Page 100 of Ruthless Enforcer

“That’s comforting,” I say wryly.

She chuckles. “You asked.”

I dump the flour into the bowl with slightly more force than necessary. “Maybe I should have gone with him.”

“Did you want to?”

“Yes.”

Emma waits.

“No. I wanted him to stay.” I sigh, starting to mix the dry ingredients.

Emma begins to mix the sugar and butter. “Jake used to think protecting me meant making all the decisions.”

“How did that work out for him?” I ask dryly.

She snorts. “Badly.”

That makes me laugh.

“He still does it sometimes.” She dips a finger in and hums when she tastes it. “Not because he thinks I'm incapable. Because when he's scared, control makes him feel useful.”

I stop mixing as it hits me. Gabriel. The rules at the beach house. My phone. Where I could go. Who I could contact. Every threat assessed before I even knew it existed.

The light bulb turns on. “He thinks if he can control enough variables, nothing bad can happen to me.”

Emma looks at me. “Jake too.”

“And he doesn’t realize that's insane?”

Laughing, Emma takes the bowl from me and adds it to hers. “I had to teach Jake that protecting me doesn't mean deciding for me.”

That would be valuable information to know. I stare at her. “How did you do that?”

“I made his life extremely unpleasant.” Winking at me, she starts scooping dough onto a baking sheet. “But I had to learn something too.”

“What?”

“That letting him protect me isn't the same thing as letting him control me.”

I go quiet, watching Emma press extra chocolate on top of each mound before sprinkling sea salt over them.

“Sometimes Jake asks me to stay somewhere safe, and I do because he's right. Sometimes he asks, and I tell him absolutely not.” She glances at me. “The important part is that it's still my decision.”

I think about Gabriel at the door and what I'd actually wanted. I hadn't wanted to go with him. I didn't obey Gabriel—I agreed with him.

Emma slides the tray into the oven. “For the record, letting the man you love do the thing he's exceptionally good at while you make cookies isn't weakness. It’s trust.”

Thinking about that, I reach for a piece of chocolate and pop it in my mouth.

For the first time since Gabriel left, I don't look toward the driveway. Instead, I reach for the sketchbook I left on the end of the counter and start drawing Gabriel’s hand. I've drawn it so many times now I don't need him in front of me.

But this time, I don't draw his fingers curled around a weapon. I don't draw them wrapped around mine. I draw his palm open—empty and waiting.

Emma comes up beside me, eating a piece of chocolate she definitely stole from the cookie dough. “Interesting.”

“What?” I ask, glancing at her.