Chapter 4 Raven
Raven
For a short period, I get a little peace in my life. For about thirty minutes, Jinx leaves me with the two foster brothers so he can race home to snag some clothes.
Smoke and Ace keep giving me side eyes like they’re nervous. Good. That’s how I want them to look at me. Fear is a weapon I learned to use at a young age. It’s amazing how easy it is to keep people away from me once they’re uncomfortable enough to squirm.
Both of them keep eyeing the sore on my face, a cost for sparring. Thankfully, Jinx didn’t hit hard enough to make anything swell. The pain radiating there is a reminder that I need to get stronger.
Pouting my lips at the reminder, I shoot a glare in their direction to make their gazes drop.
Jinx thinks the two of them will be able to keep me here at the bar, and a small part of me wants to catch Judge to show I’m all alone. All because of the shit he pulled earlier.
Crashing onto him shouldn’t have happened.
My elbows are still tingling from hitting the mat, and my body keeps reminding me how it felt to have all that hard muscle pressed up against every inch of my body.
Fuck, even my face was too close to his.
I had to see that frustrating smile up close. Too close.
Gross.
“Are you nervous?” Smoke eyes Ace, watching him cradle his glass of mocktail. “Hell, are you even going to get any sleep tonight?”
Ace groans softly before sipping at his drink. “If I’m lucky. Might be the last night I sleep at all.”
Tomorrow’s the big day. They’re finally going to take care of Crimson Road. Thank goodness. All it took was for Pen to get threatened for her knight and shining armor to appear.
Turning away, I head toward the good stuff. Pouring myself a shot of fireball, I shoot back the amber-colored liquid and enjoy the entire hot slide down my throat. I don’t drink often enough, only when I feel like this. Like I’m unlike myself.
I don’t ever feel any badwill toward my sister. Especially not jealousy of what she has. Hell, she’s the one person who deserves a man who’ll treat her right after everything she’s been put through…
Speak of the devil, and he’ll appear.
Like she knows I’m thinking about her, the two of them appear without any warning.
Seeing Penelope pop up with Judge at her tail, I turn without thinking, choking on my drink. It burns the hell out of my nostrils.
Fuck.
Ace notices my panic and hums in the back of his throat as he turns to see what spooked me. “That’s not good. He’s going to get torn a new asshole if Judge realizes.”
Yeah, no shit.
I don’t care what happens to that annoying asshole. What I’m more worried about is myself. Yeah, that’s it. If Judge sees me alone, he might actually go through with his threat earlier about handcuffs.
Smoke sniffs, keeping his eyes forward. “Judge won’t look anywhere but at what is right in front of him.”
He’s talking about Penelope. Despite Judge not outright saying his feelings for her, I’m pretty confident everyone knows where he stands. At this point, he’s the only one who thinks it’s still a secret.
Returning my gaze to them, for a few seconds, it’s not worry that nips at my chest.
Her eyes are bright, her smile wide as she stays on the same side of the bar as him. Settling so close to the other, I’m surprised their knees don’t touch.
They’re so obvious, it hurts. She’s happy and in love, finding the man of her dreams, and I’m…
“Jealous?” Jinx appears, a duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. Seeing that I’m still behind the bar instead of finding a place to run to, he tucks himself between the brothers and smiles at me as he catches a hint of longing behind my gaze.
Scoffing, I turn away and snatch a towel so I can scrub the droplets of fruity syrups clinging to the wood.
Like he enjoys my silence, he hums in approval before thanking the two of them for doing him a favor.
Ace comments on his bruised cheek, and not even that makes me feel better when he admits he took a hit. I should correct him and reveal that he took quite a few.
Unfortunately, Jinx decides he’s in the mood to make me feel worse.
This may be his payback for what I’ve done.
It’s a talent of his, and it’s one I’m normally happy to meet halfway.
But thinking about the impossible, about kind of wanting what Penelope has, has suddenly made me feel a little sick on the inside.
“Think you can throw something like what he’s having together before we head to bed?” Sending me a wink, Jinx’s smile is instant, but I can’t even muster up a snarl.
I hate feeling like this. Feels like a weakness, a festering wound I can’t take care of.
Smoke snorts in the back of his throat, and heat claws at mine.
He’s trying to get a reaction out of me to show off to the other prospects, isn’t he? Shame I’m not some kind of entertainment. He’ll have to look elsewhere.
“Make something yourself.” Huffing the words, I turn away from his smile and toss down the towel.
There’s this knot in my chest, one that’s growing too big to ignore. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s called me out, and I can’t even correct him.
Penelope deserves every ounce of happiness sent her way, yet he’s right. Yeah, I am jealous. Jealous that I have yet to find someone to make me feel the same way. Jealous that there isn’t a man who is brave enough to look at me like Judge looks at her.
At twenty-five years old, it can’t be a total surprise that deep down, I want a taste of happiness, too. I don’t want to die alone.
But now here I am, stuck with one who reminds me why I won’t find that kind of love here. These bikers frustrate me too much.
Jinx murmurs his thanks to the other two before he rushes to join me. Surprise, I guess he’s not as thirsty as he thought.
Humming behind me, I think he truly enjoys aggravating me. I don’t understand what he gets out of it, but I don’t think I ever will.
Reaching the door, I don’t have the mental strength to argue with him coming inside.
He’s set on staying in my space. Opening the door, I slip inside with him following close behind.
The clasp of the door shutting and the thump of his bag hitting the ground are the beautiful sounds of this awful night ending.
I’m ready for sleep. I need my rest. But first, I need to change.
Pajamas. Shit. How many times am I going to have to get changed in front of him?
Jinx is a mind reader because he automatically has the same mindset. Probably doesn’t want to keep playing games and going back and forth. If he’s like me, exhaustion is probably prickling at his eyes.
“We don’t look at each other, yeah?” He cocks a brow, kneeling down to dig around in his bag.
As if I’d want to see him naked. No thanks. Even if I’m mildly curious about some of the men here, very mildly, this guy is nowhere close to that list.
“Sure.” Tugging off my tanktop, I drop it in the corner. Giving him my back doesn’t feel great, but what other choice do I have? For just a few minutes, I’ll have to lower my guard.
Fear doesn’t prickle at my skin, and it’s surprisingly nice. Is it because he’s busy getting changed himself? That must be it.
My fingers dip into the waistband of my sweats before I shove them down, cool air graciously nipping at my heated skin. Some of these summer nights are too cruel. Like always, I shove the thought away before I start considering stealing a pair of my sister’s shorts.
Behind me, I hear a shirt hit the ground. Then the weight of his jeans joins it. Unprompted, a curious image flickers through my mind.
There’s a tiny, impossibly small curiosity that burns in the corners of my brain.
Once more, the same questions from earlier start popping up.
What is so good about the guy? Why do the women flock to him?
He might have a punchable face, but what about the rest of him?
Is it his cock? I’ve heard the big ones feel good, but apparently, if they know how to use it, that’s where it really matters.
He probably knows how to use it.
Sometimes, I wish I could wear earplugs when some of these people start gossiping.
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I hesitate. Soon, my curiosity wins over.
I turn, and my gaze catches on his legs. The ink on his calves—courtesy of Diesel, giving his prospects a decent discount—stands out against his skin. His calves are strong like the rest of him.
My eyes drag upward, over the curve of his ass, but I don’t let them linger since I don’t get my answer on his cock. Higher. Over the dip of his lower back, before my eyes freeze, my body follows soon after.
Oh.
His back catches my full attention. The fresh, pink scratches are predictable, souvenirs from a sweetbutt’s enthusiasm. But my breath hitches, lodges somewhere behind my ribs, as I see the rest.
It’s the old scars. At least a dozen of them. Thick, discolored lashes embedded in his skin, a topography of past brutality carved across his shoulders and down the dip of his spine. Each raised line promises a story of pain, and my own stomach clenches in a sick, sympathetic echo.
The gasp escapes before I can cage it.
He glances over his shoulder, and the usual mocking amusement is absent.
In its place is a flat, chilling blankness that sends a winter shiver straight up my spine.
His eyes, sharp and assessing, dart over my face before they drop.
He doesn’t look at me the way he looks at them—with that lazy, consuming hunger that makes a person feel seen, for better or worse.
He doesn’t make me feel pretty. He just…
looks. It’s not a glance that’s meant to make me feel pretty. Just seen.
Then I realize where his gaze has landed. Right on my thighs.
My body goes rigid, every muscle locking.
Fuck. Fuck.
He sees them. The silvery, fine lines, my own secret history of escape, lay bare against my skin.
His throat works, a hard swallow, before he turns fully away, presenting his scarred back to me once more.
He snatches his shirt from the bag and yanks it down, a curtain falling on a brutal act.
The fabric hides the marks, but the image is already branded behind my eyes.
Moving on autopilot, I stumble into my pajama bottoms. The soft cotton feels like a lie against my burning, itching skin.
“Keep giving me bedroom eyes, little bird, and I may pounce.” His laugh is a forced, rusty sound. He only turns back when he’s certain I’m covered, but his gaze skirts mine, fixing somewhere on the wall past my shoulder.
He’s disgusted. He has to be.
Panic, cold and liquid, rises in my chest, distorting my breath into something deeper, ragged. “Jinx.”
He plucks at his own shirt, his jaw tight. “We should figure out sleeping arrangements.”
He can’t tell. He can’t tell anyone. This secret, this weakness—if he breathes a word of it, I’ll have to carve the memory from his skull. Yes. If he speaks, I’ll kill him.
“Jinx.” I step forward, my voice panicking. Is he thinking about sleeping? I won’t even be able to close my eyes at this rate. “This is bad.”
He nods, finally meeting my eyes. His eyes are unreadable pools of brown. “Fucking terrible, actually.”
The blunt agreement snuffs the panic and sparks a familiar, easier anger. Good. Anger I can use. He can insult me, and I can return the favor. This back-and-forth is good for us.
He doesn’t flinch when I close the distance, when my hand fists in the front of his shirt. I yank him forward, and he steps into the space willingly, his body a line of tense heat. I open my mouth to issue my threat, to promise him a slow death if he ever whispers a syllable.
The words die before they even get the chance to form.
Something firm and hot nudges against my lower stomach. I glance down, mind blanking for a second before it registers. The hard, swollen length of him, confined beneath his underwear, is pressed unmistakably against me.
My eyes snap back to his face. His expression isn’t one of lust, not like I’ve seen on him before. It’s strained, almost pained, a mask of control stretched dangerously thin. There’s a hunger there, but it’s edged with something like fear—not of me, but of this.
Whatever this is.
Yeah.
He’s right.
This is so much worse than bad.