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From close up, his face is an unhealthy gray, the light scruff on his cheeks making his cheekbones jut out so sharply they look like they could break the skin.
Shit.
“Leave me alone,” he rasps, and maybe I should, because despite looking like hell warmed over, he’s glaring at me, his hot gaze dripping with anger and contempt. “Just go.”
“What can I do?” I demand to know, crouching down. “Anyone I can call to come pick you up?”
He makes a sniffing sound and bares his teeth in a sharp grin. “My limo. Call my chauffeur over, why don’t you, Raine? Be a good boy and go fetch.”
Jesus fucking Christ. “Any friends?” I snap out. “Or did you drive them all away with your goddamn attitude?”
“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.
