Chapter 14 Definitely Not Jealous #2
Her eyes are dark blue this close, pupils wide. I can see the hint of exhaustion under them, the little crease between her brows that never seems to leave.
“You keep acting like we don’t matter,” I go on while I have the chance. “Like we’re disposable.”
“Because that’s safer,” she snaps.
“For who?” I ask with the same bite. “You? Or us?”
“Everyone.”
“Bullshit.”
Her jaw flexes in frustration, knowing I’m just as bad as she is. We’re a pair of angry, hard-headed bulls who don’t back down but rile up.
I lean in, just a little. Not enough to touch more than her hand on my chest and my fingers around her wrist, but enough to put my breath against her cheek.
“You’re not afraid of us getting hurt. Not really.” I keep it soft, watching her face as the truth finds its mark. “You’re afraid of caring.” A quiet breath, then the part she’s been trying to outrun. “And we both know you already care what happens to us.”
“Don’t.” Her whisper comes out thin, almost pleading, as if naming it makes it real.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?” My voice drops without me meaning it to. “Like the truth?”
She swallows, throat working once, eyes flicking anywhere but mine.
“You’re scared.” I keep it quiet, steady, not letting it turn into an accusation. “Not of Bash. Not really. You’ve been dancing with men bigger than him in rings for years probably.”
“Don’t pretend you know—”
“I don’t have to pretend,” I cut in. “You show us every day that you care. You show me every time you look at that ledger like you’d rather set it on fire than call in a favor.
You show Theo every time you let him fix something and act like it means nothing, even though we both know you would’ve told him to fuck off if you didn’t trust him. ”
Color creeps up her neck, into her cheeks. She tries to tug her hand back, but I don’t let her.
“And you showed Elias,” I keep my voice quiet, careful with it, “last night when you let him carry you out the back door instead of biting his head off.”
Her eyes flash. “Nothing happened.”
“I know.” I don’t flinch, just let it sit. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” The demand comes out sharp, but it doesn’t have the same bite it did a minute ago.
“The point is you care.” I hold her gaze, steady enough to make her listen. “You care if we get hurt. You care if we’re there. You care if we walk away.”
She scoffs, but it comes out thin, more reflex than conviction. “You’re overestimating your charm.”
“Maybe.” The corner of my mouth lifts, not cocky, just stubborn. “Wanna prove me wrong?”
She narrows her eyes. “How?”
“Say it,” I murmur. “Tell me we don’t matter. Tell me you don’t want us.”
Her throat works. “Jax—”
“Tell me you don’t want me.” I drop my voice low. “Look me in the eye and say it.”
Her gaze flicks to my mouth and back up. Once. Twice. Her fingers curl against my chest.
She doesn’t say it.
That heat that lives under my skin—the one I’ve been pretending is all jokes and bravado—flares higher.
“Door’s locked,” I point out quietly.
Her eyes flick toward it instinctively, then back to me. “You locked my door?”
“Yup.”
“You planning on Serial Killer-ing me?” she asks, her tone lighter.
Oh sweet Sunshine, are you trying to lighten the mood?
“Not today,” I smirk, leaving no more room for her to back away. “Today I just want one thing.”
She lifts her chin, eyes narrowing as if she’s bracing for whatever stunt I’m about to pull. “And what’s that?”
“The truth.” I keep it simple, watching her face for any reaction. “From that smart-ass mouth of yours. No jokes. No deflection. No bullshit.”
She licks her lips, and I feel it deep in my gut.
“You think you can just… pressure it out of me?”
“No. I think I can coax it out of you.” My voice drops as I lean in, close enough that she feels the promise in the space between us. “Carefully. Repeatedly. Until you’re too busy falling apart to lie.”
Her pupils go wide, heat flashing across her face before she can hide it.
“Jax.” She says my name again, trying for warning, but it comes out thinner this time, fraying at the edges.
“Don’t worry.” I murmur it near her mouth, letting my gaze linger where she’s trying not to look. “You’re in control.”
“That’s a lie and we both know it.” Her voice wobbles on the truth, stubborn even when she’s sliding.
“Then stop me.” I keep it simple, steady, and close. “Tell me no.”
She goes silent.
Her hand is still on my chest. My heart is pounding under her palm, hard enough she has to feel it.
I lean in that last little bit.
Kissing Raine is like plugging into a live circuit.
Her mouth meets mine with zero hesitation, teeth scraping my bottom lip on the first pass like she’s mad at me and using me at the same time. I swallow the sound she makes, one hand sliding up from her wrist to her jaw, angling her where I want her.
She tastes like coffee and resentment and sleeplessness, but there's a soft heat underneath.
I keep her close but not crushed, my body a line against hers instead of a cage.
She grabs me harder, good hand fisting in my shirt, dragging me closer like she’s the one taking what she wants and not me.
Let her think that as long as she wants.
“Jax,” she breathes against my mouth when I pull back to let her catch air.
“That’s me.” The words come out with a quiet grin, all confidence and intent. “Say what you need to say.”
“You’re—” she breaks off, huffs an annoyed laugh. “You’re an ass.”
“Not a request,” I murmur, dropping my lips to her jaw, tracing the line up to her ear. “Tell me.”
Her breath stutters.
“I don’t…” She swallows hard, gaze flicking away before she drags it back. “I don’t know.”
“That’s honest, at least. You don’t know what you want long term.
I get that.” My eyes stay on her as I list it, not to corner her, just to show I’m not pretending it isn’t real.
“Bash. The shop. The debt. The mess.” My mouth grazes the soft skin beneath her ear, just enough to pull a breath out of her. “I’m not asking for that.”
“What are you asking for?” Her whisper lands right against my mouth, fragile and brave.
“Right now?” I let the question hang for a second, then answer it close, slow. “You.” My gaze drops to her lips, then back up. “For you to say you want me.”
My hand finds her hip, fingers settling into the curve there, thumb sliding under the hem of her shirt. The way her muscles jump makes my chest go tight with want.
“And before that,” I add, pulling my touch back to the edge of patience, “I’m asking if I can touch you.”
Her breath catches. She pulls back enough to search my face, eyes flicking from my mouth to my eyes like she’s checking to see if I'm joking.
No jokes here, Sunshine.
“Say no,” I whisper quietly, giving her the out. “And I’ll unlock the door, sit my ass on that uncomfortable stool, and we’ll talk about brake lines instead.”
She’s silent for a long moment.
I can feel the war inside her—fear, habit, anger, want—all crashing together. I let her see I’m not moving without the word. Not even with my blood humming and my body close to exploding.
Finally, her shoulders drop half an inch.
“I don’t want to talk about brake lines.” Her voice drops low, eyes fixed on mine like she’s daring me to make it a joke.
“What do you want, then?” I keep my hands still, waiting.
She swallows, throat working, and the pause feels heavier than it should.
“You.” The word comes out soft but certain. “To touch me.”
My control frays in one sharp snap.
“Good girl,” I murmur, before I can stop myself.
Her eyes flare like I just set off a firework in her chest.
I slide my hand from her hip around to her lower back, tugging her that last inch into me. The rest of the world shrinks to the feel of her body pressed to mine, the heat between us, the electric awareness in her eyes.
My hand settles on her hip first, thumb stroking the dip just above her waistband. She shivers, the kind that betrays how badly she wants more. I crowd her back against the tool cabinet, my chest against hers, my mouth stealing whatever protest she thinks she’s about to make.
Her fingers curl in my shirt. Mine hook in the front of her jeans.
A slow drag of metal clicks as I undo the button. I can hear her breath catching—soft, involuntary.
“Say no,” I whisper against her lips. “One word and I stop.”
She doesn’t say a damn thing.
That's right, sweetheart. Give in.
I tug the zipper down. Just enough for my hand to slip past denim. My knuckles brush the edge of her underwear where warm fabric clings to the heat I’m already aching for. Her thighs tense instinctively, like her whole body is trying to pull me closer.
“Raine…” I murmur, lips brushing her jaw as my hand slides lower, fingertips tracing the curve where her hip meets the soft inside of her thigh. “You gonna let me touch you?”
She exhales like she’s been holding her breath for years. A small, wrecked sound that blows every fuse in my body.
Her legs part—barely, but enough.
Enough for me to glide my hand beneath the waistband of her underwear and slide a finger into her warm, wet pussy.
Fuck.
She clutches at my shoulders, at my shirt, at any anchor she can find, and I give it to her. Solid chest. Steady grip. Constant pressure, never too much, never too little, exactly what she needs, when she needs it.
“Jax…” she pants, forehead dropping to mine.
“Yeah?” I rasp.
“This is, fuck, this is a bad idea.”
“Absolutely.” My voice stays low, steady enough to hold her there. “You want me to stop?”
Her whole body jerks. “No.”
“Then tell me.” I keep my mouth close, refusing to let her dodge into noise. “Tell me what you want.”
“You’re already—” She cuts off with a broken sound.
“Not that.” I don’t let up, even as I keep her right on the edge. “Tell me the thing you’re trying not to think about.”
Her fingers dig into my shoulders hard enough to bruise. Her eyes are squeezed shut now, lashes damp at the corners.
“Admit you want to let us in,” I murmur against her mouth. “That you want me. Theo. Elias. Admit that you care what happens to us.”
Her jaw locks.
“There it is.” My voice stays low, pleased, right against her mouth. “That little wall.”
“Shut up.” Her breath catches on the words.
“Make me.” I keep it close, steady. “With the truth.”
She shakes her head, hair brushing my cheek. She’s so close. I can feel it in every tremor, every hitch in her breath, the way she’s clinging to me like I’m the only thing keeping her standing.
“Raine,” I drag out, voice low and demanding. “Say it.”
Her eyes fly open, wild, desperate, furious.
“I am not—” She pants. “I’m not dragging you three into this. I’m not making you my… my people, and then watching Bash destroy you. I’m not giving him targets. I’m not giving him leverage. I am not—”
She breaks off with a choked noise that might be a sob, might be a laugh, might be both.
She still doesn’t say it.
My chest aches.
Just say it, Sunshine. Come on.
I pull my head back just enough to see her fully—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the stubborn set of her jaw even now.
“You’d rather burn alone than admit you want help from us.” My voice stays quiet, not softening the truth, just setting it down between us.
“Yeah.” She spits it back, chin lifting in defiance. “I would.”
Why, Angel? Why couldn’t you just admit it?
I slow my hand, then stop entirely. She realizes a second too late, her whole body jerking forward, chasing what I’m not giving anymore.
“Jax,” she snaps, eyes blazing. “Don’t you fucking dare—”
I ease back, putting space between us, even as it feels like ripping my own skin off.
“Not like this.” I’m breathing hard, but I keep my voice steady enough to mean it. “Not when you’d rather choke than say we matter to you.”
Her chest heaves. “Are you serious right now?”
“Dead serious.” The words come out flat, no bite, just truth. “I’m not just a pair of hands to help you forget you’re scared.”
“That’s exactly what you are.” She spits it, then steps back as if I burned her. “That’s all any of this is. Distraction.” Her eyes flash with defiance. “You wanted honesty? There you go.”
The words hit harder than any bar punch last night.
I let them.
“Really.” I keep it soft, even with everything in me pulling tight. “That’s all this is for you?”
“Yes.” Her jaw stays clenched, like she’s holding the line by force.
“You’re fun, Jax. You’re chaos.” Her eyes flick away and back, refusing to let me see too much.
“You’re good with a ball of fire, a bat, and a bottle.
” She starts to push through the rest, then her voice betrays her, cracking on the edge of it.
She swallows hard and tries again. “But you don’t get to ask for more. ”
“Too late.” The answer comes out rough, honest in a way that scares me. “I already want more.”
“Not my problem.” She snaps it, but it lands thin, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as me.
Her hand shakes as she wipes at her mouth like she can erase the last five minutes. She doesn’t look at me. Her gaze is fixed on the locked door.
She heads straight for it, flips the lock with more force than necessary, and yanks it open so hard the bell almost tears off.
“Get out.” Her voice goes flat, all steel, like if she gives it any warmth she’ll lose control.
“Raine.”
“Get. Out!”
I could push. I could joke. I could lean against the frame and bait her until she throws a wrench at my head.
But there’s a shine in her eyes she doesn’t want me to see, and my chest feels like there’s a bat inside it now, swinging from the wrong side.
So I nod once. No smile. No quip.
I walk past her, out onto the cracked concrete, the bright daylight too harsh after the dim of the shop.
The door slams behind me.
The jingle of the bell is swallowed up by the sound.
I stand there for a second, staring at the faded Iron Wheel logo on the glass, my pulse still pounding, my body still strung tight, my fingers curling like they miss her.
“Smooth, Jax,” I mutter to myself. “Really nailed that one.”
I swing a leg over my bike, sit there without starting it yet.
She didn’t say it. She didn’t admit it.
But her body did. Her choices did. The way she shook when I stopped did.
She cares. She just hates herself for it.
I drag a hand down my face, exhale hard, and finally turn the key. The engine roars to life, familiar and loud, covering the mess in my head.
I pull away from the curb, but I don’t go far. Not really. Whether she likes it or not, I’m already in this.
And next time, I’m getting the words from her.