Page 57 of Dark Angel

"Stepped in how?" My curiosity piqued, I probe further. Sasha has always been the keystone of our operations, her absence a void I’ve been ignoring. Anything to do with money stresses me right out.

"She wanted to know how she could help me focus on healing, so she took the reins of your empire. Just like that."

I can't hide my skepticism. "She's what, twenty-five? And a psychology major, not a business mogul. What's left of my empire?"

Her laugh is sharp, a clear rebuke to my doubts. "You'd be surprised. She's not just kept it afloat; she's expanded it. Her approach to problem-solving, to turning chaos into strategy, is something to watch, Jay. And she's doing it all behind the scenes, content to let me take the credit."

I'm momentarily speechless, my brain scrambling to align this revelation with the image of Rayne I hold. "Huh," is all I manage, the implications swirling in my mind.

Sasha leans forward, her tone serious, “Think about what she means to you, buddy, before you push her away for good."

I bristle, ready to defend myself, but she cuts me off, "Just think about it. And Jaden, it's time she met Gloria. Isn’t one of her command-performance parties coming up?” The mere mention of my mother's name sends a chill down my spine. The hurricane that is my mother will chew Rayne up and spit her out under the guise of the perfect hostess and belittle me at every opportunity in the process.

The thought of exposing Rayne to that tempest, to see if she could weather it, terrifies and exhilarates me. If Rayne could stand tall against my mother's onslaught, then maybe, just maybe, there's a sliver of hope for something real between us. But the prospect feels like wishing for a miracle in a world where I've long since stopped believing in them.

34

RAYNE

Hovering in the chopper's hum back to Toronto, exhaustion wrestles with the buzz in my brain. Normally, it's Jaden I turn to for bouncing ideas—he's got this way of cutting through bullshit that I just can't. But, hell, even bone-tired and with our connection dialed down, his essence is a constant echo in my thoughts. His presence, it's like an anchor, especially when I'm tapping into my newfound healing magic. And yeah, I manage to shove aside this maddening pull toward him when the magic demands my all. Still, he's there, in every quiet moment.

Out the window, Ontario sweeps by in a green rush, and I'm thinking how this beats being jammed in traffic on highway 401. Not that I'd mind any jam with Jaden. Lately, we've slipped into this easy rhythm, me steering our daylight hours. The PE team's flexible—rescue ops call, we're there; otherwise, we chart our own course. My ‘training’ has been this wild ride of learning and adapting, trying not to trip over my own feet.

Although Jaden isn’t at my side twenty-four-seven, he’s always nearby. And any time I left the secure hotel building, he was glued to my side. I only grumbled a little, but Razor, our team lead and law enforcement guy, had made it quite clear that the bad guys are still looking for me. I love the job, and it comes easy for me. It didn’t hurt that Razor had asked me to treat the work as a startup and to create my own job description. Sweet!

I’d put myself through university doing contract work with small startup businesses because I’m gifted at putting together systems. With some of them, I simply cleaned up a mess, put things in order, and left them to it. I loved startup work, and putting a system in place had been a no-brainer with these guys because they simply reacted to each rescue mission without a lot of forethought or planning. They’d like what I’d suggested, and Razor kept “picking my brain,” and before long, I was finding the flaws in their rather rough plans and finding ways around them. Oh, we argued and debated, but nine times out of ten, we went with my plans. The last two rescues had gone off without a hitch. More and more, Jaden chimed in during our brainstorming sessions, showing an enthusiasm and energy that made me think of the boy he must have been.

I've often questioned my priorities, wondering if there's something wrong with me. Despite my ability to adapt easily, my focus should be on establishing a new life for Summer and me, not pining for an emotionally unavailable man who might never offer the love I yearn for. Yet, despite the sensible counsel from my rational mind, my heart rebels, continually drawn into Jaden's tumultuous orbit.

My anger towards Jaden reached its limit after he fucked Tempest, tempting me to seek revenge by flirting with Nick, the very cute bartender who claims to love me. His declarations might be absolute crap, but I can't deny the boost it gives my ego. Our drunken nights led to a lot of making out, all spurred by my spiteful urge to show Jaden just how it feels. However, Jaden's lack of reaction to my hookups with Nick only intensified my irritation. Far from being jealous, he probed into how I felt during those moments with Nick, analyzing every single detail with unnerving precision.

"Listen to his actions, not his words.” Bob’s advice echoes as a constant mantra in my mind. Time and again, whenever I spent time with Nick, he chose those nights to crawl into my bed, seeking reassurance. Was it to confirm my affection for him? His actions make me want to tear my hair out.

I can’t keep letting my libido overrule my brain. According to Nick, my feelings for Jaden boil down to mere lust, a lust that isn’t reciprocated. I had confided in Nick, and Jaden had exploded with anger when I mentioned it, infuriated by the breach of privacy.

He jabbed his finger into my chest with enough force to leave a mark, issuing his ultimatum. “Do not ever talk about me again, or?—”

Surprise ripples through our bond, likely at how quickly I confronted him, showing we both had our triggers. “Don’t you dare, Jaden. Sometimes I need someone to talk to, and it’s clear you’re not available for that. He's part of my life now, and by extension, so are you. I can’t help that you’re part of my story at the moment.” I put extra bite into the last three words.

“Well, you’ll stop including me in your stories to Nick.” He’d towered over me, trying to intimidate me as he punctuated his demand with pointed jabs in my direction.

“No, I will not,” I shot back with equal intensity until he stepped back, inhaling sharply as if to launch another verbal assault. But I wouldn’t tolerate any more of his crap. “Oh no, you don’t. You said you wanted someone strong, someone who stands by their principles. Well, this is me being strong. You can’t expect me not to talk to anyone. That’s how I process. It’s not fair.” Then, we retreated to our metaphorical corners of the ring, each nursing our grievances.

We'd avoided each other for the rest of the day, our tempers smoldering in subdued exchanges through our bond. I let loose with my extensive repertoire of curses at him, and though perhaps it was just my imagination, I could swear he parried each jab with his usual, “Yeah, but I’m good at it.” The audacity. Yet, beneath the surface anger, I find myself craving his intellect and my body yearning for his presence. Late into the night, he joined me in bed. My tension hung between us, but he simply rested his hand on my thigh and patiently waited. The atmosphere was charged, as if the heavy silence between us could have been cleaved with one of Jaden's ethereal daggers, our thoughts clashing silently. But as much as my mind resisted, my body gradually succumbed to the warmth of his touch. Eventually, I broke the silence, murmuring into the night, “I’m pissed at you, you know.”

“I know,” was his simple acknowledgment, his hand a constant weight on my leg, his body heat spreading through me like a mudslide—relentless, engulfing, and utterly consuming. Some switch in my head goes off with this man, and my body softens for him despite my resolve. My damned traitorous body seems to know what my mind won’t admit. Every damned time I surrender to the inevitable and spread my legs for him.

Jaden dictates the evenings after six o’clock . . . at least when he's mentally present. When he retreats into his cave, I'm essentially free to do as I please, provided I stay within the secure confines of our facility. Initially, this meant I was left to my own devices for five or six nights a week . . . unless Jaden found himself in one of his more amorous moods. With him, sex is an all-or-nothing affair. Once he decides on intimacy, it becomes an intense series of encounters that last until he exhausts his desire. Afterwards, he often withdraws, but increasingly, he chooses to stay close, content to simply watch movies or listen to music with me. Nick might think I’m crazy, but I can’t help feeling that Jaden is my 'Neo,' worth every moment of waiting.

Today, though, there’s a new tension in Jaden, a swirl of emotions I can't quite pinpoint flowing through our bond. I'm itching to probe, to unearth whatever he's holding back, but with Jaden, patience is key; he opens up in his own time.

“Come on. Let’s grab a bite.” He abruptly leads me to a nearby café. We place our usual orders—his boring double-double and a caramel latte for me.

“My mother’s throwing a party. Come with me?” His request is casual, his gaze averted, but an undercurrent of urgency vibrates through our connection, betraying a deep-seated need.

I hold off on responding until he fixes me with that imperious look I’ve grown accustomed to, the one he thinks will spur me into action. “Sure.” I buy time drawing out the word while I try to figure out what the hell is behind his invitation. There’s clearly more at play here, and I'm not in the frame of mind to navigate another of his crises. His escapes from reality can be downright terrifying, and chasing after him, regardless of my energy levels, is a given. But why do I get the feeling this isn’t just any ordinary party?

He clears his throat and taps the edge of his coffee cup, avoiding my gaze. After a moment, he looks up. “My mom . . . she's intrusive and interfering. I'd rather keep her out of my business.” He clears his throat again. “She can be very critical.” He shudders, then seems to steel himself, his posture straightening as if bracing for what's next. “But nothing she says will change how I feel about you.” But there’s a layer of self-loathing beneath those words that scares me.

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