JAX (Breaking the Declan Brothers #1) (7 page)

I hear the bell jingle. I’ve gotten used to that sound whenever someone enters the café. I glance over. Shit! It’s Jax. I slouch down in my chair, trying to hide behind my laptop. I can’t face him after he actually let me think that I had a chance and then fucked with me without getting his hands dirty.  And I want his hands, and mouth, fucking with me— in the worse way.

“Too late, princess, I saw you through the window.” He chuckles.

Dammit. I sit up as he slides into the booth across from me. “Jax,” I say with a tight smile. Why! Why does the man have to be so gorgeous all the time? His short hair is messy, just like hot guy across the room. But like the rest of Jax, it’s a perfect messy. His white t-shirt grips every muscle beneath it as if the material knows that shit needs to be held firmly. I’m jealous of that damn shirt. I want so badly to hold him firmly there, too.

“Whatchya doin'?” He motions his chin at my laptop.

“I’m working so if you don’t mind…” I cross my arms over my chest with a tight smile. Really, I don’t want him to leave, but it’d be easier than dealing with another rejection. The last one didn’t hit hard until the next morning when I was sober. And, as predicted, the aspirin didn’t help. It was a double whammy, hangover with a shot of leftover shame.

“Working? Huh.” He sets his forearms on the table, clasping those capable looking hands together. Oh, how I want those hands, as warned, making me flush all over. God, in the worse way, I want him to mark my body with his touch. “So, what does a retired beauty queen do for a living anyway?”

I glare at his smug grin, wanting to swipe it off his beautiful face. But instead of granting myself the satisfaction, I reach down under the table fish my hand through my bag and slap a book on the table. His eyes drift to it. He picks it up, a crease feathering across his forehead.

He lifts the book. “Are you trying to tell me,” he glances at the cover, “you’re Olive Knight?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Open it, the second page.”

He does as I say and flips the page. “Huh, no shit,” he says, a smile breaking across his full lips. “Editor, E. Rue.” He stares at the page for a moment longer, sets it back on the table, and looks up at me. “I like the E. Rue.”

“Yeah,” I grab the book and drop it back in my bag. “When I worked for an editing company, they thought it sounded better then Emmie Rue. More professional, I guess. I freelance now, but by the time I went out on my own, my name was already established. So I stuck with it.”

“I never knew you wanted to be an author,” he says, falling prey to the same notion as others. But not every editor wants to be an author.

“I don’t. It’s not about that. When I get a manuscript from an author, I’m usually the first person to see it. They’ve poured their heart and soul into this creation, and knowing they trust me with it.” I shrug. “I don’t know, it’s just I get to take this beautiful thing and sort of be its make-up. I add a little blush here, highlight there,” I trail off realizing how much of an idiot I must sound like. I just compared myself to make-up, for Christ’s sake.

“You make it shine,” Jax says with a crooked smile.

“No. Most of the time, it’s already shining. I just try to help bring out the glow a little more.”

“Sounds like you really like what you do.”

“I do.” I sit up straighter. “And I’m not too bad at it, either,” I beam, proud of my work and my clients.

“So how’d you end up in Manhattan?”

“Rayna,” I say, closing my laptop. “She was in Florida for about a year after she left here, but then she moved to Manhattan for a job. I was staying with my mom in Chicago, but she finally met a decent guy, and they got married. I left the editing company that I’d been working at and decided it was time for a change, time for me to move on. I missed Rayna. So, a couple years back, I went to stay with her, and I’ve been there ever since. What about you? What happened to Gram’s store?”

“We lost it in a fire three years ago.” He shifts in the booth and glances around the café.

“I’m sorry,” I say, seeing a sudden unfamiliar discomfort in him.

“Yeah.” He taps the table with the tip of his finger. “We took the insurance money from it, along with the rest of Gram’s life insurance and what the fast food chain that’s there now offered us for the land and opened JZS’s.”

“About that, I didn’t know you were a fighter.”

“I’m not really into it like Zeke and Slate.” He stares at me for a moment, and I fall victim to those dark oblique eyes. “I mean, I know how to fight. Ya know my dad was a boxer. He taught us a lot about it before he died, mostly to me because I’m the oldest. I had more time with him. Zeke’s good, he has great technique and he’s fucking quick, but it’s always been in Slate’s blood. He’s like my dad, a natural, but he never accepted it. Not until,” he taps his finger again on the table, “not until we opened JZS’s.”

“I know. I was surprised to hear that he fights. He was always such an easygoing guy in high school. He never got into any fights like Zeke, and he was so sweet with Rayna.”

He stares at me, again, as though he’s contemplating his next words. “Yeah, well, he’s changed.”

“I guess that happens when we grow up, huh? Experiences change us and we sort of see things differently.”

“I don’t know.” His eyes slowly roll over my face. “You’re still the same beautiful Emmie Rue I remember.”

My cheeks get all hot. He called me beautiful—not pretty, but beautiful. “Yeah, but I get the feeling, Jax Declan, that you’re seeing me a little differently.”

“I definitely see you, Em.” His eyes drop to my mouth then slowly drift back up. “But the way I’m feeling while I’m doing it ain’t no different. Now,” he leans in toward me, and I get a strong whiff of his intoxicating scent, “tell me again, what brings you back to the Bayou?”

You
almost tumbles from my mouth as I stare into those shadowy, daring eyes, still trying to figure out what he meant by his feelings haven’t changed. Does that mean he still doesn’t want me? He’s so confusing.

“Well,” I take a deep breath, holding in my frustration. We are, after all, having a conversation. It’s something new for us, and I like it. “I can do my job from anywhere. Our friend, Lurlene, she’s a teacher, so she has the summers off. And Rayna, she just got out of a relationship, and she’s sort of between jobs. It was her idea to come here.”

“So, I have Rayna to thank?”

“For what?”

His smile turns up on both sides, and he reclines back in the booth. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me. Wait. Is he being sarcastic? Shit. Perhaps, he really doesn’t want me. And me, I’ve been that teenage girl all over again, throwing myself at him.

“Listen…” I clear my throat, time to pull up my big-girl pants. I know when to admit when I’m wrong. “I’m sorry about the other night—”

“Hold up.” He chuckles. Leaning forward, he grabs my hand. “Don’t apologize.” His expression deepens to determination as he squeezes my hand. “You came to the right place. In fact, it’s the only place you need to come when you’re looking to get what you wanted.”

“But you shut the door in my face.” He’s so fucking unclear!

“Yeah, and believe me, it took everything for me to turn you away.” He looks down at our hands, and easily runs a thumb across my fingers. I think that I stopped breathing; Jax holding my hand and caressing it, well, it’s stimulating. “But the first time I fuck you, Em,” his eyes lift to mine, “it’s not gonna be when you’re shitfaced. You’re going to remember everything. Every touch, every kiss, every push and every pull, you’re gonna feel it all.” He stands up and still holding my hand, still holding me to his every word, he bends forward and lifts my fingers to his mouth. “And then,” he brushes his lips across my fingers with his dark eyes touching me all the way to my whimsical soul, “you’re going to thank Rayna too for bringing you back here, for bringing you back to me.” He releases my hand and then struts his fine ass out of the café, leaving me with my mouth wide open. Damn that Jax Declan! I’m supposed to break his fine ass, but I think he’s going to break my fucking heart saying shit like that.

CHAPTER NINE

“Jax.” I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, Jax, get up,” Zeke says, smacking me hard.

“What the fuck!” I grit between my teeth. “Hit me again, and I’m gonna knock you out, fucker.” I blink a few times, trying to adjust to the darkness as I push up on an elbow and reach for my cell on the nightstand to check the time. “What the hell, Zeke. It’s four in the morning.” I toss my phone on the bed and drop back onto the pillow, not in the mood for any of Zeke’s shit tonight. Something fucked up always seems to happen whenever he closes the bar. “What do you want?”

“It’s Slate. I went to check on him and somethin’ ain’t right. I jabbed him a few times, but he ain’t budgin’.”

“Fuck.” I swing my legs around to sit up on the bed and scrub a hand over my face. Fucking Slate. I pick my jeans up from the floor and slip them on. “Did you talk to him today?”

“No. He stumbled into the bar around two. But I didn’t get in the apartment until three. I had something to eat, and he wasn’t around. Figured he’d gone to bed. He didn’t look too good though when I saw him in the bar so thought I’d check on him before I crashed. Usually when I give him a poke, he swings at me, tells me to fuck off or something, but he ain’t movin’.”

“Son-of-a-bitch.” I zip up my jeans, and with Zeke following close behind, I head to Slate’s room. I flick on his bedroom light. He’s fully clothed sprawled out on his belly in the bed. “Hey, dickhead.” I smack my hand on the doorframe. “Hey!” When I get no response, I walk over, grab his shoulder, and roll him over. Mouth open, eyelids down to a slit, body lithe, his arm does a slow nose-dive off the side of the bed. Shit! Even with his eyes partially open, I get the impression he’s not seeing me. I slap his cheek. “Slate.” I grip his shoulders, lift him up from the mattress, and give him a hard shake. “Slate!”

“I’ll go start the shower,” Zeke says.

“Fuck.” I lower my little bro’s limp body back on the bed only to turn and find Zeke midway out the door. “We can’t keep doing this shit.”  

“No.” He shakes his head and hands, coming back in. “We’re not calling 911. We’ll try the shower first.”

“Zeke.” I glare up at him, he always fights me on this.

“Jax, you didn’t see him the last time. It didn’t help. It made him worse.”

“Worse? Look at him. He’s fucked!”

“Just help me pick him up and get him in the shower. If he doesn’t come around, we’ll take him to the hospital.” He walks over to the bed and reaches down for Slate’s legs. “If he does snap out of it then I’ll stay with him. I’ll see him through this. Come on, Jax,” he nudges, “you know it’ll kill him if he has to go back there.”

“Fuck, I’m afraid it’s gonna kill him if he doesn’t.” Against my better judgment, my knee sinks into the bed. I slip my arms under Slate’s back bring them around his chest and bear hug him.

“But he was doing good,” Zeke says as we lift Slate’s dead weight. “Ya think it’s ‘cause Rayna’s back? Think that set him off?”

“Could be.” I nudge for him to watch out for the door as he moves backward. “He was pissed at me for not telling him she was in town.”

Zeke’s eyes widen. “He saw her?”

“Yeah, she came over the other night with Emmie Rue.”

“Emmie Rue,” he glances behind him, as we carry Slate into the bathroom, “ya hittin’ that sweet ass yet, buttercup?”

“Shut up, fucker,” I grunt, lowering Slate into the tub.

“Damn, he’s heavy.” Zeke leans forward, grips the faucet handle, and rests his forehead on his tatted arm. He looks up at me. “Does Rayna know about him?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Maybe you should. He loved her hard, dude.”

“That was years ago.” I shake my head. “He’s not her problem. He’s ours.”

“I guess.” He picks his head up. “You ready?”

I bend down. “Yeah, you?”

He nods, turns the water on, and then grabs Slate’s shoulders. The cold water blasts out of the showerhead. Damn, that shit’s cold. It takes a second or two, but when it hits Slate, like every other time, he comes up arms swinging. And the little dickhead is strong. Whenever he gets like this, it takes both Zeke and me to control his ass. I grab his legs and Zeke manages his upper body so he doesn’t hurt himself as he comes to.

“Get the fuck off!” His arms thrash. “Don’t fucking touch me!” He fights, legs kicking, body violently whipping around in the confines of the tub.

“Calm your ass down and we’ll let you go,” Zeke barks over the rushing water of the shower.

“Fuck you,” Slate spats, water gurgling in every word. He pushes Zeke’s hands off him and glares down at me, wiping the water from his face. “Fuck, Jax.” He kicks at me. “Get off, motherfucker!”

“You okay,” I say loosening my grip, watching him closely before finally letting go.

“Yeah, I’m fucking
okay
.” He grabs the edge of the tub and pulls himself out of it, hitting the ceramic tile floor. He rolls over onto his back. “Fuck assholes, what the fuck!” He grabs the sides of his head.

“Sorry, dickhead,” I say, staring down at him, “but we couldn’t wake your ass up.”