Zane (Inked Brotherhood Book 3)

by Jo Raven

  I’ve also turned off my cell phone, but there’s pounding on my door. It comes and goes. I let it. It’s a counterpoint to the pounding in my head.

  Sheets of paper are strewn around me, covered in my drawings. I thought it’d help me relax, but I guess it wasn’t enough. My eyes feel dry and gritty. Spent all night trying to get the anger on the paper, and it wasn’t fucking enough.

  My glass is empty again. I give it a disgusted look, before I reach for the bottle. Problem is, it’s on the coffee table. Too far. Can’t remember why I put it there.

  I slide off the couch and land on my ass on the carpet. The room spins, and I blink, trying to clear my vision. The bottle seems to sway on the table, and when I reach for it, it’s splintering, refracting into a prism of dancing colors.

  Whoa.

  I reach through them and wrap my fingers around the solid, cool bottle. Somewhere along the way down to the floor I’ve lost the glass, but who needs one? I unscrew the lid and take a swig. I’ve been drinking since last night. Dimly, I’m aware I should stop. Someone should stop me. But the pounding on the door has ceased, and it’s easier to just drink some more and work on forgetting. Not that I’m having any success, but I’m not known for giving up so easily.

  I work hard on my self-destruction.

  This strikes me as funny, and I start laughing, then realize it ain’t funny at all, and I choke down some more whiskey. No idea why my eyes burn like this.

  A chime sounds, and I look up, confused.

  Then it sounds again.

  The doorbell.

  I frown. After all the pounding on my door, who would just ring the bell? Not a guy, I think randomly. Ash, Dylan or Rafe would keep pounding on the door until it crashes. Which is why I’m not letting them in or answering the phone. Because then I’ll have to talk, and explain, and I… I can’t fucking do this right now.

  The bell rings again.

  “Go away!” I yell, and fucking ow, my head. It’s about to split apart. “Just go.”

  Someone yells from the other side of the door, “Zane, open up! Open this door.” A woman’s voice. “Please.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “I’m not leaving. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

  I stare at the door. The only thing that comes to my mind is, this isn’t Erin. Is it Tessa? There’s something in that voice…

  My body is reacting to it, even though my brain is having trouble. I put the bottle down. “Dammit.” I struggle to my feet. My stomach roils as I stumble to the door. “What the hell…”

  Looks like I locked my door last night when I came home, and now the damn lock is stuck. I curse it and jiggle the lock until it turns. The door opens.

  Okay, I’m drunker than I thought. There’s no reason for her to be at my door on a Monday morning, looking pissed, cute and damn sexy in her ripped jeans and tight black top.

  “Dakota?” My voice slurs, and I wipe a hand over my mouth, hoping I’m not drooling.

  She stalks inside, her eyes unreadable, and I grimace, waiting for the tirade I can see coming. Why the hell did I let her in? Where does my good sense go whenever she’s around?

  I close the door and turn to face her, bracing.

  But she doesn’t speak. She steps close and gazes up at me with those big blue eyes. I can’t help noticing they seem a bit too bright. Then she shakes her head, opens her arms and wraps them around me.

  I flinch. I can’t help it, but she holds on tight, and slowly I relax. It’s just a hug, I remind myself. I can do friendly hugs. Erin and Megan hug me often. As long as there’s nothing sexual about it, I’m okay.

  Besides, unlike in some of my darkest nightmares, I can see her face, and I know it’s all right. It’s her, Dakota, and nothing bad will happen.

  Her light honeyed scent calms me. I don’t know what the hell I am supposed to do or say, except put my arms around her too and close my eyes for a moment. The tension that’s been keeping me rigid for days melts away, and weirdly, as I sag heavily against her, I feel like I’m floating.

  The moment doesn’t last. She pulls away. “You should call Asher and Rafe,” she whispers, and this time she doesn’t look me in the eye. “They’re worried sick about you. The only reason Asher hasn’t called the police is that your light has been on, and he heard you yell at him to fuck off.”

  Crap. I’ve worried everyone. And what if Matt called about Emma and found my cell phone off? Smart, Zane. Very smart.

  Breaking through my thoughts, she moves away, and I reach after her, not sure what I’m trying to do. Not sure what happened, why I let her hold me. I let very few people inside my guard, and they know not to surprise me.

  But I’m slow and dizzy, and I don’t catch her. She walks to the sofa and picks up one of my drawings, then another. When she turns to look at me, her eyes are wide, and she looks pale.

  “Zane…”

  “What?” I draw skulls and skeletons, monsters and roaring lions, more thorns than roses. More death than life. That’s how my mind works. Then again, I’m so drunk I might have drawn just about anything. “What is it now?”

  “Nothing. Just…” She looks again at the drawings, then places them on the coffee table.

  “Just what?” I take a step in her direction, and shit, everything is spinning. “Fuck.”

  She’s at my side immediately, pulling me toward the sofa. “You need to drink lots of water and eat something. I’ll make you some breakfast. Something greasy is good.”

  “Why?” I sink against the cushions and rub my hands over my face.

  “To absorb the alcohol. It really helps.”

  “Dammit, not that. Why are you here, making me breakfast and all this shit?”

  “Because I want to make sure you’re okay?” She shrugs, then grins. “And because I’m going to prove to you that I’m a roommate worth having. Where can you find better than me, huh?”

  She winks and saunters to the kitchen.

  I shake my head a little, wondering if I’m hallucinating or dreaming. But her sweet scent lingers, and my head hurts too fucking bad for it not to be real. Even weirder, a smile is tugging at my lips. Here I am, feeling as if I’m sinking in quicksand, as if I’m dying, and my face hurts from smiling like an idiot.

  “Coffee?” she calls from the kitchen.

  “Yeah.” I sit up straighter. “Coffee sounds good.”

  That’s when I catch sight of the drawing sitting on top of the pile Dakota has gathered from the couch. My smile slips. I lift the drawing, gripping it so hard the edge of the thick paper is dented.

  I’ve never done anything like this before. This is worse than skulls and death. There’s none of the harsh lines and rough cross-hatching I usually use for shadowing.

  Soft curves, bare lines.

  Shit. I let the paper drop back on the table and groan out loud.

  It’s a portrait of Dakota.

  ***

  “Breakfast’s ready!”

  I start. Emma, I think blearily. I’m at her house now. I’ll be late for school.

  Then my surroundings sink in—the living room, the drawings on the table, the pictures on the walls. My apartment.

  Fuck, I dozed off on my sofa. It still takes me a moment to remember whose voice that is and why she’s making me breakfast.

  Large blue eyes, a teasing grin. ‘Where can you find better than me, huh?’

  Hell. I snort. It shouldn’t amuse me so much, but I guess I’m relieved she jokes about it. Probably means she’s not serious about moving in with me, like she’s not serious about the dragon tattoo. She’s a happy person with no need of saving.

  No need of me to save her.

  And that’s good, that’s fucking awesome, and it lifts a weight off my chest. So it’s odd that, as I stand up with a groan and stagger around the sofa, aiming for the kitchen, I feel a pang in my chest.

  She has no fucking need of me at all.

  Suck it up, Zane. That’s good. Good for her.

 
; Then I enter the kitchen and lose my train of thought. I just stare. The table is laid with fried eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice and coffee.

  “Shit. You brought all this with you?” I glance back at her handbag lying on the armchair. “In that?”

  She giggles and covers her mouth with her hand. “They were in your fridge. Don’t you even know what food you have in your house?”

  Obviously not. “Erin must have left it.” The smell of the food brings bile to my throat. The kitchen spins slowly, and I grab the back of a chair not to fall.

  “But surely you’ve opened the fridge since then… Didn’t you?” She frowns. “Damn, Zane, when was the last time you ate?”

  Good question. “You brought me a chicken salad sandwich the other day.”

  “That was days ago. Zane…”

  “I ate more stuff.” I sink in the chair and wave a hand back and forth. “Too fucking drunk to think right now, okay?”

  I remember eating a ham sandwich the day after, and during the weekend… Did I eat anything? Driving between the house and the hospital, sitting by Emma’s bed, taking care of the kids… I must have. I just can’t remember.

  In fact, I don’t remember much from the weekend, and it’s not because of the whiskey. The memories are already fuzzy, covered in haze. My mind tends to erase stressful times. Hell, I’m missing substantial chunks of my childhood. There’s a reason I avoid therapists. I guess I just don’t wanna fucking know what I’ve forgotten.

  “Zane?” She’s staring at me with those wide blue eyes.

  Crap, I’ve spaced out. I draw the plate of eggs toward me, grab a fork and dig in. “This is good.”

  Her cheeks color again. “Does that mean I’ve passed my first test?”

  “Test?”

  She rolls her eyes. “To be your roommate, of course.”

  Of course. I snort and wash down the eggs with orange juice. “You think it’s that easy?”

  “What else do you want?”

  Fuck, is that a trick question? I look across the table at her. She sucks her bottom lip between her small, white teeth, and I forget to chew for a second. Breakfast is great, but what I really want is to get down-and-dirty with her, rip her already ripped jeans, shred her T-shirt, lick her everywhere, taste her pussy.

  “Nothing,” I lie. I scrub my hands over my face. My head is killing me. “I’m good.”

  “So can I move in with you?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’ll change your mind.” She grins and takes a sip of her coffee. “I want another chance.”

  I look down at my plate and drag the bacon closer. She’s teasing me, joking about, and still not a word about the state she found me in, or the fact I didn’t answer Ash’s, Rafe’s or Erin’s calls and texts.

  “I was at my sister’s,” I hear myself say and clench my fingers around the fork. “I visit almost every weekend.”

  Why the hell am I telling her this?

  “Emma is my only family.” The words spill out without my permission. “She took me in. Looked after me. Now she’s sick, and I can’t help her. I try, but in the end, there’s fucking nothing I can do.”

  Dakota pales. “I understand—”

  “The hell you do. This is all fucked up. I’m fucked up.” I bang my hand on the table, and the fork smashes into the plate. I get up and stumble away.

  “Zane, wait.”

  I stagger into my bedroom. It’s dark, the curtains drawn over the small window. The air smells stale.

  Dakota stands at the door, a hand on the frame. “What’s wrong?”

  Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. If she doesn’t walk away, I’ll throw her on my bed and fuck her senseless. If she does walk away, I’ll trash my room and punch the wall until my fingers break.

  Nothing’s wrong.

  Everything’s wrong.

  I need…something. I need her. Her warmth. Her closeness.

  Two strides and I’m in front of her. She takes a step back, but she isn’t fast enough. I press my body to hers, slide my fingers into her hair and inhale her scent.

  She gulps. “Zane, I just want...”

  “If it’s my ink you want, if this is all a damn game to you, forget it.” She’s here. I’m hard for her, and we’re arguing about the damn tattoo. This is familiar territory, and I relax. “I’m not drawing a dragon on you, and that’s final.”

  “I want the dragon, you know that,” she whispers, and her hands slide up my chest. “But this isn’t a game, and it’s not all I’m here for. Give me a chance, Zane. Everyone deserves a chance.”

  My thoughts are all screwed up. Is she talking about the tattoo, about being my roommate or something else entirely?

  “Dammit, girl.” I tug on her hair, pulling her head back, exposing the pale line of her neck. She’s panting, pressing her body to mine, and it’s driving me crazy. “What am I gonna do with you?”

  “Draw something on me,” she breathes. “Anything.”

  I shake my head, confused. What is she playing at? She says it’s no game, but this sure feels like one.

  Draw on her again. I should tell her no. That I don’t normally draw on people. That I don’t let them come over unannounced and cook me breakfast, screw with my head. That all I wanna do is fuck her.

  My dick twitches, agreeing.

  But I can’t. Because if we fuck, she’ll know just how messed up I am. She’ll run, and I’ll take any damn excuse to make her stay a little bit longer.

  Chapter Six

  Dakota

  “Another drawing?” Tessa stands at the door of the bedroom, in a tight-fitting black dress and high heels, all dressed up for the party she’s throwing Dylan for his birthday. Her blond hair hangs around her face in soft waves. She’s so pretty I gape at her.

  Dylan is an idiot if he doesn’t want her.

  Then again, maybe he likes his women a bit more spunky?

  I twist and glance at my back in the mirror. I’m wearing an off-the-shoulder black T-shirt with the logo of our band, and the drawing Zane made on my upper arm two days ago is still visible. I’ve taken pains not to scrub it when showering, to keep it on me a while longer. It’s a hawk, wings spread, its beak curved toward the inside of my arm. When I hold my arm close to my body, it’s right over my breast, as if it’s about to bite my—

  “Wasn’t it a bird last time, too?”

  It was. He likes drawing birds on me—birds in flight.

  “So what are you going to wear, the skirt or the pants?” Tessa, obviously fed up with my lack of answers, picks up the items from the pile of clothes on my bed. Black stretch pants and a short black skirt with ruffles. “I’d say the skirt.”

  “Why?” I take it from her hands. I’m already wearing ripped black tights. I look tiny next to Tessa and awkward, like a boy. She looks like a supermodel.

  “Boys like seeing your legs. And there will be plenty of boys tonight.”

  “That wasn’t so subtle,” I mutter. “I mean, I get that you’re worried about Zane breaking my heart, but I’m not interested in boys.” Just Zane. “Isn’t he going to be there?”

  “He’s been invited, but he never replied. He’s been like that lately. It’s driving Ash nuts. But I’m sure if someone tells him you’ll be there, he’ll come.”

  I smile in spite of myself. A rush of warmth fills me. “Do you think Zane would like me in a skirt?”

  “Zane likes you in just about anything, girl. He’ll have to be pried off you with tongs if he comes tonight. He’s acting like he’s in heat when he’s around you.”

  I laugh. “He’s cute.” And hot like hell.

  “Yeah… I’m worried.” She sits on top of the pile of clothes. “I told you how Zane is with girls. I mean, are you just friends or…” She wiggles her fingers.

  I think of how he has always watched me, with such heat in his eyes, and how he made me come on his sofa that night after the disaster at the park. I think of how he let me hold him two days ago, how he spoke of his sick sister
, how he asked me if this was all a game to me.

  “I don’t know,” I confess. “We aren’t anything. We just hang out together sometimes. I like him.”

  She doesn’t look convinced. “We all like him. He’s an awesome guy. But this business of drawing on you, and the way he looks at you…”

  So she noticed, too. Heat climbs up my neck. “Like what?”

  “Like he wants to lick every inch of your body.”

  Oh God. I clutch the skirt to my middle and sink into the bed beside her. “He’s gorgeous.”

  “One hundred percent,” she agrees. “And normally I’d encourage you to jump his bones and have his babies, but this is Zane we’re talking about.” She sighs. “Truth is, I’m worried about him, too.”

  “Because of his sister being sick?”

  Tessa’s gaze snaps to me. “He told you about that?”

  I shrug. “Why, is it a secret?”

  “Sort of.” Her gaze hardens. “What else has he told you?”

  “Nothing.” I lick my lips, feeling nervous under her scrutiny. “Just that she’s his only family. That she took him in, and looked after him, and now he can’t help her.”

  “Oh God, he told you all that?”

  “Come on, Tessa, it’s not much. I swear that’s all, and it’s so vague.”

  “You don’t understand.” She bites her lip. “You don’t know Zane like I do. You’ve met him only a handful of times.”

  “So?”

  “So Zane doesn’t open up like that to people he doesn’t know well.”

  Yeah, I realized that. “Is that a jab? I’m getting to know him. It takes time.”

  “No, I mean he’s letting his defenses down for you. He’s acting weird.”

  “So what does it mean?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is… This isn’t like him. He’s letting you in. And if you hurt him, that could destroy him.”

  ***

  The bar is dim and noisy. It’s also too warm. The music is a mixture of Latin and pop, and I wince inwardly. Not my kind of thing. But the guys are there, drinking and talking, and I let Tessa lead the way.

  Zane isn’t with them. That’s the first thing I notice as we approach their table. Disappointment drapes over me like a leaden blanket. I was really hoping to see him.