Chapter 227

Chapter 227
Jake's POV

The rage hadn't left my eyes yet.

I could feel it—that red-hot burn that had been simmering for three years, the kind that made my vision blur at the edges and my hands shake when I wasn't touching her. Even now, with Sadie underneath me, her voice breaking on my name, I couldn't stop.

I'd lost count of how many times I'd taken her. The bed first, then the couch when she tried to crawl away. The bathroom counter when she begged for water. Against the window overlooking the rainy London streets, her palms flat on the glass, fogging it up with her breath.

Every time she opened her mouth to explain—to tell me why she left, why she stayed away for three goddamn years—I shut her up the only way I knew how.

"Jake—" Her voice cracked. "Please, I need to tell you—"

I caught her wrists, pinned them above her head. "No."

"But—"

"I said no."

She was crying again. Not the ugly kind—just tears sliding down her temples into her hair, her hazel eyes glassy and unfocused. Her body was trembling, hypersensitive from too many orgasms, and still I couldn't stop. Couldn't let her go.

The apartment was small, but I'd used every inch of it. The hallway wall where I'd pressed her up against the peeling wallpaper. The narrow space between the dresser and the bed. The floor by the bathroom door because we didn't make it any further.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I was being insane. That this wasn't normal, wasn't okay. But three years of her ghost haunting me, three years of waking up reaching for someone who wasn't there—it had broken something in me.

And now she was here. Real. Solid. Mine.

I wasn't letting her slip away again.

"Jake..." Her voice was barely a whisper now. Hoarse. Wrecked. "I'm so tired..."

I kissed her neck, tasting salt. "I don't care."

"Please..." Her fingers twitched weakly in my grip. "Please, I can't—"

"You can."

But when I looked down at her face—really looked—something cold washed over me.

Her eyes were half-closed, unfocused. The circles under them had gone from faint purple to deep bruises. Her lips were swollen and bitten raw. And her body... Christ, her body was covered in marks. My marks. Hickeys and fingerprints and bite marks that would last for days.

"Jake..." She barely got the word out. "I'm begging you... let me rest..."

Then her eyes rolled back, and she went completely limp.

"Sadie?" I froze. "Sadie."

Nothing. Her head lolled to the side, lips parted, breathing shallow but steady. Passed out cold.

I pulled out immediately, my heart hammering. For a second I just stared at her—this tiny, broken thing underneath me, completely unconscious. Then I rolled off, sitting on the edge of the bed with my head in my hands.

The red haze was finally clearing. And in its place—nothing. Just a cold, empty black.

I'd really lost it this time.

I stood up, legs unsteady, and grabbed my phone from where I'd tossed my pants hours ago. My assistant picked up on the first ring.

"Get a helicopter ready," I said. My voice sounded flat. Dead. "We're leaving in the morning."

"Yes, sir. Destination?"

"Home."

I hung up and looked back at Sadie. She hadn't moved. Hadn't even flinched.

Carefully—more carefully than I'd touched her all night—I scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom. She was so light it scared me. When had she gotten this thin?

I turned on the shower, tested the temperature. Warm, not hot. Then I stepped in with her still in my arms, letting the water wash over both of us.

She stirred slightly when the spray hit her face, making a small sound in the back of her throat. But she didn't wake up.

I cleaned her slowly. Gently. Washing away the sweat and the evidence of what I'd done. Her head rested against my shoulder, dark curls plastered to her skin. Every time the water hit a particularly sensitive spot—between her legs, her breasts, the inside of her thighs—she'd whimper softly, but her eyes stayed closed.

It took over an hour.

When I finally turned off the water, I wrapped her in a towel and carried her back to the bedroom. She was still out cold.

I knelt beside the bed, drying her off carefully before pulling one of my hoodies over her head. It swallowed her whole. Then I found clean underwear in her drawer and worked it up her legs, trying not to look at the marks I'd left on her hips.

"Lost control," I muttered to myself. "Really fucking lost it this time."

But I still didn't regret it.

I packed her stuff methodically—passport, laptop, the few clothes she'd brought, that beige trench coat she always wore. Everything fit into one small suitcase. She'd been living light. Like she was ready to run again at any moment.

Not this time.

I wrapped her in a blanket like a kid, bundling her up until only her face showed, then picked her up again. She made a small sleepy sound and turned her face into my chest.

The landlady was dozing at the front desk when I came down, pulling Sadie's suitcase behind me. She jerked awake at the sound of the wheels.

"Oh—" Her eyes widened when she saw Sadie's unconscious form in my arms. "Is she alright?"

"She's sleeping," I said flatly. "Goodbye."

I didn't wait for a response. My driver was already outside, engine running. He took the suitcase without a word—smart guy—and opened the back door.

I settled into the seat with Sadie curled up on my lap, her head tucked under my chin. Through the rain-streaked window, I watched London blur past. Gray buildings, wet streets, early morning joggers.

I'd hated this city. Every second I'd spent here searching for her had felt like drowning. But now, leaving it behind, I felt nothing.

Just the weight of her in my arms. Finally.

The helicopter was waiting at a private airstrip outside the city. By the time we took off, the rain had stopped and the sky was turning pale gold at the edges.

Sadie slept through all of it—the transfer, the engine noise, the climb through the clouds. I kept her wrapped tight against me, one hand on the back of her head.

When we broke through the cloud layer and sunlight flooded the cabin, I finally let myself breathe.

For three years, I'd felt like there was a hole in my chest. Like someone had reached in and scooped out everything that mattered, leaving just empty space behind. I'd filled it with work, with rage, with alcohol and late nights and anything that would make me stop thinking about her.

Nothing worked.

But now, looking down at her sleeping face—peaceful for the first time since I'd found her—the emptiness was gone.

She was back. And I was never letting her go again.

I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the seat. For the first time in three years, I felt like I could actually rest.