Ciaran Pierce was late forties, early fifties, but he still looked like a James Bond type. You know, the type who ages like a fine wine, whose personality has just as much style as his clothes, and who has chicks on every continent? That was Ciaran.
Fallon’s father was Irish but wore his heritage like an Italian, all suave and confident and shit. We’d met a couple of years ago when Madoc and Fallon first got together, and as soon as I graduated from high school, he approached me.
No guns. No drugs. No meetings. Those were my stipulations.
I could still get arrested. What I was doing for him was still illegal. But I didn’t have any moral hang-ups about what I was doing. I still felt as though I was coming out on the right side of things. Researching shady campaign donations so Ciaran could blackmail a senator for prime real estate or feeding fake info to his competitors was slightly dangerous, and could get me into trouble, but it wasn’t putting drugs on the street or putting me in situations where I’d be a recognized target.
For the most part it was a small-time game with big-time rewards. The work didn’t take up too much of my day, and I was saving enough to make sure I was safe.
“Doc 17?” Ciaran inquired.
“Tomorrow night.”
“Llien?”
“Uploading now.” And I punched a few buttons, finishing the task.
Ciaran and I kept our online conversations short, simple, and in code. Just in case. Doc 17 referred to a warehouse Ciaran bought whose permits needed to be pushed through, and Llien was the last name spelled backward of someone for whom he’d requested the personal and financial history. The jobs weren’t hard, but they were numerous. He kept me pretty busy.
“Good.” He nodded. “I’ll be in town soon. We can catch up then.”
“Sounds good.”
He brought a glass to his lips, which I knew was Scotch, because the first thing I’d done when I met him was research him.
“My accountant will send payment today,” he stated.
“Don’t bother,” I teased. “I already took it out of your account.”
“You little shit.” The hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he plopped his drink down.
I laughed, shaking my head. “You should trust me better. I wouldn’t do that to you. I can do that to you,” I pointed out. “But I won’t.”
He let out a sigh, and I took a moment to observe how much he looked like Fallon. Light brown hair, dark green eyes, skin that always looked tanned, even in winter. Even the small sprinkle of freckles across their noses.
But whereas Fallon sported some discreet tattoos, Ciaran sported scars from bullet holes.
“You look tired,” he observed. “Someone keep you up last night?”
I wish. “You could say that,” I caged, not wanting to talk about Juliet with him.
“To be young again,” he mused. “Have fun while you can, son. Sooner or later one will come along that has the power to fuck you up.”
Yeah, no shit. “I’ll watch myself.”
He jerked his chin at me. “Take care, kid.”
“You, too.”
Logging back off, I walked out of the office and into my room, throwing on some loose black pants. I usually wore jeans, but since I’d be in the garage today, I knew I’d get stained. Black pants it was.
After working out at the gym earlier this morning, finishing a few of the other projects Ciaran had sent me, and showering, I only had about an hour before my house would be packed with people again. I had two cars, other than my own, running tonight with different drivers, and then a few friends usually brought their cars over here on race day to prep. And they usually brought friends and girlfriends with them. It was part of our warm-up. Hang out, chat, borrow one another’s tools … Since Jared had left all of his here, and I’d acquired lots of my own, I had a decent selection.
And while hostilities still ran hot at the Loop, some of us kept it cool enough to stay friends and still race one another.
I ripped my rubber band out and had grabbed my brush off the dresser, about to head out of the room, when a blast of music hit my ear.
What the hell?
I stalked to the window and yanked it up to peer outside. “We played that game last night, remember?” I yelled at Juliet through Tate’s open French doors. “I won!”
I could just make her out through the trees, frantically hitting buttons on the stereo. “I’m trying to turn it off! Just leave me alone,” she hollered, not looking up.
Sliding out the window, I scaled through the tree, trying to step lightly and quickly, since my weight was making the thick branches creak. Leaves swayed as I grabbed onto parts of the tree, and I made it to Tate’s only-for-show balcony and swung my legs over the bars, hopping into the room.
“Get out.” Juliet’s wide-eyed, defiant expression zoned in on me. “I can handle this, Jax.”
Reaching behind the TV stand, I yanked the cord out of the wall, and the room fell silent. My heart thumped in my chest, and Juliet’s chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. I didn’t know what it was about her, but my blood always rushed hot whenever she was near me. I wanted to either break shit or fuck her crazy, and it weirded me out. Not the fuck-her-crazy part, but the break-shit part. There was a violent urge around her, and I wasn’t sure why. I wasn’t sure if I should be scared of it, either.
I stood up straight and flipped my loose hair back over the top of my head, out of my face. I clenched the brush in my hand, watching her watch me with wary eyes. Her mouth hung open a little, and she didn’t exactly look mad. I couldn’t figure out what she was thinking.
Dropping the cord, I arched an eyebrow. “Use your head,” I ordered. “Just kill the power next time.”
She crossed her arms over her see-through white pullover, and I could make out a white bikini top underneath. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t rushed to stick your nose into things, I would’ve figured it out,” she snarled, tipping her chin up.
I shook my head, letting out a bitter laugh. “You stuck your nose into my business last night. And I was just trying to help,” I said angrily, yanking the brush through the back of my hair.
“By being condescending and telling me to use my head?” she shot back. “I don’t need that kind of help, Jax.”
“Yeah.” I got in her face. “I was nice to you for years, and what did it get me? You start behaving yourself, and I’ll do the same.”
“Then stop looking down on me!” she shouted.
“Ditto!” I growled back, turning around.
I yanked the brush through my hair again and tied the rubber band back in it, getting ready to climb out the window.
“Stop,” Juliet groaned behind me.
I spun around. “What?”
“You’re …” She pinched her lips together and ran her hands down her face. “You’re ripping your hair apart,” she blurted out. “I can’t watch it anymore. You’re not brushing it right.”
I rolled my eyes and turned to crawl back out the window. “Yeah, I know how to brush my hair, Mom.”
“Sit down,” she commanded, and I heard furniture move behind me.
Turning back to her, I saw that she had moved Tate’s desk chair to the center of the room, and my mouth went dry. “Why?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
She stood behind the chair, her shoulders relaxed, and a nice view of her tight stomach peeked out between her shirt and jean shorts. Her hair was in a messy bun, her face glowed with a thin layer of sweat, and she had on no makeup, obviously having been in the backyard lying out. I wanted to touch her. I wanted to pass the whole afternoon in bed, with her, just us alone.
“Just sit down.” She nodded, her tone firm but patient. “Please?”
I narrowed my eyes. She didn’t want to … My shoulders slumped, and my eyes widened. Oh, hell no.
I shook my head, my pulse throbbing in my neck.
“Go get the poor kid some food. I’ll stay with him.”
No, no, no … I bit down so hard my jaw ached. No one touched my hair. No one.
“Jax, if you’re going to keep your hair long, you have to take care of it.” Her voice was so gentle, and her summer green eyes were patient.
I looked down to the floor, suddenly feeling five years old again. “I know how to take care of it.”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “Using ninety-nine-cent shampoo?” she joked, not realizing that I barely heard her.
How the hell had she switched gears so fast? She was mad, and now she wanted to brush my hair?
My knees felt damn near about to buckle, and my stomach hollowed. This was what it had felt like being at my father’s house, lying in bed, and watching the shadows under my closed bedroom door from the party going on the other side. Wondering if someone was coming in. Wondering if I could sleep and being too scared to close my eyes. Wondering why no one ever helped me.
Juliet wasn’t right for me, and I clenched my fists, reminding myself of that. She made me feel unsafe again.