Chapter 61 #2
Murtaugh leans over from nowhere. “Technically speaking, Ashfall statistically increases territorial behavior in primates—”
“Drink your beer, Murtaugh,” Matt cuts him off.
Viper taps the counter with one fingernail. Click. Click.
“So,” she says. “What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?”
Matt slides in smoothly and pours her one.
“House is packed,” Matt says evenly. “Keep it civil.”
Viper smiles without looking at him. She lifts the glass. “So,” she says casually. “You all healed up yet?”
My hand tightens around the glass I’m holding until it cracks. The lights above us flicker and Sisk sees it right away.
Matt blinks. “Healed what?”
Viper tilts her head toward me. “Oh,” she says. “He didn’t tell you?”
Lou’s shoulders go rigid.
Sisk’s eyes sharpen to points.
“Tell us what?” Matt asks.
Viper takes another slow sip, drawing it out. “He got a full ladder,” she says. “Six bars.”
“He got a what?” Murtaugh asks, looking like a confused puppy.
Lou turns to him, dead-eyed. “Not now.”
Viper’s gaze shifts to Sisk. “At my shop.”
The music pounds. People move. And the air around us goes fucking vacuum-tight.
Sisk’s eyes lock on mine. “You let your ex pierce your dick?”
A couple guys nearby choke on their beer.
Lou slams his glass down. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Straight men are so fucking dumb.”
Matt rubs his face. “This is why I drink.”
Some dipshit near the end of the bar squints at Viper’s neck tattoo and says, “That snake looks hungry.”
Lou turns slowly. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Sisk, it’s not—” I start.
She’s already stepping back, turning and walking toward the back door.
Viper shrugs like she didn’t just light a fuse and is enjoying the show. “What?” she calls lightly. “I told him six was excessive.”
Lou steps forward, eyes blazing. “Okay, you need to leave before I commit a felony.”
The crowd presses tighter, Ashbrew sloshes while someone shoves someone. I can’t deal with it now, I follow Sisk, pushing through the bodies and shoving the door open.
She’s already halfway down the sidewalk.
“Sisk—” I call out.
She spins around.
“What the fuck, Jax?” She comes back furiously.
“Will you let me explain?”
“Explain what?” she snaps. “Explain how letting your ex pierce your dick is fine? Go ahead. I’m dying to hear this.”
“She didn’t do it,” I say. “Quentin did.”
“Who the fuck is Quentin?”
“Her business partner. A man.”
“So you still went to her shop.”
“Yes.”
“You had to go there.”
“Honestly? I didn’t think it was a problem if it wasn’t her doing it.”
“Of course you didn’t.” She laughs. “You know why she hangs around, Jax.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She thinks she still has a chance. Why is that?”
“I don’t know, Sisk.” My voice tightens. “I’ve told her—many times—we were never really together. She knows it’s always been you.”
“It’s obviously not clear enough to her.”
“Look, if it wasn’t for Murtaugh and his fucking science projects, we probably wouldn’t even be in the same room.”
“But you are.”
“They’re trying to help.”
“Are they?” she shoots back. “Great. It’s all one big happy family, isn’t it?”
“You don’t need to be jealous of her.”
Her face changes.
“Oh, I don’t?” she says quietly. “Thanks for telling me what I should feel.”
I exhale hard, a frustrated puff of air. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You know what pisses me off?” she continues, stepping closer, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “You get to be jealous of the entire city.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” she challenges, pushing right into my space. “You think I forgot what you did to Lucas?”
The streetlight above us flickers and Sisk looks up.
I take a breath, but it’s a mistake. Out here, every scent is amplified. Her skin, the stale beer on my own breath, smoke drifting from blocks away, and blood somewhere in the distance.
I somehow sense the tar in the pit rising like a heavy tide.
“Are you okay?” she asks, stepping closer now, her hand reaching for my arm.
I turn toward her and her eyes widen. “Jax…”
My vision catches her heartbeat in her neck, a frantic little pulse.
The tar shifts under mine with a hungry roll.
“Get away from me,” I snap.
She doesn’t move.
“Jax—”
“Move.”
Before she can say anything else, the bar door swings open. Matt steps out, half annoyed, half concerned. “Hey, we need you inside, it’s getting—”
He doesn’t get to finish. One second he’s in the doorway, the next my hand is around his throat. I don’t even remember crossing the space. I lift him with one hand and his feet dangle. The tar leaks from my palm, thick and black, sliding down his collar.
Someone screams. Sisk. She’s the one screaming. “JAX STOP!”
Matt’s feet kick in the air. I feel his throat squirming under my fingers, his pulse hammering against my palm. The brick behind him cracks, splinters flying off as his back slams into it.
The streetlight above us pops and the whole block goes dark.
“Let him go!” Sisk screams. She takes a step toward me, then stops herself, turning and running back inside instead.
My grip tightens and the tar pulses. FEED.
Inside the bar, I can hear Sisk yelling for help but it doesn’t fully register. It’s all just noise under the pounding in my head.
More heartbeats.
Lou freezes. “Oh no.”
Murtaugh stares. “Jax this is just your neurological dissociation triggered by—”
“SHUT UP!” Lou yells.
Viper steps forward. “Jax! Drop him!”
The tar crawls up my arm, hot and hungry, and the sensation is a sickening comfort.
Matt’s face is turning purple, a satisfying flush that sings to the violence humming in my bones.
I want to feel them crack. The tar purrs, a deep vibration in my throat that tastes of ozone and satisfaction.
It likes the fear is rolling off him in waves.
I lean in, my own mouth watering in anticipation.
White-hot fire erupts in my calf and I look down. Scotch’s jaws are locked on my leg as he growls. Reflected in his wide, dark eyes, a red-eyed monster with my face stares back. Ending him would be so easy. A thought. A twitch of power.
All I see is him. Scotch. Scotch. Scotch.
Memories slam into me, a fucking freight train of images.
Him chewing on my boot when I first brought him home.
Him sleeping at the foot of my bed, a warm, breathing lump.
Sisk’s hand in mine as we picked him out, her laugh when he licked her face.
The first time we said his name together.
Scotch. The word is a fucking anchor in the storm of tar and hunger.
Control snaps in for a split second, giving me a single, clear moment of me. Then another. Slowly, the tar recoils. It retracts up my palm and vanishes inside, leaving me cold and shaking.
Matt drops to the pavement, coughing and gasping for air.
Everyone is staring, afraid. Sisk goes to Scotch, calming him down, but her eyes never leave mine.
I look at my hand and then I look at Matt wheezing on the ground, at the guy who’s got my back, who I’d take a bullet for.
Then I look at Scotch, his head is tilted, his ears are up and he looks at me, confused and worried.
I almost killed my two best friends in the span of seconds, and the only thing cutting through the ringing in my ears is the tar’s command: KILL. BLOOD. FEED. Running is the only choice left, so I turn and flee.