Chapter 60
Sixty
THEN | SISK
The bike slows and Jax turns onto an industrial zone.
I don’t know where the hell we are. We ride past rows of shipping containers and a few idle cranes before he pulls up on an empty loading platform that looks out over the river.
Down below, the dark water’s hitting the sides of boats.
Across the river, Tar City is lit up in this orange haze from the smokestacks and warehouses.
He kills the engine and neither of us moves. My hands are still on his jacket before I realize he’s waiting for me to get off. My hands are shaking but I tell myself it’s just adrenaline.
I haven’t said a word since I got on. At first, when I realized it was him, I was too shocked to speak. Then everything I wanted to say felt dumb compared to how messed up I felt inside, so I did what he told me to do. I got on the motorcycle and he fastened his helmet on me and took off.
“Helmet,” he says.
I try to remove it but my fingers fumble with the strap. He steps in and his fingers brush under my chin as he works the buckle. The touch is brief and practical, but my pulse jumps frantically anyway. He lifts the helmet off carefully and I drag in a breath that feels like my first.
I should say something. I should’ve said something back there. I should’ve said no.
“I can’t believe I got on the bike,” I say instead.
“Yeah?”
“I told myself I wasn’t going to.”
He leans back against the bike, arms folding loosely across his chest, smug, and completely unsurprised. “Knew you would.”
I glance at him. “You seem very confident about that.”
One shoulder lifts in a lazy shrug. “Saw the way you looked at me before I even took the helmet off.”
“That’s because I didn’t know it was you.”
The corner of his mouth tilts.
“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you,” I say, taking him all in.
It’s true—he’s a stranger. He’s not just bigger or stronger, he’s someone else entirely.
There are more tattoos and scars than I can count, and while his hair is shorter, it’s the way he moves that’s truly changed.
Something in his stance screams that he’s been through things, things I think about asking about but probably don’t want to know.
“So let me get this straight,” he says. “When you had no idea who I was, you were fine getting on a stranger’s bike in fucking Tar City. But then you saw me—an old friend—and suddenly it’s a problem?”
“We aren’t friends,” I snap.
“Right. Fuck buddies. Isn’t that what you called us last time?”
I roll my eyes. “What do you want, Jax?”
He pushes off the bike and steps closer.
I look away first, which annoys me.
“What did you want before you knew it was me?” he asks.
“I—”
“Were you looking for fun? To get laid? That new shiny place of yours lacking in men?”
I laugh in surprise. “As a matter of fact, no. They’ve got plenty. And much better options than what I can find around here, if you really want to know.”
“Do tell me, rabbit.” There’s humor in his voice, but it’s unconvincing. “Let me guess. They all drive sensible cars. Ask about your day and actually listen to the answer.”
I cross my arms, more to steady myself than anything else. “They talk, they’re mature, they want relationships, they commit—that should tell you enough.”
He looks out toward the water instead of at me. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Sounds thrilling.”
I’m so done with this conversation, with him.
I turn away and eye the bike, moving to the side to swing my leg over the seat, but the whole machine shifts under my weight, tilting dangerously.
My hands fly out to brace against the handlebars as the bike feels like it’s going to crash onto the ground with me under it.
Jax is there in a second with one hand on my shoulder, steadying me, while his other grips the back of the seat, his muscles locking as he effortlessly rights the bike’s weight.
“Easy. It’s not a toy.”
I don’t reply. The bike is steady now—a solid platform beneath me, but I feel anything but.
“So,” he says after a moment, “you’re just visiting?”
I shrug, hugging myself. “Yeah.”
He nods once, still looking at the water. “Finally remembered you left people here.”
I stiffen. “What does that mean?”
He hesitates. “Your mom,” he says. “She was in the hospital.”
I look at him. “Millie… never said anything. All her letters—everything sounded fine. I knew she was probably leaving things out, but…” My voice falters. “How do you know?”
“I… bumped into Millie a couple times.”
“Where?”
He doesn’t answer, and suddenly I’m not sure I want him to.
“The club,” he says finally.
My stomach twists. “What club?”
“Where she’s working.”
“Working?” I shake my head. “I thought Millie was staying with my mom.”
He exhales, already regretting it. “Look. You should ask her yourself, okay? I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“What club?” I press.
He hesitates.
“The Redline.”
I nearly faint.
“No.” I shake my head immediately. “Millie wouldn’t.”
“She was working the floor,” he says carefully. “Not—”
“I know what The Redline is.”
My chest feels tight.
The Redline isn’t a bar. It’s not a dance club.
It’s a meat market, a goddamn auction block where girls with nowhere else to go get paraded around for rich fucks with too much money and not enough shame.
It’s the last stop before you end up in a ditch or on your knees, and you don’t just stumble into a place like that by accident. You get dragged.
“She told me she was staying with my mom.” The words are a whisper. “I’ve been sending her every cent I have left from that grant. All of it. I thought it would be enough to keep her away from those pricks. I know Dad’s memory is shot, but he’s still working… unless she’s lying about that too.”
“What pricks?”
“I ran into them a while back,” I say, the memory sour in my mouth. “Never mind.”
“Give me their names,” he says, the humor in his voice gone completely. “I’ll teach them to stay away.”
I look at him, really look at him. The dead-serious look in his eyes. “Who the hell are you?”
“Their names,” he repeats, ignoring my question.
“I don’t know. I think it was Billy and… Trey or Trevor. Whatever. It was ages ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.” My voice cracks. “Millie never tells me the truth. I’m so fucking tired of her lies.”
“She’s trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need her protection! I’m a fucking grown woman.”
“I noticed.”
I stare at him, his arrogance so thick I could choke on it.
“The Redline?” I say slowly. “I didn’t think you were the type who had to pay for it. Those girls—”
“I wasn’t there to pay for sex.”
“Sure.”
He exhales slowly through his nose, already tired of where this is going. “You done?”
“No,” I snap. “Actually, I’m fucking not. Apparently you knew what was going on in my own house, and I didn’t.”
I watch the river keep moving, carrying away whatever shit it picks up. It all just gets washed away, and maybe that’s the point. Maybe the only way to keep going is to be just as cold, to not give a shit about anything either.
I change the subject because, unfortunately, I want to know.
“So what are you even doing now?” I ask. “You working? Or just riding around looking for lost girls?”
“I work.”
“Oh really?”
“Pawn shop.”
I blink. “That pawn shop at the Cut?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Real nice.”
His expression hardens instantly. “Better than working for my family.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Been there since the pit,” he adds, the words tossed out like they mean nothing.
I frown. “Since the—”
“The owner found me,” he says. “Not long after.”
“What do you mean, ‘found you’?”
Jax shrugs. “He saw what happened. Said he understood.”
“Understood what?”
His eyes go to the dark water. For a split of a second, he looks younger. “He lost his son to it.”
“What? To The Pit?”
“Yeah. Guess he goes there to feel close to his kid. He was there that night. Everyone else was losing their minds and I didn’t know what to do. He didn’t ask questions and helped me.”
I think about asking questions myself about that night. I still have no idea what exactly happened after we climbed out, but this isn’t the time or place.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette, tapping it against the pack before lighting it. He takes a drag, then holds it out toward me. I look at him before taking it.
“You know what people say about Tar City?” I ask.
Jax glances at me. “That we’re lucky to have our own wishing well?” A corner of his mouth moves. “If I had to guess.”
I shake my head, staring out at the ugly, glowing skyline. “No. That’s the tourist version. The story people tell themselves to make it sound mystical instead of fucked up.”
He watches me as I take another drag then pass it back to him.
“They don’t actually talk about The Pit. They treat that as joke, honestly,” I continue. “They talk about the people running this place. The ones running things so deep nobody even knows their names anymore.”
He passes the cigarette back and I notice my fingers tremble slightly after our touch.
“Every good thing that tries to happen here gets swallowed, and not by The Pit. Every chance. Every person who might’ve made it out.” I laugh. “That’s what Tar City’s known for. Not monsters, people with black little hearts making sure nothing ever changes.”
Jax takes the cigarette back, exhales slowly.
“Easy to judge,” he mutters. “When you didn’t have to survive it.”
I look at him. “Maybe.” The word comes out cold. “I can’t believe Millie’s at the Redline,” I say. “Of all places.”
“She’s working, Sisk,” he says. “Like the rest of us.”
“Right.” I snatch the cigarette back, taking a long drag and exhaling a plume of smoke toward the river. “So why were you there? The ambiance? Don’t pretend that’s any better.”
He laughs. “Despite what my name says, I never promised to be a saint, Sisk.” His eyes drag over me, stripping me bare. “Fuck—you were never into good boys anyway. You wanted trouble. If I remember right.”
I hate that he’s right. I hate that my body remembers it too.
“You think I don’t know what you wanted when you got on the bike tonight?” He steps closer. Too close.