Page 82 of Torched Spades

He’s trying to deflect and derail, but his sarcasm won’t stop me from asking the question Owen Holmes refused to answer. “More like why your arrest record is locked up tighter than Fort Knox. What’s so special about you, Johnny? Why do your dirty deeds get buried while everyone else’s can be downloaded for $19.99?”

I brace myself for the consequences of my accusations, but instead of an explosion, I’m met with a quiet storm. “In case you can’t tell, I’m working my ass off to pay my debt to society, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t continually try to undermine that.”

It’s a hollow lie, but I’m too tired and mentally drained to push him any further. There are only so many circles you can spin in before hitting the ground.

“Whatever, Johnny,” I mutter, ending the interrogation with a wave of my hand toward the couch. It was a gesture meant to shift the conversation from personal to professional, but Johnny doesn’t move. He stands his ground, his jaw clenched.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you call me when you got attacked, Becca?” he repeats tightly.

“Why would I call you? You’re my patient, not my boyfriend.”

For the first time since seeing the carnage spread across my face, a unsettling smile spreads across Johnny’s. “And Ledger is?”

The shock of seeing his personality roulette spin so violently quickly wears off as his bitter words sink in. This time, it’s me who takes a step forward. “How do you know I called Jack?” I demand. At his unapologetic sneer, I lunge, my palm slamming into the center of his chest. “Are you stalking me again? Jesus, Johnny! I’ve already told you he’s just a friend.”

Taking a surprisingly light hold on my wrist, he lifts my hand away from his chest and holds it between us. “With benefits, of course.”

“That was one night eight years ago,” I snap, wincing as I jerk my arm out of his grasp. “Do you think I was a virgin before you?”

“It just seems convenient that someone attacked you the moment you left the office of a man tied to the one you’re fucking. The one your father and boyfriend flip coins over to see whose turn it is to ruin next.”

My jaw drops. “Are you serious right now? You think my father did this to me?”

“Not personally, no. But I know better than most how delegation can go very wrong very fast.”

No. I won’t let him turn this devil-laced duo into a trifecta.

“Don’t you even insinuate Jack was involved,” I hiss. “He covered my feet.”

“He what?”

“Never mind. It’s not important.” I turn away from him, forcing myself not to look down at the red imprints trailing around my office—marking every pace from one corner to the other.

“Everything about you is important, Becca.” Within half a breath, he’s standing in front of me again, his presence like a warm blanket in an ice storm. Crooking his finger, he slowly tilts my chin up, our eyes meeting again. “Let me help you. Tell me what this man looked like.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Even if I do, what does it matter?” Shrugging, I shoot him a wistful look. “Who’s going to believe me?”

“I will.”

My chuckle is laced with bitterness and regret. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. Then pretty soon you’ll have me convinced there was no attack. That these bruises aren’t real. That I didn’t see his red hair or that damn sword and rose tattoo on his chest.”

Johnny freezes. “What did you say?”

Fuck! I didn’t mean to blurt that out.

“Nothing. Forget I said that.” Tugging my glasses off my face, I press my index finger and thumb against my closed eyes.

“Doc, talk to me. I swear on my life no one is going to hurt you again. I won’t let them. I’m not your father.”

It’s that last vow that shatters me, my vision blurring as the tears I’ve held back since stepping out of Jack’s shower spill down my face. Before I can wipe them away, I’m engulfed in two strong arms that draw me against an even stronger chest. Johnny says nothing, letting my pain stain his black button-up as I let the sound of his steady heartbeat soothe the ache.