by Jo Raven
“Pff. Look who’s talking. You self-righteous motherfucking dick—”
Another cough interrupts him, and he turns his face away, lifting his arm to smother the fit against it. The dark ink on his forearm seems unreal in the dimness.
I should leave. I know I should, but I can’t move from the spot, watching his shoulders shake as he coughs some more, then draws an unsteady breath and lets his head fall back against the door.
Even the dimness can’t hide the dark crescents under his eyes, and I think I see bruises around his wrists.
On impulse, I grab his hand and tug. “Come on.”
He blinks at me, his long lashes lifting. “What?”
“Come on, get up.” I pull harder on his hand, and he tugs his hand back, brows knitting. “Let’s have some coffee. You drink coffee, don’t you?”
His brows lift, then his eyes narrow again. “Fuck off. I don’t need no coffee from you. Go away.”
“Jase.”
“Jason,” he grinds out. “Jason, goddammit.”
Whoa. Touched a nerve. “Fine. You need to get out of the cold, you need something hot inside you, and I need breakfast. Come with me.”
“I don’t take no charity,” he mutters, but his stomach growls, and he licks his lips.
And my dick shouldn’t like that, not in a situation like this.
“It’s not a charity. It’s a…” I cast around for an acceptable excuse. “A meeting. With some coffee.”
“Meeting… about what?” His teeth are now chattering so hard it’s hard to understand the words, and behind the bravado and prissiness, there’s a wariness that tugs at me.
“Business,” I spit out, and this time I grab both his hands and haul him out onto the street. Once I have him standing, I shrug out of my jacket and throw it over his shoulders. “Come on, I haven’t got all day.”
He peers at me from under his wet lashes as he pulls the jacket closed, and a corner of his mouth lifts up. He waves a pale hand like a medieval courtier. “After you, Mr. Storm.”
Well, fuck.
Leading Jason toward the nearest coffee shop, I whip out my phone and call work. I need to let my brother know there’s a hold-up, and I’ll be in late. Predictably, the moment I tell him just that, he starts to ask what happened, and I cut him off.
“Just cover for me for an hour. Please, bro.”
“Are you all right?” He’s in full brotherly overprotective mode, and I smile a little, though he really has to cool his guns.
“Yes. I’m fine, everything’s fine. Trust me, Shun. Just one hour and I’ll be at Collateral.”
He grunts something unintelligible and clicks off.
Shaking my head, I pocket the phone and wipe rain from my face. I’m drenched already and cold without my jacket, and turning, I find Jason staring at me.
He jerks his gaze away and presses his mouth flat.
Okay, then.
He’s slow, way slower than me, and getting drenched isn’t my favorite pastime, so I open my mouth to ask if he could hurry up a little, when I realize he’s still shivering despite the jacket, and his steps look a bit unsteady.
Fuck.
So I slow down, too, keeping an eye on him as he mulishly plods on. He seems to be running on fumes and sheer will, and it’s a shock to see him wrapped up in my own leather jacket. It fits his wide shoulders well, although it flaps around his middle.
Guy’s too skinny. Needs to eat more.
And it has nothing to do with me. I’m just going to put some hot coffee into him so that he doesn’t die of hypothermia, and then I need to get to fucking work, and field Ocean’s inevitable questions.
No idea why I give a shit, in fact.
Apart from the fact this is the guy starring in my wet dreams. But that’s a fantasy, nothing more.
Besides, my brother and Jesse Lee are helping him, I know this for a fact, slipping him money every month. So why can’t he find a normal job and stay off the streets, huh? I just don’t get it.
After what feels like hours, we reach the coffee shop, and I step inside first, holding the door for him. He doesn’t comment on it, his face pale. He staggers as he climbs inside the shop, and I grab his arm to steady him.
He pulls it free with a half-snarl, and steps back until his backside hits an empty table. “We’re here now,” he hisses. “You wanna talk business with me, talk. But don’t think for a fucking second you’re getting a discount.”
It takes a moment for his words to sink in, and then I see red.
“I don’t want anything from you,” I hiss right back. “Dammit, I should have left you out in the cold.”
One side of his mouth lifts in another of those sharp smirks. “But you didn’t. Question is, why?”
Shit, what was I thinking?
“Sit down,” I snap and stride away to get him his damn coffee.
Then I’m grabbing my jacket back and getting my ass out of here.
Chapter Four
Jason
Inside the coffee shop the air is so warm I can’t breathe, and black edges my vision. I’m glad when Raine storms off to get the coffee so that I can sag against the table I crashed into and close my eyes. Gather my wits. Wait for the room to stop spinning.
I suck deep lungfuls of air, and with it comes the smell of food. It smells good. Delicious. My stomach grumbles and twists painfully, reminding me it’s been empty a while.
Wrapping an arm around me, I grit my teeth and wait the cramp out. The coffee will set me right, fool my stomach into thinking it’s full. And it will warm me up. Despite the jacket and the warm air, I feel chilled to my bones.
And then I remember what I was really brought here for, and my stomach twists again, for a different reason this time.
Work. Of course, what else would you take a hooker to a coffee shop for?
Sex with Raine. Oh, I’ve imagined it. His hands on me, his mouth… his dick.
Jesus. This ain’t good for me, being here, so close to him. He’s a spoiled brat, a good boy, a handsome man, and my defenses are low. This is business, nothing more. That’s all there is to it, even if it’s not every day a handsome guy, a guy you desire, requires your services. Wanting more is a recipe for disaster.
Letting out a dark chuckle, I rub my hand over the soft leather of his jacket. It smells of him. And I’m an idiot. Wanting more? I don’t want more. I can’t want more. This is my life, this is me. This is all there is.
By the time Raine returns with a tray, I’m mostly back under control, not shivering like before, or even laughing manically. I’m calm. Ready. I’ve managed to slide off the table and sit in one of the heavy iron chairs, although I’m still wondering why nobody has come to kick me out.
Normally I’d not be let inside a place like this. Not that it’s fancy or anything, but if I don’t look like a bum on a given day, I look like a hooker, and neither is acceptable. So maybe it’s the heavy leather jacket that makes me look more respectable? The lack of glitter on my face that’s been washed clean by the rain? Or his presence looming over me?
He’s wet, too, I notice as my brain slowly starts to make sense of things. His sweater is heavy with water, his dark hair plastered to his head.
Of course he is. He gave me his jacket.
The thought cuts off my breath, so when he passes me the tall mug of steaming coffee, I just grab it, cradling it in my chilled hands, and nod.
Then he pushes a plate in front of me, and I stare at it, uncomprehending.
“Breakfast,” he says.
This morning my mind’s particularly sluggish, what with the cold and everything, but my body knows what to do. I leave the mug and grab the sandwich, stuffing half of it into my mouth in one go.
Fuck, it’s good.
So damn good. I think I just came in my pants, that’s how good this shit is. It has ham and tomato and some fancy cheese, not that I really care. I chew and swallow and bite more, before anyone takes it away from me.
I finis
h it in three swallows, and lick my fingers. Then check the plate in case anything was left.
My stomach cramps, full to bursting for the first time in so long, but I ignore it and sip at the coffee. As long as I don’t puke, I’m fine.
As long as I’m alive, I’m fine.
Have to be.
“Holy shit,” Raine mutters from across the table, and when I look up, he has a strange expression on his face. He looks shocked. Vaguely horrified.
Fuck me. Heat rises to my face, and I don’t think it’s the heating of this place. But fuck him, too. I mean, what? If he as much as comments on how I eat, the spoiled little brat, I’ll—
“Want another one?” he says, and my thoughts screech to a stop. He takes a sip from his coffee, nods at my empty plate.
Another what?
He pushes his own untouched sandwich toward me. “Here.”
I eye it and saliva pools in my mouth. I wanna ask him if he’s sure, but I’m reaching for it already, abandoning my half-drunk coffee.
“Just slow down,” he says, his voice a low background noise. His eyes are such a deep blue. Like denim, but darker. Layered. I’m torn between looking at them and the sandwich.
What the fuck, Jason? Get your shit together. And eat while there’s food.
You don’t have to tell me twice.
Maybe the last bite was too much. I feel like I’m gonna toss my cookies, so I lean back in the chair carefully and hope the food stays down. Throwing up now would totally suck.
At least Raine is giving me some space, sipping at his coffee, checking his phone. He’s quiet, the only noise the voices of customers sitting at nearby tables. The place isn’t as packed as I’d expected. Maybe it’s the time?
I’ve no idea what the time is. I need a phone. I always carry a cheap one with a prepaid card on me, but I lost it last week when one of Simon’s goons roughed me up. I ran, and it fell somewhere.
I often run. What else is there to do? Run from violence and problems. Run until I can’t breathe, until I can’t take another step.
And then I hide. Hiding is what I do best.
Raine shifts on his chair, puts the phone down, and his scent wafts over to me, a subtle thread under the heavy blanket of food and people smells: male musk, aftershave, and… apples?
His gaze meets mine, and I do my best not to drown in that sunny blue. “Better?” he asks.
That throws me off again. He keeps doing that today.
“What—?” I start, and stop, because... What are you trying to do? Why are you being nice to me? “What do you want?”
Angry heat descends into his eyes. “No idea what you mean.”
“Yeah?” I’m confused, and I don’t like it. “Angling for a free fuck, are you?”
His face pales, and I bite the inside of my cheek, pissed as hell and annoyed at myself, too. Not sure why my mouth insists on running its own agenda every damn time he’s around. He pushes all my buttons, even some I wasn’t aware of.
“Know what?” He starts getting up, his face red. “I’m going to work. Give me back my jacket.”
I shrug it off, throw it on the table. I shiver at the loss of warmth. His scent clings to me. “All yours.”
“Yeah, it is.” He grabs the jacket and stands up, those pretty eyes shooting daggers at me.
Ow, baby. “You still haven’t told me when and where.”
“Say what?” He blinks, and I prop my chin on my hand, giving him my best smirk.
“Ain’t that what you wanted? Business. Well, this is my business card.” I lick my lips and almost laugh when his gaze zeroes in instantly. “When and where? I could do you now, if you take another half hour off.”
He blinks again. Then his gaze narrows. “I thought,” he mutters low, leaning over the table, “that you don’t do freebies, or even discounts.”
“This ain’t a freebie,” I scoff. “It’s payment. For this.” I wave with my other hand at the empty plates and mugs. At the damn jacket. The damn coffee shop.
“And you thought I’d ask for sex in exchange for two sandwiches and a cup of coffee?”
I wanna shrug, but I make myself keep still. How much does he think I make, anyway? And besides that, it wasn’t just the sandwiches or the coffee. Above all, it was him dragging me inside, putting his jacket around me, asking me if I felt better, asking…
Fuck, no. Not doing this. Not thinking this. This is the kind of bullshit that can fuck a guy’s head up.
“I don’t have cash on me to pay for this,” I reply neutrally, holding his hot gaze. “And nothing comes for free.”
“Well, this breakfast does. It was free on my side. You can keep the change.”
Turning on his heel, he walks out, and I can’t help but notice that he has a tight, damn sexy ass.
Not that I hadn’t noticed before. There are some things you just can’t avoid noticing.
“What you said doesn’t even make sense,” I mutter after him, long after he’s gone.
None of this makes any sense.
Swallowing hard, I stare at the closed door, the voices around me mingling into a mindless hum. White noise.
And the damn lump in my throat is back. Dammit.
What’s wrong with me these days?
Chapter Five
Raine
On some days, my life’s all right. Quiet, slow like a river. No drama, no stress. Work and lunch and then more work and a relaxing evening at home, zoning out in front of the TV with a beer, or at the bar with the guys.
And on some other days, it all goes to shit.
I just found out that we’re organizing the official opening of Collateral Damage. Soul Stain, the tattoo shop in Chicago we sometimes collaborate with, are sending their artists to visit. And I’m in charge of setting it all up. Never done anything like this before. What if I make a mess of it?
By early afternoon, I get a reminder text from a guy I met the other night at a bar about going out. Apparently, I promised him a dinner tonight. Huh.
And now my dad is calling as I’m getting ready to leave work, leaving the desk in the hands of Megan, the very nice and very capable wife of Rafe Vestri, who’s co-owner of the shop with Zane Madden. She smiles big and waves me off as I stare at my phone like it’s about to bite me.
I’m not sure I’m ready for this today—but if I don’t deal with it, our dad will turn to Ocean, and that’s the last fucking thing I want.
“What do you want?” I cross the brightly lit space of the shop with its floor-to-wall posters of tattoo designs done in black and white. “I said we’ll talk on Sunday. Right now I’m at work.”
“Raine,” my father says, and my name spoken in his voice is like a physical blow, a throw-back to my childhood. “Cut the bullshit. We need your help. We need cash—”
“Or what?” I push the words out from between gritted teeth, throwing the door open and stepping out into the cold. “Why are you back?”
“I told you, boy, your brother took everything from us, our trailer, our whole life—”
“That’s a big fucking lie and you know it.”
“We’ll see about that,” my good old dad says, and disconnects before I can get another word in.
“Goddammit. Fucking douchebag!” I shake my phone, imagining it’s his head. My heart is pounding with useless rage. “How dare you?” I clench my fingers around the case of the phone, my knuckles white. “How dare you threaten my brother, you piece of shit?”
“Well, hello to you, too, sunshine,” someone says from behind and slaps me on the back, almost throwing me face-first onto the sidewalk. “What’s got you so worked up on this fine day?”
“Micah.” I turn around to glare at him.
He lifts his hands in mock surrender, and arches his brows. “Whoa. Don’t shoot.”
“Bad day,” I mutter and try to relax.
Micah’s the golden boy of Collateral, one of the first tattoo artists to start with Zane Madden, together with my brother, and lately too f
ull of happiness not to piss me off.
I mean, I’m seriously glad for him, but I’m just not in the mood for friendly banter and jokes right now.
He seems to sense my mood. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his old, soft jeans, and rocks back on his heels, blue eyes narrowing. “I’ll leave you in peace, then, buddy. Just remember we’re here if you need anything, all right? All of us.”
I know he means it. The guys working at Damage Control and Collateral Damage are great. I can’t say it often enough. I see it every day, how they stand up for each other, how they have each other’s backs. It’s fucking awesome. And when they offer their support to me, it’s humbling and moving.
But I’m not part of the family. Not really. I’m a newcomer, Ocean Storm’s little brother who got the receptionist job because of that connection. I’ll always be an outsider.
And what the hell’s the matter with me today, huh? Yeah, the day wasn’t perfect. Yeah, work was more stressful than usual, and mention of my bastard parents always gets my hackles up, let alone talking to them and negotiating the minefield that are their demands.
Not to mention today’s planned dinner with this guy I barely remember.
