Page 35 of You Were Always Mine
The silence between us is thick enough to strangle. Mypulse hammers, my head screaming to deny it, to laugh, to throw a punch and end this conversation before it digs too deep.
I can’t.
I don’t.
All I do is drag the smoke into my lungs until it hurts, my hand trembling just enough to betray me.
Jax lets out a rough laugh that isn’t really a laugh at all. ‘Fuck, Kai… you’re in love with her.’
The words slam into me harder than any fist ever could. And for the first time in my life, I don’t have a single thing to say back.
The smoke stings my throat, but I drag it deep anyway, needing the burn — needing something to cover the pounding in my chest. Jax stands too close, eyes narrowed, smirk gone, all that bullshit laughter drained out of him.
‘You’re not even gonna deny it, huh?’ His voice cuts low, sharp. ‘She’s your sister, Kai.’
My jaw locks. I stare out at the dark street, at the hum of cars passing by, the neon sign buzzing overhead. I don’t look at him. I can’t.
‘Step,’ I rasp, flicking ash into the gutter. My voice is raw, my hands shaking though I force them still. ‘She’s my stepsister.’
Jax lets out a humourless laugh. ‘Like that makes it better?’ He steps closer, searching my face as if he can dig the truth out of me. ‘I’ve seen you lose your shit over her. The way you looked when she walked in that night, the way you tore that guy off her in Hell — you’d kill for her.’
My teeth grind. He’s not wrong. That’s the worst fucking part.
I inhale again, smoke clawing my lungs, trying to hold myself together. ‘Don’t talk about her.’
‘Don’t talk about her?’ He barks a bitter laugh. ‘Kai, I think you’d tear a fucker apart if anyone touched her. And you want me to just shut my mouth and pretend I didn’t see it?’
I finally turn my eyes, cutting into his. He flinches, just barely, but I see it.
‘You will shut your mouth,’ I snarl, voice low and dangerous. ‘Because if you don’t, Jax, it won’t be a fucking choice.’
For a second, neither of us breathes. His smirk fades completely, replaced with something quieter, heavier — fear, maybe, or pity.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he mutters, shaking his head, stepping back. ‘You really are in love with her.’
And I can’t deny it.
Not to him.
Not to myself.
Not anymore.
Scarlett
Ican still feel him.
On my skin.
In my head.
Every time I close my eyes, it’s his mouth, his hands, his voice, his weight pressing me down into the mattress until I can’t breathe.
I should hate him for it. God, I do hate him for it — but the shame is worse. The sick truth that part of me wants more.
I throw myself onto the bed, yanking the blanket up to my chin like I can smother the memory, but the phone lights up beside me.
TYLER: You still mad at me?
