Wild Ones (The Lane) (9 page)

“So. You’re not decent. You’ve never met a decent boxer. Yet you hate them,” he continued.

“Yep.” I laid my head back down, burying it in the crook of his neck, and breathed in the scent there. Soap and sweat and something else that might have just been Luke.

“No sense.”

“Doesn’t have to.”

“You know a lot of boxers?”

“Enough.”

I felt a rumble underneath my chest and realized he was laughing. It was a deep, thundering sound. “You’re worse than I am,” he said.

I nodded, not really sure what I was agreeing to. “Now shut up,” I ordered against his skin. He laughed again, lowly, and I closed my eyes, letting myself drift away to the sound of it in my ears.

Chapter Nine

I woke up slowly, comfortably warm with dreams dancing along the edges of my consciousness. I wasn’t used to it, the feeling of warmth. I never realized how often I woke up cold, shivering, drenched in a sweat that made my body feel slick and grimy all at once. This, though, was like being wrapped in a pleasant cocoon where good things existed. A place that welcomed girls like me and treated them right, with warmth and sweet promises that would be kept. A place with no ugliness, no fights, no ghosts with harsh voices screaming from the past. A place filled with peace and clouds made of cotton and beauty dripping from every shiny surface.

I jerked the rest of the way awake because I didn’t trust those types of places. They were dangerous. Places like that were nothing more than tricks designed to soothe and lull before they lashed out suddenly and bit.

Below me, literally beneath my cheek, Luke was still asleep, his breathing even and deep, rustling the little hairs at my temple. The cut above his eye had scabbed over at some point while we slept, adding another layer of viciousness to his face. I had always thought sleep stole away a person’s hard lines, leaving them softer and younger-looking. Not Luke. I had a feeling nothing was taken from him without his express permission. Even in sleep, he still managed to look rough, a force to be reckoned with.

This would have usually been the point when I shook him awake and forced him out of my bed, a move I had perfected over the years after a disastrous one-night stand with one of Jax’s old school friends. He had been a lemming of a boy, still a little wet behind the ears, and his eyes on me had woken me up, then he’d talked about the future like it was something he and I would share. After that I made it habit to never let anyone get too comfortable in my room.

It was different with Luke though. He could stay and I would stay and I would allow it all, whatever was going to happen. I’d let his hand stay on my ass cheek and his other arm could stay wrapped around my shoulders, and I’d remain where I was on his chest. Because he did things to me, stirred things in me that had very little to do with love and everything to do with lust. He made my heart beat a little faster, my blood pump a little harder. He made my skin feel tighter and a little more like skin. It was the thrill of breaking rules, something I had always loved to do, even if the rules I was breaking were only ever mine in the first place.

After a little while I could hear Jax moving around in the kitchen, but I never made an effort to disentangle myself. Hours passed, according to the little clock on my nightstand, and yet, it could have only been minutes, it was all the same to an addict. Finally, Luke started to stir and my heart sped up.

Suddenly I was nervous, which was a little crazy, because I was never the type of girl whose nerves were ever shaken. But in that moment, I was and they were. There had never been quiet between us, not once in our few encounters. There had never been a need for a script or words to fill up the silence and now that we were there, I didn’t know what to say or do.

Then I glanced up and his brown eyes were meeting mine and it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. The nerves were quieting and I could feel myself grin.

“You look like shit,” I told him and he shook his head at me, a slight smile tugging at those sinfully full lips.

“You’re one to talk. Your hair’s a fucking wreck.” His voice, deep and gritty with sleep, slammed into my stomach, and fuck if it didn’t make me instantly wet.

“Yours ain’t so hot either, Charming. Looks like you’ll need to spend some time with your curling iron.”

He gave me a look, then moved me off him. I took the opportunity to stretch, working out the kinks from my inactive muscles. As he stood, his eyes on me were greedy and made me feel warm.

“I’m going to take a piss,” he informed me, his gaze still locked on my body. “Boyfriend home?”

I rolled my eyes, refusing to play the game.

“Yeah. Put on some pants.”

He cocked his eyebrow at me in response.

“Jax won’t appreciate the sight of balls while he’s eating his pancakes. He’s funny like that.”

Luke snorted but didn’t heed my warning. Instead, he walked out of the room in all his glory and I sat up expectantly, waiting for Jax’s inevitable reaction. He didn’t disappoint. Jax rarely did.

“Hey, du—oh, come on! What the shit is this?” A beat later, I heard the bathroom door close and Jax was yelling out, “Damn it, Martin! You lied!”

I busted out laughing and sat up, running my fingers through my hair, working out the knots and tangles that had taken up residence in my forever-long locks overnight. I was always tempted to cut it, especially in the mornings when it looked like rats had nested in it while I slept, but I always chickened out at the last minute. As stupid as it sounded, I always kinda felt a little like Samson. As if my hair was tied to something important in me, something that would be damaged if I were to hack it off. It was a secret fear—I didn’t have many of them—a quiet voice that whispered in the back of my head every time the thoughts of scissors went through my mind.

Luke returned and climbed back in bed next to me, pulling me on top of him once again. I swallowed the sigh that tried to climb out of my throat.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” He bent his head slightly, skimming his lips over my jaw. I shivered involuntarily.

“Mmm. Working. Fury’s.” I said, and it was a little breathless. “Why? You asking me out on a date?”

Luke chuckled, nipping at my earlobe.

“No. I want you to meet my mom.”

I felt my eyes grow wider just as Luke leaned back.

He laughed in earnest at my expression.

“Relax. I’m kidding. She’s dead.”

I shouldn’t have been as relieved as I was about that.

“What about Tuesday?” he asked.

“Off,” I replied, wary now. “For the record, I’m not a dinner-and-movies type of girl.”

“Didn’t think so,” he chuckled. “My manager, Theo? He’s hosting a match.” He said the name as if I should know it, but I couldn’t concentrate. Not with his voice an unholy song in my ear. I imagined if Satan ever came to Earth with plans of seducing a woman, his would sound the same. “Come with me. We can go out for beers or whatever after.”

I froze, tipping my head back to stare at him.

“A match,” I repeated blandly and everything but mild disgust was pushed from my head. Hearing that word was like having a bucket of cold water thrown on me.

“It’s legit,” he assured me, as though that was what caused my abrupt shift. “There’s sponsors and everything.”

I was shaking my head before he even finished speaking.

“I don’t do...matches. I don’t—Look. I don’t know exactly what impression I gave you last night. I thought I was pretty clear about the whole...boxing thing. But obviously I wasn’t. I just—I really don’t do...that.”

“You don’t do that,” he repeated and his voice turned as cold as I felt.

“Yeah.” I shrugged as best I could in my position. If possible, his normally hard eyes grew harder.

He sat up abruptly, tossing me onto the mattress next to him.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’ve already done that twice now.” He flashed me that Machiavellian grin that was both hot and cold and did weird things to my insides. “At least.”

I threw my hair over my shoulder and gave him the haughty eat-shit sneer I had seen my ma direct at the little old church “pension biddy” from the old neighborhood. The one whose eyes always seemed to be on us when we left the apartment. I hadn’t respected much about my ma, but that look had been a real thing of beauty.

“I’ve fucked you, Turner.”

“Yeah? Think, sugar. You’ve been in bed with me how many times now? And a few other places, as well.” He gave me a wink that both pissed me off and ignited my bones. “You didn’t trip and fall onto my dick. You knew who and what you were doing.”

“Yeah, I was having sex with you. Not agreeing to go with you to a match. That is what I don’t do.”

“Which part? The fight or the idea of us on a date? Because no one said anything about a date, if that’s what you’re thinking. I asked you to go with me. I could easily bring along another bitch if that makes it easier on you, sugar.”

I scoffed. “Or you could cut out the middle man and just find another bitch, yeah? Neither, Turner. I don’t do either. Fights. Dates. Any of that shit.”

“And what exactly do you think I am? You’re doing me. That means you’re doing that.”

I threw my hands up, aggravated by the abrupt turn the morning had taken. “Why is this even happening right now? Why is this even a thing?”

“Because you’re being ridiculous?” Luke suggested. “That seems likely. Let’s go with that.”

I ignored the barb. “Look, I appreciate the offer or whatever, but I’m passing. I don’t go to fights. I don’t go on dates. I don’t go on threesome dates, so don’t bother offering that again. I don’t have a problem with this, whatever this is going on between us, but I draw the line at getting involved in the other shit. It’s not my scene.”

Luke shook his head and stood up quickly. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter. Forget I asked.”

Suddenly pissed beyond reason that he wouldn’t just let this drop and get back to what we had been doing before this match had been brought up, I crossed my arms and glared at him.

“Fine. And while we’re at it, let’s forget any of this even happened. Let’s forget about whatever this—” I indicated the space between us, “—is exactly. Let’s just get a willful bout of amnesia and forget all about anything to do with each other. How’s that for ridiculous?”

“It’s fine by me.”

My eyes widened a fraction of an inch before recovering. My voice came out somewhere between a hiss and a snarl. “Great! It was nice not-knowing you, whoever the hell you are. Have a nice life beating people up.”

Luke was already snatching his clothes off the floor and throwing them on. “Back atcha, sugar. Hope you have a great time being a glorified water girl.”

“I will, thank you so much. Now get the fuck out of my face.”

“Gladly!” He yanked my door open so hard it was a miracle it stayed on the hinges.

I jumped off the bed prepared to do—something. I hadn’t decided what yet, I just needed to do something to properly express my anger and quiet the blood pounding in my ears. I didn’t get the opportunity. Without so much as a pause or backward glance, Luke stormed out of my room, slamming both my door and the front door a second later.

I slumped down on the floor, a sea of churning emotions flooding my chest, demons from the past dancing in my head, cackling madly. I had the bizarre urge to call after him, beg him to come back, maybe even apologize, explain myself. Then again, I was so angry, so indignant, I wanted to do exactly what I’d suggested and forget all about whatever had happened between me and Luke Turner. A headache, sharp and painful, started building behind my eyes and it only served to make me impossibly angrier.

“Well, that was fas—and you’re naked.” Jax said from the doorway, where he cracked the door open slightly. I hadn’t even heard it. I lifted my eyes to him for a split second before shifting my gaze to just beyond his shoulder. Whatever he saw there in my face made him flinch hard enough that I saw it from my peripheral vision.

“Damn, Martin.” He exhaled noisily, opening the door far enough to slip inside before shutting it behind him. I appreciated that, though I didn’t express it. I appreciated him locking out the world beyond my room, just until I could get my head on straight. That was Jax. He always knew.

He approached me slowly, caution lining his every step, as if I were some sort of wild animal likely to either bolt or attack if he moved too fast. He knelt down in front of me, reaching for my hand, and I let him take it. “Listen, kid. I don’t know what just went down, but whatever it was, I’m going to pretty much guarantee it’s not worth it. Whatever it is you’re thinking. Death. Destruction. Burning things. It’s not worth it.”

I laughed once without humor and he winced at the bitter sound.

“I’m a bitch,” I told him. “I’m a huge fucking bitch.”

“I wouldn’t call you huge,” Jax replied slowly. “Pleasantly plump mayb—okay. Huh. Not the time for jokes. Fine. You’re a bitch, yeah, but it’s okay.”

“Yeah? Because for it being okay, I sure manage to run a hell of a lot of people off.”

Jax sighed and sat down, never letting go of my hand. I glanced down, realizing that I was still naked, everything on full display. Jax hadn’t even batted an eye.

“Turner?”

“Is one.” I nodded. “We can start with him though. Work backwards for the next ten years or so. It’ll take about that long to get through the list.”

Jax ran a hand through his hair which was as wild as mine probably still was.

“You don’t run everyone off,” he said quietly, squeezing my fingers. “Only—most people.”

With my free hand, I rubbed the bridge of my nose roughly.

“You don’t count, Young. You’re a masochist.”

“Maybe. But I’m still around. I think that counts.”

“True,” I said, then sighed. “All this because I didn’t want to go to some fucking fight. I couldn’t just say no. No, I had to be a ridiculous bitch about it.”

“So, apologize. Tell him you’ll go.”

I just stared at him.

“Come on, Bri. It’s one fight. Even you can manage that. Or maybe not,” he corrected upon seeing my stink face make its appearance. “But you can apologize. Should apologize even, if you feel bad. People do it every day and live through it. I promise.”

That was the shit of it though. I wasn’t sure I did feel bad. Maybe for the way things had happened and the result, but I sure wasn’t that sorry for what I said. But Jax was right. I could apologize. It might be weird, it might feel odd, but I could do it.

“I don’t have his number,” I pointed out after a minute.

Jax faked a look of pain.

“I’m trying to play the part of the serious, supportive friend here and you just insist on opening the door to zingers, don’t you?” He grinned suddenly, wide and real, and something inside of me eased. “I can get you a number.”