Jacked Up (Bowen Boys #4) (2 page)

This time, the attachment was a video. Before he realized how stupid it would be, he opened it, and his heart tumbled the second he heard her laugh. Someone, Tate by the sound of it, was filming her and Elle was joking with her. Then, as she stood under the mistletoe, she threw an air-kiss to the camera and winked an eye. His chest clenched so fucking hard his lungs burned from the lack of air.

Jack stared at the image greedily, like it was air and he was a drowning man.

Which he was. Drowning in filth and lies and human misery. Dealing with the worst of the worst, risking a Colombian necktie and God only knew what else for just a peek at Elle’s words and a world he didn’t belong to. His chest in a fist. His cock fucking hard.

He slapped the laptop closed, pissed at himself. This was no place to lower his guard. He was surrounded by scum. He ought to behave accordingly and stop daydreaming about the only woman in the world he couldn’t allow himself to have.

* * * *

Two months later, Boston

Elle looked around the hospital chapel. It couldn’t be denied; Bowen men were extremely original when it came to weddings. First it had been James with that romantic midnight ceremony in the backyard, a thousand small lights illuminating the garden. Then Cole had pledged himself to Christy surrounded by aliens in Las Vegas. Elle hadn’t been there, but she had irrefutable proof of it at Rosita’s, framed, in a central position on the wall of fame.

And now Max had gathered a bunch of trigger-happy preppers on one side and some stick-up-their-ass socialites on the other and was getting hitched in a hospital chapel, before taking his woman and his newly born daughter home with him. A last-minute, simple ceremony. After what had happened, Elle couldn’t blame Max for not wanting to waste a second. Staring death straight in the eye—even worse, watching the woman you love almost be killed—would do that to you.

The brothers were talking while waiting for the bride, Mr. Bowen by their side, standing proud. Once he’d finished fussing over Tate, James joined them.

Elle walked to where Tate was sitting. “How are you doing, sis?”

“Can’t wait to be able to tie my own shoes again,” Tate grumbled, looking at her distended belly. “And to get James off my back.”

Right. Like she needed to tie her own shoes with James around. “Come on, he treats you like a queen. He worries.”

Tate smiled softly, glancing at her husband. “I know.”

Elle still couldn’t get used to the image of her prim and proper little sister married to the tattooed-up-to-his-ears, possessive James Bowen. And yet she couldn’t think of a better husband for her.

“How’s Rosita’s?” Tate asked.

“Still standing.” Man, her sister had been away from the restaurant for a couple of days and she was already fretting. If it were up to her, she’d be there this last month of pregnancy, but the doctor had ordered her to rest and James wasn’t taking any chances.

“Mom offered to come to help,” Tate insisted. “We can call her. She’d be here in a flash, and you wouldn’t be alone in that big house.”

Elle shook her head. She could manage. Her mom liked it in Florida, where there weren’t so many reminders of her deceased husband and son, and being with Ron was good for her. “Rosita’s will survive. And I like my space.”

Tate didn’t believe her, not for a second. “Why don’t you rent it and with the money pay for a place of your own. You know, somewhere not so full of…”

Memories
. That was the word Tate was probably working toward.

“I’m fine there,” Elle assured her.

Before Tate could reply, Annie walked in with the baby in her arms, her mother by her side. Max darted to them right away, face beaming with love.

Elle had known from the very beginning that Annie was going to be the one for Max. He’d had that look in his eyes, the same one James and Cole had when they looked at their wives.

“Let’s get this show rolling,” Max said after the priest arrived.

As they took their places, Elle scanned the premises. No sign of Jack. He was still doing whatever commando shit he’d been doing since summer, but she’d sent him an e-mail with the info about the wedding a couple of days ago, hoping he’d read it on time.

Suddenly the doors opened and a big black shadow stepped in. The air she didn’t know she’d been holding came out in a
whoosh
. Jack. She didn’t need the man to remove the hood to recognize him. The massive force field around him gave him away. When he revealed his face though, she froze. His demeanor had always been severe, but now he did look like a cyborg. Deep, soulless eyes. Sharper features. Skinnier, if the massive tank he still was could be called that.

Elle approached him and stood next to him. “So you do read my e-mails,” she whispered, her gaze never leaving the priest. “You’re just too rude to answer them.”

She didn’t need a response from him, because one, she knew he was that rude and two, there was no doubt he’d read her e-mails. And thank God for that; otherwise Max and Annie wouldn’t be here getting married, and their story would have ended very differently. Just the thought of it made her sick.

“Quiet, pet,” he answered back. She couldn’t see it, but she felt his smile in his voice.

Pet. How she got that demeaning and patronizing nickname from him, she had no clue. He’d barely talked to her the entire time they’d known each other; just grunts and scowls. Then James had gotten hurt last summer and had been admitted to the hospital, scaring the living shit out of everyone, her included. When Elle had tried to leave in order to go open Rosita’s, Jack had blocked the door, snatched the car keys away from her, and not only forbade her to drive but called her pet. Worse still, when she replied that she didn’t recall giving him permission to call her pet, the asshole dared to say “I don’t recall giving you permission to talk at all, pet” with that frigging arrogant tone of his, the one that gave her those embarrassing shivers. Modern women shouldn’t get shivers at being ordered around in that tone. So politically incorrect, dammit.

And the asshole was immune to her. She got her way with everyone but him, who aggravated the living hell out of her by ignoring her. And the more he ignored her, the more she felt like pissing him off. A vicious, rather enjoyable circle.

She stood by his side, their hands brushing during the service, feeling the tension rolling off him. The darkness too. He was in a bad place. Not caring that he might rebuff her, she slid her hand into his and gave it a tight squeeze. He needed that, whether he would admit it or not. He froze for a second, and to her surprise, when she tried to end the embrace, he didn’t let her, holding her hand tighter.

They didn’t exchange a word during the ceremony. Elle didn’t move a hair, afraid it would break the spell and Jack would remember he was a badass, in no need whatsoever of comfort. He
was
a badass, true, but whatever he was involved in was eating at him. He was tense and grim. Worn out, although he was standing stoically and would probably rather die than admit it. He needed the comfort, the human touch, even if it was just a small gesture, and damn if she wasn’t going to give it to him.

After Max and Annie were presented as husband and wife, everyone rushed to congratulate them.

Jack released his grip on her, and Elle moved to kiss the newlyweds.

When she turned around, Jack had already disappeared.

Chapter One

One and a half months later, Alden

Jack adjusted his tie, feeling uncomfortable as all fuck. The service at the chapel had been bad, but the mingling and the chitchatting at the reception was much worse. That it was a very informal one, barbecue-style, at James’s, didn’t make matters better. The other way around, actually. It made them chattier. He’d rather eat glass.

He couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.

“What have I ever done to you to deserve this?” Jack muttered to James.

He hadn’t been back in the States forty-eight hours and he was already in Alden, neck-deep in babies, parties, and marital bliss. Under normal circumstances, this family fest would have been hard. In his present state, it was unbearable. He was still too raw inside. All he wanted was to be alone, drink himself unconscious, and zonk out for at least a week.

“Come on, man. You know I love you,” James said, laughing.

“Thank God. I don’t want to know what you would do to me if you hated me.”

Being back among normal people doing normal stuff was fucking hard. Not life-affirming. Just uncomfortable and pointless. Making him feel disconnected and more of an outsider. The small talk, the smiles. His stomach roiled at it all, but James was a persistent son of a bitch who had refused to see reason.

“You could have declined to be my son’s godfather.”

“And I would have if you’d told me who the godmother was,” Jack grumbled.

James chuckled. “No, you wouldn’t.”

True. Refusing wouldn’t have been an option for Jack. Whatever James would ask of him, he would do, no questions asked. And the motherfucker knew it.

“And I didn’t lie to you about the godmother,” James continued with a smirk. “You never asked. You must be losing your touch.”

True again. It was all this happy-happy, love-is-in-the-air, pink-marshmallow gooeyness around Jack that was melting his brain.

Alden and the Bowens were bad for his mental health.

“I told you I wasn’t up for this.”

“And that’s exactly why you need to be here,” James stated. “You need to be reminded of the good things in life. Get a haircut. Shave and go get laid.”

“Whatever.” Like it was that easy to unplug. He’d scrubbed himself bloody, but the stench of misery still stuck to him. It was difficult to wash away.

At that moment, one of the main reasons for his piss-poor mood tapped him on the shoulder.

“Come on, T-800,” Party Girl said from behind him. “The photographer wants a picture of Jonah with his godparents. I tried to convince him that the godfather is not really photogenic and might break the camera with his growls and shitty disposition, but he wants to risk it, professional that he is.”

Without waiting for a response, she briskly walked away.

James clapped him on the back. “As I said, the good things in life.”

“T-800?” That was a new one.

“Infiltration unit. Model 101, series 800,” James whispered. Then, probably realizing that meant nothing to Jack, added, “The dumbest of all terminators?”

It figured.

He’d been told many times he came across as threatening and unapproachable, that everyone was intimidated by him. He liked it that way. The less human interaction, the better. But for some surreal reason, “everyone” didn’t include her.

He hadn’t known Elle was the godmother although he should have imagined James would pull a stunt like this. Not that Jonah was unlucky to have her in his corner. On the contrary; she was fierce and protective. Damn abrasive and infuriating, also. And yet when he closed his eyes, she was the only woman his mind invariably conjured up.

“Come on,” she called, turning around and wiggling her index finger at him. “Keep up.”

Right.

He followed her, trying very hard but failing not to notice her hourglass figure and the hypnotic sway of her hips. That gorgeous ass. The way her long, glossy dark hair seemed to float down her back. And that smell. Fuck, that smell always shot straight to his cock, never mind how inappropriate the moment was.

The photographer wanted several pictures of them in different locations, but Jonah took pity on Jack and decided to start fussing, so the ordeal was cut short, ending while they were sitting on the porch swing. He would have stood up and left if he could have, but his legs weren’t obeying him. Besides, the way out of there was through a horde of giggling, happy people, all nice and friendly. Oblivious to the darkness in the world. Wanting to know why he looked so gloomy and trying to cheer him up.

With Elle cooing at him, Jonah calmed down pretty fast, and Jack found himself staring at both of them. He never felt disconnected or like an outsider while being around Elle. He was pissed at himself and bothered beyond belief, and amused and aggrieved all at the same time, but never disconnected.

She turned to him, smiled, and he got the full impact, like a eighteen-wheeler slamming against his chest. Olive skin. Delicate features; sultry, extremely kissable lips. Killer body. Too bad every inch of her radiated that belligerent disposition of hers, the one that made his cock so fucking hard he couldn’t breathe. He’d hoped her effect on him would have worn off, but no dice. She was even more beautiful, which should have been impossible, because she was stunning to begin with.

He could still remember the first time he’d seen her, at Rosita’s. She’d looked at him with her black eyes full of attitude, and the world had tilted on its axis. He’d tried to realign it, but so far he’d had no luck whatsoever. With her around, everything was a mess—which he hated—but without her nothing felt right. Go figure.

“So you finally resurfaced. You sticking around, or is this just another of your quickies?”

He all but choked. “What?”

“In and out in a flash. Now we see you, now we don’t, like Max’s wedding.”

Max’s wedding, another of his lapses in judgment a bit over a month ago. He’d flown into Boston and then driven for two hours to make sure he didn’t have a tail, arriving just in time to see the couple walk down the aisle.

Going there had been his first mistake. Allowing Elle to touch him had been his second, and even far more dangerous. Standing there, silently holding hands, had been the most peaceful he’d felt for months.

Whatever Elle had seen in his eyes must have been pretty bad, because she hadn’t said anything, but after that she’d started writing to him daily and sending him more pictures than ever.

“Done. For the most part.” Infiltrating the illegal arms trade to uncover the source of weapons flowing to scumbags all over the world had been gruesome. They managed to close down several routes without getting his cover blown, but there were always loose ends to be tied up.

“Where were you?” He didn’t answer but she didn’t seem to take it personally. “Got it. State secret.” She gave him a once-over, and without allowing him time to react, brushed his beard with her fingertips, the unexpected caress sending a jolt through his body and zapping his brain. “You look different. Scruffy. I like it.”