
What the hell happened while I slept?
“I’m good.” Jax glances at me then averts his gaze. “I’m calm.”
I peer up at Ethan. “Can I go, please? He won’t hurt me.”
He loosens his hold, and I dash across the kitchen, him right behind me.
Shivering, I wrap my arms around Jax. “What?—”
His face contorts as he hisses in pain, and his torso tenses.
My eyes burn with tears. “Where are you hurt?” I gently take his swollen, deformed fist in my hands. “You need an X-ray.”
“Already on it.” Ethan rakes his fingers through his hair and lifts his phone to his ear.
Ricky grabs a hand towel from the counter and presses it to his bleeding lip. “It’s broken. I can tell from here. Get some ice on it and a bandage. I have medical supplies in my bag.”
It’s unbelievable he can talk after the way Jax pummeled him. Still, he doesn’t threaten to call the police. He moves to the freezer and scoops ice into a baggie. Whatever went down between them doesn’t appear to be one-sided.
He hands Jax the ice. “Wrap it in your T-shirt.”
I step back, allowing Jax to yank his shirt over his head, and I gasp when I see his inflamed and bruised ribs. I whip around to confront my bodyguard. “What the hell? Why?”
“That wasn’t me!” he bellows, his voice raw, his face reddening further. “I went easy on him, for fuck’s sake.”
That may be true, but an unmistakable flicker of guilt passes over his eyes.
Jax sets the ice to his knuckles and grimaces. “I hit the corner of the table when I lunged for him.”
Exasperated, I throw my arms up. “Why? What is wrong with you two?”
Again, nothing but dead air.
Then, Ethan says to Jax, “Doc is on his way. Get cleaned up. I’ll handle this.”
My frustration mounts. “Handle what? Someone start talking!”
Jackson’s pained eyes finally meet mine. “Come on. We’ll talk in my bathroom.” He nods toward the hallway.
I follow him, and, perched on the edge of the spa tub, he buries his face in his hands, his pinky not curling the same as the rest.
I hug myself. “Please, just tell me what happened.”
His gaze lifts, heavy-lidded and full of regret, and a defeated sigh escapes him. “Ricky is not who you think he is. He’s not your bodyguard. He’s an undercover cop watching me.”