Chapter 18
Zeus
Pacing is what led to that kiss hours ago. I know it was Zayne's way of trying to calm me down, to distract me from the rage building inside for being the type of man who could stand there and watch a kid cry with a rifle pointed at his face and do nothing to protect him.
I know why we did it. I'm aware enough to know that it had to be done, but that still doesn't stop the guilt from threatening to eat me alive.
I haven't gone to sleep. I've spent hours alternating between pacing back and forth in this ridiculously tiny fucking room and sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to figure out exactly what I did wrong in life to land myself here.
I haven't even attempted to sleep. Even if I wasn't reeling from the events of the night, the memory of the kiss we shared wouldn't have allowed it to happen.
That kiss.
The very first kiss.
The whole thing is bothering me, but not in the way I would imagine. I'm less peeved that we actually kissed than I am that I walked away from him.
I can imagine what could've happened if I hadn't taken a step back and walked in here. In fact, I've grown frustrated in the past few hours, thinking about exactly what could happen between the two of us.
Shockingly, there's no voice whispering in the back of my mind that even having those thoughts is wrong. I can't hear my mother preaching to me about what's expected from a Jenkins, and having any sort of sexual or romantic relationship with another man would disgrace the family.
It's the silence that's doing more damage than the voice I usually hear because I have no idea what it means. As much as I've fought the training my parents instilled in me, their expectations have always been the loudest in my head, no matter how much I try to silence them.
Needing a wider area to pace, I leave my room, the sound of the shower going in the shared bathroom almost like a magnet, the pull urging me to go in that direction rather than right out the front door.
Somehow, I manage to fight long enough that seconds later, I'm pulling in deep calming breaths, the cold mountain air filling my lungs and washing away some of the guilt from last night.
I lift my nose to the sky, eyes closed, as I pull in and exhale a few more breaths. If only clearing away all the bad things in life were really this easy.
I walk toward the truck, eyeballing the narrow driveway and mentally planning a route for my outdoor pacing, when I notice one of the neighbors walking toward their mailbox.
I promptly turn around and head back toward the house.
Even learning their names isn't on my list of shit to do while working this fucking job.
Movement catches my eye, and I feel like a fool for not having noticed the piece of paper taped to the door, the loose end waving in the breeze.
I know it's from someone in The League without having to look at the barely legible writing.
It simply has an address and time on it. Nothing more, nothing less.
I have no idea when the note was left or who from the group left it.
I don't know if we'll make it out of the meeting alive.
Bobby could've easily told them all sorts of shit if he thought he was going to be in trouble for getting high and passing out.
I doubt the man has any moral high ground, whether it's toward himself or others.
What I do know is that we can't not go. This meeting is exactly why we're here, and not wanting to go has nothing to do with being scared.
I know there's a chance I'll die every single time I leave the safety of any location I'm at to go to work, that there's a chance I won't make it home.
I decided long ago that dying might be a sacrifice I had to pay eventually, and I've never let the fear of it stop me from doing a job. I sure as hell won't start today.
I step back into the house, note clutched in my hand.
I had every intention of calling out to him, but the steam from his shower, swirling through the small living room, envelops me.
The scent of his body wash threatens to coat my skin in a way I don't hate, even though I know I should at least be hesitant about anything that involves that man.
I cross the room, ready to speak up, to be the voice I no longer hear in my head that what we've done is wrong and we can't do it again.
But instead of shoving open his bedroom door and issuing my demands, I press my forehead to the cool wood, pulling in two short breaths and turning the doorknob slowly.
I don't know what I expected to find.
I know he just got out of the shower. The humidity is still hanging heavy in the air, but I'm frozen standing in his open doorway, eyes locked on his glistening pecks, mouth dropping open half an inch when he adjusts the towel around his waist.
He doesn't seem shocked to find me standing there looking at him. If anything, he looks a little intrigued by my sudden appearance, a challenge of sorts in his eyes.
I open my mouth to tell him he needs to quit this shit because blaming him for just existing seems like the right thing to do.
It doesn't matter that I was the one to lean in and press my lips to his last night, or that I walked in here without permission.
He's the temptation, and if he weren't here, I could still convince myself that I was never attracted to him, not years ago, and certainly not now.
I close my mouth, incapable of making any sound when I see his nipples tighten, either from the cold or my attention.
The straining of his growing erection against the thin towel has me opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water.
As big of a fool as I feel standing here right now just gawking at him, I can't seem to turn away.
"Top or bottom?" I blurt, my eyes growing wide at the sound of my voice.
That's not what I was supposed to say at all! I should've mentioned the meeting or told him that last night's kiss was a mistake.
Top or bottom? Who in their right mind blurts shit like that out?
I'm having some sort of existential crisis, and he has the fucking audacity to let a slow smile spread across his face before he speaks.
"Verse," he answers, his teeth scraping over his bottom lip, and I swear I feel the attention right on the tip of my cock. "You?"
"Huh?" I manage like an idiot, my eyes slow to pull from the front of his towel. Then my attention gets diverted once again to the droplets of water glistening on his abdomen and chest.
"Top or bottom?" he asks, a hint of humor in his voice.
I shake my head, my very first instinct to deny any sort of want or need in that capacity.
"I don't know," I answer honestly, my eyes lifting to his.
His smile grows even wider, and it hits me like a sledgehammer to my chest how much I always needed to see his face light up like that when we were younger.
Seeing it now doesn't piss me off the way it did years ago.
I didn't exactly hate it then, but I hated how much I enjoyed it, how much it calmed me down, how much I ached for it on the really bad days.
I dip my head in agreement before my brain catches up. I hold out my hand when he takes a step forward, my sense of responsibility trying to come back online after he made my brain glitch.
"What's that?" he asks, seeing the note in my hand.
He takes a step closer, just enough to read it. An urgency to be closer to him nearly wins out, but when he takes a step back, his face is all business.
Old feelings of never being good enough, of always coming in last place, threaten to fill me.
Zayne is a man on a mission to eradicate the world of people like the ones his sister got involved with, and I shouldn't be upset that his focus is on that type of work rather than spending a little time with me. Knowing that doesn't make those feelings of being second best go away completely.
"This is a good sign," he says, his towel falling to the floor with a flick of his right hand. "Another meeting so soon is a good sign."
"They could be planning to kill us," I say, my eyes drifting down his body once again, not an ounce of fear of it happening in my voice. I'm too distracted to worry about imminent death.
"No one connected to the club has been charged with murder," he says, his hand wandering down his chest to his cock. "Except that one guy, but it was a bar brawl."
"So they aren't capable of murder?" I manage, my own cock straining in my jeans as I watch him grip the base of his own.
"Oh, I have no doubt that they're capable of it," he says, releasing his cock and walking toward his dresser as if he isn't the biggest fucking tease in the world. "I just think they'd spend more time than they've had since we got home planning it if that's the direction they're wanting to go."
I watch without hesitation as he grabs his clothes from the dresser, tossing them on the bed before scooping back up his towel and using it to finish drying off.
As if he knows I need what he's offering, he turns to face me as he dresses. He isn't exactly putting on a show, but knowing that makes it seem no less of a performance.
"So we're safe then?"
Zayne shakes his head as he pulls a green-and-blue patterned flannel over his t-shirt. "We're never fucking safe around these guys, but I don't think they plan to kill us today."
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, my head clearing a little now that he has clothes on.
I wait for the guilt to hit me.
I pull in a deep breath, anticipating the voice that tells me the thoughts running through my head are shameful.
My parents had many beliefs, but although some were cloaked in a hint of religious expectation, the majority of their stipulations had to do with how people outside looking in portrayed them.
They didn't want to be the center of gossip unless people were whispering about their success out of jealousy. Only then was it acceptable.
He still manages to hold every ounce of my attention as he sits on the edge of the bed and pulls his boots on. I can't seem to pull my eyes away from him when he stands again and walks to the dresser to grab his wallet.
I'm locked in place, as if this is my very first day on the job, and I have no idea what I should do or what comes next.
I'm still standing there, blocking his exit from the room as he approaches.
The hint of mint on his breath meets my nose, infiltrating my senses as he leans in close, his palm warm on my chest through my shirt.
"I'm ready when you are," he says, and then brushes a gentle kiss on my lips before sliding past me and leaving the room.