Page 95 of Rogue
My eyes widen. I’m speechless.
“Hayden was holed up in his office for most of the day. On the phone . . . probably with whoever he’s gone to meet. He summoned Declan into his office. Soon afterward, Jaxson was called in. I fully expected to be next, which is why I was in the great room when all living hell broke out. I’m glad to be headed to Mexico soon so I won’t be around for the fall out.”
I stare at Diego, who begins pacing back and forth. “Jaxson hit Hayden.”
“Several times. The punch to the mouth the worst of it. The fight began in the office then spilled out into the great room. That’s why there’s one less chair and the room is darker after the three broken lamps . . .”
I can’t breathe. Jaxson fighting with Hayden. Jaxson recovering. Jaxson protecting me.
“Diego, I didn’t do anything. I swear it.”
“That’s what Jaxson said. Told Hayden to go fuck himself. Reminded him how he was the one who brought you on board. An amateur. With little training. Too good for the likes of us. That if you messed up, it’s his own damn fault.”
“I didn’t mess up,” I grind out.
“Someone’s been telling TORC secrets.”
“That suspicious, no-good bastard.”
“He has reason to be. Novák’s men have been reported outside the gate. Our assignment—your assignment—at risk. TORC in jeopardy.” He stops pacing and studies my face, a myriad of emotions reflected in his own. Suspicion. Exasperation. Empathy. “For Jaxson’s sake, it’s a good thing you’ve come back to the Ranch. Declan’s out on assignment.”
“What?” Oh my God. Six days of silence and my consequence is that TORC’s best hit man is looking for me? Terrific. “Call Declan, please. Tell him I’m here. Just as Hayden ordered.”
“Done. Now a word of advice. Stay at the Ranch and wait for Hayden’s return. Make amends. And if you find yourself struggling whether or not to face the consequences of your actions, think about Jaxson. Because,chiquita, he’s the only one of us who will risk his neck to help you.”
Diego brushes by me.
“But by telling me all this,youjust helped me.”
He shakes his head. “No. I did it for Jaxson.”
Jaxson . . . fighting Hayden. Jaxson . . . recuperating . . .
I hurry from the great room, search his bedroom, the kitchen, everywhere I can think of until the gymnasium is the only place left to look.
The room is pitch black. For a second, I think I’m alone. Then I hear it . . . the distinct sound of fists slamming into a punching bag.
“Jaxson,” I call out.
Pa-dum. Pa-dum. Pa-dum.
I let out a sigh of relief. If this is how he’s recovering from a fight, it can’t be all that bad, right?
Wrong. The proof of which hits me like a rebounding punching bag as I approach and am close enough to get a look at him. Close enough to see what that bastard has done.
Black eye.
Swollen right cheek.
Busted lip.
Hayden . . . did this? And that’s just Jaxson’s face; hard to tell what bruises he bears on his body as he’s wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants. But judging by the way he’s tearing into that punching bag, he can’t be that hurt. Nothing broken. Recovering . . . right.
“Jaxson,” I whisper.
Pa-dum. Pa-dum. Pa-dum.
I grit my teeth, knowing he knows I’m here. God, the playfully wicked man I’ve grown to love would be all over me by now. Clearly, he’s upset. And I’m part of the cause.
