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And then he followed me. This makes no sense, except… I lift my head, and Raine’s watching me as if expecting something.
Right. Of course. Now it all makes sense. Probably came to collect what I owe him for the other day. I’ve been asking myself when he’d demand payment for the coffee and the food.
“Not here,” I tell him, as firmly as I can, cuz dammit, I’m shaken tonight. Plus, I’d rather find a place out of the cold, even for a while.
“Come with me,” Raine says, making another grab for my arm, and this time I let him.
The customer can do as he pleases, and that’s what Raine is to me tonight.
A customer.
“Sure,” I mumble through numb lips and let him drag me away, to the avenue and across, then through more streets.
I jerk my hand away after a while to pull on my jacket and use it as a cover to wrap my arm around my middle. My ribs are killing me. With the adrenaline draining out of me, all the aches are coming back, and the cold sure ain’t helping.
After an age and a day, we reach a beaten-up pick-up truck, and Raine unlocks the doors and climbs inside. I’m slower, moving like an old man, gritting my teeth as I settle into the passenger seat.
Dammit. Tonight of all nights, when I need the money so badly, and I’m gonna work for free. Only, not really free, I remind myself. Paying back my debt to Raine Storm is what this is.
Feels like I’ve been paying back a debt all my life, with interest.
Raine starts the engine, and I watch him, struggling to collect my wits and accept the way things are heading.
Sex. With Raine. The night could have gone worse, right?
Only I’m not so sure. I observe his serious profile as he drives off, the dark hair falling on his forehead, his too-blue eyes intent on the road, his strong hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel, and I know I’m one hundred percent fucked, even if we haven’t even started.
Chapter Seven
Raine
Someone tell me what the hell I’m doing. Have I gone completely off my rocker? Following Jason into the night, abandoning my date, punching a random guy in the face because he was manhandling Jason—and now taking him home with me.
Jason, not the other guy.
Still.
I’m so goddamn pissed at myself. Didn’t I promise I wouldn’t think about Jason, let alone invite him over? What was I thinking?
Jason doesn’t look thrilled, either. Slumped back in the passenger seat, he manages to look both bored and tense at the same time.
And sexy.
But I refuse to think about that last part, focusing instead on the street, ignoring as best I can the heat coming off his body. His hand is lax on his thigh, long, slender fingers and the trailing ends of dark tattoos on pale skin, distracting me every time I stop at a traffic light.
His arms are corded, the tattoos full sleeves on his forearms, flowers and bursting stars and moths and demon faces. I know he had a big part of them done at Damage Control. Ocean and Jesse who worked on them didn’t ask him for payment.
I’ve always wondered why they felt it was so important for Jason to get those tattoos. I’m itching to trace them, follow their patterns and lines.
Fuck, get a grip, Raine.
My knuckles are smarting, red and swollen, and Jesus Christ, I knocked the guy out. Could have killed him.
I take a breath that’s meant to be bracing, but comes out shaky instead.
“So,” I say, “what was that about?”
A beat of silence. Then, “Nothing.”
