Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
NOW | SISK
I’m debating how to approach the man across the room when Jax grabs my hand and pulls me away from the railing, away from the blood and the noise.
“Where are you going?”
He shoves me into the gap between two shipping containers. My back hits the corrugated metal. He pins my wrist to the wall with one hand and then his mouth is on mine, hard and sudden. No room to breathe, no time to think.
One hand slides down my side, over my hip, gripping my thigh and hoisting my leg up around his waist. The move is fast and confident.
He presses against me, hard and insistent, the layers of our clothes no match for the raw heat between us.
His hips pin me to the metal wall, a delicious grind that makes my head spin and my pussy clench with a desperate, empty ache.
I should stop him. We’re in public, but in this dark corner, we might as well be on another planet.
Nobody cares. Nobody’s looking. And I don’t want him to stop.
I want him to erase the weight of being Sisk.
I want him to make me forget everything but the feel of his hands on my skin, the taste of his tongue in my mouth.
He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down my jaw, his teeth scraping against my neck. Suddenly, his whole body tenses, the hand on my thigh gripping almost too tightly. He pulls back and squeezes his eyes shut.
“What’s wrong?”
“Can’t,” he grits out, his voice strained. “I can’t… lose control.”
I need to do something. “I know Jax can’t control whatever fucked up curse he has to carry, and he punishes himself for it. Can you believe he would even deny… this? A bit of fun? A moment of release?” A slow, wicked smile curves my lips.
I move my hands slowly from his chest down to his stomach, feeling the muscles jump under my touch. “But Riot? Oh… Riot welcomes the mess. He doesn’t hold himself back, does he?”
Jax doesn’t answer, but his eyes flutter open, and I see it. The flicker of red, the untamed power that lives there.
“Riot wants to be played with,” I continue, my fingers tracing the waistband of his jeans. “Toyed with. Riot likes chaos. And you know who likes to deliver chaos by the truckload?” I smile.
I reach down, my fingers brushing his away, and I pop the button on his jeans. He lets out a searing hiss of breath as my hand slides inside, my fingers tracing the hard length of him through the fabric of his boxers.
“Lola?” he asks, a last-ditch effort to hold on to his control.
I nod with a smile, my hand moving on him, my touch slow and precise. “This isn’t for Jax. This is for Riot.”
The lights in the warehouse flicker, a frantic, stuttering pulse. His hand leaves my wrist, and I think he’s going to push me away. Instead, his long fingers wrap around my throat, and I watch as he lets go, his eyes burning brighter with every move of my hand.
“Take a seat,” he orders.
Somehow, a stack of crates move on their own. They scrape across the concrete floor, stopping right behind me. At first, I think he’s moving them to give us privacy. But no, it’s for me to sit, aligning my mouth to his cock perfectly.
His hands are both on the wall above my head now, holding himself upright. My lips hover just above him, close enough that he can feel my breath but not my touch. “Wanna guess Lola’s favorite lollipop flavor?”
A rough grunt vibrates through his chest, his hips already shifting toward me.
“Sweet,” I whisper, flattening my tongue to give the tip one slow lick that makes his whole body tense. I look up through my lashes, watching his eyes go dark. “Salty…” Another lick, this time swirling around the head. “Pre-cum.”
I grin against him before leaning in again, dragging my tongue slowly up his length, savoring every twitch and shudder. “And I always finish what I start.”
He curses and then his hand moves from the wall to my hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. He starts to move, his hips thrusting, setting a rhythm that is both rough and demanding.
He’s not holding back anymore. He’s not holding anything back.
He’s a force of nature, a whirlwind of untamed power, and I’m at the center of the storm.
He’s taking what he wants, what I offered, and I’m letting him.
I’m taking it all, my mouth working, my tongue swirling, my hands gripping his thighs for support.
He pushes deeper, and I choke, my eyes watering, but I don’t pull back. I relax my throat and take him all in.
Thrust. Thrust.
A drunk stumbles by. He stops, his eyes widening as he sees us. He leans against the opposite wall, settling in to watch the show. His hand drifts to his own belt, his fingers fumbling with the buckle.
Thrust. Thrust.
Jax doesn’t even break rhythm. He just lifts his head, his red eyes glowing like hot coals in the dark, and glances at the man.
The drunk’s hand freezes on his buckle. The stupid grin on his face dissolves into pure, unadulterated terror.
He’s shoved backward by an invisible force, slammed against the wall with a thud that knocks the wind out of him.
His eyes roll back in his head, and he slides down the wall to the floor in a dead faint.
For a moment, I think he’s out cold. But then his eyes snap open, wide with horror, and he scrambles on all fours, crab-walking backward, his boots slipping in the grime as he fumbles for the corner.
Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.
Jax is getting close. I can feel it in the way his body tenses, in the way his breathing becomes more ragged, in the way his grip on my hair tightens almost to the point of pain. He’s on the edge, and I’m the one pushing him over.
“Sisk,” he groans, the name a crack in the Riot facade.
And then he’s coming, his hot release flooding my mouth. I hold on, swallowing around him as his body shudders and stills.
He looks down at me and I lick my lips, making sure he sees me taste the last of him.
When I stand, my body presses against his.
I move closer and drag my tongue across his lips, leaving them wet and slick with his own release.
“You broke character,” I whisper, my voice husky.
His red eyes just burn into mine. “I guess I win,” I say with a wink.
He grabs my face, his fingers digging into my jaw. “Raise.”
I blink. “Seriously?”
He nods.
I consider it, then say the thing that’s been sitting in my head all night. “If I win, you let me in. Whatever you’re hiding—you trust me with it. You tell me why you’ve been pushing me away all these years. No secrets. No half-truths. No question of the day bullshit.”
His thumb brushes my cheek. “Deal.”
I study him. “That’s it? You’re not even negotiating?”
His gaze sharpens. “Those are your terms.”
I exhale, then tilt my head. “So are you raising the bet or not?”
“Do you have a fourth hole I can fuck?” he asks.
I laugh. “I guess I’m out of holes to offer.”
He pushes back, his eyes glinting with challenge. “What are you offering?”
I pretend to think, tapping a finger to my lip. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“What’s Riot into? Any kinks? I know Riot is into choking and spanking. But what’s Riot’s darkest fantasy? I think we can make it happen, because Lola is game for a lot of things.”
His eyes are wide, a flicker of Jax’s shock warring with Riot’s hungry interest.
“So, what’s it gonna be, Riot?”
“I’m gonna stick to my original bet.”
“Oh, ok.”
“But I’m adding something.”
“What?”
“You move in with me.”
“What?” The word comes out small.
He doesn’t smile now. “You heard me.”
I push off the corner, folding my arms. “That’s not a bet. That’s a life decision.”
“I know.”
A chain clinks somewhere above us.
“You don’t even like me,” I blurt out.
He frowns. “That’s not true.”
“You tolerate me, you want to fuck me. You manage me. But you don’t like me. The last time I showed up at your bar, you kicked me out in under five minutes. And now you want me to move in?”
“You’ve already been sleeping at my place.”
“That was because I was hurt,” I snap. “That wasn’t… this.”
“I’m not proposing fucking marriage,” he grunts.
I search his face for the joke. The backpedal. The grin. There’s none.
“You want me under your roof because you want to control me.”
“No,” he says immediately. “I know I can’t.”
“I don’t do safe,” I tell him. “I don’t do rules. I don’t do being handled. I’m free. You said that yourself. Rabbit, remember? Free.”
“I know,” he says. “That’s why I—”
He stops.
“What?”
“That’s what I want. Those are my terms.”
I laugh once. “You’re insane.”
“You already knew that. And you get off on it. I’m sure if I reach out I’ll find your panties soaked. Your cunt dripping for me.”
To prove his point, he lifts his hand, his fingers snapping in a sharp, confident gesture in the air between us.
There’s a faint, almost imperceptible twang from inside my jeans, like a rubber band being pulled to its breaking point and letting go.
A stinging sensation on my hips makes me flinch. My eyes go wide. His go wide.
Hanging from his fingers, dangling like a prize, are my black lace panties.
The sides are visibly torn, the delicate elastic shredded.
We both stare at them for a full second, frozen in shock.
Then he laughs, a sound of disbelief and dark amusement.
He brings the ruined lace to his nose, inhaling deeply.
“Something finally fucking useful from this curse,” he rumbles as he pockets them like a trophy.
“So that’s when your precious ‘no magic’ rule conveniently gets forgotten?”
He shrugs. I take a breath. Then another. “And if I refuse?” I ask.
“Then you better win your little game. Because you’re not walking away from this.”
Something in my chest twists at that, the fact that he means it. “You’re not scared I’ll ruin your life? That I’ll be the most annoying, exhausting thing you’ve ever had to deal with. Every. Single. Day.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “I’m counting on it.”
I stare at him for a long moment. “I’m not promising anything.”
He nods. “Then win. Or it’s us under the same roof. And on the same bed.”
I huff a laugh despite myself. “You’re impossible.” I glance past him, toward the noise, the blood, the fight, then back to him. “No more raising the bets,” I say. “Next round, someone loses.”
He watches me as I step away.
I have no idea what I’m doing. But I know one thing: I need this win. Not because moving in with him would be the end of the world—honestly, it would make too much sense. Too easy. That’s the problem. He’s using this stupid bet to avoid doing the hard thing. Again.
I know what he was about to say. I saw it—right there, behind his eyes.
That’s why I love you. And he swallowed it down.
I know he loves me. The same way he knows I love him.
How long have we been doing this? Eight.
No—hell. I’m turning twenty-eight. Ten fucking years of this.
Ten years since he told me he loved me and all hell broke loose.
It’s been a decade of this. A fucking decade of push, pull, fight, and fuck.
And now? Now he decides he wants me to move in? Fuck him. I’ve been waiting for that ask longer than I want to admit. But he needs to mean it. Own it. Not tuck it behind a joke-bet and a clenched jaw like he’s still trying to prove he doesn’t feel anything.
Not proposing marriage. What the fuck does that even mean? He’ll offer me his bed, his key, his whole fucking life, but the word ‘marriage’ is the one thing that’s off-limits? What kind of backwards bullshit is that?
I reach for the nearest tray and take a shot without asking, without thinking—throw it back so fast the girl holding it flinches. I just throw a bill at her and move on.
Another fight’s about to start in the ring. I move with the crowd. Because if he won’t say it—if he can’t say it—then I have to win. And he’s gonna pay for it. Six times. With his dick. And his fucking mouth.
I walk straight toward the guy who’s been eyeing me since the second I stepped in. Behind me, I feel Jax fall into step. “Wait here,” I say over my shoulder. Then add, dry: “Try not to glower anyone into a coma.”
Two thick guys step in front of me as I approach the boss. One touches his earpiece, the other just crosses his arms. “I’m not here to cause trouble,” I say, lifting both hands. “Not yet.”
The man in the chair watches me with mild interest. The kind of look that says I’ve seen prettier girls, but you’re saying something interesting. “What’s a girl like you doing over here?” he asks.
“You look like someone who appreciates a good deal,” I say.
He leans back. “You selling something?”
“Not selling. Betting.”
“Go on.”
“I’ve got a fighter,” I say, flicking a glance over to Jax, who is still watching like a statue of simmering violence. “One match. If he wins, we split the pot. Fifty-fifty.”
The man arches a brow, plucking a piece of tobacco from his tongue. “You that confident?”
“I know what he can do.”
“And if he loses?”
“We cover the full fee. No argument.”
“Sounds like you’ve got money.”
“Sounds like you’ve got an opportunity too good to pass.”
He considers for half a second, his eyes moving from me to Jax and back again. “Alright,” he says, waving a dismissive hand. “You’re on.”
He gestures to one of his guys, motioning him to make it happen. And just like that—I’m in. I turn around, heading back toward Jax, who hasn’t moved from where I left him.
“Good news,” I say, breezing up to him. “You’re up next.”
He doesn’t blink. “Up for what?”
“The ring. One fight.”
His eyes narrow. “Si—” He cuts himself off, his jaw tight. “Lola.”
I smile, all innocence. “What?”
“What did you just sign me up for?” His voice is dangerously low.
“I signed us up,” I say sweetly. “Fifty-fifty split if you win.”
He stares, his expression turning to ice. “And if I lose?”
I let the pause hang. “Then we cover the full fee.”
“You didn’t.”
I tilt my head. “It’s only a problem if you lose. Which you won’t.”
“You didn’t think to ask me? Un-fucking-believable.”
I roll my eyes, like this is exhausting. Like he’s overreacting. “Unless you’ve got—” I glance toward the guy in the chair “—about ten grand tucked in your boot, yeah, you’re gonna want to win.”
He steps closer. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Probably,” I say, shrugging. “I saw the guy you’re fighting. He’s big. Not smart.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not laughing.” He’s being such a baby. We both know he’s not capable of losing.
He studies me. “What’s this really about?”
I hold his stare. “You wanted to play my game,” I say. “This is it.” I brush my fingers lightly down the front of his shirt. “Good luck,” I whisper.