Chapter 10 Definitely Not Playing With Fire
Jax
I seethed for a good twelve hours after Elias told Theo and me what was going on with Raine. I knew something was off the day those guys showed up at her shop. Stupidly, I let it go, thinking she could handle whatever it was on her own.
And yeah, maybe she can. I mean, she has been. But why the hell should she be doing it alone? She doesn’t need to, shouldn’t have to. Elias is right. She needs help, and we’re going to fucking give it to her.
But today isn’t about solving her problems. It’s about distracting her from them.
And I’m just the guy to do it.
She has a fight tonight, and I plan on being the one to patch her up—horribly, since I’m not the medic—and then have some fun. My kind of fun. Just her and me.
Theo is out of town again, and Elias is busy being a hero and saving lives. Son of a bitch with his noble profession. But that’s fine. This is perfect. No one to talk me down, to tell me not to do it.
I haven’t been this excited in who knows how long, and fuck, I’m practically vibrating with it.
No surprise she beat her opponent’s ass in two minutes flat.
She takes hits, sure, but I’ve yet to see her lose to the men who underestimate her.
Some even hold back, thinking she needs a handicap, but they figure out real quick how wrong they are.
I catch her slipping out through a small white door to the right, and I follow. She doesn’t notice me at first, stripping her shirt and wiping herself down. I stare—maybe a little too entranced—at her curves, her tattoos, the muscles cut down her torso. Dear God.
Dead Grandma.
Stepping in dog shit.
Rotten food.
Calm the fuck down, Jax.
I lean against the wall, ankles crossed, arms folded. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” I smirk, drawing her attention.
She doesn’t hide or even bother to cover up. Just rolls her eyes hard enough to sprain something. “What are you doing back here?” she fires, not even fazed.
She grabs a clean shirt from her duffel, tugging it on before dropping her joggers, and I have to swallow down the pathetic grunt threatening to claw its way out of my throat. Because apparently I turn into a whipped, virgin little shit around her.
“Taking you out, of course,” I respond, with bright eyes too full of excitement.
She doesn’t look at me, sliding into a pair of jeans that hug her ass with malicious intent. “Who says I want to go?”
“You, just now.” I push off the wall, striding toward her with more swagger than Snoop Dogg at the ’22 Super Bowl. “You didn’t say no.”
Her gaze flicks to mine, a brow lifting in surprise. She’s weighing her options, trying to hide that she doesn’t mind my company. I can see it.
“An absence of no does not mean yes.”
I take another step toward her, pretending I’ve never heard of personal space. It's my favorite thing to pretend.
“Doesn’t it?”
“Your ego is showing.” She shoves me back, shaking her head, but I catch the twitch of her lips.
Don’t fight that smirk, Sunshine. Give it to me.
She opens a door at the back and I follow closely behind her, the cool air prickling goosebumps across her skin.
“So, are we taking my bike or yours?” I murmur into her ear, blocking the breeze from behind her.
“I’m not letting you drive me anywhere.”
“Oh, come on, Sunshine. Aren’t you curious?” I grip her hips, pulling her gently into my chest.
She could easily elbow me, deck me, leave me gasping on the floor, but she doesn’t. She lets me hold her there for a moment before she steps away, turning to face me.
“You’re really full of yourself today.” She sighs, calm as ever. “I’m only saying this once. I’m going with you because I have nothing better to do tonight. Don’t let it get to your head—it’s already too big.”
“Oh, it’s going places, but my head isn’t one of them.” I grin, trailing behind her toward her bike.
She kicks her leg over, ass out, back curved. I need her to ride me next.
“Let’s see if you can keep up when I lead.” I laugh, climbing onto my bike, helmet down. The engine roars to life, vibrating through my body exactly how I like. I pull out of the lot, speeding up once I know she’s behind me.
It’s a game of cat and mouse—darting through cars, letting her catch up, then tearing ahead again. My grin damn near splits my face when I pull into the Walmart parking lot. She pulls beside me, cuts her motor, and drags off her helmet.
“Walmart?” She arches a brow, clearly regretting her life choices.
I offer my hand, flashing my dimples, knowing she secretly likes them no matter how much she denies it. “Trust me. We need a couple of things before the fun starts.”
“Yeah, one of them better not be a condom.” She rolls her eyes and heads inside without taking my hand.
I laugh, jogging to catch up, falling into step beside her, and I try not to read too much into the fact that she didn’t tell me to fuck off.
That’s the bar now, apparently. I’ll take it.
I’ll take every tiny inch she gives me and act like it’s nothing, knowing if I start acting precious about it, she’ll bolt, and I don’t want her bolting.
Not when she’s still carrying that tightness in her shoulders and pretending she’s fine, which I don’t believe for a second.
I know that look. I know that exhaustion.
My sister, Kara, carried it on her face, in her shoulders, until she couldn’t take it anymore and threw herself off a bridge while all I could do was watch.
After that, I swore to never let anything weigh me down, and now I’m making sure nothing weighs her down either.
The automatic doors slide open, hitting us with those fluorescent lights that feel just too bright. As we head further in, an idea hits—one I pray she’ll go along with. I grab a cart and gesture grandly for her to get in.
“Your chariot, my lady.”
“Really?”
“Really.” I nod, hand out, ready to help her in.
She shakes her head, but to my surprise, she climbs in anyway. She’s at most 5’2, maybe 5’3, so she fits comfortably. And that’s when the Walmart NPCs start noticing.
A guy pushing a cart full of soda slows down so hard his wheels squeak, eyes bouncing from her to me like he’s trying to figure out if this is a kidnapping or foreplay.
Two teenage girls whisper too loudly and immediately start giggling, and I can feel their phones itching to come out.
A mom with three kids gives me a look that’s half disapproval, half curiosity, as if she wants to ask Raine if she’s okay and also wants to know where she got her boots.
I let my eyes flick over them quickly, the same way I look at guys in the bar when they get too bold. It’s not even a thought, it’s instinct, and it shuts the whispers down fast.
Try me. Say something. I dare you.
I’ll smile while I ruin your day.
Raine catches it, since she apparently catches everything, and her mouth does that almost-smile thing she tries to smother, but I see it anyway.
It hits me right in the chest, that stupid warm flare, seeing for a second that she’s not bracing for impact.
She’s just here, in my cart, letting me be an idiot.
Letting me make her world a little lighter, even if she’ll never admit that’s what it is.
I’ll do it every fucking day to make sure she’s okay.
I push us toward the pharmacy a little too recklessly, knowing it’ll make her smile—or at least make her try not to.
“I swear to God,” she mutters, spotting the condom aisle up ahead.
At least I’m not the only one with sex on the mind.
Not yet, sweetheart. But I’ll take care of you soon.
Her shoulders drop when I wheel past the aisle and turn toward the Band-Aids. I grab a few since she’s got a cut on her knuckle that looks too raw for the open air. Cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, and a lighter go into the cart with her.
This older dude in a fishing cap does the offended stare, the kind men do when they want to police other people’s fun. He opens his mouth, and I meet his eyes with my sweetest smile and my meanest stare. Whatever he was about to say dies on his tongue, and he takes a hard left toward paper towels.
“Gotta patch you up first.” I wink, pull her back, spin the cart, then head straight for checkout.
“You’re such a child,” she yells, but there’s no bite. I can hear the laugh lodged in her chest.
A Walmart employee in a yellow vest watches us roll by, eyebrows climbing, clearly debating if his job description includes cart-related crimes.
He looks at Raine’s face, catches the lack of panic, and decides he doesn’t get paid enough to get between a tiny woman with fighter energy and the idiot she’s tolerating.
I lean in, warm breath brushing her ear. “Admit it. You love this.”
She says nothing; she doesn’t have to. Her silence is loud, and the fact that she’s still sitting there, still letting me push her around, still not jumping out and sprinting for the exit, feels like the closest thing to trust I’ve gotten from her so far.
After paying, I ride the cart like a scooter through the parking lot with her still inside it, determined to get a real laugh out of her. If I can pull that sound out of her again, even once, it’ll be worth every annoyed glare she throws at me.
“If I fall—!” she starts, cutting herself off with a small yell when I tilt the cart.
I’m laughing hard, and I swear I catch a light giggle from her before I finally stop by our bikes. She stands to get out, but I stop her. Without asking, I lift her by the hips and set her gently on the asphalt.
“I had that,” she mutters, always feeling like she needs it to be known that she doesn’t need help from anyone for anything.
“I know you did, Angel,” I tell her anyway, unable to help myself. I like watching her pretend she doesn’t love being taken care of.
She rolls her eyes and heads for her bike, all brisk steps and attitude, but I snag her wrist and tug her back before she can put distance between us.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” The question comes out, too pleased with itself.