Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kira
Idon’t hate him. I hate myself.
And I hate Nix for snoring so loudly.
Turning over in bed, I try to shimmy as far away from her as I can. She doesn’t want to sleep in her room, and I don’t blame her. For one, there’s no floor, and two… Well, I’m trying really hard not to believe in ghosts because I have enough problems.
And despite all of them, Jax is sitting comfortably at the top.
All I want to do is sleep, something deep enough to get him out of my head.
But between the snorting hog next to me and the fact that I’m sweating even though it’s freezing in here, the moment I gave in to him is on a vicious loop.
How could I be so stupid? I let the cocky bastard carve another notch in his bedpost.
And I liked it.
I’m supposed to be smart. I’ve always prided myself on my ability to snub the dangerous ones, regardless of how smooth-talking they were.
I can see through bullshit and throw up a wall against the promise of dick because my life is taking care of my sister—making sure we have food and a roof, and walking the straight and narrow—not fooling around with someone who has blood on their hands.
I know better.
I know better than to get involved with trouble, no matter how tight trouble’s black tee and jeans are, or how delectably their tattoos wrap around their biceps, or how their single dimple appears when they smile.
I just know better. And I certainly don’t bring them home, let alone fuck them on the kitchen counter.
Stupid.
Kicking off the comforter in both frustration and the pursuit of cool air, I squeeze my eyes shut.
At least I didn’t let the doctor take out my birth control like he wanted. Then I would really be fucked. Not only would I have to worry about life in prison, but I would have to worry about giving birth in prison. I shudder at the thought.
Because that’s where I’m going, sooner or later.
That Detective Layton, regardless of what Jax said, could see right through me, and I don’t doubt he’s making a case against me right this second. He probably has a whole murder board with my face pinned dead center with red thread and a growing list of questions to corner me with.
Part of me is thankful because if that’s so, that means that Nix is in the clear, but the other part of me wants to crawl under the bed and sob.
I’m not cut out for this shit. I thought I could handle anything, but apparently that’s only poverty. I’m built for late shifts and taking care of Nix and scraping by, not hiding bodies and lying to detectives and fucking men who kill for a living.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to spiral, trying not to think about the way Jax’s breath felt in my ear, or the way he said I would be his.
That’s the real problem. Not the sex. Not even the risk. Not the way his hands gripped my waist in possession.
The problem is, for a second, one stupid, reckless second, I wanted to be his.
And now I can’t stop thinking about it.
I’ve never wanted or needed a man to save me.
But at that moment, God, I wanted nothing more than to let him handle everything like he said he would—I wanted to believe he would.
And for one second, I did. The weight of the world left my shoulders.
I could breathe. I mean, Jax Landon burns bodies, and if I was his, what wouldn’t he do to make sure I was okay?
I reveled in it as he fucked me—reveled in the fact that he keeps a gun tucked into his waistband and could whip it out at anyone who tried to make my life harder than it already is.
Because I am so, so tired of doing everything alone. Would it be so bad to be his?
I shake my head abruptly and sit up. Yes. Letting him do the things he does—for me—would only cause more trouble.
And I don’t want someone like him near Nix.
I twist to look at her. She’s face-first on the mattress, and it’s no wonder she sounds like a hog, but she’s my hog. I made a horrible mistake letting Marshal get close, I won’t make the same one with Jax.
Getting up, I slip my fingers between the blinds and peek at Nosy Nellie’s for the hundredth time, fluffing my shirt to dry the sweat as I do.
My bedroom window looks out to her front porch, as opposed to the living room looking out at her side windows.
It’s still dark in her house, and my stomach turns.
Are all her things just going to sit there… untouched? What about the food in her fridge? Is it going to spoil? Did she have clothes in the washing machine? Are they mildewing?
She would be alive if it wasn’t for Jax. He may not have pulled the trigger, but he sure as fuck brought the man with the gun. I can’t allow myself to think he can handle anything. That detective is going to come back. I just know it. I need to—
A sharp pain shoots under my left breast. A cluster of thumbtacks impales me and takes my breath away, forcing me to let go of the blinds to clutch at it. Fuck. I stifle a yelp and hunch over.
Did I take my medication?
Steeling myself, I shuffle into the kitchen and try to suck in air around the increasing tightness. The lineup of orange bottles on the counter swims in my vision, and an actual bead of sweat drips into my eye.
What in the fuck?
Temporarily blinded, I grit my teeth against the stinging and force myself to blink as another shooting pain almost takes me to my knees.
“Please,” I whimper, panic finding me.
There’s no way I’m going back to the hospital. I can’t. Whatever is happening needs to stop. Now.
I scramble for any bottle I can, hands shaking, and dump it out. Tiny ovals scatter as I desperately try to pin one down. Catching one, I toss it onto my tongue and dump another bottle. I do it four more times until my mouth is full, and then I dry swallow—or I try to.
The pills stick in my throat.
In a haste, I flip on the tap and put my lips under, suckling like a hamster before I choke to death. The water tastes like the metal and mold of city pipes, and I gag halfway through but force it down, clawing at my throat like it’ll help shove the meds into my system faster.
I don’t even know if I’m supposed to take all of them together like this, but something is happening, and it cannot happen.
My spine smacks the fridge as I stumble back, chest pulsing in uneven bursts. My legs are suddenly weak, and I have to push off to grab the counter top with a sweaty palm, nails scraping the laminate.
Don’t black out. Don’t black out. Don’t black out.
The room tilts. The floor’s too far away and way too close at the same time. A buzzing fills my ears, and my heart punches faster. This isn’t normal. Something’s wrong.
“Come on, come on,” I hiss as if I can get the medication to work faster.
I press my cheek against the cool counter, and my warped reflection stares back at me from the toaster. Sweat shines on my forehead, and my lips are white. Why are they white?!
“No. No. No,” I whisper to myself. “Get it together.”
I slam my fist into the counter just to feel something—pain, control, anything to anchor me, but it’s barely a tap. My vision hiccups in patches of static. The toaster warps again, doubling like a funhouse mirror.
My body’s too hot and too cold, twitching in weird pulses like I’m being electrocuted from the inside. My knees hit the floor, but I barely feel it.
This is it. This is how I die—suffocating on my own fucking heartbeat on the kitchen floor. How pathetic.
But, maybe… maybe it’s better than prison…
Karma taking me out sounds better than justice. At least it would be swift—no slow decay behind bars while Nix visits me every week, wrapped in her university sweatshirt, trying to act like things are normal.
Nix.
She’ll find me in the morning, and then she’ll be on her own. Will she manage to hold herself together long enough to graduate? Or will the weight I’ve been carrying all these years finally collapse onto her shoulders?
The image of her picking up a night shift at Bell’s, forced into that degrading crop top they make us wear, nearly undoes me.
Will it break her like it broke me?
I force myself to crawl to the fridge. I can’t die. I can’t leave her. Yanking open the door, cool air hits me with relief. Curling into it, I put a thigh against the crisper and my face against a shelf ledge. I try to keep my eyes open, but I’m suddenly drowsy.
I sure hope I wake up.