Page 58 of His Ruthless Match (Below #3)

“Now,” he said firmly, “we get Genevieve to the safehouse. And we keep you out of harm’s way.”

I looked up at him. His eyes blazed with determination. Despite the fear clawing at my chest, I believed him. I believed that he would do whatever it took to keep me safe.

“Okay.” My voice was steadier than I felt. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Relief flickered across his face, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing against mine. “I’ll keep you safe, Eva. I promise.”

I believed him. And I clung to the hope that belief was enough to keep the fear at bay.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime, and I stepped into my apartment. The space that was usually a haven now felt foreign and too vast. Jareth was right behind me, a silent sentinel whose presence should have been reassuring, but tonight, nothing felt right.

My mind reeled, images of Genevieve’s hollow expression and the chaos at the club playing on a loop. I wanted to believe she was safe now, that Raffaele’s guards and his influence would be enough. But my heart wouldn’t let me.

“Genevieve is safe,” I muttered to myself, the words an empty mantra. Saying them didn’t make them feel true.

Jareth moved with the same quiet efficiency as always, locking the door behind us and surveying the room. “I’ll check the wards before I shower,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

“Okay,” I replied, barely above a whisper. I didn’t have the energy to argue or question his constant need to assess threats. Tonight, his hyper-vigilance felt like the only thing keeping me from completely unraveling.

Without another word, I made my way to my bedroom. My hands shook as I stripped off the clothes that smelled faintly of sweat and fear. I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water beat down on me, but it did little to ease the chill that had settled deep in my bones.

I leaned against the cold tile, pressing my forehead against it.

Genevieve’s face wouldn’t leave my mind.

Her blank stare, her unnatural movements—it wasn’t her.

It wasn’t even close. The guilt gnawed at me.

I should’ve done more. I should’ve seen this coming.

How had I not noticed that my client was being controlled by some outside force?

And then there was Jareth—relentless, unshakable, terrifyingly capable.

He’d taken down those vampires without hesitation, without mercy.

Watching him had been like witnessing some ancient, primal force unleashed.

And yet, even in his fury, he’d been in complete control.

He’d looked at me once it was over, his gaze steady, as if to say, You’re safe. I’ve got this.

But was I? Were any of us?

The water turned cold, and I turned it off and stepped out, wrapping myself in a towel. My hands were still trembling as I pulled on a sweatshirt and leggings, my usual comfort clothes. It felt like a poor shield against the weight pressing down on me.

In the kitchen, I went about making coffee to keep my hands busy. The motions were automatic: measure the grounds, pour the water, wait for the machine to hum to life. The quiet gurgle of the brewing coffee was the only sound in the too-still apartment.

I heard a faint noise, like a shuffle, coming from the balcony. My heart skipped a beat. I froze, the spoon clattering onto the counter.

“Jareth?” I called out, my voice shaky.

No answer.

I turned slowly, scanning the apartment. The living room was dark, the shadows long and strange. And then I saw it—a figure, crouched low on the balcony, a crowbar in hand as they worked at the lock.

My breath caught. For a moment, I couldn’t move. The intruder hadn’t seen me yet, too focused on forcing their way inside. Panic gripped me, my pulse roaring in my ears.

And then I screamed.

Jareth burst into the kitchen, his hair dripping wet, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs. His eyes locked onto the balcony, taking in the situation in an instant. His entire body tensed like a predator ready to strike.

“Stay back,” he ordered, his voice a sharp growl.

I pressed against the counter, too terrified to argue as the intruder shattered the glass and stepped inside. He was wiry, his movements quick and purposeful. He didn’t speak, his gaze locked on me with a chilling intensity.

But he never got the chance to act.

Jareth was on him in a blur, so fast it didn’t register until the crack of bone echoed off the kitchen walls.

He slammed his fist into the intruder’s jaw with enough force to whip the man’s head sideways, sending him crashing into the splintered remains of the doorframe.

Wood cracked. Hinges groaned. The man rebounded like he hadn’t even felt it.

He drew a blade.

The flash of steel caught the overhead light, and then he lunged, aiming for Jareth’s throat.

Jareth pivoted on instinct, dodging the strike with a smooth, practiced ease. One hand caught the attacker’s wrist, twisting sharply. There was a pop, a scream, and the knife clattered uselessly to the tile.

But the bastard didn’t stop.

He lunged again, desperate, throwing a sloppy punch that barely grazed Jareth’s jaw. It was enough to draw blood.

It was also enough to piss him off.

Jareth caught the man’s arm mid-swing, his fingers closing around the elbow joint like a vise. “You picked the wrong fucking apartment.”

Then he slammed into the wall. The drywall split with a vicious crack, plaster dust raining down like ash as the man’s body crumpled against it. He let out a strangled groan, but still tried to claw his way free.

Adrenaline roared through my veins. My pulse was thundering in my ears. I scanned the kitchen, breath short, stomach twisting. My fingers curled around the edge of a ceramic fruit bowl, and in the next instant I hurled it.

It shattered against the wall inches from the intruder’s head, ceramic shards skittering across the floor like shrapnel.

“Stay back!” Jareth barked, not even glancing back at me.

The man let out a guttural snarl and surged forward, scrambling on hands and knees through the glass-strewn floor. His hand closed around a jagged shard, and before Jareth could stop him, he slashed.

A streak of red bloomed across Jareth’s side.

My stomach dropped.

But Jareth didn’t so much as wince. He seized the attacker’s wrist and twisted. A sickening crunch followed, and the shard fell. The man screamed.

“Who sent you?” Jareth growled, his face inches from the man’s. His voice was ragged now—gravel laced with steel.

The attacker gasped, blood dripping from his chin. No answer.

“Who. Sent. You.”

Still nothing. Jareth’s jaw locked.

His hand snapped the man’s arm behind his back in one clean motion, forcing him to his knees. Then, with terrifying calm, he wrapped an arm around the man’s throat and twisted.

A sharp crack.

Silence.

The body slumped like dead weight, collapsing onto the tile with a final thud.

I stood frozen, breath sawing in and out of my chest. My fingers were shaking. There was blood on the floor. On the counters. On Jareth.

He turned to me, eyes like cut obsidian. He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

Whoever had sent that man hadn’t expected Jareth to be here. And now someone knew I wasn’t just a lawyer.

I was a target.

My knees buckled, and I gripped the counter for support, my breath coming in shallow gasps. Jareth turned to me, his chest heaving, his eyes still burning with intensity.

“Are you okay?” he asked, crossing the room in a few quick strides. His hands found my shoulders, his touch firm but grounding.

I nodded shakily, though my entire body was trembling. “I think so.”

His gaze softened slightly, and he brushed a strand of hair from my face. “You’re safe. It’s over.”

I glanced at the body on the floor, bile rising in my throat. “What if there are more of them?” I whispered. “What if?—”

“There aren’t,” Jareth interrupted gently but firmly. “Not tonight. I’ll make sure of it.”

He was calm, too calm, as if snapping someone’s neck was just another Tuesday for him. And maybe it was. But for me, it was a reminder of just how far out of my depth I really was.

“You’re hurt,” I said, glancing at the cut on his side.

Jareth shrugged, brushing it off. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” I insisted, tentatively touching the skin beneath the wound.

“Later,” he said. “Right now, I need to get this cleaned up and make sure no one else tries to get in.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

He pressed a quick, firm kiss to my forehead. “Stay here. I’ll take care of everything.”

As he moved to deal with the body, I sank into a chair, clutching the still-warm coffee mug in my hands. My heart was racing, my mind spinning, but one thought stood out above the rest: I had never felt safer than I did with Jareth standing between me and the rest of the world.