“Hello?” A male’s voice, distant yet deep and calm, got my heart racing with fear.

Creepy.

And I jumped, suddenly remembering the phone in my hand. I brought it up to my ear.

“Hello?” I answered back.

“And who is this?” the smooth, light voice asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I shook my head at myself. “I must’ve accidentally answered. You’re looking for Jax? Hang on.” And I opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.

“And you are?” the man asked.

“Oh, Juliet,” I answered. “I’m a …” I hesitated, thinking. “A friend of his, I guess.”

“Mmm, Juliet. Pretty name. I’m his father.”

I stopped, my face falling.

“Tell me,” he started, “how many times a day does he fuck you?”

My eyes widened. Oh, my God.

My lips quivered as I stared at Jax across the lawn talking to Madoc and Fallon.

Jax.

“Women love him, you know? Such energy,” his father’s silk voice taunted. “You can’t count the amount of cunt that boy can go through.”

My mouth was like a desert, and I clutched the phone, afraid my shaky hands would drop it.

“And I’m guessing,” his father continued, “that since you’re answering his phone, your pussy must taste pretty damn sweet for him to let you stick around.”

My eyes blurred. “What the hell is the matter with you?” I choked out.

“I’m enlightening you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice turning rigid. “He won’t keep you. Not for long. You can count on that.”

Jax looked over at me, his smile disappearing the moment he saw me.

“Has he told you about the basement yet? The knife he carries? His bitch mother that abandoned him to foster care when he was an infant?”

I swallowed, seeing Jax start to walk over to me. How could a father talk this way about his son?

“If he hasn’t let you inside his head, then he’s not yours, Juliet.”

Jax held my eyes, his expression turning more worried the closer he got.

“He doesn’t trust you enough,” his father warned.

I sucked in a breath, tears pooling as I handed the phone to Jax. “Your father.”

His blue eyes turned to ice, and he grabbed the phone. “What did you say to her?” he growled into the phone. “Hello?” He tightened his lips and gritted his teeth. “Hello?”

“Fuck!” he yelled, staring at the phone.

I wiped the tears, only wanting one thing from Jax.

He had to talk to me. About everything.

His back was to me, but I saw him run his hand through his hair.

“Jax?”

He shook his head, turning around. “Juliet, I’m sorry. My father is …” He trailed off, looking as though he was at a loss for words. “My father is evil. Whatever he said to you is bullshit. He can’t do anything. He can’t hurt you.”

“He didn’t threaten me. He talked about you.”

“He hasn’t seen me since I was thirteen,” Jax gritted out, getting angrier. “He knows nothing. He’s just talking.”

I tipped my chin up. “I want to know.”

“What?”

“Everything!” I held Jax’s hard stare as Madoc’s GTO started and pulled away.

Jax looked at me as if I were the enemy, as if I were the one who was hurting him. He shook his head, defiant, and turned to walk off.

“Stop!” I ordered as he stepped off the porch and made his way home.

I stomped after him. “What about my community service? You can start there.”

“What about it?” he barked over his shoulder.

“You fixed it, didn’t you?” I accused. “To get me back to town. To get me the position in school. How did you know? How did you know about my trouble?”

He didn’t answer me. He didn’t even look at me. He walked through his front door, and I followed him as he headed for the stairs.

“Answer me!” I cried, slamming the door shut and stopping at the bottom of the stairs. “How did you know?”

He spun around, his face twisted in anger. “Because I know everything that happens with you.”

CHAPTER 20

JAXON

I descended the stairs, stopping just one up from the bottom, and loomed over her.

“The speeding ticket your freshman year at college that magically disappeared?” I hinted and continued. “The finite math test you were unprepared for that coincidentally got delayed because the sprinklers went off?”

I could see the wheels turning in her head.

“All the books reserved for you at the library to research Oliver Cromwell’s England? The bookstore job that just landed in your lap when your mother cut off your credit card for switching your minor to creative writing?”

I bared my teeth, getting in her face. “Every time you needed something during the past two years, I was there.”

Her chest rose and fell, and she looked as if she could barely catch her breath. “You stalked me?”

“Yeah, get over yourself,” I shot back, swinging myself around the banister and heading for the kitchen. “I didn’t read your e-mails or steal your underwear.”

“Why?” I heard her footsteps behind me. “Why did you do it?”

I let out a bitter laugh, heading for the refrigerator. “It really bugs you, doesn’t it?” I grabbed a bottle of water and slammed the door shut. “You’re so insecure about what others think that you can’t stand that I had my hands in your business without your knowledge, right? You’re worried. ‘What does he know? What did he see?’ ”