Mine to Crave (Mine #4)(71)

His hold tightened on her. “It mattered.”

“D-Drake?”

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. The doorknob rattled. “Archer!” Victor snarled. “I know you’re in there.”

Drake didn’t move. “It’s Jasmine’s bedroom.” His voice drawled out. “Where else would I be?”

Victor shouted and kicked in the door. With a broken leg, the man seriously kicked in the door. Jasmine whirled around in shock as light flooded the room. “Victor, no! You have to be careful!” She tried to go to him.

But Drake hauled her back to his side. “What have you done to your hair?”

He’d noticed that?

“You can’t be here!” Victor strode toward them. She didn’t know where his crutch was, and his cast thunked a bit with each angry step that he took. “Do you know how much danger you’re putting her in? You and those two idiots downstairs!”

“One of those idiots is her brother.” Drake’s voice snapped with anger.

“I’m her brother! Me and Sax! We’re the ones who’ve always been there for her—”

Drake pushed Jasmine behind him. “You’re the two that used her. That put her life at risk again and again, and that shit is stopping. She’s not going to be in danger any longer. That won’t happen. She’s not—”

“Stop it!” Jasmine yelled.

And, wonder of wonders, they did.

Both men whirled to face her. Jasmine straightened her shoulders. “I’m the one who did it.”

A frown hardened Drake’s face. His face…how many times had she closed her eyes and seen him in the last week? But he looked different now. The faint lines on his face were deeper, sharper. His eyes blazed with a bright fire and there seemed to be a wildness clinging to him, pulsing just beneath the skin.

“I made the choices. I wanted to right the wrongs. I did it all. Me, not them.” If Drake wanted someone to direct his fury at, he could stop looking at Victor.

He needed to look at her.

“You have to get out of here, Archer,” she heard Victor snap. “It’s not safe for you to be here. We worked hard to make Jazz vanish. You’re about to destroy everything!”

But Drake didn’t move. “I’m not leaving without her.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Victor was adamant. “We’ve got too much riding on this case. Jasmine is dead, and you need to move the hell on.”

Drake didn’t look at Victor. His gaze pinned Jasmine in place. “I thought that I’d watched you burn.”

“Drake…” She had to fight to keep her breathing steady. “Why did you come after me?” She’d never thought that he would. She’d already pictured him with someone else, and Jasmine had hated that other woman.

His jaw locked.

That wasn’t going to do for her. “Tell me.”

“You shouldn’t have left me.” The words were rough, bitten off. “You let me think you were dead.” A muscle jerked in his clenched jaw. “Do you know what that did to me?”

“I’m sorry.” She was. More sorry than she could ever say. “I didn’t want—”

“I’m the one who told her she couldn’t have contact with you.” Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Victor caught her hand and pulled her away from Drake. “Because you’re dangerous, Archer, and I knew you’d make this whole thing blow up around us. You’re pissed? Be pissed at me. I’m the one who made her leave you. I’m the one who did it all.”

And Drake most definitely was pissed.

Drake glared at Victor.

Victor glared back even as he tugged on Jasmine’s hand. “Let’s get back downstairs before Saxon starts swinging…if he hasn’t already.”

Jasmine let him pull her away from Drake and back down the stairs. Victor didn’t so much as flinch as he headed down all those steps, even though she knew his leg had to be hurting him. But that was Victor. Pushing through the pain, just like he’d done in their early days.

Drake followed closely behind her, and her body was so attuned to him that every muscle was taut. He’d come after her. That had to mean something, didn’t it? If she’d just been another lover in the dark to him, then Drake never would have bothered searching for her.

It has to mean something.

And maybe, just maybe, it could mean everything.

***

Drake hated Victor. The smug FBI agent was begging for an ass kicking, and if Jasmine hadn’t been standing between him and that jerk, Drake would be obliging him.

“How the hell did these guys get here?” The one called Saxon demanded. Big, blond, and with go-to-hell eyes, Drake remembered that fellow all too well.

So he was another one who’d been in on the FBI’s game all along. “You could’ve said something,” Drake snarled at him. “Instead of taking her away from my cabin and leaving me running after her in that swamp!”

Saxon lifted a brow. “Was I supposed to say something before or after you started shooting at me?”

Drake lunged forward.

“Try it,” Saxon invited. He didn’t back away. He stepped toe-to-toe with Drake. And he was smiling. A hard flash of teeth. “You think you’re so tough because you and your boys spent some time pulling Black Ops? You’re not the only one who knows how to dish out some hell.” His hands were fisted, and Drake could see the line of scars that ran across Saxon’s knuckles.