The Carrero Effect Trilogy - Chapter #5 - Free To Read

Chapter 4

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Chapter 4

I sigh for the hundredth time as I sit across from Leila and Sarah in a small booth at a trendy little cocktail bar. I feel like crap. I don't want to be here, but the force that is Leila not only whipped me into a dress and heels, and a face of make-up, but also cajoled Sarah out with us too. Sarah is in complete awe of this sassy, little whirlwind, and I can tell Sarah loves her, like everyone else who ever meets her.

"Sex on the beach?" Leila blinks at me innocently. I blink back, gulping, instantly incredibly awkward.

"What?" My head immediately zooms to the week Jake took me to the Caribbean, and I flush with both the memory and the heartache.

Why the hell would Leila be asking me this right now?

"It's a drink, Emma." Sarah cuts in, cupping her hand over mine. She's still being the gentle and sweet maternal one, still anticipating my moods, mothering me. Meanwhile, Leila is being a rather bossy and domineering little pest.

"Get that look off your face. By the time we leave, I will have you smiling and pissed. Broken hearts are cured with lots of delicious alcohol, and you know … the quickest way to get over a man is to get under a new one." She winks naughtily, grinning, as my stomach hits my ankles and a cloak of dread passes through me.

This was so not a good idea. Leila is completely nuts.

Leila shoves Sarah's hand back from the top of mine with a rather sassy eyebrow raise.

"Stop coddling her. She's made of much tougher stuff, and this new, all-teary Emma is not a good look. I swear if you don't suck it up a little for one night, I may have to get my whip out." Leila's words hit me, almost like a slap, and I try to ignore the whip thing, wondering how serious she is.

She's goddamn right! I am not someone who sits and cries their way through life's upsets. I'm stronger than this.

I also think that, secretly, Leila is a sadist.

I lift my chin and paste a defiant smile on my face. Meeting Leila's approving wink instantly, her nod of pride at the show of my old self.

"Yes, sex on the beach all round!" I chirp up, trying to sound brighter, my heart desperately pushing down the resistance and tears. Sarah regards me a little warily before shrugging and leaning back into her chair resignedly.

"Why not? Been ages since I had to get through a shift with a hangover." She shrugs.

* * *

"Oh, my God! Leila, get down!" I'm laughing so hard my sides hurt as Leila dances along the bar top, shimmying and singing full pelt into the wireless mic of the karaoke machine. She's in full rock star mode, strutting her stuff like a coyote ugly wannabe. Sarah is so drunk she's sprawled over the bar, laughing at my poor attempts to control the wild petite blonde.

"Leave her alone, honey. She looks mighty fine up there." Some sleazy fat man grabs my wrist, tugging my arm from Leila's leg, and I recoil in disgust at his touch. His eyes travel under the dress she borrowed from me to wear, and my repulsion grows into something more empowering, seething anger. I elbow him hard in the ribs and stand back with a fierce glare when he comes around at me.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Crazy bitch!" He moves in angrily, but my inner anger and psycho switch clicks on, pulling my height up to its full length in readiness, too drunk to care about what I'm doing or any subsequent consequences.

Bring it on, asshole!

"That's enough. Do you need me to escort you out, Tom?" The bartender cuts in, sliding the empty glass away from the man with a warning glare. The man snaps his attention to the burly tender, with his bulging muscles and no-nonsense expression, and sneers my way.

"Fucking bitch … No. I'm going anyway." The chubby older man turns on his heel and stalks off, leaving me feeling a little smug. I'm trying to ignore the deep welt of pain growing inside of me, managing to convince myself that it has nothing to do with the anger inside of my broken heart. Anger is a good emotion for me right now. It's pushing away the melancholy from the last few hours. I've been thinking about Jake almost every second, despite the alcohol-fueled party mood that Leila has inflicted on me, and I'm trying my hardest not to let it show for fear of Leila's wrath.

"Try not to get yourself into a fight, honey. Some of the regulars can be prissy as shit." The tender winks at me and moves off to tend to the crowded bar. I glare after him, drink bringing out this alarming inner rage inside me rather than my merry carefree drunken Emma.

What would Jake think of drunk Emma like this? Wouldn't like her very much, would he? This is more like Drunk Teen Emma.

Leila is still singing her heart out, but the song switches to something slower, and now she's swaying around up there. I've given up trying to reach her now that she's moved further along the bar, which spans the room and turns in a U shape along the other side. I have no idea how she's still upright, considering we've been here for hours and drunk enough alcohol to render the three of us unconscious.

My legs ache from our dancing attempts, and I have the head of a drunk girl wandering around the crowded room aimlessly. I have a fuzzy, almost dream-like haze with my consciousness, and I just want to lie down. I am suffering the effects of my drink, and the room is spinning and swaying around me. I hold onto the bar for support and stand slumped, watching the room, a little detached from reality.

She starts belting out a love song rather tunefully, a little flat in places, but she's giving it her all and enjoying herself, so I sit down to listen. It takes only a moment to realize it's a song Jake has sent me in the past.

Pink, 'Give me a Reason.'

It hits me like a punch in the stomach, winding me and bringing the huge weight of agony back to the forefront of my mind. Emotion heavy in my chest, I let out a long heavy breath to hold back the new onslaught of tears prickling behind my eyes.

I miss him so damned much. I wish he were here right now. Why did he have to infect every part of me with his presence?

I realize, suddenly, I don't like being drunk anymore. I only ever drank with Jake because I knew he would take care of me and my little bubble of bravado, well and truly pops. I hate being in a bar, without my protector, surrounded by strange men who stare and sleaze over the women around them. I'm vulnerable and emotional. The last thing I should've done was come here and get drunk. I feel so powerless and small.

Now I've started this monsoon of depressed feelings. I can't seem to switch it off. I watch Leila for a moment and see, almost with new eyes, how the men around the bar are looking up her dress, checking out her ass, practically drooling with every little movement she makes. Male eyes check out every girl that walks by, all with the same leering stare and licking of lips. Like animals searching out prey, and it sickens me.

I feel nauseous, so aware now of how awful this is. We've left ourselves vulnerable in a lion's pit, too drunk to function and take care of ourselves, and at this moment, I've never wanted Jake beside me more than right now to take care of me. Sarah's passed out, hordes of drunk men surround Leila, and I'm so out of my depth that an edge of panic starts coming on, the old Teen Emma freaking in my mind.

I haul out my cell in my drunken haze, noticing the wetness on my chin and wiping it with surprise, unaware tears have even been falling. The phone sways in my vision, my focus shot, and I try to make the screen less blurry by holding it at various distances.

"You all right, beautiful?" A male voice comes considerably close to my ear. I recoil as his warm breath hits my neck, revulsion creeping over my skin like a moving tide of cringe.

"Fuck off and get away," I snarl, all claws hissing and recoiling against the bar. I'm in full defensive Emma mode and feel hemmed in by over-sexed sleaze bags who wish to touch me. I'm prickling with angry energy.

"Fuck you, lesbo!" he snaps and moves along to try his luck with the next one. That knot of anxiety stays well and truly tightened within me, my body tense.

Charming. Dickhead.

I stab at the phone manically, unsure if I'm managing to call anyone at all, suddenly desperate for him to be here. I can hear ringing, so I put it to my ear and hold my breath.

"Emma?" Jake's voice is like a complete blast of light beaming from heaven, running through me, hitting me right in my center. His low sexy, soothing tone and the way he says my name, yet with a hint of worry. Trembling rivulets of warmth run through my body at just hearing his voice.

Oh God, I miss you.

I managed to get Jake on the first try. I've never felt such relief at hearing his voice, my heart constricting in pain and longing. Now I've finally broken the silence. It feels like it's been months since that gentle tone was inside my head.

"Who else would it be…." I slur crazily. I try for light and humor, then get angry at myself for being this weak and calling him. Even now, I cannot stop the stupid onslaught of tears pouring down my face. I'm aware my mind is still in a deep pit of confusion, but my itchy hands and aching heart must've overridden my brain with the need to see him.

I hate you. I love you. God, I miss you.

"Baby, are you drunk?" I can decipher the concern in his beautiful voice, which only makes me want to cry even more.

He's still calling me baby, his baby. I want my Jake.

"I'm too drunk … I don't like it much. You're not here to take care of me." I burst into half gasp, half sob trying desperately to right myself on my shoes, stumbling and recoiling rapidly when my arm scuffs a warm arm.

"Don't touch me," I snap, in anger, at the blurry mess of a figure to my right. Recoiling at the male touch, wishing that Jake was there beside me.

"Calm yourself, sweetheart. You fell into me. Watch where you're fucking going." The male voice snaps back angrily as they turn away from me.

Screw you, asshole.

"Who the fuck was that asshole, baby? Where are you? I'm coming to get you." Jake isn't so gentle anymore; he sounds like bossy Carrero with a serious touch of aggression. Internal me picks up with satisfying warmth. The same me who wants the Jake I know and love to raise his head. He must've heard the asshole down the cell, who is now snarling at me with evil gleaming eyes and a twisted mouth over his shoulder. I turn my back to him and stumble against a bar stool.

"I don't know." I sigh heavily, tears replaced with exhaustion. The desire to listen to his voice and hear him talk. I sigh, and the drunken wave of daydream tugs at me for a moment. My drunken mind instantly distracted by Leila hitting an impressive high note.

"Leila is singing. Can you hear her?" I lift the phone above my head and hold it at an odd angle so he can get full clarity of that wonderful sexy soulstress. She's in the full throws of Christina Aguilera's 'Voice Within.' Right now, it's all I can think about to distract me from his voice being so painfully close, too alluring, even though I wanted to drown in it a second ago, causing me more pain and joy.

Damn you, Carrero.

I sway in time to her singing a few lines, then bring the phone back down when I can stand the sound of him again.

"Emma? … Emma?! … Fuck's sake! Emma?!" Jake's mid-ranting and sounds overly worked up into aggressive mode.

Oops. He obviously didn't like Leila's singing.

"Don't swear at me! You, of all people, should not be swearing at me right now," I snap and immediately burst into tears. Drunk and emotional are not a good combo. Having him verbally close is just making me worse.

Does he have no clue how much he's hurt me or messed my head up?

He inhales slowly, steadily, to calm his temper. His tone lowers, but there's that sound he makes when he's talking through gritted teeth; his - angry yet trying to control myself tone. I get a little ripple of longing again.

"Baby, listen to me, don't cry. I'm sorry, okay? I'm really worried about you and losing my mind a little, tell me where you are, and I'll be right there. I'll come to take you home. I'll take care of you."

Home? Home sounds good. The apartment in Manhattan overlooking the sea of lights and tall buildings, wrapped in bed with Jake, wrapped up in Jake; that's home for me.

"I don't know where we are. Somewhere, Leila brought us. Sarah's here too, but I think she's dead." I watch as she slides ungracefully off the bar where her body previously was, and she ends up in a chaotic heap on the floor, behind her bar stool between two men, seemingly ignoring her.

I don't seem overly concerned for someone who thinks Sarah might've died. I trip toward her a little, stooping to see if she's breathing, almost losing my balance and nearly falling on top of her.

"Never mind. She's just snoring," I slur down the phone with a dramatic sigh of relief. I slump down on my knees beside her to peel what looks like a beer mat off her cheek.

Yay, my friend isn't dead after all. But that is disgusting.

I hold the beer mat out in front of me and squint, looking at the blurry, sticky vile thing, before tossing it casually over my shoulder and rubbing my hands on Sarah's dress.

"For the love of God, are any of you capable of something coherent? Emma, put Leila on," Jake commands, the tone of his voice riling me a little.

You're supposed to be groveling for my forgiveness, not barking commands, Dick. Asshole. You gorgeous, sexy asshole … But I still hate you.

"Jerk." I sniff down the phone, and I swear Jake growls … like, actually growl.

I find myself sighing and attempting to walk toward Leila, rolling my eyes, my defiant chin stuck in the air. I'm instantly confused when suddenly I'm facing down on a leather booth seat after the wall I was using to keep me upright opened into nothing. It was a splat and vertical drop without my attempting to save myself.

"Ouch," I murmur as my face peels painfully from the seat. I realize my phone is squished to my face, and I can hear Jake rather loudly on my cheek. Opening my eyes, the lit screen blinds me near my eyeballs.

"Did you just fall? What the hell …?! Emma, hello?! Okay, look, hang up but don't leave that bar. I'll find you my way." It sounds more like a threat, and when I reply, I realize he's disconnected my call.

Asshole! I didn't ask you to come for me. I don't want you to come for me! You don't know where I am anyway, so good luck with that.

I crawl onto the booth where I'm already lying and curl up on the seat, trying to get a hold on these damn infernal tears. I should call him back and tell him to go to hell, but I don't want to. Part of me wants him to find me and take care of me. Wanting him to ignore my pleas to stay away and do what Jake does - Come charging in all dominant mode trying to bend my will to his. If he does that, maybe my confusion can take a long walk off a short pier for a while and give my mind a well-needed break.

I don't like it here anymore, and I think Sarah may really be dead. She's not moved at all, but I'd rather rest first because she's too far away to get to. I wiggle my feet out of my shoes and drop them on the floor, feeling an odd sense of heartache at this simple act. Jake always took my shoes off for me when I was drunk. He always took care of me regardless of his mood or sobriety. I hate that he plagues everything I do.

I sigh, trying to wipe away the mess pouring down my face, resting my head against the wall and closing my eyes to block out the wave of people mulling around the bar and floor. For a small place, it's crowded and noisy, with a thick foggy atmosphere. Maybe if I drown it all out for a few minutes, I could get my head straight and get us back home. Take Sarah home somewhere safe to sleep in a position a little more natural and get Leila off that damn infernal bar, so men stop trying to grope her.

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