Chapter Six
Jill
I’m squinting against the daylight in my room before my eyes even open. Every one of my muscles aches, either from the amount of alcohol I consumed last night or the intense amount of dancing—probably both. A low groan leaves me as I sit up slowly and prop myself up against my backboard. Inhaling a deep breath, the faint scent of leather blended with tobacco, and a warm musk fills my nose.
Gage.
I inhale again but can only pick out my amber room spray, making me question what I thought I smelled before. Am I still drunk? No, I’m too miserable.
Damn, I’ve completely lost it.
My head feels like a ball of lead, and fatigue pulls at my limbs until they’re heavy. I huff out a breath and rake a hand through my wild hair. Last night is a blur of drinking, laughing, dancing, and more drinking. And now my body is revolting against it.
Woof.
What time is it? I’m never drinking again.
Looking over at my nightstand in search of my phone, my eyes snag on the bottle of water and pain pills waiting for me. Wow, drunk Jill has really been on top of her shit lately. It feels out of character, but I’ll take it.
Reaching for the Ibuprofen, I toss the pills into my mouth before cracking open the bottle of water. Tilting my head back, I gulp the water to swallow the pills and chug the rest until the bottle is empty. The liquid feels so good going down my dry throat.
Dragging myself out of the bed, my body screams at me for partying so hard. Nausea rolls in my stomach, and I have to cover my mouth to fight the urge to gag. Shuffling towards the living room, I scowl at the bright sunlight bathing my apartment.
“I’m never drinking again,” I mutter, looking around my apartment. Walking around, I lift pieces of clutter in search of my purse. Hearing the faint ding of a notification coming from the kitchen, I finally find my bag on the floor behind the kitchen island. Digging through it, I pull out my phone to find several notifications, including three texts from Lana and one from my friend, Sierra, inviting me to a pool party at her luxury apartment.
Lana’s off work today, and I could use a day poolside, so I respond to my best friend’s text and invite her to the party as my plus one. After hitting send, I put my phone down and brace myself on the counter against the pounding in my skull.
Spying a mini bottle of Jack Daniels out of the corner of my eye, I snag it and crack it open. A little hair of the dog will ease the pain, and what’s one more drink? Bringing the bottle up towards my mouth, I halt before it touches my lips.
The image of a rancid memory has my gut churning painfully. My dad stumbling into the kitchen in the morning and hunching over the counter while he added three ounces of brandy to his coffee. His hands shaking and a permanent scowl on his face until he was on his second cup.
I knew better than to try and talk to him before he’d had his first beer of the day, which was usually around ten in the morning. When I was six years old, he backhanded me for trying to get him to drink a glass of water instead—it’s how I lost my first tooth. I never made that mistake again.
Disgust twists inside me as I lower my arm and walk across the kitchen to the sink. Tipping the mini bottle upside down, I watch the amber liquid disappear down the drain.
I won’t be like him.
Instead, I make myself a chai latte and plop down onto the couch. It’s gonna take a nice long rotting session in front of the TV before I’m able to function like a normal human being, let alone go to a party.
Strolling out into the party, arm in arm with Lana, the pool deck is buzzing with music and partiers. Spotting Sierra at the drink station, we head her way. The leggy brunette lifts her drink and does a little shimmy when she sees us coming.
“Hey,” she calls, drawing the word out dramatically. Lana and I dance up to her, vibing with the music for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Glad you could come.”
“Are you kidding? A party with you at this nice pool? We wouldn’t miss it.” Lana pushes her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to check out a hot guy walking by. “This building is nicer than I thought. Maybe I need to move.”
“You could try, but the waitlist is currently three years long, and they vet their tenants more thoroughly than the state senate,” Sierra laughs. “I only got in because the owner of the building had a crush on my mom in college.”
“Damn, with a wait time like that, by the time I get to the top of the list, I won’t be hot anymore.” Lana replaces her glasses and flips her hair. “I’ll just stick to flirting with the residents.”
Sierra tilts her head back and laughs. She opens her mouth to say something but gets interrupted before she gets the chance. “Sierra, Taylor is looking for you,” a guy calls from across the pool.
“Coming!” she yells back, turning back to us. “You two get some drinks and have fun. I’ll find you later.” With that, she’s walking around the pool.
Snagging some sparkling water, Lana and I find some lounge chairs in a nice sunny spot to settle on. Setting down our drinks, we pull off our coverups before laying down to soak in some rays. Pulling the crochet mini dress over my head to stand in my bikini, my eyes can’t help but look over enviously at the lack of cellulite on Lana’s thighs and round ass. I know that the sunlight is harsh against the dimples, creases, and stretchmarks on my skin, and the idea of putting my coverup back on crosses my mind more than once.
But seeing Lana standing so boldly, embracing her body in the pink monokini without a second thought, empowers me to toss the dress aside before lowering onto the chair. Laying in the sun, Lana and I chat a little bit while we watch the other partiers around the different parts of the deck.
Several people surround the pool, sitting on the edge, standing in the water, or messing around on floaties. Clusters of people dance and drink while others eat tacos from the food cart in the corner. Lana’s head moves as she scans the crowds, her eyes catching on someone off to the side.
“You have eyes on you,” Lana says, nodding to my left. “Gage really has his minions following you around?” I follow her gaze to find Anders standing on the other side of the pool. But I’m not the one his eyes are zeroed in on.
“He’s not looking at me,” I inform her with a knowing tone.
“He’s coming over,” Lana murmurs, replacing her sunglasses and situating herself on the lounge chair like she doesn’t have a care in the world. A moment later, a tall figure stands at the end of our chairs. Anders stands shirtless in a pair of orange swim trunks, the sunlight glowing against his melanin-rich skin. I look up to see him smile at me before his gaze latches on the blonde next to me.
“Jill, what a pleasant surprise seeing you here.” His eyes remain boldly on Lana. “How you doing?”
“Hi there.” Lana’s fingers flutter in a flirty wave as she slides her sunglasses to rest on the top of her head.
“Anders, this is my best friend, Lana,” I introduce. “He’s friends with Gage.”
“Are you a psycho stalker, too?” Lana asks, looking him up and down. Her tone hasn’t lost its flirty undertone, but her gaze has sharpened.
“I’m definitely considering it now that I’ve met you,” he replies smoothly, licking his bottom lip in appreciation as he openly checks her out. “Let me get you ladies a drink.”
“I’m not drinking today,” I inform him. My skin is overheating, and I spot Sierra in the pool. “I’m gonna go for a dip, but you two have fun.” Standing up, I make intentional eye contact with Lana before sauntering away.
Joining the others in the water, I strike up a conversation with Sierra and her girlfriend, Taylor. Splashing around in the water, we laugh and dance, and I soak up as much sun as I can before it’s time to get ready for another night at work.
Nothing gets rid of the buzz from a fun day by the pool like going into work. Walking into the empty club, I let out a heavy sigh. Being called in early with the instructions to ‘clean and prep the bar’ adds insult to injury. Miranda didn’t specify who wanted me here by myself before anyone else arrives, but I can guess.
“Are you going to just keep lurking in the shadows watching me?” I call over my shoulder, not bothering to look back at the man I can sense behind me as I wipe down the counter.
“You know how much I like to watch,” Gage says, getting closer. “You’re in quite a mood tonight.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, adding some false sweetness to my tone. “I’m a bartender. Why would I be in a mood when I get to come into work early to clean and play barback?” My movements as I clean are more aggressive than needed, but I don’t give a shit.
“And you’re doing such a good job.” His comment is bait for my attention, but I don’t bite. I ignore him instead. The irritation underlying his taunting is satisfying. “Don’t be like that. I was just about to have you make me a drink.”
My hands still and I suck in a deep breath as I force myself to remain calm. Pasting on my best customer service smile, I turn to face him.
“What can I make for you, sir?” Gage stands with his arms crossed over his broad chest, eyes smoldering and head slightly tilted as he watches me.
“I’ll have a Boulevardier.”
His drink order is a complex mixed cocktail that calls for bourbon. Pulling the necessary bottles from the shelves, I add the ingredients in balanced measurements into an ice-filled shaker. I don’t miss how Gage’s eyes wander when I lift my arms to mix the cocktail in the shaker. His phone rings and he turns his back to me as he answers. I pull out a chilled glass to pour the cocktail into, adding an orange wedge as a garnish.
Placing the drink in front of him, I wait for him to hang up and turn around to grab it before reaching under the counter for my knife. He takes a leisurely drink as if he’s enjoying a quiet moment with a friend. The metal handle bites into my palm as I squeeze the weapon, my hand itching to lash out and see what color Gage bleeds. A simple red seems far too commonplace for a dark entity like him. I bet the color of his blood will look great against my complexion.
“Getting rid of me won’t wipe out your debt.” His words have surprise trickling through me, though I don’t show it. “It just means you’ll answer to someone else—someone a lot less attentive to your needs.”
What would make him say that to me?
He tilts his head back with a lazy smile, looking down at me with heated hooded eyes, making my urges swell and my pussy throb. “Plus, I’m a lot harder to kill than you think, little devil.”
“I don’t know,” I reply easily, casually offering him a falsely innocent smile. “You took that drink awful fast.”
Gage’s gaze burns into mine as he presses the glass to his lips again. But not before I’ve seen it—the hesitation. The flicker of doubt as his mind races with the possibilities of what I might have done. What I can still do to him at any time.
As he tips his head back to swallow the last of the liquid to prove his point, I know it burns differently going down.
“Then again, men aren’t usually the ones worrying about what’s in their glass.” I lean onto the counter, my self-satisfied smile wide as I flash him my cleavage just for the hell of it. “But maybe they should be. It really could be anything.”
“You didn’t put anything in my drink. That’s not your style.” His choice of words creep under my skin. Gage thinks he knows me after following me for a few days? He has no idea who he’s dealing with.
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Hey, boss, the truck is here to pick up the old ice machine.” Jax appears in the doorway to the back hallway. “What do you want me to tell them?” Gage looks over at the bouncer before glancing back at me. I meet his stare head-on, raising my brows expectantly.
“Sounds like you should go,” I say, adding an extra thick layer of sarcasm when I add “boss.” Gage stands in silence for a moment, in no hurry to move from his spot, watching me. Picking up his glass off the bar, his eyes remain locked with mine as he drains it down to the very last drop.
Then the fucker licks his lips.
“See you later.”