She gasped as her lungs expanded again and she found herself struggling immediately, rage and pain fueling her movements. But he held her fast, her wrists pinned to the bricks above her, his body pressed against hers to keep her from kicking him.
“I can’t believe you’d be so bloody stupid, Bella!” He roared at her, his words melding with the thunder that cracked above them. “You’ll get yourself killed!” His face was inches from hers, his blue eyes boring holes into her soul. His accent had deepened with his fury.
“Fuck you, Jack!” She screamed into his face. “How could you do this to me, you goddamned son of a bitch! I trusted you!” She tried, with all her might, to yank her arms out of his grip. All she could think about was how he’d violated her trust, lied to her, and continued to lie to her over and over again. How many times had she unknowingly bared her body to one of his men by undressing in front of a window where the curtain wasn’t completely shut? How many times had she gone to the doctor for things she didn’t want the world to know about – only to have his men give him a detailed report? And she wondered, too. She wondered how many other things he knew about her. Had he had her researched? Would he even tell her if he had?
She couldn’t trust Jack, despite the fact that he’d put his trust in her and she had never – not once – violated that trust, even though it hadn’t always been easy. That really hurt. It hurt. It hurt so bad that she desperately wanted to make him hurt more.
Annabelle wanted out of Jack Thane’s world – the Business and all of the wrong that it stood for. At that moment, in fact, Annabelle sort of wanted to die.
She bucked in his grip, bucked against the pain inside, the bricks behind her tearing the skin on the backs of her hands as she twisted madly. The rain had soaked them both, and her ire-fueled strength finally allowed one arm to slip free. It was her right arm, and her sprained shoulder screamed at her as she quickly balled up her fist and struck the side of his face as hard as she could.
Jack’s head snapped to the side under the impact. His left ear began to ring. Thunder cracked again overhead, lightning illuminating the alley.
Pain and frustration got the better of Jack and he grabbed her wrist roughly again, using it to spin her around, jerking her back against his chest. He then twisted the injured arm up behind her back until she cried out in pain.
“Stop fighting me!” He bellowed.
“No!” Pain arced through the right side of her body, but he didn’t let up. “Let me go!” She sobbed into the wet night as he grabbed her other wrist and proceeded to twist it, too, behind her back, until he had both arms firmly under his control.
“You lied to me Jack!” She yelled the accusations, even as he placed both of her slim wrists into his left hand and used his right to pull her against him. “How many times did you lie to me!”
Jack could feel her trembling against him and he desperately wanted it to stop.
“I’ve never lied to you, Bella!” He yelled into her ear. “Not once! Now, stop fighting me!” He growled the last part, angry at her for hurting herself as she fought him, and frustrated, at the same time, that any of this was happening.
“You bastard!” She fought wildly in his grip, wanting nothing more than to get free and turn around and rip his head off. He knew her struggles would cause her injury, knew she was bruising in his grip. But he wouldn’t let her go. Not for anything.
Jack was in Hell. His heart was breaking; he couldn’t believe how badly it hurt. He couldn’t believe the harsh efficiency and detachment with which he was capable of apprehending the woman he loved even as she cried in his arms. Cried because he had hurt her. And because he continued to do so – in so many ways. He had never told her a bald-faced lie, but he’d kept things from her, and to her, there was no difference between the two. And he knew she was right.
“You spied on me, you drugged me up,” she cried, “what else have you done?” She tried, one last time, to yank away from him, but it was a pointless action, done out of her uncontrollable fury more than anything else. “I hate you, Jack Thane.” She finally sobbed, her head falling forward in defeat. Her hair cascaded in wet locks around her hidden face, but her body shook with each pathetic sob, and the trembling wasn’t letting up. She shook with pain, both physical and emotional.
Something inside of Jack snapped.
“Boss?”
Jack knew they were there. He’d heard them coming down both sides of the alley. Jack looked up and, while still holding Annabelle’s wrists in one of his gloved hands, he held out his other for the cuffs that he knew his employee would supply.
Without a word, one of the men came forward, handed him a gleaming steel pair of cuffs, and then stepped in front of Annabelle to hold her arms still as Jack slipped them onto her.
Her head snapped up when she heard them click into place.
“You’re going to keep me locked up, Jack?” Her tone skated the thin ice between hysterics and despair. “And I didn’t think you could be any more cruel to me.”
In a self-deprecating tone that Annabelle had never heard him use before, Jack laughed. It was a nasty laugh, pitiless and cold. “You have no idea, luv.” He roughly took hold of her upper arm then and pulled her toward the end of the alley, where a black luxury sedan with dark tinted windows idled patiently, waiting for its passengers.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“They say that only a woman he loves can drive a man to drink.”
Jack gently set down the empty shot glass and looked up. He didn’t say anything as Avery took a seat beside him and waved the bartender over. “Pint of ale, mate.”
The bar tender nodded and poured the amber liquid into an ice-rimmed glass and set it down in front of the Hell’s Angel.
Jack looked away.
“How long has it been?” Avery asked, nonchalantly, as he eyed the man beside him, who, as he was himself, was dressed from head to toe in black biker leather.
Jack didn’t answer.
“Heard about the scene in London,” Avery said next, turning the mug so that he could get a grip on its handle and take a long swig.
Still, Jack said nothing.
“Heard it was because you’ve been keeping an eye on your girl without her knowing about it.”
“You hear a lot of things.”
“Aye,” Avery nodded. The silence stretched between them for a minute.
“Also heard she was bloody fast and that you were bloody lucky she didn’t decide to just blow your head off.” Avery said then, as he took another swig and then set his drink down, sighing. “She’s a good shot, eh?”
“She is.”
“And she’s fast.”
“So what?” Jack muttered. He was on his fourth shot and was just now starting to feel the second one. Some of the pain inside was numbing a little, finally, and he frankly couldn’t bloody wait until he couldn’t feel a fucking thing.
“So, I know why she’s mad, JT. She’s lost here, in this world,” Avery gestured to the bar around them and England, beyond. “Where she doesn’t belong – or at least, doesn’t think she belongs.”
Jack listened quietly, his gaze steadily ahead as he reached for his fifth shot glass and Avery gently slid it out of the way. Jack’s jaw tensed and his gaze rose to meet Avery’s – sapphire meeting amber.
“You’ve taken away everything she’s ever known, mate.” Avery continued softly. “And then you went and told her that part of what she thought she knew wasn’t true. She was never safe in her own bubble. Just think about it, JT. It’s a hard blow.”