“Who’s watching out for you? Huh? Come back to me and I’ll make it right. You can’t keep running when things don’t go your way.”
Hypocrite. Although, he had a point. I could have bailed on him, but I was tired of being the girl who always ran out on people. If I left him, he wouldn’t pay off this Delgado guy, and I’d still have that crazy human tackling me every chance he got. Going back to Hawk seemed like the obvious choice to me. I’d be able to talk some sense into him and find out what was really going on. If it didn’t work out, I’d make him call this big-shot dealer and let him know we weren’t an item anymore and to stop chasing me down. I also didn’t have a dime in my pocket.
And my gas was running low.
“Do you promise you’ll sit down and tell me everything? Be honest with me from here on out?”
He chuckled. “A promise is a promise. Where are you?”
“Pick me up after work. I get off at four.”
***
After Isabelle stormed out of the house, Jericho had let his wolf run loose on the property to release the tension that had built up. Isabelle had a way of working him over like no other woman could. She’d wind him up until he felt constricted by his emotions.
Jericho didn’t like feeling emotions. It’s why he’d turned to drugs all those years ago. Things got worse when Izzy had walked out and Denver forced him into a human rehab center. Those kinds of places didn’t exist in the Breed world, so he didn’t have a choice. In confinement, he couldn’t let his wolf out, so he was forced to confront the emotions he’d repressed for years. Feelings of inadequacy among his brothers, feelings of solitude when fame hit that had made him feel like nothing more than a used napkin that women wanted to blot their lipstick on.
Years had passed since then, and every now and again, he still enjoyed a little weed. But never the hard-core stuff. The best numbing agent? Avoiding the things that caused him pain.
Relationships.
Love.
Success.
And recently, traveling. He’d seen many cities, but the emptiness consumed him, despite the fact he always had someone to warm his bed. So when his younger brother, Austin, called everyone up and said he wanted to form a pack, Jericho had thought, “Why the hell not?”
By then, he’d already formed a new band, and they’d made a name for themselves at local clubs who were eager to book them. The success wasn’t on the same level as he’d experienced years ago, but he liked the pace.
The Cole brothers had recently moved to a new house and were a tighter family than ever before. Austin might have been the youngest brother, but an alpha was born to lead and maturity came naturally to them. He made an exceptional Packmaster, and Jericho respected his ability to not only make sound decisions, but to be humble enough to take advice from his brothers. Austin believed in tough love, but sometimes that’s what it took to set someone straight. He looked after his pack above all else.
So things had been good. Real good.
But all Jericho could think about lately was Isabelle. She’d always had amazing legs, but it was that sexy hair he loved the most. Her faded freckles reminded him of long summers in California. Man, he loved the way they mirrored her innocent heart. Most girls who were born with those wholesome looks skanked it up, but Isabelle kept it classy. More than that, she’d grown to become a tempting balance of two halves. Confident and timid; angelic with the tongue of the devil; fierce and fragile—a woman who made him feel unworthy of her affection.
She was his past and present—his heaven and hell.
After letting his wolf out for a long afternoon run in the woods, Jericho put on his work clothes: jeans shredded above the knee, a studded belt, dark lace-up boots, and a black jacket. No shirt meant a kick-ass, unforgettable show. He slipped on a few thick rings and grabbed his necklace with a pendant in the shape of a razorblade. Jericho put his guitar in its case and swiped the keys from the nail in the wall above the letter J. He stuffed his gear in the back seat of the blue pickup truck. He didn’t have his own car, so he’d claimed the family truck that had once belonged to Austin.
It was after midnight, and Howlers was packed. He smirked when he saw that Jake had used two orange cones to reserve a spot for him up front.
Jericho ran over the cones and parked.
“Hey, man. Where ya been?”
He glanced at his bass player—a scrawny guy named Chaz with a black goatee and a bad reputation.
“Had to go for a run. You know how it is.”
“I hear that. You wanna do a few lines before the show?”
Jericho lifted his guitar and slammed the door. “You know I don’t touch that stuff.”
“Don’t act like a virgin to the white lady. I heard about your past.”
Jericho turned his sharp eyes to Chaz. “Who the hell told you that?”