“My old room will do just fine, Brian,” Jett muttered.

“I thought your girl might prefer something more—” Brian drew a long breath, considering his words as he regarded me “—upscale.”

“We appreciate it,” I said. “But I’d love to stay in Jett’s old room, if that’s okay.”

Jett’s arm wrapped around my waist. If I didn’t know better, I would have said he was pleased with my answer—and possessive.

“If you need anything, let me know.” Brian hesitated and turned to Jett. “Can I have a minute with you?”

I wondered if talking with Jett in private was the reason why Brian had insisted on coming with us.

“Sure.”

“Take as long as you need,” I said to them. The door shut and I was alone, but I could hear their voices loud and clear.

“I’ve arranged for a meeting tomorrow to find out who the unidentified recipient is. How much money are we talking about?” Brian asked.

“Fifty mill,” Jett replied.

“Fucking hell.”

“The company’s going bankrupt.” Jett hesitated. “I’m a CEO. If I don’t sort out this mess, I could be held liable. I could lose everything; my money, my home, my investors in the new company, my reputation. But first I need you to focus on finding out who’s responsible for Brooke’s kidnapping.”

“We’re working on decoding the disk,” Brian said. “Give us a couple of days.”

“I don’t have days. I need it as soon as possible. My father wanted the book, so it must be valuable. As long as we don’t know who we’re dealing with, Brooke’s not safe.”

“So you’re assuming your father’s in on it? What if he had no choice?”

“Don’t give me that crap, Brian. You know there’s no other explanation. My best guess is he transferred the money to keep some for himself. However, the question is why? I need to know if there’s anything we don’t know. I need you to check out possible risks. The last thing I want is my father getting us into deeper shit than we’re already in.”

“We’ll keep you updated.”

“Good,” Jett said.

For a minute they talked about Cassidy. I walked over to the bed as soon as I heard footsteps crossing the room. The door opened and Jett entered.

“How much did you hear?” he asked after he closed the door behind him.

I winced, unable to hide my guilty expression. “How did you know I was listening?”

“It wasn’t hard to guess. I know you, Brooke. Besides I don’t want to keep secrets from you.” He tilted his head, scrutinizing me. “So, how much?”

“Almost everything, actually. But I already know that Mayfield Realities are trouble, so it’s no big deal,” I admitted. “Your brother mentioned that you were working on setting up a new company.”

He looked up, surprised. “And what are your thoughts?”

“I’m thinking you’re going to be great,” I whispered. “Many people don’t know when to cut their losses when it’s over. They choose to stay in a dead-end situation until everything comes crashing down on them. You’re doing the right thing, Jett.”

“Sacrifices before losses. I’m happy you get me,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the missing money sooner.”

I shrugged. “It’s okay. I would’ve loved to help you, though.”

“I could use your expert opinion in everything I do, Miss Stewart. How much do you charge?”

“A lot.” My grin matched is. “And I know exactly how you can repay me.” I pointed at the couch behind us. “Brian was kind enough to give us a nice room. We could commence our negotiations right now.”

I walked over to the couch. Jett followed me and sat down, pulling me onto his lap. His hands pushed aside my hair to caress the nape of my neck. I closed my eyes, relishing his touch.

“Too bad we’re not staying for long,” he said.

“Why not?”

“I still don’t trust them. It’s too dangerous for you. And second—” His breath tickled my skin a moment before his lips parted in a tender kiss. “I want to spend quality time with you.”

I turned to regard him. “Brian helped you find me. He’s trying to locate your father and find out what the club’s all about. Don’t you think you’re overreacting a little bit with the whole trust issue thing?”

“It’s not that simple,” Jett said grimly.

Well, it sort of was to me.

There was something in his expression that made me clamp my mouth shut and listen. He was angry. But why? Wasn’t he happy to be back in touch with his old friends?

“I don’t understand, Jett. This used to be your family.” I removed myself from his lap and kneeled before him, my elbows resting against his knees, as I looked at him. “You guys share so many memories. I thought you’d want to spend time with them.”

His face resembled a grim mask. Something I’d said was wrong, and it made my mind frantic to figure out my misstep. I touched his leg to get his attention. Jett didn’t react.

“I’m sorry,” I said, unsure what I was apologizing for. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

The silence between us seemed oppressing. Voice carried over from outside the door—the chatter, music, and laughter building a strong contrast to what was going on inside Jett’s tormented soul. I could sense that if I probed too hard, I’d go too far, and I didn’t want to push him. I watched Jett’s fingers curl around the picture frame on the side table. On it were a group of men sitting around a bonfire. With his tanned body and gorgeous dimples, I recognized Jett instantly. I bit my lip as I tried to imagine what could have caused Jett’s sudden change in mood.

“I killed my best friend,” he said, as though reading my thoughts. His voice was so low I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. His finger pointed at a blond man sitting next to him, holding a beer in his hand and laughing.

“Was it an accident?” I asked, breathlessly. It had to be. Anything else wouldn’t make sense.

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “Not really.” His voice was raw, and his eyes filled with moisture. His face reflected so much pain that it seeped from his every pore. The thought that Jett was a killer didn’t quite fit the picture inside my mind. I couldn’t imagine him doing anything terrible, and yet I knew it was possible. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered the gunshots. Somehow I knew Jett had shot the men who had been about to rape me. If it happened once, there was at least some possibility Jett had hurt people before.

In the silence of the room, my glance moved from Jett to the picture in his hands. It seemed to have been taken an eternity ago. But I couldn’t ask the question burning a hole in my brain. Instead I waited patiently until he was ready.

“Joe did stupid stuff,” Jett began. His words came slowly, struggling. “He had owed everyone, me included, because he was a gambling addict. He was so deep in shit, he couldn’t even tell me he had borrowed money from loan sharks.” His voice faltered, and he took a deep breath.

I swallowed. I had never seen Jett this way, his usual composed self breaking down. Not even when he talked about his father.

“One day he needed a driver to pick something up. I didn’t think much of it, so I drove him to the place without asking questions. But picking up wasn’t the only thing he did that day. He killed someone. Said it was an accident. He confessed to me about various loans and the odd jobs he had been doing to repay those people. I promised I’d have his back and help him if he stopped working for them. But Joe didn’t want to listen.”

His voice was so heavy I knew there was more to the story. I watched him take another breath and put the picture back on the side table. My body urged me to touch him, but the man standing in front of me was trapped by memories, and I was seemingly forgotten, a shadow that couldn’t reach him.

“That day he was supposed to take back the money he stole. Instead he hid it somewhere inside the warehouse and told me he’d leave the city, hide until he had made enough money to repay his debt and the high interest.”

I shrank back a little at the intensity in Jett’s eyes. He didn’t need to tell me what he felt—the pain was written all over his face, inside his soul, inside his mind. His hands were balled to fists. I didn’t need words to figure out that things had gone horribly wrong.

“What happened?” I asked quietly.

He pressed his lips in a tight line, struggling, his eyes moving back to the picture, as if it held the answers he was looking for.

“The money was gone the next day. Joe accused me of stealing it, and we had a fight.” He smiled bitterly. “I was so angry about his accusation that I went to Brian and told him the truth about the loans. The job. The money. I wanted to help Joe. But Brian—” Jett took a deep breath, his tone angry. “He wanted Joe out of the gang. Said he was a liability.”

I looked up, confused. “Why?”

“Because we already had problems with other gangs. It’s the way this world works. Brian said that Joe posed a risk to all of us because he’d get us involved with the big guys and the real shit, like drugs. Brian took me in when I had no place to stay. He was always there for me. I went to him, trusting his judgment. When Brian wanted to kick Joe out, I begged him to give Joe a second chance, because without a gang he would have had no protection from the sharks. Brian was reluctant but eventually agreed under the condition we taught Joe a lesson and—” Jett paused, taking his time “—I offered to do it. Even though I was angry with Joe, he was my best friend, and I wanted to have control over what would be done to him. I suggested a race with the plan to simulate a collision with Joe—just to scare him, break a few bones, lock him inside a hospital for a while, where we could help him. Brian agreed. But it went wrong.” He trailed off.

The air charged with heaviness. I knew what was coming, and it broke my heart.

“I lost control over my car and killed him,” Jett said slowly, his eyes hard and cold. “It was my fucking fault.”

I swallowed down the lump in my throat as I stared at the picture and the man sitting next to Jett. Jett never lost control while driving. I had seen it with my own eyes.

“How is that even possible?” I asked.

“I didn’t see the tree on his side of the road.” He cast his gaze on the floor. In spite of the dimmed lights, I could see the moisture shimmering in his eyes.

“But he did,” he whispered. “When I hit him, he spun the car, pushed mine aside, and crashed right into the tree. By doing so, he saved my life but sacrificed himself. I watched his car explode.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t deserve it.”

I loved Jett. I loved him with all my heart. I didn’t want guilt to consume him. I grabbed his hand and pulled him to me, forcing him to look me in the eyes.