Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
Inside, chaos and comfort swirl together in perfect harmony.
Andi’s already drinking solo in a booth, looking like she’s two seconds from biting someone’s head off.
Casey’s off in a dim corner with a few of our groupies, clearly partaking in more than just conversation.
Alana, Kristy, and Luke are huddled together, deep in some strategy talk.
This is home.
Messy, loud, chaotic… but home.
I scan the room again, and my gaze lands on Andi.
She looks rough, like she’s barely holding herself together.
I haven’t had a proper talk with her since that whole pixie-joke incident, and the air between us has been thick ever since.
I’m not great at holding grudges, especially not with someone I care about this much. So I steel myself and head toward her.
Raoul steps aside as I approach her booth. Andi’s lip curls when she sees me, but she doesn’t say anything. Just tips back her whiskey like it’s medicine.
I slide into the seat opposite her. “Andi… I love you.”
She pauses mid-drink, eyes narrowing. “What?”
“I love you.”
She frowns. “Yeah, I heard you. I’m just confused why you’re saying it.”
I lean forward, reaching across the table to take her hand. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away. She lets me thread my fingers through hers.
“Whatever’s going on with you, you’re pushing people away. But I want you to know that I see you. I care. You’re one of my best friends, Andi. And even if you’re a pain in the ass right now, I still love you.”
Her shoulders slump, her hard shell cracks just a little. “I’m sorry, Eff. That pixie thing… it was harsh. I didn’t mean it.”
“I know.”
She sighs. “Tank pushes. He wants answers I’m not ready to give.”
“But you have answers?” I prod gently.
“I think so.”
Her hair is dyed pitch-black now, her makeup heavy, her vibe darker than usual. She looks like she’s been wading through emotional quicksand and losing.
“I think I might have… lesbian tendencies,” she mumbles, eyes down.
I blink, then grin. “You think you’re a lesbian?”
She shakes her head. “No…. maybe… I don’t know. That’s the problem. I’m confused. I like guys. I like girls. I just… I’m stuck in this no-man’s-land.”
I squeeze her hand tighter. “You’re bisexual, Andi. You’re allowed to like both. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Her eyes lift to the ceiling like the idea’s just clicked for the first time. “Bisexual! Well, fuck!”
“It’s okay to be confused, but now it has clicked you can own it. Don’t let it eat you up anymore.”
She chuckles weakly. “Tank’s amazing. Kind, sweet, annoyingly hot. But now I don’t know what to do. Explore? Tell him? Do both?”
“Only you know that answer,” I say. “But maybe talk to him. He seems open-minded enough. Might even surprise you.”
She nods slowly, then smiles. “Thanks, Eff. I should’ve come to you sooner.”
“I’m always here for a pep talk.”
“I know.” She laughs as shouting erupts from the far side of the bar.
We both look up to see two Swift Division members full-on fighting. Like, throwing punches, knocking over furniture, kind of fighting.
Raoul turns to me, waiting.
“Go,” I say. “Break it up. I’m good here.”
He signals the other security guys and rushes off.
Andi watches the chaos for a second and mutters, “I don’t understand those guys… At. All.”
“Not even me?” a deep voice purrs beside us.
Jett.
He strolls up with a beer in one hand and a pink cocktail in the other. My stomach tightens, then he slides into the booth beside me without asking. His leg brushes mine, and I shrink back.
Andi groans. “Yeah, especially you, Jett. Thanks for the talk, Effa. But this is where I exit.” She stands and walks off.
Fuck! I widen my eyes, silently begging her not to go. But she doesn’t notice and disappears into the crowd.
I’m alone.
With him.
Jett leans closer and places the cocktail in front of me. “Your favorite. Tropical, sweet, just like you.”
My skin crawls at his words, and I plaster on a weak smile before sipping the drink. It is good. Dangerously so.
“Is there something you want, Jett?” I ask over the music, my eyes darting toward the brawl Raoul is still handling.
He wraps his arm around my shoulders, and I freeze. I should move. I want to move. But I don’t. Because right now, I’m alone and Mercs isn’t here, Raoul is distracted, and I don’t want to make a scene.
“I was thinking maybe… after the tour, we keep in touch,” Jett says, his voice low, lips near my ear.
I take a long sip of the cocktail, trying to think. “Yeah, maybe.”
He pulls me closer, and I swallow hard.
I glance across the bar where Raoul and the others are still trying to wrestle the Swift Division guys apart.
His finger runs along the condensation on my glass, and he grins. “Nice drink, huh?”
I nod, then take another sip.
But this time… something’s wrong.
A wave of heat crashes through me. Everything wobbles. My stomach swirls.
“You okay, cupcake?” Jett asks. “You’re lookin’ a little hazy.”
I blink, my vision doubling. I tip forward, my hands flat on the table, trying to stay upright.
Jett’s hand rubs my back. “Easy, cupcake. Let me help you.”
I try to stand, but my knees buckle, and Jett catches me.
“I don’t feel so g-good.”
“I got you,” he says, dragging me with him. “I’ll make you feel so good.”
No.
No.
No.
My brain screams it, but my mouth won’t form the words. I stumble, the music becoming muffled behind the pounding in my ears. My limbs are heavy, and the world is spinning.
“I need… my room,” I mumble, barely able to hold my head up.
Colors blur.
Shapes melt together.
Panic sets in.
Something’s wrong.
Something’s very wrong.
He’s pulling me, fast, toward the exit, and I can’t fight him because my body isn’t responding.
Then—
A flash of movement.
A silhouette I know better than my own reflection.
“Mercs…” I whisper, barely audible, voice slurred. “H-help m-me…”
And then everything goes dark.