The Carrero Effect - Falling for the Boss (Billionaire CEO) novel Chapter 38

“Tell me what you want me to do with him, Emma.” His voice is breathy, the serious tone terrifying, hinting that he’ll literally do whatever I ask even if that means killing him. I catch the rage in his green eyes, making them almost luminescent. This is not my Jake. This is a primal, carnal version of my Jake and I want him to leave. I need my normal Jake back. I need his face, his voice, and his arms here with me.

“Leave him here, leave him to rot in the street.” I whisper, burying my face against his neck and his hand comes to cradle my head protectively. He rests his mouth against my temple and breathes out slowly, some of the tension in his body releasing as he sags against me. Using me to calm down and disperse all the anger and adrenaline coursing through his veins.

We stand silent for agonizingly long minutes as I watch Ray’s huddled body on the damp, dark ground. He doesn’t stir at all and I begin to worry he has killed him.

“We should call the cops.” Jake utters flatly, finally. His breathing has calmed to normal with his arms around me and it is all I can focus on.

“No … Let him go. My mother blames me for enough already … This will only send her over the edge.” I stammer hopelessly; his fingers slide under my chin to bring my face to his, showing the confusion in those green depths and I shake my head.

“Please don’t make me tell you … Not right now … One day, Jake, I promise.” He frowns, pushing his forehead against mine firmly, as though he’s trying to reel in the frustration and anger, but still respect my wishes. The fire blazing in his eyes, but he just exhales deeply. His jaw tense, which only adds to that male aggression in his look.

I can’t help but think how breathtaking he looks in protective mode, fighter mode, scariness gone, and just overwhelming masculinity left. He’s nothing like the men from my childhood who were aggressive and cruel. They liked to inflict pain on me, but Jake isn’t that way. For all his strength and power, he’s the gentlest person I’ve ever known when it comes to women. A real man in my eyes.

He hauls me away from the lifeless body on the ground then stops, thinking a moment, he swoops down placing one hand on Ray’s throat to check his pulse, his other hand still on my waist. He pauses, taking a count, sneers, then straightens up.

“He’ll live … Unfortunately,” he growls, then delivers a swift kick to the man’s ribs in passing, extruding a muffled grunt. He pulls me off in the direction of the apartment, his arm tightly around my shoulders, keeping me pressed against him. I can feel the ripple of adrenaline still coursing through him, but we walk in silence.

“Thank you.” I smile up at him honestly. I know thanking him for physically beating someone up for me is wrong in so many ways, but somehow teen Emma, broken and cowering at the hands of that evil man raises her sweet innocent head and smiles. Jake says nothing, just leans down kissing me tenderly on the forehead, lingering a moment before giving me a gentle squeeze. We walk as he pulls me along until he stops to pick up my discarded shoes. Realizing I’m barefoot, he picks me up and carries me the rest of the way. I don’t protest, just hold on and curl up within his hold and feel safe.

Jake my boss. My friend, my protector. The first person in my life who has ever risen to the challenge of being one for me. No one else in my life deemed me worthy of fighting for.

* * *

In the apartment we sit drinking coffee, we don’t talk about what happened, instead, I tell him about Sophie and that I want to help her. I can’t tell him why without explaining about my mother’s injuries. I know that if I tell him Ray is the reason she’s in the hospital he will go back out and find him, drag him to the police station or worse and I know it’s pointless. My mother will never point a finger at him. I already know that she won’t even break up with him after what he’s done. She’ll be angry at me for letting Jake beat him.

Such is the twisted logic of my mother.

“Isn’t that what your mother does?” he asks gently. I watch him carefully, realizing I’m still scanning his face and hands for injuries obsessively. I’ve been doing it since we walked into the apartment and I still can’t rest at seeing no evidence of any, aside some bruised knuckles. He’s indestructible, like a hero should be.

“No … She runs a homeless charity; she helps adults find shelter and food. Children are not her forte.”