Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
NOW | SISK
“What the fuck do you mean the entire sky went black?” Jax asks just before I push open the exit door.
People are still staring. It took us forever to leave.
The chaos in the hallway was a nightmare—nurses yelling, patients crying, orderlies running around like headless chickens.
They all swarmed us, demanding to know what happened in that room, if we were okay, why the doors were locked from the inside.
Jax just pushed through them, a silent, immovable force. He didn’t answer a single question.
“I’m telling you. Eclipse shit.”
“That’s not possible,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Eclipses only happen during equinox windows. Twice a year. And the next one wasn’t supposed to happen for months.”
I glance at him. “So?”
“So I track them. Murtaugh tracks them. Every cycle. Every shadow phase. Because the Pit’s pulse syncs with the moon’s pull, and when that balance is off, never mind… whatever just happened—” He shakes his head. “That wasn’t on any chart.”
“But Jax…”
“Why the fuck can’t I remember anything?”
I see it in him already—the fear of himself. The weight. The what-did-I-do loop running on repeat. So I do what I always do when I’m overwhelmed: I cause a distraction. “You know what we need?”
He glances at me, wary, as if I might suggest a bath or a bullet.
“A night where we aren’t Jax and Sisk.” I gesture vaguely at the skyline. “Not doomed by the pit. Not haunted. Just… off-script.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I’m starting to think you’re on Ash and just hide it well?”
“Why? Because I’m proposing a little role play?”
Jax stares like he misheard. “A what now?”
“You heard me. One night, we pick names and we don’t talk about curses or murders or trauma. We go somewhere loud and dark and stupid and we pretend we’re nobodies. And then we see who breaks character first.”
He leans against the bike. “We should go to Murtaugh’s and ask him what the hell that blackout was. Talk to someone who actually studies this shit.”
“Tomorrow,” I say, brushing him off.
“Sweet merciful fuck, do you ever stop?” he groans, rubbing his temples. “The world almost ended an hour ago and you want to play dress-up?”
I step closer, grab the collar of his shirt, just enough to make a point. “Everything can wait until tomorrow. I need this Jax. I thought I would never walk again, dance again. I need this.”
He stares at me, and I see the exact moment he gives in, the surrender followed by a flicker of smug amusement. “Alright then,” he mutters, pushing off the bike. “So, Lola. What’s your story?”
I grin. “That depends… Riot, how comfortable are you with breaking the law?”
He lets out a low chuckle. “Are we talking about sucking on an Ashpop or smashing a Tar Hound’s skull in the Cut?”
I lean closer. “I have a delivery to make tonight. A dangerous one.”
His eyes drag over me like he’s trying to read the fine print, the exhaustion from the hospital warring with a flicker of raw interest. “Fuck, I could use a punchbag today… turning a criminal skull into a piss bucket sounds like exactly what Riot needs.”
My breath catches. “Wow, Riot is… intense.”
He lights his cigarette, the flare briefly illuminating his face before he gives me a slow cocky grin.
I glance over my shoulder, stage-whisper serious. “Because Riot is…” I pause—waiting.
And he delivers. “Ex-Enforcer turned rogue.” He says it like it’s no big deal.
I raise an eyebrow. “So you a vigilante? You protect people?”
He flicks his cigarette. “Just one.” He looks at me. “One reckless rabbit.”
I glance behind him. “You know what? This bike won’t do tonight. Too slow.”
Jax follows my gaze to a massive black machine parked on the other side. It’s huge and glossy, looking like it belongs on a poster. Everything about it just screams fun and trouble.
“Holy pitfire. Now that’s a ride worthy of Lola and Riot.”
He just stares at me. “You want to steal it?”
I tilt my head. “I want you to impress me.”
“Lola has a thing for breaking the law, huh?”
I shrug. “Lola doesn’t give a fuck about the law.
She wants results.” A small voice in my head screams that this is wrong, that I’m not a thief.
But I need him out of his head. I need to shake him loose, and if this is what it takes to find the Riot I’m trying to create, fuck it.
It’s just a joyride. We can return the bike tomorrow.
I walk toward the bike, and I don’t need to look, I know he’s right behind me.
“We don’t have the key.”
I swing my leg over the front of the bike. “Use your magic, Riot.”
He takes a step closer. “What’s in it for me?”
I lean forward, arching my back so my ass is high and tight. “Your cock pressed against my ass for twenty minutes.”
“You know I don’t—”
I push back against the seat, just enough to make my point.
He lets out a harsh breath. “Fuck. You’re playing dirty.” He shakes his head, but his eyes are locked on my ass. “This is a one-time deal. You hear me?”
He presses one palm flat to the ignition. The beast purrs to life under me.
I miss this. I miss us, back when we were just two screwed-up kids looking for a good time before everything went to hell, before the darkness stopped being fun and started being real.
“Hop on, tar daddy. Let’s go raise some hell.”
“The shit that comes out of your mouth…” He gets on the bike, shaking his head.
I rev the throttle, and he leans in, his chest pressing flush against my back.
One hand comes to rest on my thigh, and the other hand grips the handlebar next to mine.
He shifts, and I feel it. The hard, thick length of him presses firmly against my ass.
He holds it there for a beat, then leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, “Try to keep up, Lola.”
I think about going slow but Lola has other plans.
I twist the throttle and take off like the city’s chasing us, because in some ways, it always is.
The wind is cold but Jax’s body is a personal heater.
We blow through red lights and take corners fast, past people staring on the sidewalk.
Mostly, Jax is driving. His hips tell me when to lean, how deep to take the corner.
I’m just the throttle, the engine. He’s the one steering this missile.
I don’t trust myself—not yet, not with this much horsepower and my head still spinning from the hospital.
But as we hit a long, straight stretch, he taps my thigh twice. A signal. He’s letting me take it.
I grip the handlebars tighter and feel the subtle shift as he relaxes his control.
For a few heart-pounding blocks, it’s just me, the machine, and the open road.
Then, as a sharp turn approaches, his hands close over mine on the grips, his body tensing as he takes back over, guiding us into the lean with an easy confidence that makes my own fear feel foolish.
“Turn here,” I say loudly through the roar.
We peel onto a narrower street. “Where the hell are you delivering this thing?” he shouts.
“Just enjoy the ride,” I call back.
He curses under his breath and Tar City opens up in front of us like a dare, and I’m in the mood to win.
We weave through the city’s arteries, although my entire focus is on the solid weight of him behind me and the steady, possessive pressure of his hand, his thumb stroking circles on my jeans that make me want to forget the delivery entirely.
“Slow down, we’re close,” I yell.
“You’re enjoying this way too much, Lola. Almost as much as you’re going to enjoy paying up when I win our little bet.”
“Who says you’re going to win?” I shoot back, tilting my head.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you enjoy losing.”
“Stop here,” I say quickly.
We glide into a loading zone. I stare at the place, without a sign, I’m not certain we are in the right place.
“How the fuck do you know this place?” he blurts.
I glance back over my shoulder. “Oh… Lola’s got a few secrets. And I bet you want to know every single one.”
“Say one more thing like that,” he growls, pulling my hair slightly. “And I’ll bend you over the damn bike. Don’t care who’s watching.”
I swing my leg off the bike and turn to close the distance between us.
I place my hands against his chest and say, “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” I whisper, my voice a silken threat.
“I’m the one in charge here.” I push him back slightly.
“So take your dirty hands off me… and follow my lead.”
He lifts both hands but his eyes are promising retribution.
“That’s better,” I say.
He huffs and his eyes drag down my frame like he’s calculating exactly how much trouble I’m about to be.
I turn toward the black steel door and I look down at my feet.
I can’t believe the brace is off. I had high hopes they would take it off, even brought my shoes with me, but still, looking at myself move like I’m brand new.
It’s crazy. Tears almost come back and I have to pretend to be adjusting the shoes to shake it off my feelings.
No fucking way I’m losing this bet. I bend slow, let Jax think it’s just play for him.
Behind me, he lets out a low, pained groan. I turn it up a notch. I straighten up, and as I do, I hook a thumb into the strings of my underwear, bringing them up, so they ride high above the denim.
He moves closer immediately. “Watch it, Lola. I don’t like my property on display.”
“Be careful, Riot. You don’t want to break character before the game begins.”
We reach the steel door with only a rusted slit at eye level and no handles. I knock once, then twice again, and the slit scrapes open to reveal a pair of unimpressed eyes glaring through. “Code,” the voice demands.
I smile sweetly. “Since when do I need a code?”
The guy hesitates.
“Open the door before they take your tongue for keeping me waiting,” I demand.
Jax comes closer. “You heard her.”
The slit slams shut and the door swings open. The guy moves out of the way, looking us up and down—still unsure if he made the right call, but he says it anyway. “Welcome to the ring.”