Page 10 of Jonas (Silver Team #4)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Fresh air filled my lungs but it did nothing to stop my eyes from feeling like I’d taken a bucket full of acid to the face.

But that was the least of my worries—the snot that was pouring out of my nose like a faucet turned on full blast was top priority.

One, I didn’t want it in my mouth because gross .

Two, I was surrounded by big, tough men who looked like taking acid to the face wouldn’t turn them into mucus factories and I really didn’t want to embarrass myself by choking on phlegm.

I was still bent at the waist, hands to my knees, sucking in clean oxygen when Jonas approached.

Incidentally, this was the same position he’d left me in a few minutes earlier after he’d set me down.

This after he carried me through a building.

As instructed, I’d kept my eyes closed so I had no idea how he found his way in the darkness.

Though it wasn’t dark outside, the sun had just begun to set.

This was unfortunate, and when I glanced up at Jonas when he called my name, I knew just how unlucky I was that there was still daylight left when he flinched.

“That bad?” I asked, noting his face was red and blotchy, but with his beard covering a good portion of his jaw and cheeks, I was positive I looked worse since he could see my entire face.

“It’ll clear in about ten minutes. Here, this will help.” He held out a bottle of water. I reached for the bottle but he shook his head. “Stand up and tilt your head back, I’ll pour.”

As I stood, I took in his wet shirt. Not even the stinging in my eyes could distract me from the way it molded to his chest, specifically his pecs which were clearly defined. Obviously, he’d rinsed his face. Another sweep over his broad shoulder, wet tee, and my embarrassment grew tenfold.

How was it possible the man still looked hot after a face full of CS gas? If anything, the red rimming his eyes made the blue of his irises pop.

I could’ve argued that I could clean my own face but that would only prolong the pain (and embarrassment) so I tipped my head back while opening my mouth to ask a question.

This was when it went from bad to worse, and regular run-of-the-mill embarrassment morphed into all-out humiliation when water splashed on my face and into my open mouth, causing me to sputter and cough.

“Jesus,” Jonas grunted. “Are you okay?”

I spit, shook my head, and grabbed ahold of my last shred of dignity before I asked.

“Was that payback?”

“Payback?”

“The waterboarding. Was that payback for snotting on your shirt?”

Jonas didn’t laugh or even crack a smile as I’d intended.

His face was totally neutral. His body locked tight.

Not even his eyes roamed from mine. His team was milling about.

Some of them were on their phones, some were standing guard outside of SUVs—I suspected the men who’d taken us with them were enclosed in those vehicles.

But no Kira in sight. Even with all the commotion swirling around us, Jonas didn’t stop staring.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

His answer came out rough. “You didn’t leave me.”

Leave him?

“On the street, you didn’t run and leave me,” he continued.

Was he for real?

“Why would I have left you?”

A new expression came over his handsome face. It wasn’t anger or even curiosity. He looked truly perplexed.

Jonas came out of whatever trance he was in and went straight into a scowl.

“You should’ve run?—”

“Oh, no you don’t,” I snapped, not allowing him to finish his asinine line of thinking.

“Don’t pull that stupid shit with me, Jonas.

Just because I’m a woman doesn’t make me any less capable than you.

And let’s not forget I got you into the mess; the least I can do is stand by your side while some beefed-up asshole darts you in the back.

I would’ve done more, but dude, you outweigh me by like a hundred pounds.

I had no chance of picking you up and carrying you to safety. ”

“You could’ve been hurt. You should’ve left and let my team find me.”

Okay, that hurt. It was irrational and silly but the mention of his team stung.

It was a great reminder of just how alone I was.

I didn’t have anyone to find me. I didn’t have anyone in my corner or at my back or even someone who cared if I got dead.

Well, I suppose the people who hired me would care, but only in that the job they hired me to do wouldn’t get finished.

No one would mourn the loss of me should I say, die.

“What would you have liked me to do? Step aside and watch the bad guys load you into the back of their car? Which by the way, wasn’t the Merc, it was a Chevy Tahoe.

Blue with black leather interior. Should I have stood there and waved to them as they drove away with your unconscious body, knowing it was me they were after?

Or should I have stood by and smiled when that prick who tossed you on the concrete threatened to shoot you?

” I huffed out a breath which did nothing but make my lungs burn and finished with, “If your answers to any of those are not, ‘no, Derrika you did the right thing’ then you’re just plum nutty and need a swift kick to your boysenberries. ”

Jonas’s lips twitched, distracting me from irritation. Luckily for me my frustration was such that I was able to ignore the way his sexy lips hitched up as he said, “Boysenberries?”

“Balls. Nuts. Baby-making sacks. Wrinkle berries. Gonads.”

Jonas put a hand up, stopping me from continuing.

“I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, Dee Dee, I get you got a mean vicious streak when you’re pissed and now I know to cover my junk should I piss you off in the future.”

It took me a moment to get past Jonas calling me “Dee Dee.” Never in my life had anyone ever called me by a nickname.

Growing up I was Derrika—always. My brother was Michael.

Not Mike or Mikey or anything other than his full, proper given name.

No sweetheart from my mother. Not a single princess or sweetie or honey from my father.

No terms of endearments or shortening of names.

Nothing that would build familiarity or a close family bond.

I’d had two boyfriends. Just two. Both of them had called me honey and sweetheart and baby.

But only when they were trying to soften me up for sex, and neither of them had ever called me Dee Dee or any shortened variation of my name.

Only Jonas.

For some strange reason that felt good.

To stop that feeling from taking root I did what I always did and changed the topic quick-like and in a hurry.

“Why do men call their penis and testicles junk? I don’t get it. I would think with all the love men show their… parts they’d call it something else like precious or treasure or gems.”

I jolted when Jonas’s laughter hit me. It felt like a literal blow to my belly.

The sound of it nourishing my lonely soul, filling me with something that was not mine to have.

The ridiculousness of that hit me harder.

Now was not the time to ruminate on my life, or lack thereof.

Now was not the time to wallow—something I’d been able to successfully shove aside for the last, oh, I don’t know, the last twenty-some-odd years since I realized as a young girl I’d never have a normal life or a normal family.

But I couldn’t stop the richness of his laughter from slapping me right in the face, reminding me I wasn’t normal.

I didn’t have a normal family. No one to make laugh.

No one to make me laugh. No one to share with or turn to when life got hard.

So as much as it hurt to hear, it also felt good.

“Damn, you’re a trip,” he muttered. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. Was I a trip to Looniville, or was I a trip to a fun day at an amusement park? “Let’s get your face clean. This time, let’s try it with your mouth closed.”

Right. My face.

I hadn’t forgotten the stinging in my eyes or my sinuses burning, but for some reason bantering with Jonas made the pain bearable.

I tipped my head back, this time with my lips pinched tight. Cool water hit my forehead, slowly the stream moved to my right brow, then my left, before he moved the bottle over the bridge of my nose and my cheeks.

“One more time,” he told me and started over again following the same path. When he was done he declared, “Keep your eyes closed.”

I did as I was told. Without sight, my hearing intensified. Thus I heard his even, steady breaths. I heard him moving around me. And I swear I could feel him studying me.

“Are you staring at me?” I asked.

“Shoulda told you to keep your mouth closed, too.”

Well.

I felt the pad of his thumb swipe over my lips. The touch was quick, but the feeling remained, leaving me in a frozen stupor.

From a swipe of his thumb.

What in the actual hell was wrong with me?

Without warning he was blotting the water off my face. The fabric was rough like a cheap towel but his ministrations were gentle.

“We’re movin’,” a voice I didn’t recognize called out.

“Almost done,” Jonas replied as he kept gently patting my face with the towel.

My stupidity got the best of me—that was my only explanation for reaching out and grabbing ahold of Jonas.

As it would happen, my hands hit his hips.

Once there I continued to perpetuate this idiocy and held on.

Not only that, my fingertips dug into his flesh.

I blamed this on two things: the fullness of seeing Jonas go down on the street, understanding he’d been hit with a sedative that would leave him incapacitated and helpless.

Which led to both of us being taken hostage, to the uncertainty of not only my immediate future but also left me wondering if I’d be breathing by the end.

The second part of my excuse was purely emotional and irrational and was the crux of my foolishness—he made me feel, and I hadn’t felt anything in a really long time.

Even being under the microscope of his stare, which made me feel uneasy was better than the apathy.

I didn’t want to process why that was. I didn’t want to analyze why hearing him laugh made me feel lonelier than normal.

I didn’t want to think about why when he mentioned his team it felt like a knife to the stomach.

But I felt all of those things, and after years and years of detachment and disregard for anything that remotely stirred an emotional response it felt…

welcomed. And if that wasn’t a mindfuck I didn’t know what was.

I felt Jonas’s hand cover mine on his hip. And there again I allowed my stupidity to keep me perfectly enshrined in its clutches. Instead of smartening up I fed off his touch—how his big hand engulfed my smaller one, how good the rough callouses felt against my softer skin, how warm his skin was.

So stupid .

“You’re all done.”

I was so lost in my head I hadn’t realized he’d stopped patting my face.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

“You can open your eyes.”

Slowly I cracked my eyelids.

I wished I could say it was because I was testing the waters so to speak, seeing if my eyes still burned from the CS gas.

But that wasn’t the real reason. I was afraid of what I would find when they fully opened.

And when they did I was right to be afraid.

Jonas was staring down at me. His gaze roaming over my face, a look of concentration mixed with something else I couldn’t read.

“How bad is it?” I asked.

His eyes stopped roaming and locked with mine. What he didn’t do was answer, which I figured was my answer.

“Right.” The word was barely out of my mouth before his hand not covering mine at his hip came up, his knuckles brushed under my chin, and he tilted my head back.

He already had my attention, but one could say with that maneuver he now had my full and undivided attention in a way that sent a shiver through me.

“Four! We gotta roll.” Another voice I didn’t recognize broke the moment.

I wasn’t sure if I was thankful or disappointed.