Chapter 7
Seven
NOW | JAX
The second I turn to look at her, my entire body goes on high alert. She’s across the intersection, bundled in a black coat that’s not warm enough for this weather, her face half-buried in the collar.
Her eyes land on mine, wide with surprise. I notice the snowflakes melting in her lashes, making her dark brown eyes pop even more. I’ve known her for years, but I swear she gets more beautiful every time I see her. Which, of course, makes staying the fuck away from her this much harder.
Her hair’s dark brown again. She changed it recently, which means she’s drowning in something, and I can’t even fucking reach her to pull her out.
My eyes drag down her body anyway, hating myself for it, hating the way my own skin tightens.
She pushes her hair back, and my eyes snag on the birthmark on her wrist. It makes my blood run hot, a straight shot to my dick.
All I can think about is yanking her arm close and sinking my teeth into it just to hear her gasp.
Why the fuck does she have to smell so much like prey?
Scotch whines, a high, excited sound, and his tail starts thwacking against my leg. He lunges, trying to bolt, and I grip the leash tight enough to choke both of us.
She doesn’t wave or smile. She just stands there, perfectly still, like she knows I have no choice but to cross the street to her.
“The hell are you doing here?” I snap.
Scotch is already at her legs, nudging his head against her hand, desperate for a pet. She crouches instantly, cupping his massive face in both hands, and he melts, pressing his whole weight against her. Pathetic dog for a pathetic man.
She lifts her gaze to the moon, then back to me. “I needed a drink,” she says, smiling.
I want to tell her to leave, to get the fuck away from me. Instead, I turn toward the back door and hold it open. She walks in without a word and goes straight to the bottles, fingertips brushing every single one.
I look away with my jaw tight. I’m one second away from forgetting every rule I set out to keep her safe.
Scotch settles in a corner, and I have to take a breath before I speak. “Two olives?” I ask, already pulling a glass.
“Three.” She pauses, smirk playing on her lips. “Extra dirty.”
I try not to focus on her words. I can’t let her get under my skin tonight.
I make the martini and slide it toward her. She savors the drink in that way she always does—swirling the olives first, then running her tongue over one before taking a sip.
“Cheers,” she says as she hops up on the counter.
“So what’s so important you crossed town in the middle of the night,” I ask, “alone, dressed like that?”
“You know I can handle myself,” she says, avoiding my gaze.
“Same shit as always, huh?”
“I didn’t come to fight.”
“What do you want?”
“You look like you need a drink more than me.”
I scoff. “Probably.”
She takes another sip. “Have you heard the rumors? About Rosen?”
“Yeah.”
I pour a shot of whiskey and down it in one gulp. Not nearly enough alcohol in the world to deal with her.
“I guess he’ll never give up. Can’t really blame him. Have you seen him lately? He doesn’t look good.”
“He hasn’t been here in a while. Neither him nor Rourke.”
“I heard the voice again today,” she says, like she’s commenting on the weather.
I look at her, my blood running cold. “What did it say?”
“Happy anniversary.”
“What in the actual fuck?”
She shrugs. “Thought maybe you heard it too.”
“No,” I turn away, grabbing a rag to wipe down a spot on the bar that’s already clean.
“It still surprises me when I hear it,” she continues, swirling the olive in her glass. “It’s so strange that it’s my own voice, you know… distorted.”
“Stop talking about this so casually.” I slam the rag down. “You're making yourself a target. If people find out you're... hearing it, they'll come for you. Why the fuck is it talking to you? Makes no sense. Who else have you told?”
“No one. You know I don’t tell people.”
“Yet the whole town knows the story,” I say, leaning my weight on my hands against the bar.
“They know rumors. And to think I always wanted to be famous growing up.” She takes another sip, her eyes watching me over the rim of the glass.
“This isn’t a joke. You know that.”
“I mean… it wasn’t exactly a threat.”
“Will you ever take anything seriously?”
“Gave up on that long ago. Anyway, you take serious enough for both of us.”
I want to tell her I wasn’t always like this, but that feels like another lifetime—one she probably doesn’t even remember. I drag a hand through my hair. “You know what? I told you to stay the fuck away. You know it’s almost—”
“Full moon, blah blah blah. I know. And for the millionth time, I’m not running.”
“You’re impossible.”
She smirks. “I know. You tell me often.” Her eyes drift down slowly, over my chest, my stomach, lingering at the waist of my jeans. “You seem extra tense today.”
I push off the bar and round the corner, closing the distance between us. I stop right in front of her, crowding her space. “I’m taking you home.”
“But I’m not even done with my drink.” She lifts the glass, taking a slow, taunting little sip.
“Let’s go,” I say.
“I can take the train.”
“No, you can’t. Not at this hour. It’s snowing, and you—” I look her up and down. Sheer tights. “For fuck’s sake, Sisk. Don’t you own real pants?”
“Came straight from the studio.”
She hops off the counter, and the movement pulls the fabric just enough for me to see them—the bruises.
Blooming down her thighs through the tights like dark fingerprints.
My stomach goes sour. My cock hardens. Perfect.
I grip my keys until the teeth dig into my palm, telling my body to get its shit together.
Sisk downs the rest of her drink in one gulp. “Fine, Daddy. Let’s go.”
She saunters past me on purpose, shoulder brushing mine—temptation I don’t need tonight.
Before I can stop myself, my hand shoots out. I catch her arm and pull her in. “Do not fucking provoke me tonight.”
Her lips part. “Or what?” she whispers, biting her bottom lip.
I let go of her arm. “I’m serious,” I say. “It’s… getting worse.”
“Jax.” Her voice softens.
She steps toward me, but I back up.
“No.” I shake my head. “I told you. That was the last time I hurt you.”
I push past her and walk out, heading straight for the bike. I swing a leg over, my hand already on the key.
“Sorry. I know it’s too cold for this. I think it’s time I got a truck.”
She steps in close, her hands resting on my shoulders as she settles behind me. “Don’t you dare,” she whispers against my ear. “I like the ride. And riding the biker.”
Fuck. Did she just fucking say that? My grip on the handlebars tightens. Of course she did. She never misses a chance to throw a match on the gasoline. Her arms wrap tight around my waist as I kick the engine to life.
We ride in silence. Except it isn’t silence to me.
With her this close, I feel everything. Her breath—shallow at first, then deeper when she relaxes against me.
Her scent—the clean smell of her own skin, still warm from a long day at the studio, mixed with the faint sweetness of her shampoo.
Every time she shifts, even slightly—pressing closer to avoid a gust of wind—my cock jumps like I’m a teenager again with no self-control.
She’s staring out at the streets, unaware of the way she stirs the thing inside me that’s never fully quiet.
Having her this close is a mistake. The memory hits—hard and fast: her on my counter, knees tight around my waist—her breath in my mouth—her nails in my shoulders.
I shift in my seat, trying to relieve the pressure in my jeans that only gets worse the longer I feel her against me.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted her this bad. It’s a physical ache, threatening to shred every last bit of my self-control. It’s more than simply needing to fuck her; it’s the primal need to own her, to make sure nobody ever puts their filthy fingers on what’s mine.
This is a need that crosses every boundary of right and wrong.
The tar in my blood whispers that she’s not just a person, she’s a vessel.
A dark part of me, the part I’m always fighting, likes the idea.
Likes the thought of sinking into her so deep I can leave a piece of my magic behind, a permanent mark that would bind her to me, make her a conduit for the power that lives in me.
To make her not only mine, but a part of this curse.
I’d let the tar consume me whole before I let it touch her, because as much as I’m wrapped around her finger, she’s not mine to keep.
The bike’s headlight flickers, static bursts through the electrical system, startling both of us. It’s my magic slipping before I can slam it back down. Sisk’s arms tighten around me and I open my mouth to apologize, but a crack of gunfire erupts somewhere down the block.
I drag my gaze back to the road. “Fuck,” I mutter, twisting the throttle harder.
She doesn’t stress. We’ve both been in this shithole for far too long.
I pull up to her building and kill the engine. She swings off the bike. “Thanks for the drink,” she says, taking a step back.
“Sisk?”
She pauses on the curb. “Yeah?”
“All the locks,” I order. “Fastened.”
She nods. She doesn’t always listen, but the look on my face must be telling her I’m not fucking playing around tonight.
I wait until the light in her window flickers on. I wait until her silhouette moves past it and disappears into the back of the apartment.
Only then can I breathe. Only then do I realize my hands are still shaking.