Chapter 14
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Iwalk slowly, my thoughts distracting me as I follow the road into the heart of the city. I pause at an unfamiliar intersection, not sure of exactly where I am, but I notice a bar across the street, its open sign flashing brightly in the dark of the night. I walk towards it, opening the door and letting myself inside; the smell of alcohol hits me immediately. I order a drink at the bar, fishing out some of my tips from my purse to pay for it. The bartender sets my drink down with a loud clunk, and I grab it before finding a seat at a low table, tucked away from the two people sitting at the bar. The bar is old, the lighting only serving to draw attention to the peeling wallpaper and stained floors, the place clearly in need of some repairs.
I don’t care about any of that, though, savoring the silence around me as I fish some ice cubes out of my drink.
I can’t help but chuckle quietly to myself; I have to admit that this is morose even for me, sitting in a dilapidated bar by myself, nursing a drink and trying to figure out how to get out of this mess I got myself into.
The baggie still feels heavy in my pocket, the weight of its control over me tangible, and it feels like I’m sitting here with a loaded gun, debating whether or not to pull the trigger. I know doing drugs isn’t right, and like everyone else my age I grew up in a time where anti-drug programming was all over TV and taught in school. But even knowing all of this, knowing that these pills could be my downfall, I can’t deny that I love the high, even if I hate myself and my actions afterwards.
The drugs remind me of Rhett, not because he’s the one who gave them to me, but because they are both so similar, filling a void that I want to desperately ignore exists within me.
Footsteps approach me, and I look up as Jax walks purposefully towards me. My breath catches and I fail to hide my shock as he pulls out a chair across from me, sitting down and leaning back in his seat.
Our eyes meet, and I’m instantly lost in a sea of emerald green, so captivated by him that for a moment I forget anything else exists. I curse silently at the dim lighting at work, not noticing this part of him until now.
“Drowning our sorrows tonight are we, love?” he asks, with no hint of teasing in his voice.
“I’m just… thinking about some things,” I respond, picking another piece of ice out of my now-empty glass, sucking on it until it melts in my mouth.
“Well, that makes two of us.”
He flags down the bartender, and with no other customers to serve, he hurries towards us. Jax orders a whiskey neat for himself, and another of what I’m drinking.
“And a glass of ice on the side,” he mentions before the server returns to the bar, the sound of bottles clinking and ice pouring immediately reaching my ears as he prepares our drinks.
“How did you find me here?” I ask looking at him.
“It’s a little hard to miss a beautiful girl sitting alone in a bar, especially when she’s digging ice out of her glass and chomping on it like a starved chipmunk,” he says, smiling calmly as I feel my face redden with embarrassment.
“Plus, I followed you from Poison Ivy.” He chips in.
“You did what?!” I exclaim, unsure of whether to be embarrassed by the ice or outraged by the intrusion of privacy.
“If you didn’t decide to go on a jaunt at three in the morning… in the dark… by yourself… I wouldn’t have had to follow you.”
“I wasn’t on a jaunt. I was trying to clear my head,” I say by way of explanation.
“Maybe try something less dangerous next time, hmm?” he suggests, no hint of teasing or malice in his voice.
I roll my eyes at him as I cross my arms. “We just met and you’re already telling me what I can and can’t do?” I say, stealing glances at him as we wait for the bartender to return with our drinks.
“Some girls like that, or so I’m told,” he says with a mischievous grin.
“Go bother them, then,” I say dismissively, unable to stop the smile that finds its way to my own lips.
He laughs and I find myself thinking how I could get used to the sound, watching his eyes dance and a lightness take over his body, letting me have a glimpse of who he is underneath his tough exterior.
“I’d much rather be here,” he says with a smile, and I shake my head, unsure of why that could be. He looks at me before continuing, “What would you usually be doing right now if you weren’t here?”
His question catches me off guard, and I find myself playing with my nails as I try to think.
“I don’t really know,” I say looking at him, not wanting to tell him that I spend most nights nowadays either out drinking with Rhett or at home underneath him. I think about earlier this year, before I started seeing Rhett and working at Poison Ivy. “I used to spend all of my free time painting.”
“You’re an artist?” he asks as he leans forward, seemingly genuinely interested in my response.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” I say with a laugh, “but I’ve been painting since I can remember… it’s always been something I love to do.”
“Interesting… what do you like to paint?”
“Anything. Everything,” I say as I relax into my chair, the conversation making me feel at ease in his presence. “I used to paint places and animals when I was younger, you know, typical stuff. But as I got older, I started painting everything I experienced and the emotions that came with it. Anything I felt, I tried to put it on the canvas, and somehow when I finished a painting, everything I was feeling just made sense.” I look up at him and see him smiling. “Sorry, I know you’re probably thinking that sounds crazy.” And I look down at my hands, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“Actually,” he muses, “I was thinking that makes perfect sense.”
I look up at him and see understanding behind his eyes, and not for the first time I find myself wanting to know more about him.
My thoughts are interrupted a moment later as the bartender places our drinks in front of us, and I can’t help but smile at the glass of ice as I pull it towards me, slowly moving it across the sticky table.
My eyes follow the bartender as he walks back to the bar, where he begins polishing another glass as he watches the front door, perhaps hoping for another customer to serve.
Jax clears his throat, and I look only to find him staring at me intently, his green eyes alight.
“What?”
“You’re breathtakingly beautiful, love.” He all but whispers, and I feel the heat rising in my face.
“And I want to know what you’re so torn up about that you chose to come here and drink instead of go home and paint.”
I sigh. “It’s a long story. A very long and very complicated story.”
“I’ve got nowhere to be but right here.”
I don’t know whether it’s the alcohol, or him, or a combination of both, but I start talking. I tell him about my parents cutting me off, the bills piling up, and getting mixed up with a guy who I thought cared about me. I lightly brush over about how I borrowed some money, the drugs I’ve been using, and how I’m now in a mess of my own making, unsure of what to do next. Even though I tell him more than I thought I would, as the words flow easily out of my mouth, I keep the part about my deal with Rhett locked away, embarrassed by my own stupidity. I keep talking as he listens patiently, and by the time I finish, I feel as though a weight has been lifted from me.
I wait for his response, a part of me expecting disgust or judgment to take over his features, but I’m surprised to find a look of understanding on his face instead.
“That is complicated,” he muses.
“I kinda fucked up a bit, hey?”
“Just a bit,” he agrees, as a slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, “but nothing we can’t get you out of.”
“There is no we, Jax,” I say dryly.
He ignores my comment as he probes more about the situation.
“So, this guy, how long have you been together?”
“A while,” I respond vaguely.
If he’s bothered by my answer, he doesn’t show it.
“And you like him?” he asks before taking a sip of his drink.
“Sometimes.”
He looks at me questioningly and I sigh before continuing, “Sometimes he makes me feel like I’m on top of the world, like I’m the only person who can be what he needs. But other times, other times I don’t even recognize myself with him… The drugs, the partying… it’s all gotten out of hand since I started… dating… him.” I take another breath, hoping Jax will fill the silence but he’s just looking at me, seemingly deep in his own thoughts, so I continue. “Being with him makes sense; he’s everything my parents would want for me, everything I should want for myself, but…” I stop myself before I say too much, I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly hyper aware that I’ve started to spill everything to someone I barely know.
As if sensing my discomfort Jax begins to speak. “So, you said you borrowed money… from him I assume?”
I nod silently, taking another sip of my ice-cold drink before wiping my hand, wet from the condensation on my glass, on my pants.
“How much do you owe him?” he asks.
I tell him, and he lets out a low whistle in response.
“Jesus Christ, love, that’s not a small amount.”
I drop my head, focusing on my drink as shame spasms through me.
“Just tell me why. I’m not judging you—we’ve all made mistakes before—but why are you doing this? Why are you even entertaining this guy who’s all kinds of wrong for you? What are the drugs helping you escape from?”
“Oh, and you know someone who would be all kinds of right for me?” I laugh.
He smiles.
“I do,” he says simply as he brings his glass to his lips.
I huff a laugh in response, before whispering quietly, “I just want to be happy. To find a little bit of joy within the mess that my life has become. So first it was weed, and when that didn’t become enough it was coke or whatever else he handed me, usually party drugs. And now, as of last night, I’ve tried fentanyl, and who knows what else… I don’t remember much.” I glance at him nervously as rage flashes across his face. “Don’t worry, I won’t be doing that again. I think he knows I’m mad he gave it to me… While I’m happy to take something lighter to take the edge off, this is on a whole other level and I’m not okay with that risk,” I say quickly, feeling the sudden urge to explain how I feel about this experience.
“I will fucking murder him for doing this to you, love,” he declares, his tone sending a chill through me.
“He didn’t do anything Jax, I asked for all of it,” I confess.
“Let me make one thing clear,” he continues, his voice deathly quiet, “If someone hands you a knife and convinces you to stab yourself, over and over again, only to watch you bleed out, then they’re just as responsible for your death as you are.”
I nod, reaching for my glass and taking a large sip of my drink, my eyes watering as the burning liquid travels down my throat.
“Give me a name, and he won’t be bothering you again.”
I laughed this time, searching for any hint of teasing in his voice, but finding none.
“You don’t mean that,” I say, the words a whisper as they pass through my lips.
His steel gaze focuses on me as he leans in, and I still at the closeness of our bodies.
He doesn’t respond but gives me a smile instead. Try me. It seems to say.
My mouth opens, and quickly closes again, and I’m suddenly unsure of what I should say. Red’s warning comes to the forefront of my mind.
I shouldn’t be here with him, he’s dangerous.I think to myself quietly.
But he’s trying to protect me.I argue with myself, somehow finding solace in the idea of someone being in my corner.
I lean back in my chair, trying to appear nonchalant as an internal debate rages inside of me. “I guess that’s why they told me not to get involved with you, Mr. Turner,” I say as lightly as I can.
“I see someone has been talking.” A hint of a smile appears, and his eyes glimmer, the playfulness in his eyes inviting me in.
“They didn’t say much,” I muse. “Just a brief warning not to converse with criminals.” I take another sip of my drink, emptying it.
A chuckle escapes his lips before he falls silent as the bartender appears without being asked, carrying another set of drinks in his hands. He sets them down in front of us, clearing away our empty glasses, before disappearing to his post behind the bar without a word.
With the bartender out of earshot, he continues talking.
“Just because I’m not always the friendliest, doesn’t mean I don’t know how to play nicely sometimes.”
I soak him in as I hold my drink, and I can’t help but wonder just exactly how he would be willing to play nicely with me. I shake my head, banishing the inappropriate thought.
“So, you’ve heard all about my life… tell me a bit about you?” I ask, trying to change the topic.
His lips curve up again, as if he can read the thoughts passing through my head.
“There’s not too much to know about me, love,” he starts simply. “I grew up in London and it was your basic ‘grew up on the wrong side of town’ story. My family was always up to no good, and as a result, both of my parents died when I was young. I bounced around from one foster family to the next until I was eighteen and joined my uncle and cousins in the family business, that was ten years ago now. A few years ago, my uncle got put away for life, so I ended up taking over the business with the help of my cousins. My cousins would be the ones running the business now, but they followed in my uncle’s footsteps and are currently serving some time.”
“And have you been to jail?” I ask with genuine curiosity.
“I was also in and out of jail a lot when I was younger, but that stopped for the most part,” he responds casually.
“Because you stopped doing anything… wrong?” I inquire.
He smiles, his green eyes sparkling. “Because I stopped getting caught.”
I can’t help but shake my head at him.
“And what did you used to get caught… doing exactly?”
He raises an eyebrow at me, laughing quietly.
“Sorry, am I not supposed to ask that?” I say, suddenly self-conscious.
“No, it’s not that, it’s just that I’m not used to people asking me so much about myself… your boldness is a refreshing change of pace.”
I pause, trying to figure out what I’m missing, why people wouldn’t be bold enough to ask him about himself. There’s something about him that feels familiar, something outside of meeting him. I rack my brain, trying to figure out how I feel as though I know him already. I watch him closely as he brings his drink up to his lips, lips I’m having all sorts of inappropriate thoughts about. And then it hits me.
“Oh my god. Turner,” I say out loud, as the realization dawns on me. “Like The Turner Family? That’s you?”
He nods, confirming my suspicions before setting his glass down on the table.
My thoughts race, piecing together bits and pieces of information, his name suddenly familiar to me. I look at him again as I realize I am sitting in front of one of the most notorious crime lords, having read cases about his uncle in law school.
Unsure of whether the whiskey is impacting my judgment, or if I truly don’t have a shred of survival instincts left, I clear my throat, ready to ask another question, wanting to know more about him.
“Your family is… notorious,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “Taking London by storm, and then the rest of the UK, before moving into the international market with their… business.”
He nods. “Sounds like you’ve been reading up about me.”
I blush. “It’s from school,” I say by way of explanation. “I was in school to become a lawyer, and I’m pretty certain I did a case study about your uncle once.” I feel a wave of embarrassment course through my body as I stumble over my words.
“So, um, what did you get caught for when you went to jail?” I ask, desperate to change the conversation away from my research about his family.
“Which time?” He fires back, taking another sip of his drink.
“The first time?”
“Petty theft.”
“That’s not too bad…” I muse, trailing off as I bring my glass to my lips again.
He smiles. “It’s not.”
“And the most recent time?” I put my glass down, slowly.
“They say I murdered someone,” he says, watching me closely.
My eyes flash to his as I feel the shock roll over me, not for the first time tonight. I should be afraid of him, but something in his gaze tells me I don’t need to be. There’s a kindness there that I’m not used to seeing from men, and it makes me feel safe in his presence.
“Did you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugs. “Depends on who you ask.”
“It’s kind of a yes or no question,” I say as amusement sparkles in his eyes.
“My lawyer says I didn’t, the judge says I did. They compromised and I went to jail for a couple months, only getting out thanks to a technicality my lawyer found. It was the first time I went to jail since I was a teenager,” he says casually, as if we were talking about the weather.
I try to do the math in my head. “And that was—”
“—Just after I saw you for the first time at Heat, after I so chivalrously saved you from a night of reckless abandonment.” His eyes bright.
I scoff at him. “If you thought that was reckless… you’ve seen nothing.”
“I saw you last night, and I must say, you’ve redefined reckless since then.”
“I’m glad I’m good at something,” I say, the sarcasm thick in my voice.
I look at him and our green eyes meet. I don’t look away as I begin to speak.
“Speaking of seeing me that first time… What did you mean when you said the fire in me has changed? I know a lot has happened since then, but I haven’t changed… I’m still the same person.”
He smiles, but I can sense sadness behind it.
“No, love, you’re not. You might think you’re the same, and you’re bloody good at pretending that everything is fine, but I can tell. There’s a shadow behind your eyes that wasn’t there the first time I met you. I don’t know everything that’s happened to you in the last few months, but whoever is responsible for that flicker of darkness in you, I will kill them.”
“You sound like a very stable individual with no anger issues whatsoever,” I say blandly.
He almost spits his drink out as he laughs, the shock on his face quickly replaced with a wide smile.
“No one has been this bold with me in a very, very long time.”
I shrug. “You’re easy to talk to.”
“Some might disagree,” he counters. “Actually, I think most people would disagree given my… occupation.”
I smile. “Speaking of your occupation, what was going on with you and Mike today?”
“I think you know the answer to that, love.”
I roll my eyes. “Let me guess, you can’t tell me?”
He nods in response, looking around the quiet bar and signaling to the server to bring another round of drinks, which quickly arrive at our table.
“So, don’t you have anything better to do with the rest of your night, besides stalking girls and trading life stories?” I ask as I take a sip of my new drink, the ice clinking around the glass loudly.
He smiles mischievously as he looks me up and down slowly, and my skin prickles in response.
“There’s one other way I’d like to spend my night, but I think both of our mouths would be a little too occupied for much conversation.” He purrs.
I can feel my cheeks blushing the deepest shade of red, as heat gathers within me, and I resist my urge to cross my legs.
“You’re so pretty when you blush,” he whispers.
I rack my brain for a thread common sense, for some little voice to tell me that the only right thing to do is to get up and leave before this goes any further, and that sitting here feeling turned on rather than shocked at everything he just said must mean I’m borderline unhinged, and in need of some serious help.
But my mind remains silent, as the air between us thickens with a charge of electricity I can’t quite explain. All I know is, it’s this energy that makes me want to know him, want to be closer, need to be closer. Whatever this is between us, I have a feeling that it is about to make everything a lot more complicated, and something tells me I am about to fall hard for the guy from the wrong side of the tracks.
I look at him, unsure of what else to say at the thought of his mouth doing anything except for talking.
So I lift my glass from the wooden table, and “Cheers” is all I say before shooting it back.