Zane (Inked Brotherhood Book 3)

by Jo Raven

  My hands shake as I pull out my cigarettes and light one. I draw on the smoke and close my eyes. Let this be a dream. Let me wake up right fucking now.

  The parking lot blurs but doesn’t vanish. I’m still here, still trapped. Still waiting for the final, parting shot.

  “Hey.” Matt steps out, beside me. “The hell, Zane? I was just trying to prepare you. This isn’t exactly easy for me, you know.”

  “I know.” I suck more smoke into my lungs, hold it. Predictably, it does nothing to calm me down. “Sorry, fucker.”

  It’s not enough. It never is. But that’s all I have.

  Matts sighs, rakes a hand through his short dark hair. “You need to accept it, Zane.”

  “What, like you have?” I stuff the cigarette in my mouth to stop myself from saying more, and I almost choke on my smoke.

  “Dammit.” He kicks at a pebble and takes a few steps away. “She’s my wife, Zane. How do you think I feel about it?”

  “She’s my sister. How about that?”

  He slumps and turns back to face me. “There’s nothing we can do, man. I have to think of the kids.”

  Right, the kids. I nod. It makes perfect sense.

  No sense at all.

  “Who’s with them?” I throw down my cigarette and step on it. “Want me to go check on them?”

  “Nah. Stay until you’re sober.” Matt gives me a flat look, and I shrink a little. Didn’t fool him, huh? “I’ll go. You can stay with Emma for now.”

  He gives me another long look before he heads toward his car. “Your friends know about this, right? Your roommate, that girl who likes cooking pasta for you, and Asher?”

  “Sure they do,” I lie easily. “Why wouldn’t they?”

  “Don’t know.” He shakes his head and turns to go. “Just making sure you’ve got someone to lean on, that’s all.”

  His words chill me. I’ve always leaned on Emma and Matt. I want to ask where he will be when I need him, but he’s already gone.

  ***

  Sunday afternoon finds me back on the road, heading back to Madison. Heading home. Oh yeah, right, home. Whatever.

  I should leave the apartment. Move out. Stop clinging to the past. Or something.

  I stop on the way to buy supplies. Whiskey. Cigarettes. A lighter. The basics.

  I don’t think I’ve eaten anything all weekend, and don’t think I could stomach it, either. There’s a faint buzzing in my ears that I can’t seem to shake off. For once, I’m glad I don’t have a roommate. When I slam the door of the apartment shut behind me and step into the cold living room, I feel ready to shatter into pieces, and that’s not something I want anyone to see.

  I turn on the TV, not even bothering to see what’s on, and unscrew the whiskey. Thus armed, with the bottle and my cigs, I step out onto the balcony and let the dark take me. This is where I’m supposed to be—floating in emptiness, blanking out my mind the only way I have left: drink, smoke. Rinse and repeat.

  It’s going well. At some point, I blink my eyes open to find out I’ve slid down to the balcony floor, the bottle spilling whiskey on the floor and the cigarette burning a hole through my jeans to my knee. I throw it down and brush the hot ashes off me.

  The smell of burnt flesh hits me, and I gag. The memory slams back into me—hands all over me, searing pain, gut-clenching fear. Hands bending me over, pulling my legs apart. A flash of white teeth, the red of burning embers in the dark. A filthy gag filling my mouth, stopping my cries.

  Christ.

  I gulp down more whiskey, let the soothing burn calm me. Fuck. With the pain of the burn, more senses return. I can hear someone pummeling on the apartment door. I try to ignore it, but the pummeling doesn’t stop. It goes on and on. It’s driving me insane.

  “Zane.” Someone steps out on the balcony, and I jerk back, hitting my head against the balcony wall. The past blurs into the present, and I try to get away, but I’m cornered. I prepare to throw the bottle at the guy.

  He squats down in front of me and grabs it from my hand. “Zane. What the hell, man?”

  Oh shit. “Ash?”

  Of course it’s him. Who else has a spare key? Next time I should padlock the door from the inside.

  He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. Ash is strong. He trains more than any of us, and it’s a good thing, ’cuz my legs refuse to hold me. My balance is shot to hell, and we almost go down together, but in the last second, he manages to keep us upright.

  “Dammit, Z-man. What have you done to yourself?” Ash drags me inside and drops me on the sofa.

  I lean my head back with a groan. The room spins, so I close my eyes.

  Ash mutters something more, but I can’t make it out. I want to sleep, but the burn on my knee aches, and my head is still too full of raw fear and ghostly pain.

  “Here, drink.” Ash pushes a glass into my hand and glowers at me until I gulp it down.

  “Ugh. This is water. Are you trying to kill me?” I cough and reach for the whiskey bottle he left on the table.

  “Fuck’s sake.” Ash pries the bottle from my fingers and levels a laser-sharp stare at me. “Enough.”

  He’s pissed. Of course he is. His dad was a drunk, and I shouldn’t push, but today I need to drink until I forget, and he’s not letting me, dammit. He moves away, taking the bottle with him. I should see where he puts it, so I can go get it later.

  “The hell’s your problem?” I grumble as I attempt to put the empty glass back on the table. Not sure I’ll manage. The image wavers in my eyes.

  “Are you trying to kill yourself?” Ash sits on the table in front of me, taking the glass from me. When did he come back into the room? I feel I’m missing chunks of time.

  “A burn won’t kill me,” I slur, but the memory of the pain hits me, and I shudder, my whole body shaking. My stomach churns. “Shit.”

  “Burn?” Ash leans closer again, and I lean back. Fucker should learn to stay out of my personal space. “Fuck, man, did you stab yourself with your cigarette?”

  I feel panic setting in, my heart pounding in my chest. The smell of scorched flesh fills my nose again. “Jesus Christ. Can you…?” I gesture at the burn. Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow hard.

  He seems to understand what I need, ’cuz he’s Ash, and he knows I can’t stand burns. “I’ll take care of it.”

  He’s gone and back before I realize, holding a tube and a pack of gauze. Where did he get that? Erin, my fuzzy mind says. She must have left her first-aid kit.

  Ash rolls up my pant leg and cleans the burn. Shit, it hurts like hell. Ash spreads some cream on the area and slaps a Band-Aid over it.

  “Done. You’ll be fine,” Ash says. “Hey, Z-man, can you hear me?”

  I nod, because I don’t trust myself to speak yet. I watch him as he puts the tube away and returns with a refilled glass of water.

  “How’s your sister, man?”

  Bad question. “Fine.”

  He sighs. “Seriously, man. Talk to me.”

  “She’s fine,” I say stubbornly and snap my mouth shut.

  “Have you eaten?” he asks after a long moment. “And I mean solid food, not alcohol.”

  Dakota made me breakfast. Something greasy, she’d said. And orange juice. She’d held me. It had felt good. Now she’ll think twice about touching me, because I’m a screw-up, and I fucked up. Couldn’t control myself.

  Now she’s not coming back. She’s never coming back, and I need a drink. I try to get up, only to find Ash in front of me—again. “What?”

  “Food. Eat. You’re making yourself sick.” He pushes a plate with toast and jam into my face. “You can’t live on alcohol, man.”

  “Why, have you ever tried it?”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Ash sighs and rubs his hands up and down his face. “Dammit, will you stop being a wiseass for just one moment? I’m trying to help you here.”

  “Fuck you, Ash. I don’t need you to save me.” I drop the plate on the table and make as if t
o stand. Only problem is, the room keeps spinning, throwing me off balance.

  “You saved me, but I can’t save you?” Ash folds his arms over his chest. “Does it seem fair to you, asshole?”

  “I didn’t save you, dammit.” I brace on the armrest, because the room is spinning faster now, and blackness teases my vision. “That day it was Audrey who found you, not me. I didn’t get that things were so bad at home. I let you down.”

  “I don’t mean you saved me on that day,” Ash snarls and gets right back into my face, because Ash can do that and not get punched, although he’s pushing it now. “I mean you saved me every single day. You talked me out of jumping off a cliff a thousand times. Took me in every time dad went on a drinking binge and started hitting me. Went looking for me on the streets whenever you didn’t hear from me for a couple of days. You had my back. You were the big brother I didn’t have anymore. My protector. My fucking family. So don’t you tell me you didn’t save me, and don’t ask me to back off.”

  I blink. I’m so caught off guard just gape at him. I mean, Ash doesn’t talk much at the best of times, not even on the rare occasions when he’s drunk a beer or two. He also normally doesn’t look like he wants to beat the shit out of me, but he sure does now.

  “Have I made myself fucking clear?” Ash snaps.

  “Christ, fucker.” I let my eyes close again. “I feel like there’s a troupe of monkeys doing the Riverdance in my skull, so keep it low, okay? I heard you. I’m not responsible for your delusions. If you wanna think I saved your ugly ass, then fine, but be quiet and let me nap.”

  “Fuck you, man.”

  “Fuck you, too,” I mutter fondly and drift off into uneasy sleep.

  ***

  Monday is gruesome, as expected. Focusing on the job takes up all of my energy and then some. The headache hammers away at the back of my eyeballs. I think I’m getting accustomed to it. Then again, I only grunt when asked a question and glare at everyone until they go away, so maybe not really.

  Ash passes by at one point and starts talking, so I tune him out until he leaves. Then Tyler decides to park his ass inside my booth as I wait for my next customer and talks—about Erin? His son? The weather, for all I care. He gives up and leaves after a while, and I get on with work.

  But the guys don’t give up, do they? Rafe comes to talk to me just as I’m about to close shop, to tell me he’ll be rehearsing tonight and ask whether I’d like to watch.

  “Why?” I frown at him. My head’s killing me, and my brain is slower than a slug on codeine, but still this isn’t making any sense. I’ve never watched him rehearse before, and he’s a drummer. The noise will split my head apart.

  “Not only me,” he explains patiently. “I’m rehearsing with the whole group. Dakota will be there, man. Come on.”

  Her name does funny things to my mind, not to mention my body. But it’s too late for that shit now. I screwed up. “No can do, fucker, sorry.”

  He gives me a look like I’ve gone crazy. He’s an idiot. I’ve always been crazy, so how’s that any news? “I thought you liked her.”

  I shrug, the pain in my chest returning. “I do like her. But I don’t think she likes me.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me.”

  “What happened?” His shrewd gaze nails me, and I squirm like a moth on a pin. Fucker knows me too well.

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Did you sleep with her?”

  “Fuck. You.” Because he knows me well, but not that well, and I wonder what he’s heard about me. Not sure I wanna know.

  “Whatever.” He tugs on his shaggy hair and turns to go. “I’ll tell her you’re not coming.”

  “Tell her?” My brows draw together as I try to figure this out. “She told you to invite me?” Hope is like a burning cinder inside me. Hurts like motherfucking hell.

  “Nah.”

  Shit. That one word is a punch to my gut. “Then fuck off.”

  Rafe looks at me over his shoulder and winks. “She asked if I heard from you, if you’re okay, and if I know where you are.”

  “Why didn’t you say so from the start? Motherfucker.” I shake my head and hide a grin as I bend to gather my tools. “What time is the damn rehearsal?”

  Chapter Eight

  Dakota

  My mind isn’t on the rehearsal. That’s annoying and embarrassing, because I’m the one who begged everyone to rehearse today. I thought it might get my thoughts off Zane and what happened three nights ago. The way he pleasured me, the way he took control, and then the way he gave in to me… The pleasure was incredible and seeing him, feeling him, was breathtaking.

  And then I broke his rule and broke him.

  Oh God. I bite my lip, my eyes burning. That look on his face made me want to cry. It was as if he didn’t recognize me, as if he didn’t know where he was anymore. He stumbled into the furniture as if he couldn’t see it. Like a wild animal trying to escape. What the hell was that about?

  After he left, I sat and thought. I decided to talk to Erin, but she and Tyler were with her parents and their son for the weekend and not in town. Tessa was away with her parents, too. I tried to get ahold of Asher but couldn’t find his number, or Rafe’s, and I couldn’t find Audrey, either. In the end, even though I didn’t know if Zane wanted to ever see me again, I passed by his apartment, but either he wasn’t in, or he didn’t want to let me in.

  I wanted to hit my head against the wall.

  I bow said head, waiting for Luke and Quinn to tune their guitars, and close my eyes. What are those small scars on his back? Why does touching them freak him out?

  What happened to you, Zane?

  “Ready when you are,” Rafe says and gives me a drumroll and a wink.

  Shooting him a weak smile, I grab my mike. The bass begins its deep, powerful beat, and I close my eyes as I feel the music and recall the words. I open my mouth and let all my frustration and worry, all my sadness and fear, all my need for Zane pour out of me. I scream, and I yell, and I soar, my body weightless, but I don’t fall. I keep rising, flying above it all like a bird.

  I see me, and I see Zane. I see the way he looks at me, I see his grin, his cocky attitude and the pain in his eyes, and I know I have to find him and talk to him. I have to hold him, because he’s falling. Why doesn’t anyone else notice?

  I break mid-song and open my eyes, staring at nothing. Christ. He’s falling. I have to find him.

  Am I going crazy? Is it all in my mind?

  This is how he’s always been, Asher said. He has his ups and downs. He has his triggers. What makes you think he’s about to go to pieces because you touched him where he didn’t want to be touched?

  But that’s not it, is it? No, there’s something more, and I can’t put my finger on it.

  “You okay?” Rafe asks, and I nod, my mind going in circles.

  I replay in my mind Zane’s behavior, his expression. The rules he’s been breaking. He never takes a girl home, Tessa had said. Never draws on girls. Never lets them touch him.

  ‘This isn’t like him. He’s letting you in.’

  What does it all mean?

  Then Luke clears his throat and says, “Hey, do you know a guy with a Mohawk? He’s been staring at you all this time.”

  Zane is here? I glance around the empty bar, and I think I catch a glimpse of a broad-shouldered back and a tell-tale Mohawk. He’s walking out of the bar.

  Crap.

  “Got to go,” I say and jump off the stage.

  “Koko, wait! Remember the party on Wednesday,” Luke calls after me, and I don’t even bother answering.

  Zane. Have to talk to him. That’s all I can think about as I run through the bar and out into the dark, without looking back.

  ***

  “Zane?” My combat boots squeak on the concrete of the small parking lot behind the bar. Cars roar by—the street is only a few feet away—and the sputtering lamp over the door isn’t enough to illuminate the whole lot. “
Zane, are you here?”

  Maybe the guy Luke saw wasn’t him. Hell knows Zane isn’t the only guy sporting a Mohawk in this town. I don’t like being out here alone. It’s not really cold, and yet I shiver, inching back toward the door of the bar.

  “Dakota,” he says from behind, and I almost jump out of my skin.

  “Jesus.” I spin around to see his face.

  “I liked it better when you called me Zane,” he mutters and gives a faint smile.

  I laugh. I can’t help it. I’m a bundle of nerves. I put my hands over my face, afraid the laughter will turn into something ugly.

  “Hey.” His voice is soft, a bit hoarse, and then his hands are over mine, pulling them down. “You okay?”

  All the things I want to tell him, to ask him, and I can only shake my head. Seeing him feels good, too good.

  “Listen, I…” He’s still holding my hands. He turns them over, my hands small in his, my palms white against his ink-stained ones. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” The word comes out like a cry, and I wince.

  “I mean it.” His handsome face is drawn in earnest lines, his eyes looking anywhere but at me. “Sorry I freaked out, sorry I forced you to do stuff you weren’t comfortable with. I… Hell.”

  He starts to pull away, and I grab at him, digging my heels in to keep him there. “Wait.”

  “Dammit, Dakota, I was such a dick to you, leaving you right after…” He groans. “Shit. Didn’t mean to scare you, or hurt you.”

  “I know that.” I do know it. “I wasn’t scared.”

  “I hurt you, then.” He grimaces. “I knew this was a motherfucking bad idea. I shouldn’t have touched you. I’m sor—”

  “Zane.” I let go of his hands and reach up to cup his face, realizing belatedly this could be another trigger. I let them drop, but he doesn’t move away. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

  Now his dark eyes widen. “Whatever for?”

  Is he serious? He seems to be. “For pushing you. Touching you somewhere you didn’t want to be touched. I’m the one who hurt you. I’m so sorry, Zane.”

  He’s breathing hard. His hands tremble, the tremor making its way up my own arms. “You didn’t…” His voice is choked, and I want to wrap him in my arms. Yet I’m not sure he wants that. Not sure what he wants, what might freak him out and make him run away again.