Jailbait (28 page)

“Get some rest,” Pepper says and runs her fingers through my hair. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
 

“Mh-hm,” I say. “Pepper?”
 

“Yes, Grayson?”
 

I force my eyes open. “I love you.”
 

Pepper’s lips press against my forehead. “I love you, too. Go back to sleep, Gray.”
 

“Okay,” I mumble, and let my eyes fall shut. The next time I wake up, I’m in a different room. Pepper is sitting in a chair next to my hospital bed, legs bent up under her, and her head is tipped to the side. She’s sleeping.
 

I sit up, looking around the room. The clock on the wall reads a little after seven, and the weak sunlight streaming through the window lets me know it’s morning. I slept all night? My eyes fall on Pepper. I hope she slept all night too.
 

It hurts to move my left arm, and my shoulder is all bandaged up. There’s an IV in my right arm. I trace the lines up to a bag full of clear liquid. I lean back against the pillow, thinking about everything that happened.
 

Someone knocks on the door, then immediately comes in. “Hi,” the nurse says gently. “Oh, good! You’re awake.”
 

“She’s not,” I whisper, looking over at Pepper.
 

“She hasn’t left your side,” the nurse says, pushing a little machine that takes vitals into the room. “You got a good one, there.” She smiles warmly at me, and that feeling of being a fraud, of hiding my past and my criminal record comes back.
Fuck
. I wonder if it’ll ever go away.

*

“Can you believe this?” Pepper stands at the foot of the hospital bed, holding open a newspaper. “There is more in here about what I wore to the interview—and how I wasn’t wearing makeup—than there is about the actual story!”
 

I try not to laugh. “I don’t know what else you expected, Pepper.”
 

“The truth!”
 

I shake my head, smiling at her. “You don’t watch the news too much, do you?”
 

“It’s depressing. I stopped a few years ago.”
 

The laughter I was holding in escapes. She folds the paper back and gets out her phone. “The phone interview I did this morning isn’t much better. Instead of asking me about how I had the courage to walk into a hostage situation or anything like that, they asked me what I wore! Because that matters.” She shakes her head, cheeks flushed from her irritation. “No wonder so many girls have body issues. Here we are, talking about an operation that led to the arrest of several Jackal members and an investigation of many more, and all they want to know is what designer I had on. I told them I was naked, by the way.”
 

“Did you really?”
 

“No. I should have, though.” She sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for the Styrofoam cup of Sprite on the bedside table. I slip my arm around her the best I can with the damn IV line in the way.
 

“Still not feeling well?”
 

She makes a face and takes a sip of Sprite. “I’m fine. It’s just a little stomachache, that’s all.”
 

“Lay down. Sleeping for more than a few hours at a time will do you wonders.”
 

“You should be resting, not me.”
 

“Pepper,” I start, raising my eyebrows. “I’m more than fine. The only reason I haven’t gotten up and left is because it would upset you.” I move my left shoulder up and down, ignoring the sharp pain I feel. “See? Fine. It doesn’t even hurt. And chicks dig scars, right? I call this a win.”
 

She laughs and lies back down, tucking herself up against me. I run my fingers through her hair and she’s asleep in just minutes. A while later, the doctor comes in. I’m medically clear to go, and as soon as the paperwork is processed, I can leave. Thank the fucking lord. I hate hospitals.
 

Four hours later, we walk out. Pepper had new clothes brought for me, and there is a car waiting in front of the hospital doors. Pepper is worried about me, and I try to reassure her that I’m fine by telling her about a time I got shanked in prison. Her glare lets me know she doesn’t find it amusing.
 

We’re escorted back to the manor by cops, as well as Pepper’s security team. I spoke with two FBI agents last night, and told them everything I know. It’s not enough to make arrests, but it’s enough for them to start drawing connections and to assign agents to keep a close eye on the club with the scythe emblem, a fifteen-year old club called the Street Reapers, who have no criminal history prior to this.
 

It’s business as usual at the Davenport manor. The large family photo above the grand stairs is right side up again, and things seem as they were before all this shit hit the fan.
 

“I didn’t think it would feel good to be home,” Pepper confesses. “But it does.” I give her hand a squeeze. “Are you hungry?” she asks. “Grilled cheese sounds good right now. Is that weird?”
 

“Not weird. Because I’ll take one too.”
 

We go into the kitchen, and sit at the table while someone cooks for us.
 

“So,” Pepper starts. “I think it’s a good time to hear the whole story now.”
 

I give her a lopsided smile. “I think so too.” I lean forward and tell her everything, from how I took the blame so my dad had a chance to pay back the money, to his death and the club coming for me, saying I owed them for his debt. Working off the debt meant doing illegal things, and those illegal things are what led to the second time I got arrested.
 
I spent a year in jail and the day I got out, the club was back, demanding money or work. The pattern continued, and I got slapped with an eight-year sentence for breaking and entering (I was guilty of that), assault (did that too), and arson (I didn’t start the fire). In California, every day counts as two, cutting my sentence in half, and along with good behavior, I served three years.
 

I had just gotten out and started the only job I could get with a record like that, working at the club’s auto shop. A month later, Alcott contacted me. Pepper agrees that it seems like he was watching, waiting for me to get out.
 

“There’s one thing I don’t get,” Pepper says, picking up her grilled cheese sandwich. “Why didn’t you ever call me?”
 

“I wanted to. More than anything, I wanted to go back to you. But I didn’t want to involve you in the Jackals, and you seemed to have moved on. I know otherwise now,” I quickly add.
 

“Why would you think that?”
 

“I might have cyber stalked you and saw paparazzi photos of you with some blonde guy on a yacht.”
 

She has to think about it to recall who that guy was. “I didn’t date anyone for years, Gray. I think what you’re thinking about was spring break. Savannah tried to set me up, but it never went anywhere.” She slowly chews her food, and then shakes her head. “It’s over. We’re together now, and that’s what matters.”
 

Chapter Twenty-five

Pepper

“What are you going to do?” Savannah asks. “It’s been almost a week. He’s still living with you, right?”
 

“Not technically,” I say, and stick my fork into the chocolate cake in front of me. “He has that house and most of his stuff is there. He went home yesterday.”
 

Savannah raises an eyebrow. “For like an hour, right? You were in the office. I know because you were sending me Snaps.”
 

I wrinkle my nose. “Busted. And I don’t know what we’re going to do. Moving in together…it’s too soon, right?”
 

“Pepper, you’ve been in love with the guy for going on ten years now. I think you can expedite parts of your relationship.”
 

“You do?”
 

“Yeah, and he’s practically living with you already. But what’s he going to do? Just hang around all day? Live off your money? Be your fake bodyguard that fucks you every night?”
 

“Keep your voice down!” I whisper-yell, looking around the restaurant. “He fucks me during the day too. And I don’t know. We both know we need to talk about it.”
 

“What can he do? I mean, the guy spent four years in jail, right?”
 

“He’s a good artist,” I say.

Savannah takes a bite of my cake. “I can think of worse things than being an artist.”
 

“The plan before was for him to get a business degree and work for my dad. It’s not too late to do a variation of that.”
 

Savannah nods. “You don’t have to assign roles like that either, you know. He can be a stay-at-home dad whenever you guys decide to have babies. Stay-at-home dads are hot.”
 

“You don’t think it’s too soon if he moves in? Officially?”
 

“Pep. I say this with love. Why do you care what other people think? Haven’t you two been through enough not to give a shit? Answer this: do you feel like a new couple?”
 

“No. It’s weird, but I don’t. It’s like the last six years were a blur and we picked up right where we left off. Only older.”
 

“Then it’s not too soon. And I think it’s safe to say Grayson can’t have any more skeletons in his closet.”
 

I laugh. “I think that’s impossible.” I fold my napkin, eyeballing the cake. I want more, but feel sick again. With all this stress, it’s no surprise I’m coming down with something. “So, do I ask him? Like just say it?”
 

“Yes, Pepper. But first, make a poster with some glitter and ask him to prom.” Savannah laughs and grabs her cucumber water. “Aren’t you going to dinner tonight?”
 

“We had plans to.”
 

She raises an eyebrow. “That sounds like you’re trying to bail.”
 

“I am. I’m still beat from everything that happened. It’s been one heartache after another.”
 

“You’re a tough bitch, Pep.”
 

I let out a snort of laughter. “Thanks, Savannah. That’s a good compliment coming from you.”
 

“It’s true. I’d be a blubbering mess in the loony bin, hopped up on pills if I were in your shoes. I couldn’t have handled it.”
 

“Hey, you’re stronger than you know too.”
 

“You’re lying,” she says and takes the last bite of cake. “But I’ll take it.”
 

We finish our lunch date and go about our day, both with security. My father always had security tailing him, and I hated it. I’m not happy to have a professional babysitter, but I’m not willing to take any risks.

I go into the office for a few hours to go over a deal with my uncle, and then head back to the manor. Grayson is in the breezeway, washing his motorcycle.
 

“Hey baby,” he says, and wipes suds on his pants before pulling me in for a hug. His shirt is wet, and I’m not sure if it’s from sweat or water. “How was work?”
 

“I still have no idea what I’m doing.”
 

“You’ll figure it out,” he says and gives me a kiss. I taste salt on his lips, so it’s sweat, not water.

“Maybe.”
 

“Not maybe. Someday.”
 

Desire pulses through me, and the need to have Grayson inside me hits hard. I kiss him again, moving my lips to his neck. “You taste like sweat.”
 

“It is hot out,” Grayson says, running his hand over my ass. “You know how I could cool down?” He untucks my blouse.

“I have a feeling whatever you’re thinking is going to heat me up.”

“It will,” he promises. “Where’s your phone?”

“In my purse. Why?”

“No reason,” he says, and picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder.
 

“Put me down,” I protest, too aware of the security guard behind us.
 

Grayson takes off through the breezeway, and I’m laughing as I bob around on his shoulder. He doesn’t stop until we’re at the pool.

“Don’t you dare!” I try to wiggle out of his arms. “Gray, no!” He jumps. We both go underwater. I pop up, laughing. “I can’t believe you did that!” I exclaim and splash him. “Do you have any idea what water is going to do to these shoes?”
 

“They’ll dry,” he says and splashes me back.
 

“And your wound? You shouldn’t be in the pool.”
 

Grayson swims over and takes me by the waist. He kisses me hard. “I’m fine. Let’s not adult tonight.”
 

I’m smiling as I kiss him again. “I like that idea.”
 

“You deserve a break.”
 

“I do,” I agree. Grayson pushes me up against the side of the pool. I try to part my legs but my skirt is too tight. I hook my arms over his neck. “Take me to the cabana?”
 

Grayson nods and picks me up, carrying me out of the pool. A trail of water drips behind us. Grayson lays me down on a lounge chair, pulling the shades of the cabana. He strips me down to my bra and panties, and I watch him do a personal strip show just for me.
 

“The scar is sexy,” I tell him, heat between my legs intensifying. He moves on top of me, and just before his lips touch mine, I stop him. “I’m fine with not adulting today, but I do have one question for you.”
 

“What is it?”

“Want to move in with me?”
 

Grayson smiles. “Yeah. I do.”
 

*
 

“I’m fine if we stay home tonight,” I tell Grayson, turning on the shower. “I’m tired.”
 

“Are you still not feeling well?”
 

I shake my head, hand flying to my stomach. “It’s probably something I ate.” A weird feeling burns in my chest. I’m not lying on purpose, but I can’t keep denying it to myself either. Something else is up.