Jack and Djinn (The Houri Legends, #1)(7)

He pulled into the empty parking lot of an office building and skidded to a stop, helping Miriam off the bike. She stumbled away from him and leaned back against the lamppost illuminating the parking lot. She doubled over and focused on breathing, trying not to vomit.

He pulled his helmet off and held it under one arm, brushing hair away from his face with the other hand. “I didn’t know where else to bring you.”

“It’s fine,” Miriam breathed, not looking up, pain making it hard to talk.

“Are you okay?” He laughed out loud, a bark of sarcasm. “I guess that’s a stupid question. What I mean is, should I take you to a hospital?”

Miriam shook her head and straightened. “I’ll be fine.” She hated hospitals. There was nothing they could do to help her anyway.

“Do you want me to take you home, then?”

“No! Not home.” Miriam shook her head again, not wanting to be alone in an empty apartment. “Actually, I’m hungry, but I can’t go home yet. He’ll look for me there.”

She looked at the man who had rescued her, really seeing him for the first time, and she found her breath catching. He was over six feet tall, with angular, attractive features, messy light brown hair and liquid, vivid blue eyes. He wasn’t brawny or muscular like Ben, but toned and wiry, exuding confidence and kindness. He wasn’t physically imposing, tough-looking, or intimidating, but there was still something about him that was intensely masculine and sexy.

He nodded. “There’s a National Coney Island not far away.” He thrust his hand at her, saying, “I’m Jack, by the way.”

“Miriam,” she told him, shaking his hand in hers. “Thank you for helping me, Jack.”

“Of course.” Jack eyed her curiously. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She shrugged, holding back a wince as the motion sent a ripple of pain through her. “I’ll be fine.”

Jack looked skeptical, but nodded. “Okay, then.” He gave her his helmet to put on, swung a leg over his bike, and held his hand out to her. Getting onto the bike behind him hurt but, strangely, not as badly as she thought it should, considering how hard Ben had hit her, and how many times.

National was crowded, even at twelve-thirty in the morning. But they were able to get a booth near the back, and they each ordered coffee and food. As she sugared her coffee, Jack tilted his head and leaned forward, looking at her curiously.

“What?” Miriam asked.

“Well, it’s just that I saw your boyfriend hit you in the face, like, a couple of times. You should have a black eye by now.”

“I don’t?” She prodded her cheek where Ben had hit her, expecting to feel a twinge of pain where the bruise should have been.

“Nope. Nothing at all.”

Miriam pulled a compact out of her purse and examined her face in the mirror. He was right—she didn’t have a mark on her. Nothing. She stretched her torso and felt only residual pain as she twisted to test the ribs she’d known from experience were at least bruised, if not cracked. She’d felt them break; she distinctly remembered feeling the bones snap. She remembered very vividly the piercing pain, the breathlessness of agony.

“It’s odd, but I feel fine.”

Jack shook his head, confusion written on his handsome features. “He was beating the hell out of you, Miriam. I saw it. I watched him hit you at least three times before I could get to you. You shouldn’t be fine. I mean, I’m glad you are, but it’s just…weird.”

Miriam thought about the handprint on Ben’s chest, the rush of heat she’d felt. Had Jack seen that? She didn’t think so, but she didn’t want to ask.

She could only shrug. “I don’t know how to explain it. Maybe he didn’t hit me as hard as I’d thought?”

Jack shook his head decisively. “No. I saw him punch you. I saw you fall. He wasn’t holding back. And even as wasted as he was, a guy his size can hit hard.”

Miriam didn’t need Jack to tell her that; she’d felt the truth of it before now.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she said finally.

Jack didn’t respond right away, clearly suspecting more than he was saying. “Well, whatever the case,” he eventually said, “I’m glad you’re not hurt.”

Conversation was stunted after that, thick with the knowledge that something unusual had happened, but neither of them was willing to conjecture any further. Eventually they finished their food, and Jack took Miriam back to her apartment. They lingered on the steps, the black of night tinged with gray.

“Thanks again for…you know, saving me and all,” she said. She was standing a step up so she was level with Jack’s intense blue eyes. She found herself unable to look away.

“Anyone would have done the same,” he said, running a hand through his messy brown hair.

“Not in my experience,” Miriam said, watching the wind toss a thick tendril of his hair back across his face and wanting, absurdly, to brush it away.

“I know it’s none of my business,” Jack said, his eyes flicking to hers and then away again, “but…why do you put up with an * like that?”

“It’s complicated.” The stock answer was meant to push him away. It was impossible to describe her situation to anyone who hadn’t lived through something similar himself.