Chapter 61
Sixty-One
NOW | JAX
Scotch lifts his head from the floor, watching me with those dark eyes like he knows something’s wrong.
“Get lost,” I grumble. “Go back to sleep.” He doesn’t listen.
He gets up, his nails clicking on the wood as he follows me into the hall, a big furry shadow on my heels.
Fucking mutt. He drops onto the couch with a heavy sigh, taking up the whole damn thing, his eyes still on me, like he’s judging my every move.
I stop in the middle of the room, my bare feet sticking to the floorboards.
The place is a fucking wreck. Two cardboard boxes are stacked against the wall with some of her things we brought over this morning.
We’ve been slowly moving her shit in when we can.
We checked on her parents and Millie, but it’s a situation I don’t know how to fix.
They all need money and doctors, nurses.
Sisk is stressed, we both are, but what else can I do?
The nurse is costing me all the money I had saved up.
We can’t move in there, they can’t move in here.
I look around at the empty pizza boxes on the counter next to a half-empty bottle of whiskey. We’ve barely stopped to do anything but eat, sleep, and fuck. The mess is proof of it.
A pile of clothes is slung over the armchair, and for a second, I think about cleaning up. I pick her balled-up hoodie from the floor and place it over my shirt on the chair, and that’s when I see them—tucked underneath my jeans, a flash of bright red. Her panties.
I don’t mean to look, don’t mean to step closer, but I do, drawn to that splash of color.
I see the stain now, a dark, damp patch in the center, fucking wrecked from last night.
My hand moves on its own, fingers closing around the delicate fabric as I lift it to my face and breathe in deep.
A possessive thing in my gut wakes up and starts snarling, demanding more.
“What the hell, Jax?”
I drop the panties immediately. I flick it back into the pile, trying to pretend it’s nothing, that I wasn’t just burying my face in her underwear like a fucking creep.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice laced with suspicion.
“Laundry,” I grunt, not turning around.
She’s giving me that look that says she knows I’m full of shit, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Were those my panties you just had shoved in your face?”
“What if it was?”
She grins slowly. “You could’ve just said you missed me. I would’ve let you get it fresh from the source.”
I choke on a breath. “Well, shit,” I say, looking at her. “I really am just your fuckboy, huh?”
She walks toward me and her hand slides down my chest, lowering until her fingers are brushing the metal along my cock through my sweatpants.
“You haven’t told me yet. What does it actually feel like?” she teases.
I almost lose my goddamn balance. I catch her hand, my grip maybe too tight, stilling her right over the hard length of me.
“You played with them for hours last night. I told you, it feels like a fucking joke,” I bite out, my voice low and rough.
“You’re the one who wanted me to get this shit.
Now every time I move, every time you so much as look at me, it lights a fucking fuse straight to my spine.
” I have to force the next words out. “I told you earlier, my senses are already shot. Don’t…
don’t push me right now. I’m not kidding. ”
Her eyes widen.
“Your eyes,” she whispers.
“What?”
“They’re darker.”
I swallow hard.
“Talk to me. You okay?”
“Peachy.” I turn away, start moving shit around.
She sighs frustrated. “One day, Jax. You’re actually going to have to talk to me. I thought we said we were done with this shit, that you were going to let me in.”
I don’t answer.
She laughs pissed and heads toward the kitchen. “This place is a fucking sty, Jax. We need to get our shit together. Scotch’s almost out of food and he needs a bath. We’re out of detergent. There’s—”
“Can’t you just stay here and handle it?” I cut in.
She stops. “Excuse me?”
“You’re living here now, aren’t you?”
“That makes me your maid?”
“That’s not what I—”
“I have a business to run, like you.”
“Fuck. Never mind. Didn’t mean it like that.”
“You absolutely meant it like that.”
She storms toward the bathroom. “You can fix all this with a snap of your fingers, you know!” she blurts before slamming the door.
Well, that went well. I grab my cigarettes and head for the window.
When she comes back out, she’s already dressed with her bag slung over her shoulder. “You pissed ‘cause it’s Ashfall?”
My brow pulls together. “Shit.” I actually forgot.
“You got things ready?” she asks.
“Matt’s taking cover this year, you know how he is—says it’s good for business.”
“I’d say a holiday where everyone dresses in black and drinks ashbrew until they forget their own name is pretty fucking good for the bar business,” she says, deadpan. “But what do I know?”
She grabs her keys.
“Where are you going?”
“Work. See you tonight.”
She steps close, presses a quick, hard kiss to my mouth. “Oh,” she adds lightly. “Left another pair of panties by the bed, in case you need a hit.”
My hand’s already reaching, but she’s gone, out the door before I can get a word out. Before I can tell her not to, before I can admit that since last night, there’s been this thing inside me, just walking back and forth, wearing a fucking groove in my guts.
Every sound is too loud, every scent too strong, every heartbeat around me too close.
I want to call her back, to tell her to stay, to lock the fucking door and stop me from doing what I know I’m going to do.
But I don’t, because under my skin, the tar shifts, hungry.
And the worst part? I know exactly what it’s hungry for.
A voice I haven’t heard in a while forces its way into my head. OBEY OR SHE WILL PAY.
* * *
The keg hisses as I pour another ashbrew. Shit. This is bad.
The bar is a fucking nightmare, packed wall-to-wall with bodies drowning in black. Black denim, black lace, black boots, eyeliner smeared under eyes like war paint. Some assholes even draw streaks down their cheeks like they’re mourning something, but most of them are just here to get obliterated.
The Drip lives up to its name tonight. Ashbrew is sloshing everywhere—onto the counter, onto hands, onto shirts. That’s the rule, you wear black because by midnight you’ll be covered in it anyway.
Some people swear Ashfall started as a memorial, something about the mine collapse, that moment of origin of the pit. No one knows for sure and no one cares. Now it’s just tradition: drink until you forget, dress for the stain, and don’t ask what’s under the ground.
I want to run to the nearest tunnel and hide.
This overstimulation is the fucking curse of the moon: I can hear every single heartbeat in this place, a chorus of meatbags thumping away; I can smell every single gland, their sweat, fear, and worse, their cheap fucking cologne; I can taste their blood in my mouth, a phantom copper tang.
Now, somehow I’m supposed to wipe down this counter, pour them another drink, and live my fucking life like a normal bartender.
Sisk’s laugh rings out, sharp and bright. Lou must’ve said something good, because they’re both doubled over now, lost in their own world.
“Oh my fucking word, if you spill that on me I swear I’ll fake a seizure and ruin the entire vibe,” Lou says and she laughs again.
She’s across the bar, leaning against the wall.
She looks fucking incredible. Her hair’s down and she’s got that black eyeliner smudged under her eyes, same as every other girl in here, but on her, it just looks right.
She’s wearing a black tank that does nothing to hide how perfect her tits are.
Black jeans that are painted onto her ass.
Black boots that go up to her knees. She looks too fucking good.
I catch every other asshole in here looking, and the sick possessive part of me wants to drag her upstairs and lock the door.
Lou stands next to her in a sheer black shirt
“You two are cut off before you even start,” Matt says, grinning.
“We just got here,” Lou snaps.
“It’s preventative,” Matt replies.
Sisk rolls her eyes and bumps Lou’s shoulder. “I told you this was his favorite holiday.”
“It’s not a holiday,” I call out, the words leaving my mouth before I can stop them.
Three heads snap toward me.
Lou squints. “Oh good. Scary bartender is in a good mood tonight.”
“Business,” Matt scoffs, leaning an elbow on the bar and getting in my space. “And business is fucking booming, remember? So stop acting like a pussy and pour the damn drinks.”
“Push me right now, Matt. I swear, I’m fucking looking for an excuse.”
“Never mind, man,” Matt says, leaning on the bar next to me and nudging my arm. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
I follow his gaze. Viper walks in and her brother trails behind her, looking like a lost fucking tourist.
“You’d be mad if I tapped that, right?” Matt asks, and I can tell by the look on his face he’s not messing around.
I look back at him. “You’d be doing me a favor, man. Go for it.”
Viper approaches and leans on the counter. “Long time no see, Jax.”
I stop wiping the glass. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Last I checked this is a bar, open to the public,” she says, leaning forward.
Matt materializes beside me. “Whoa, easy, killer. She’s a paying customer.” He winks at her. “A very welcome one, at that.”
“Relax,” Viper says lightly, her eyes never leaving mine. “I’m not here to cause a scene.”
Her gaze drifts down my body slowly.
Sisk and Lou move closer without even looking like they’re moving. Lou plants himself at Viper’s side.
“Whole city full of men and you still circling the one that dumped you?”
A few people nearby laugh.
Sisk nudges him. “Lou. It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” Lou mutters, but he eases half a step back.
Viper smiles faintly, not embarrassed or rattled, just fucking enjoying it.