Page 13 of Jax

“I am building it,” he sneers. “I just do it by taking. Get me info, Sade. Get in there and get account numbers, credit cards, anything you can find.” He wraps his hand around the back of my neck and yanks me toward him. His lips collide with mine, and I’m so shocked that he’s kissing me that I don’t immediately put up a fight. It’s been forever since we’ve kissed. He usually has only one use for me, and it’s never something as intimate as this.

He pulls away before I can protest, my lips shriveling with the thought of him touching me again. “You should stick close to me tonight. It’ll probably drive him nuts.”

I highly fucking doubt that it will, but it’s not as if I’m in the headspace to contradict him right now. I saw the look in Jax’s eyes yesterday. He truly does hate me, and even though I think part of what he said was a lie, most of it was the truth. He does think of me, unlike he stated, but when he does, I’m sure it’s to think about how much he despises me. Wouldn’t anyone? You don’t send someone to jail and expect them to be okay with it. Especially in such a demeaning way. Jax would never hurt a hair on any woman’s head, and I accused him of doing something so heinous that I couldn’t blame him if he never wants to talk to me again.

That’s why this is my best idea. Jax hates me anyway, so what am I losing? If I don’t do something, Psycho will make my life a living hell. He’s not a gangster but he’s unhinged, just like his name. He’ll take this out on me if it fails. At the very least, he’ll kick me out, and I’ll be forced to live with nothing.

Everyone should be assured that they have the necessities of life. If I didn’t care about that, I’d have already left his ass.

Psycho pulls away, grabbing my chin to make me look at him. “You’re in this with me, right?”

His touch bites into my skin but I smile anyway, my skin stretching painfully. “Of course.”

“No second thoughts about the guy you were in love with before?”

I scoff. “Who needs him when I have you?”

He pulls me close again, thankfully, because the dead stare I give the wall would expose my true feelings. My eyelids shutter when he says, “I hope we have something to celebrate tonight.”

I stiffen in his arms and then pretend I’m cold. I hope we don’t have anything to celebrate tonight. My clit can’t take it.Ican’t fucking take it anymore.

New goal if all else fails: Make sure Psycho gets so drunk he can’t work his dick. I need a reprieve.

7

I’m impressed.

The Ring looks like it belongs in a cool, suave city instead of in downtown Rawley Heights. The fight club—speaking literally because after the fights, it turns into a dance club—sits in an old, brick building that I’m positive had another life as a factory, yet it’s been given new breath with a cool, edgy vibe.

We arrive late. We don’t have pre-sale tickets, so the guy at the door tells us there’s standing room only space for twenty dollars apiece. That’s a hell of a lot for the amount of people we have. There’s at least ten of us rolling into the club but Psycho doesn’t even hesitate to pay the fee. Must be tarnishing someone’s reputation is priceless to him.

He pulls Knuckles aside almost immediately. I attempt to watch them to see what they’re up to, but I’m drawn away at the life pulsing through the building. I’m only allowed to go out when I’m on a job that requires it, so this is a treat for me. It’s as if we’re at an actual sporting event. There’s an announcer talking excitedly overhead and concession stands lining the perimeter. At the same time, the building fits this homey, rustic persona. The old brick sets off the neon signage adorning the walls well, and I’m immediately caught up in not only how nice this is but how I see elements of Jax everywhere.

I’ve been living in the Flats for so many years now that I forgot how much better things could be in the Heights. And that’s saying something. My world with Big Daddy K was fucked up but I lived in luxury. I had everything I could want. A cell phone, designer clothes, makeup, and my own room in the tower.

The only thing I wasn’t in control of was my body. Come to think of it, I’ve only ever been in control of my body when I was with Jax.

Acid sloshes around in my stomach. Soon, I’ll have to see him again, and I’m simultaneously regretting and looking forward to it. A bead of sweat drips down my back, getting lost in the waistband of my faux leather pants. An arm slinks around me and holds me possessively as we move through the crowd to find an area in the back that’s on the same floor as the octagon. We pass several stairways that lead to the second floor, and I try to get a glimpse of what the other levels look like, but the concrete ceilings and Psycho’s steady pace hinder my curiosity.

We move into a spot in the corner, and Psycho sends one of the guys to get beers. Even Knuckles, the one with the missing teeth who’s probably fighting later if all goes to plan, takes several bottles, gulping down the first like it’s nothing. I think this is an incredibly stupid move, but what do I know? Maybe he needs the liquid courage or, if he’s anything like Psycho, he probably has some ridiculous belief that alcohol makes him fight better.

So far, the best thing about the Ring is that we blend in with the crowd. No one knows us, which is refreshing. When we go out in the Flats as a group, people scatter. They respect Psycho’s reputation. It’s like that with all powerful men. They make examples out of a few people early on, and then they don’t have to work as hard for their respect. It burns my ass. He doesn’t deserve one ounce of reverence, but he gets it there, and here I am, trying to get him to deserve it in the Heights too.

I take a deep breath, letting the thick, tension-filled air fill my lungs before blowing it out. So much is riding on tonight that my stomach churns with the urge to throw up. If this doesn’t work, and I can’t convince Psycho that something else will, this job won’t end well for me. I’ve been dancing back and forth over his line for a while now, and I suspect the only reason why he hasn’t replaced me yet is that he loves to torture me.

My gaze catches on a passing girl who has her arm hitched to another. She looks so familiar that it only takes me a second to realize it’s the same girl from Jax and Finn’s house. Leenie…Finny’s girlfriend.

Sweat gathers at the base of my hair after a hot flash swamps me. Psycho and his guys will try to make asses out of Jax and Finn tonight. And I’m part of it. Hell, I came up with the idea. I close my eyes and list off every reason why I need to do this.To stay safe. To keep Psycho appeased.

Another thought squeaks in:To see Jax again. Even if it won’t be a happy meeting.

I take measured breaths, trying to make the thought pass but it only doubles when the next fighter enters the ring, accompanied by my thoughts personified. My heart skips a beat as I watch Jax’s stone-cold face approach the ring. His biceps bulge out from under his Elite Boxing shirt. He looks put together and clean...and fucking scrumptious. He’s the exact opposite of the body standing next to me now. I’ve never been the kind of girl who’s seen everything as the grass being greener on the other side, but I know damn well it is in this case.

Sorrow pangs inside my chest. Our relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was the most right thing I ever had. And here he is, only a hundred or so feet from me but we may as well be hundreds of miles apart.

“Go work your stuff,” Psycho says, patting my ass.

My hackles rise as I start forward. Psycho has the fighting part handled, now I have to see what I can drum up with Jax even though I know it will be nothing. I’m still the bad guy. I’m the girl who fucked him over, and until I’m much more than that, there’s no way he’s going to let me in again.

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