Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
THEN | JAX
The bikes are still moving when the crowd closes in, hands slapping the leather seats, everyone shouting at once—half of them screaming my name, the other half booing and yelling for a rematch.
Grayson pushes through the crowd first. “That was suicide! The ramp? The dip?” He shakes his head, but there’s something like respect in it.
I rip the helmet off, sweat dripping into my eyes. “Did we win?”
Grayson’s lip twitches. “Almost.”
That’s when Whistle appears. “That was fun,” he says, looking directly at Sisk. He reaches for her hand like it’s owed to him.
She doesn’t move, but I do. I step between them, shove him back hard enough to make him stumble. Not enough to start a real fight, although enough to say “back the fuck off.”
Whistle recovers fast. He lifts the edge of his jacket to flash the grip of the gun tucked against his ribs again. “You really want to do this?”
Sisk sees it and she’s already moving before I can decide. She places a hand on my arm, pulling me back. “It’s fine,” she says. “I’ve got it.”
“No,” I growl. “You don’t.”
She’s already slipping past me, walking straight to Whistle like this is no big deal.
He puts his hand on her lower back and I can’t do a fucking thing about it.
All the money, all the swagger and I’m just a goddamn loser.
Every muscle in my body is screaming to launch across this pavement and put him in the ground, but what then?
I’ve got no leverage. Not against a weapon.
I don’t even have a fucking bike to chase them. I’m nothing.
Dillan claps a hand on my shoulder, trying to pull my attention. “Hey, man, don’t let him get in your head. She’s just playing the game. We’ll get her back.”
My eyes are glued to Sisk as she swings her leg over Whistle’s bike. My fists clench so tight my knuckles crack.
Whistle revs the engine and glances back—not at her. At me. A look that says “I win.”
The bike peels off and they’re gone. I stay where I am, feet planted like they’ve grown roots into the asphalt. Hands shaking with rage, or maybe something worse. Something that feels a hell of a lot like fear. Fear of losing her.
I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at the empty space where they vanished, that image seared behind my eyes. It’s long enough for the crowd to forget about everything, their attention shifting to the next spectacle. Long enough that Dillan gave up on getting my attention.
“Well,” Lou says, handing me a drink, “that wasn’t humiliating at all.”
I take the cup.
“I’m gonna kill him,” I mutter.
Lou hums thoughtfully. “Mm. Strong opener. But logistically? Bad plan. Too many witnesses.”
I don’t respond.
He glances at my face. “You’re doing the thing,” he says.
“What thing.”
“The silent, broody, emotionally devastating thing.” He gestures vaguely at my whole body. “Very effective. Very tragic. Ten out of ten. But it’s been… what, twelve minutes?”
I keep staring at the stretch of dark road where they disappeared. Every engine rev makes my head turn.
He sighs. “She’ll come back,” Lou says, more patiently now. “You know that, right? She’s doing this for you.”
I finally tear my eyes away from the ground and look at him.
He gives me a knowing smile. “To stop you from getting shot. Or worse. Think, Jax. Use the big head.”
Minutes drag by like years. The crowd thins, the adrenaline fades into a sick, cold pit in my stomach, and the night grows heavy with the stink of my own failure.
Then I hear it—the bike rolling back into the lot. A hush falls over the remaining crowd as Sisk swings off and walks toward me.
Whistle calls after her, his voice carrying in the quiet. “Hope broody boy over there fucks as good as he sulks.”
She stops mid-step. “You might’ve won the race, Whistle… but you lost the girl.”
He stiffens and she doesn’t look back again. Sisk closes the last few steps between us, grabs the front of my shirt, and pulls me down, pressing an unapologetic kiss to my mouth. “Let’s get out of here, Jax.”
* * *
“Are you sure?” I ask her one more time.
“For the third time, yes.” Sisk rolls her eyes, but I can see the nerves underneath all that talk. “It’s my birthday. I told Millie to not wait up. She actually seemed… happy I was going out.” She pauses, biting her lip. “She said I take life too seriously. That I never do anything just for fun.”
She shakes her head. “She’s probably right.
I mean, now that getting into the academy is officially off my to-do list, I’m starting to think I wasted my entire senior year just…
practicing. Planning. Stressing. I want to do something I didn’t plan.
Something that’s not on a carefully curated life checklist. So yes.
Can we please stop talking about it and just go? ”
“Fine,” I say, opening the door. “Go home, Ron. I’m staying over.”
Ronny doesn’t ask questions. The man’s a professional. He nods in the rearview. “See you tomorrow.”
She told me the rooftop is always empty. We take the stairs in silence. At the top, the door sticks. I’m about to throw my shoulder into it when Sisk puts a hand on my arm.
“Hang on,” she says, stepping around me.
She runs her fingers along the door frame, feeling for something I can’t see.
Her fingers stop just above the knob. She presses in, then lifts up.
I hear a click from inside the mechanism.
“There,” she says, a little smug. “It’s a cheap lock.
The frame’s warped. You lift up when you turn the handle. ”
She pushes the door, and it swings open, revealing the city spread out below us—lit windows, blinking towers, a skyline full of strangers living their lives.
“It’s nice up here,” she says quietly. “Isn’t it?”
She moves closer to the edge of the rooftop, resting her hands on the short wall.
“Yeah,” I say, stepping up beside her. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I shove them in my pockets like a fucking idiot.
She turns toward me, the city lights catching in her eyes. “See that apartment?” she says, pointing across to a glowing window framed in ivy. “That woman sits there every night with a book. And she cries. Like… full-on weeping. I don’t understand why someone would choose to feel that much.”
Her finger shifts slightly to the right. “And that one—” she nods toward a third-floor balcony “A guy used to play guitar out there. Every night, around nine, like clockwork. Then one day he stopped. The light still comes on, though.”
She gestures lower—toward a narrow window half-covered by a ripped curtain.
“And that one,” her voice softens, “they argue. A lot. The kind of yelling that makes you want to call the cops. But I see what happens after. The way they just… hold each other. Like they’re the only two people left in the world. I call them Lola and Riot.”
She’s not looking at me, she’s staring out into the darkness, breathing in the night air.
“I come up here to remind myself…” She trails off, then continues, “that even the quietest lives in this city are screaming on the inside. That everyone’s just trying not to drown. That my particular pain isn’t special. Isn’t worse—or more important—than anyone else’s.”
I look down, scuff the edge of my shoe against the gravel. “Thank you for inviting me over.”
She finally turns her head. “Thanks for tonight.”
“For what? Losing the race and forcing you to ride with that dickhead?”
“No. For getting on the bike. For doing something reckless just because I felt like it. It was stupid, and I shouldn’t have pulled you into my mess.”
“I’d do worse for you.”
She glances out toward the skyline again, then back at me. “Why?”
I meet her gaze. “I like you,” I say. “Too much, probably.”
She looks at me as if she’s peeling back layers I didn’t even know I had. For a moment, I think she sees everything—all the ugly parts I’ve tried to bury six feet under.
“Jax,” she whispers.
The space between us disappears and I kiss her. Her hands slide under my shirt, nails digging into my back just enough to make me grunt. I grab her waist, then bury one hand in her hair, twisting it around my fist as I pull her against me.
My other hand moves from her waist to the hem of her jacket. I’ve been thinking about what’s underneath all night. I slip my fingers beneath the fabric, letting them trace the soft skin of her stomach as I wait for her to stop me.
I explore the curve of her side, my thumb brushes against the swell of her breast, and I feel her sharp intake of breath against my mouth. I let my palm cup her fully, the weight of her fitting perfectly in my hand.
I feel her nipple get hard against my palm. I brush my thumb over it, a slow circle, and she arches her body into my touch. The kiss breaks for a second as she tilts her head back. I take the invitation, trailing my lips down her neck as my hand explores her other breast.
My fingers fumble with the zipper on her jacket. I go slow, careful as hell, remembering it got stuck hours ago.
The sight of her, the city lights painting her skin in shades of gold and blue, is almost too much. Her nipples are hard points begging for attention. I lean down, closing my mouth over one.
Her hands fly to my hair, her fingers tightening as I suck gently, feeling her response all the way down to my own tightening groin. This is real. This is happening. Every nerve ending in my body is screaming for more.
She arches against me, pressing herself into my mouth, and the world narrows to just this—us.
“You’re beautiful,” I let out.
“I’ve never… you know…”
“Me neither,” I admit. My hands keep moving, tracing the soft skin of her sides, thumbs brushing against the undersides of her breasts.
“Jax St. Clair, a virgin? Right. Like you haven’t had half the girls in school throwing themselves at you.”
I pull my hands up to her shoulders, forcing myself to meet her eyes instead of staring at her chest.
“Is it weird that I wanted to do this with someone that actually liked me for me, and not just because of my last name?” I kiss her. “Had a few close calls, but… no. Never got there.”