Little Black Book - Page 38/81

I didn’t want to say anything about the fact that he’d told me something personal, when I was supposedly just one of his girls. Instead, I smiled and said, “I think it might be my new favorite place. This is fantastic.”

When we were done, and I was good and stuffed, Sebastian threw a hundred dollar bill on the table and stood. I followed him out into the night air, feeling completely satisfied with the food and Sebastian’s company.

Mr. Martin pulled in front of the restaurant as we were walking out. Sebastian opened my door for me and I stepped up to get in.

“Give me your fucking wallet,” a gruff voice said from behind us.

I turned to see Sebastian standing there with a gun stuck to his side. The man holding the gun looked as if he slept on the streets and was definitely on something. He was shaking and antsy, like he was dying for another hit of whatever it was he was strung out on. His bloodshot eyes stared at Sebastian as he waited.

“I mean it, motherfucker. Give me your goddamn wallet or I’ll blow a hole in your side and take a little somethin’ from that piece of hot ass with you, too.”

Things were a blur from that point. When Sebastian went for the man, I barely saw him move before he had him on his stomach and the gun to his head.

“Be careful who you try to steal from, fuck face,” he growled, pressing the gun deep into the man’s temple. “I should kill you, but I’m going to let you go because I know this isn’t your corner. Get your ass where you belong or I’ll have Anthony blow your fucking head off. Got it?”

His voice was raw and angry. He spoke like the man who had tried to rob us. I could hardly believe how vicious he sounded. I didn’t blame the man when he nodded his head and ran off.

The back of the car was holding me up. I was frozen in fear. Having a stranger threaten to kill you will do that I suppose.

“Are you okay?” Sebastian asked. He shook out his jacket like it was filthy and brushed off his pants.

I couldn’t answer at first and just stared blankly in his direction.

“Jess—”

“Please don’t call me that…” I pleaded on a shaky breath. I was sure my face had lost all color and I felt like I was going to be sick. “Not right now,” I finally finished.

I knew he said I was the only one he called Jessica, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. If I was so special, why couldn’t he know my name?

“Fine,” he said tightly. He didn’t like being told what to do and he disliked doing it even more. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Me? Are you okay? You’re the one who just had a gun pointed at you.”

How could he seem so calm? After everything that had happened with my parents, I couldn’t stomach the sight of guns. Some nights I was sure I could still hear the sounds of gun shots all around me. My fear kept me far away from them.

“This is New York, sweetheart. Everyone in this fucked up city has probably had a gun pointed at them in their lifetime.”

I frowned. “If that was meant to reassure me, it didn’t.”

My stomach turned at the thought of having a gun pointed at me, and Kyle’s face immediately popped into my head. I never wanted him to know that kind of fear. It was naïve to think I could shield him from all the bad and hate in this world, but I had to try. Before I could stop it, I was quickly hunted by a different time, a different image and I felt my body began to shake.

In a blink of an eye, Sebastian was at my side and his hands were moving over my arms and face. His fingers caressed the curve of my neck and he lifted my face to look at him.

He showed a combination of possessiveness, concern and… anger. I didn’t understand the anger, but it made his blue eyes sparkle brilliantly.

“Why are you shaking?” His voice was rough.

“Why are you angry?”

“It’s left over from the asshole who thought he could point a gun in my face.”

I swallowed hard and prayed I didn’t throw up on his expensive shoes.

“Now your turn. Why are you shaking?” he demanded.

I took a much need breath and exhaled my confession. “I hate guns. I can’t stand them to the point that they make me physically ill.”

He frowned. “Why?”

I felt confused by his question and I matched his frown. “Isn’t it obvious? Guns kill people.”

He smirked. “No, sweetheart, people kill people.” He sounded dark and dangerous when he said it. “Guns are simply a means to an end.”

“Again, if you’re trying to comfort me, you’re not doing a very good job.”