Chapter 2
Raven
This is bullshit.
Behind me, Jinx hums to fill the heavy silence. He doesn’t know how to take a hint. While I get that he can’t go and disobey a direct order, does he really need to sit at the bar? He was completely fine where he was, with his buddies. Far away enough that I could pretend he didn’t exist.
“What’s the sour face for?” Leaning against his propped-up hand, he watches me shamelessly. Doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes flick down to the soles of my boots before slowly dragging back up. Like a dog who’s spotted a juicy T-bone steak. Disgusting.
Shooting a glare in his direction, he doesn’t even bat an eye. Unless I have something sharp pointed at his jugular, he feels safe. If he thinks he can treat me like those women who swarm around him, he’s got another thing coming.
I don’t see him as some charmer. He’s a pain in my ass.
Ignoring his question, my eyes drift over to my sister. While I’m here suffering, she looks so happy to be watched over by Judge. Even now, she’s smiling so big, I’m surprised her face doesn’t hurt.
To her, this is a fantasy come true. She’s been crushing on the guy since day one, so I can only imagine what’s going on in that head of hers. She’s… happy. Meaning, I should be happy, too.
Taking in the older male, I see he’s relaxed around her. That’s how it’s always been between the two. A match made in heaven, I guess.
“How come you worry so much about her all the time?” Jinx’s voice is closer this time, and I realize he’s dared to cut the space between us shorter. “It’s not just her. You’re always so sweet to all the women, but us poor men? It’s like we’re chopped liver.”
Gritting my jaw, I glare at him. “Yes, you poor men.”
It’s these ‘poor’ men that cause all the sweetbutts to come crying to me when their hearts are broken because some of these guys refuse to settle.
A lot of them just want to have a fun time, not giving a damn about how the other person feels.
I’ve had to take care of women beaten and bruised who found their way to the club.
And with what happened to my sister when we were younger…
Yeah, I don’t have much compassion for them, I’m afraid to say.
He arches a brow at my glare, probably trying to figure out what I’m thinking. With him, I’m going to have to spell it out to him to get it through his thick skull.
“I think you’re a pig, that’s why I don’t like you.” Hardly hesitating to tell him the truth, I don’t try to save his feelings. Most people here think I’m a bitch anyway, and that’s a status I don’t want to give up.
If I’m not liked, then I don’t have to worry about anyone trying to get close to me.
His mouth quips up even higher, that smile of his feeling more like a taunt than anything else. Knowing him, he’s probably debating what I’ll do if he oinks at me.
Hardly looking insulted, he taps his fingers against the wooden surface. Pausing for the longest time and teasing me with blissful silence, he makes the poor decision to open his mouth again. “Is it jealousy?”
I sputter. “What in the hell do I have to be jealous about?”
His smile curves into a smirk. “Well, I get laid all the time. Like, every weekend guaranteed. I could go talk to the girls now, and one of them would want to sneak off, you know?”
Staring at him, I watch as he cockily compliments himself. Listening to every other word, I squint and try to see it.
Rosie’s a big fan of his. Aqua, too. Many of the women who dominate Lacey’s, really. Maybe I could ask them what the deal is. If he talks in bed as much as he does now, I pity his partners. I’d want to staple his mouth shut.
Realizing that my curiosity is running a little too thick here, I focus on him, still talking about himself. Jesus. Is he trying to convince me that he’s worth my time?
I don’t think I’ve ever thought about giving myself to anyone here. Well, maybe once or twice with some of the less frequent members, but nothing serious enough to follow through.
“When was the last time you let someone between your thighs? If I have to guess, with how long I’ve been here, it must have been at least a year.” That mocking curve turns cruel. “Must be terrible not having anyone want you for that long.”
His words don’t just fade away as most insults do. It’s as if he knows exactly how to say things that cut deep, his words piercing me like a hard slap to the face.
I move without thinking. Reaching for him, I get a hold of his shirt and pull hard enough to make him grunt, hard enough to stretch out his shirt. His smirk flickers, but it ultimately remains like he wants me to be the first one to swing.
He’d swing back, wouldn’t he? Fuck, maybe that’s what I need.
Would he fight me if I challenged him?
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a piece of shit?” My voice shakes. Shit.
“At least once a week by a beauty with a stick up her ass. Do you know her? Maybe you can tell her to take a chill pill and learn how to take a joke.” His smile slips away, revealing a frown that matches my own.
It lasts as long as it takes to swat my hand away.
“This is a favorite. Don’t stretch it out. ”
And now he’s worried about his appearance. I can’t put up with this for more than five minutes, let alone however long this Crimson Road mess will take to clean up.
I need to release all this anger. Otherwise, I’m going to get in trouble for fighting outside of a sparring match. I’m going to punch him and take a hit in return. We’ll deal blows until one of us hits the ground, and I’ll be damned if it’s me.
Hell, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop hitting him until he’s dead, if it’s a real fight.
Judge already made it clear the last time I got in a serious fight with one of the members. He won’t come in and save the day again if I’m the one starting it.
Not to say I’m afraid of any of them, but I can’t risk him seeing me as some kind of threat and giving me the boot. Even if he’s madly in love with Pen, there’s only so much immunity I can get out of that.
Turning away with a frustrated growl, I take a step back before I do something stupid. Hammer already suggested I count to ten whenever I’m angry, so I try that. When Jinx chuckles, I stop at three and turn on my heel.
Counting isn’t what I need. Distance is.
“Where are you going?” He stumbles off his stool to catch up with me when I try to speed walk away.
Meaning, if I attempt to run, this ass is going to chase after me. Lovely. The whole club would enjoy an entertaining show like that, wouldn’t they?
“To clear my head.” Muttering the words, I reach the back of the bar and slip deeper into the clubhouse. Hearing his heavy steps behind me, I keep my attention ahead of me. Can’t think about him being forced to cling to me. If I do, I’m going to blow my top.
If I’m forced to accept this, to accept him, then I need to hit something. It just can’t be his stupid smiling face.
We reach the door belonging to my and Pen’s room. It’s the one place in this entire building that I can call our own. A place I can breathe and enjoy a little solitude.
Turning the handle, I pause when I realize Jinx intends to follow.
“Don’t even think about it.” Hissing through my teeth, I squeeze the handle tight. I’ve never let someone into our room before, and I have no intention of changing that.
Jinx doesn’t flinch, but I can see his impatience flickering behind his gaze. Makes his smile unsettling. “You heard the boss. I’d take his warning seriously. And to be truthful, not that I care about saving your feelings, I don’t want to be tied together with you.”
He then shoves the door open with a swift push, making me stumble into the opening. Asshole.
Forced to be followed into the room, my eyes wander around for anything sharp. The best I can see is Pen’s hairbrush. Fuck.
“I need to get dressed. It’ll take me two minutes. Until then, get out.” Jerking my chin to the open door, I annunciate the words so he can get the demand through his thick skull.
Jinx turns, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, the bastard shuts the door.
Then, the smile is back. He’s only doing it to make me angry.
Of course, it’s working. “The best I can do is give you some privacy from the others. Can’t have you slipping out of the window and getting captured by some Crimson Road thug now, can I? ”
Is he going to hold my hand when I’m on the toilet and join me while I shower, too?
Growling my annoyance, he doesn’t flinch this time. Already getting used to my responses, he crosses his arms at his chest and lifts a brow.
I can’t remember the last time someone has purposely pushed my buttons. No, jabbed my buttons.
I don’t want to release this pent-up anger in jeans stained with alcohol. Breathing in deep, the noise that leaves me is pure frustration.
“Turn around.” The order leaves me sharp.
He doesn’t. Instead, his eyes fill with amusement, and I realize this bastard is enjoying making me suffer. That’s what this is to him, isn’t it? Some form of entertainment?
My hands clench up hard, tight enough to make them shake.
I can’t remember the last time I wanted to kill someone.
“I’ve got to keep a close eye on you. Maybe if you didn’t spend so much time threatening me, I’d be able to spare you an ounce of trust to give you my back.” His eyes sparkle with amusement. “I mean, you might try to kill me for all I know.”
As all of my emotions bubble up, something else comes with them. Something I don’t like one bit. Humiliation. Heat starts at my throat, and I feel every inch of it dragging up my throat and toward my cheeks. “Please. I don’t want you to see me naked, alright?”
No matter what, I won’t ever let anyone see me without clothes. That’s the one thing that’s stopped me from ever going through with giving myself to someone.
He parts his lips, ready to say something else, but stops himself at my sudden grimace. He tears his eyes away and lets out a long, exaggerated sigh. Rubbing the back of his neck, he turns. “Make me regret turning around, and I’ll return the favor tenfold. Two minutes, alright?”
Swallowing down the immediate thought of thanking him, I have to remind myself that he shouldn’t be in here in the first place. Knowing I can’t hand out even a sliver of trust, I’m forced to hope he’ll keep his word.
Stumbling to yank my clothes off, I don’t test his words. Replacing my shirt with a tank top, I hesitate when it comes to my jeans. Taking in a shaky inhale, I force them down.
Penelope and I may be identical in the face, but I think that’s where the matching stops. Below the collar, while she’s perfect and flawless, I’m… not.
I’ve got scars. A lot of them. The ones on my arms and chest aren’t too impressive. Earned in brawls and a few back-and-forths, those are badges I’ve earned. However, the scars that linger lower are more shameful than anything else.
The faded white lines on my thighs have become less visible over the years. Still, in the right light, they’re impossible to ignore. When I think about anyone seeing them, they burn like the cuts were freshly made.
The last person I need to see this flaw of mine is someone who enjoys the sound of his own voice.
“Thirty seconds,” he calls out, picking up on my pause.
Huffing under my breath, I snatch a pair of sweats to pull up on my hips. I can’t even insult him, not without risking him changing his mind.
Once I’m covered, I’m moving past him. Hardly to my surprise, he follows.
“Where are we going?” Curious enough to ask near my shoulder, I fight the urge to shove an elbow in his face.
Breathing in deep enough to make my lungs expand to their full capacity, I somehow keep my words even. “Somewhere to get my anger out without punching you.”