Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
JINX
My head feels like a goddamn miner has taken his pickaxe to it, which means one thing: I overslept. The light assaults my senses when I crack my eyes open, the sunny day outside a contrast to my mood. Fuck this shit. Fuck the Devil's Breed and their…
I slam my arm to the bed beside me and confirm what I thought: it's empty. Panic courses through me, fed by the shame that I fucking forgot she was here last night. How messed up am I? Or how badly do I block the pain? Our conversation slams into my mind, and I visibly wince at the outcome.
She had a right to know, and all I could do was offer a lame, "It isn't you." And no matter how I spin the story, saying I keep the secret to protect her from the pain, or that it's about who her father is and the colors I wear, it's all about my shame, isn't it? Always was. Always will be.
"Fuck." I throw the covers off and set my feet to the floor. My head throbs with the movement. First - water.
A tiny glimpse of hope flickers to life in my chest as I leave my room.
Perhaps she's in the bathroom? Maybe there's a valid explanation for this.
Except it's Fang's voice that hollers at me to piss off when I knock on the closed door.
God damnit. I head downstairs instead and use the guest bath, leaning down and twisting my head to get my mouth beneath the faucet to quench my thirst.
Where would she have gone? She has no way to get home, unless she's wrangled a ride from one of the other guys.
Fuck me—the woman's hard-headed enough to go face-to-face with her old man without waiting for me, that's for sure.
But it's what? I check the time on the grandfather clock in the hall that was here when we moved into the house.
Ten in the morning. Fuck. That's right; I slept in.
"You good?" Highway chuckles at my disheveled, half-dressed appearance.
"Seen Kyra?"
He frowns. "The Sheriff's daughter?"
I nod.
"What the fuck would she be doing here?"
Right. Guess he hasn't heard the full details yet. "How about Flinch?" Bets are that interfering motherfucker has something to do with it.
"In the main room."
I stumble my way down to the front sitting room, fuck my lack of clothes, and search out the prick. He sits in the armchair by the window while he scribbles something in a notebook.
"Where did you send her?" I growl as I approach the older man.
He sets his book aside with a sigh and looks up at me. "Good morning to you, too."
"Cut the crap. Kyra's missing, and I know you probably have something to do with it."
"I haven't seen her since last night," he says, standing so we're eye-to-eye. "Where have you looked so far?"
"The bathroom next to my room. The guest bathroom. Here."
"So you haven't checked if she's in the kitchen getting breakfast? If she's on the porch eating it? Or anywhere else on the property."
Fuck him. "No."
"Why don't you tell me why you think she would have left, then?"
"Not today," I grumble, finger pointed at his face. "I ain't got time for your mind-bending shit."
"Suit yourself." He leans back in the seat, glancing toward me before resuming his scribbles in the notebook.
I head through to the kitchen—fucker—and check. Bandit and Goblin cook up a feast on the stove, but there's no curvy little rule-breaker, wild waves caressing her shoulders as she talks.
She's not on the porch either. Only Loki, who tells me to head inside and get some fucking clothes on before the bunnies think their Christmases have all come at once.
I pass Chaos on the stairs on my way up.
"Didn't think you would have stayed here last night."
He regards my lack of dress with a firm mouth. "Brought Vanessa home with me." Evidenced by her fucking cat following him down the stairs. "Figured it was easier to have her here until it all calms down than bounce between houses."
"Fair enough."
"Did you get a lawyer for Crow?"
I nod. "They're sending somebody to meet him this morning. Should be at the station by…" Fuck. "An hour ago."
"Fuck's sake, Jinx." He rubs a hand over his head. "You should have been there with them."
He's right. It was my job to be there to support my brother. "I'll give them a call and find out what happened."
"Do. And let me know what's said as soon as you have." He sighs, gaze dropping over my bare skin again. "Kyra kept you busy, huh?"
My stomach sours. "I don't know where she is."
"The fuck?" He makes the exclamation at me, but it may as well be for the grey tabby that scales his leg to climb atop his shoulder like a goddamn parrot.
"Hey, asshole." I scratch its head. "I'll shoot you a message when I have an answer," I tell Chaos before starting up the stairs again.
"Why a message?" he calls after me.
"Because if you're back in your room, I ain't walking in on that." Watching is Crow's kink, not mine.
I tug on a clean T-shirt and jeans, thread a belt, and slip on my cut before ducking into the vacant bathroom to brush my teeth. All the while, my mind circles through the short list of locations she could be.
Still, it's worth a try first.
I hit Call and rest the phone on the edge of the basin while I wait. It rings and rings, each unanswered tone raising my anxiety level. She'd better damn well be ignoring my calls, not in trouble again. A message chimes through when the call slips to voicemail, bringing relief.
Now is not a good time.
The fuck it isn't.
Where are you?
I'll call you after.
At least she's talking to me, I guess. However, she might call back purely to put me out of my misery and ask me to delete her number and her memory.
Not that it would be anyone's fault but my own.
Fuck this day. Doesn't matter how I played it last night, it would have ended up like this—a giant hole in our relationship that I can't fix.
I could have made her come another way, but then what? The same confusion when I had nothing for her to work with? The same shame?
There was never going to be a better outcome.
I stride into my room to put my boots on and stall when my gaze hits the laptop. It's not her. It'd never be her, and there's one way I can fucking prove it to myself.
I dash over and open the lid, bringing up her page via the browser's history. It takes me seconds to log in, and even less time to hesitate. It feels fucked up. But she said it herself: she wants me to watch her content with the same interest I do any other woman's.
And the only reason I started watching porn to begin with was to figure out if it was my dick that was broken or the club girls really turned me off.
I scroll down a few posts and click on a Fourth of July-themed one, the scene behind her donned in red, white, and blue, and the tiny outfit she barely fits into littered with stars.
Kyra wears a top hat wrapped in the American flag, tilted so her face is barely visible.
Perfect. I don't need those eyes watching me fail again.
Judging me as I fucking prove yet again that I'm no real man.
That I'm flawed. Ruined.
She moves on my screen, fluid and graceful as she strips off the tiny bikini, her back to the camera.
I kick my door shut and drop my jeans and boxers, settling on the end of my bed with my jaw locked and anger forcing my muscles taut.
She's fucking beautiful. Perfect with her curves and fuller hips. I goddamn love that about her, that she no longer feels the need to starve herself to some prick's idea of how a woman should look. That she fell in love with her body the way it is and made anyone who watched love it too.
Spread on her back, legs wide for the camera, her face remains hidden as she starts to play.
I fist my flaccid cock and squeeze it tight enough to hurt before setting an even pace while I watch her work.
She's masterful in the way she teases her glistening cunt. No lube in sight, yet. Just the evidence that she enjoys doing this as much as the people who watch it.
Except me, it seems.
My brain begs for more, my body primed to fuck—all except my goddamn dick, barely thickening as the minutes tick by.
I jerk harder, turn the volume up to hear her moans louder, close my eyes, and picture us back together, here, in my bed.
And still, I can't fucking do it.
I can't get hard enough to blow my load and give the woman the credit she deserves.
The cresting sounds of her arousal cut off with a snap as I slam the laptop closed and then jerk my clothes back on.
I'm too young for this. This shit happens to older men, not those who're supposed to be in their prime.
Fuck this shit.
And fuck it ruining the one chance at happiness I'll likely ever get.