Chapter 69 #2
For a moment I consider deflecting. Making a joke. Getting up. Pouring another drink. Anything to avoid opening this particular wound, but the look on her face stops me. It’s not pity or sympathy. It’s just… her. And that’s enough to crack me open.
So I exhale, a long, slow breath, and I tell her.
“After we got out… you don’t remember much?” I ask.
She shakes her head slowly. “I remember Lou walking me to the car right away.”
“Yeah,” I nod. “You were in shock.”
I lean back, rubbing a hand down my face. “About a minute later everyone started screaming.”
Her brows pull together. “Why?”
“Ivan didn’t come out.”
I watch Scotch move to the corner, settling down by the window. “Then the tar… asked me.”
She looks up immediately. “For what?”
“To pick two.”
Her eyes widen, the color draining from her face. “Like that?”
“Said it was hungry. Said if I was serious I had to prove it.”
Sisk’s hand flies to her mouth.
“That’s when I saw it,” I continue. “Dean’s necklace.”
“What?”
“I recognized it when I hit him earlier,” I say quietly, the memory as clear as if it were yesterday. “I knew then it had been him helping Ivan.”
My muscles tighten, the old anger coiling in my gut. “So I grabbed him.”
Sisk just stares at me, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“And Bear?” she asks softly.
“Bear tried to play hero. Tried to pull him out.”
My hands curl into fists on my knees. “All I had to do was shove him the rest of the way.”
I stare at the wall. “It happened so fast. One second I’m holding onto Dean, the next Bear’s in my face, and everyone’s screaming like I’m the fucking monster. They were scared of me, scared of what I might do next.”
I shake my head. “All I could think about was you. What would happen to you if I didn’t listen. If it decided you were a better choice.”
Sisk’s breathing changes.
My voice roughens, the words getting harder to push out. “I started to freak out. The reality of what I did hit me, and I almost lost it.” I laugh under my breath. “Somehow O was there. He saw the whole fucking thing.”
I rub my hand over my mouth, the memory of O’s strong grip on my arm as real as if it were happening now.
“He helped me up and took me home. He told me about his son and how this thing takes and takes.” The words feel heavier now.
“He helped me through those first days, then weeks, then months. I couldn’t face anyone. Not my parents. Nor you.”
Sisk reaches out, her hand covering my fist. Her touch lets me keep going.
“The requests kept coming and with each one… I changed.”
I glance down at my hands, at the faint, dark lines that are always there now. “Physically. Mentally.” I let out another long exhale. “And for a while…” I shake my head again, the admission tasting like blood in my mouth. “I almost liked it.”
Her brows knit together. “What?”
“The power,” I admit quietly. “It felt… fun at first.” I grimace. “I know. I know. It’s fucked up. I’m so fucked up.”
Sisk shakes her head slowly, her grip on my hand tightening. “No.”
“I am.”
“You were young,” she says.
“Still.”
“You were trying to survive,” she insists.
She pulls her legs up onto the couch, tucking them under her. “It’s really been all my fault.”
I look up at her, my entire world shifts. “No.”
“If it weren’t for me,” she says, her voice cracking, “you wouldn’t have obeyed it.”
“That’s not—”
“You only did it because of me.”
“Sisk—”
“I dragged you there,” she says, her voice rising with desperation. “I pushed you into that mess.”
“No,” I say firmly, my voice leaving no room for argument.
“Yes.”
“No.”
She looks at me stubbornly.
“You were a victim,” I say quietly.
Her lips part, a silent protest dying on them.
“I’d do it all over again for you,” I admit, the confession tearing out of me. “For this, for us. Every single fucked-up time.”
She comes closer and before I can stop it, my eyes burn. A single, hot tear slips down my cheek. I wipe it away, rough and angry, but it’s too late. She’s never seen that. Never seen me break.
“Jax…”
“Don’t,” I growl and suddenly I’m laughing, a horrible, breathless sound. “Fuck,” I curse, my head in my hands. “Fuuuuck.”
She moves, climbing onto my lap. Her arms wrap around my neck, her hands cradling my face, forcing me to look at her. “You’re not a monster,” she whispers, her lips pressing against the wet track on my cheek. “Not a villain. Do you hear me?”
Another tear escapes, and she kisses that one away too. “I love you.”
I pull her closer, burying my face in her hair, breathing her in. “I love you too,” I cry into her neck.
All those years of pain finally catch up to me at once. The fear. The guilt. The exhaustion. Every full moon. Every body. Every night spent wondering if I was finally becoming the monster everyone thought I was. Everyone but her.
I don’t think she realizes what not running means. That every time she chooses to stay, she's stitching together pieces of me I thought were gone for good.
For a while we just sit there like that. A fucking mess. Laughing a little and crying a little. Two broken people in a city that’s trying to eat us alive.
Eventually she leans back slightly, still on my lap. “What are we going to do, Jax?”
“About which problem?” I ask, kissing her lightly, trying to find some semblance of normalcy.
She tilts her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Let’s start with… sex.”
I blink, then a real, rough laugh escapes me. “The world is literally burning down around us and that’s your priority?”
“A girl has her needs,” she says, unbothered.
I shake my head, my own smirk turning predatory. “Until we figure out what the fuck is happening to me, you’re on your own. I wouldn’t mind a private dance performance. Or…”
“Or what?” she challenges, her eyes glinting.
“We can move to plan B. Hole A.”
Her eyebrow lifts. “We should have done that before the piercings.”
I grab her face, my voice turning into a low growl. “We’ll take one rung at a time.”
Her breath hitches.
“Do you trust me?”
She nods, eyes wide.
“Good,” I murmur against her lips. “Because the ladder was your idea, and I’m going to make you feel every single step of the way up.”
“What was I thinking?” she laughs, shaking her head. “Clearly, Lola has issues.”
She stands with a tired groan. “I need a hot shower, and then we can talk about this.”
She tugs her sweatshirt up and over her head, then grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it off. And my breath goes with it. “Sisk.”
She pauses. “What?”
I step closer, my hand reaching out. “What’s this?”
I point at her stomach. A thin black vein runs beneath her skin, dark and unnatural.
Her brow furrows as she looks down. “Oh.” She shrugs, completely unconcerned. “Probably pulled something dancing.”
“That’s not a bruise,” I say, my voice tight.
“Well,” she says casually, “maybe another mark from the tar. This one here hasn’t faded either.” She taps the spot on her chest.
My entire world narrows to her skin and the thin black vein running beneath it. I sink to my knees in sudden understanding as the tar’s voice echoes in my head, loud and clear, a triumphant roar.
THE HEIR.