Bad Wolf Read online

  I fish my phone out of my pocket, check again in case he sent me a text, replying to my question where he’s gone to, and if he’s okay.

  Nothing.

  Pocketing the phone, I make my way to the Gents for one last look. If he’s not in there, then I’m outta here.

  My thoughts spin in eddies as I check the stalls, déjà vu from earlier. I can’t find Seb anywhere, and I’m about to call it a night. My knee is killing me, and I’ve had enough. Elena is right. Why am I babysitting a guy who doesn’t even have the decency to let me know he’s okay so I can stop searching for him?

  Then I see her.

  Gigi.

  It’s her—but she’s different. Sexier.

  Her tiny mini dress is red, her legs are endless, her hair is loose on her shoulders, and her mouth is lush.

  The rush of lust hits me like a punch. I’m hard in two seconds flat, and I brace a hand on the wall, light-headed. Am I hallucinating? What is she doing here?

  Then I blink, and she’s gone.

  I’m going crazy. Or did someone slip something into my beer earlier? I stumble after her afterimages like a drunk, past the glowing bar and its phosphorescent stools.

  It’s the red of her dress, calling me like a flashing light, like a beacon, making my mouth water and my insides tight with need.

  “Gigi! Hey!” But I can’t see her anymore, and who would hear me in this din anyway? My voice is lost in the music.

  I stumble, my knee twinging, and stop, trying to catch my breath.

  What the hell am I doing? Even if she really is here, I should be getting out of the club and heading home, check Seb made it back in one piece.

  Heading away from her.

  Rubbing a hand over my tired eyes, I straighten and glance one last time the way I thought she went.

  Then I turn and limp the other way, toward the exit. That’s what I should have done from the start. Left Sebastian to fend for himself, controlled myself so I wouldn’t go stumbling after a mirage of Gigi, and gone home myself to ice my knee and eat some fucking dinner before hitting the sack.

  Clubbing is way overrated.

  But my luck sucks balls tonight, cuz I’m not even close to getting out of the club when a commotion and shouts stop me. There’s a jumble of bodies in front of me, blocking my way, and two bouncers pulling the guys apart.

  Hell. Another fight?

  Just as I’m about to detour and find another way out, punching everyone in my path if need be, I see another familiar figure and stop dead in my tracks.

  Christ. This girl has no brain, seriously. And of course that means Gigi probably wasn’t a mirage born of my need to see her, either. She’s here, too. Where Sydney goes, Gigi is close by, and the realization heats my blood like a shot of pure fire.

  Only Gigi isn’t anywhere to be seen, and Sydney is in a heated argument with a long-haired, shabbily-dressed guy. I know him, though I can’t recall his name. A junkie and small-time drug dealer Sebastian sometimes hangs out with.

  The fuck. I scrub a hand through my close-cropped hair and wish for a smoke. What is she doing, huh? What will it take to teach her a lesson?

  Why should I help her until her brain catches up? What is it to me? I’ve got enough shit of my own to deal with.

  And Gigi isn’t even here.

  Not sure if I’m more disappointed with that, or with myself, I turn around to go, pissed at the world. This is Sydney’s fucking fault for hanging around bad people.

  Like you are?

  Whatever. I wave the annoying little voice away, like an insect buzzing in my ear. I have my reasons.

  What if she has her reasons, too?

  Goddammit. She’s a druggie, isn’t it plain as day? Looking for her fix night in and night out, always talking to the dealers. She has to be buying, haggling over the prices, and that’s why she keeps getting into trouble. She’s a hot mess. What else is there to say?

  But I’m already turning back, pushing people out of the way to get to her, see if she’s all right, because let’s face it, Gigi will never speak to me again if I let her friend get hurt—and that’s all there is to it, I tell myself firmly.

  I’m not a good guy. Sure, I don’t kick puppies for fun, but I also don’t go around playing at being the white knight to random chicks, either.

  And sure enough, she’s following after the guy, shouting something at him, until he turns back around and even from here, in the flashing lights of the club, I can see the anger written on his ugly mug.

  Fuck. What is she doing, trying to get herself killed? The guy isn’t known for his patience—or lucidity, for that matter, since he’s always either high as a kite, or wallowing in terrible lows. I know the kind.

  Like my brother. Living with Sebastian has taught me that.

  Hell, I wasn’t wrong. I reach them the moment he goes after her and she steps back, white-faced, obviously realizing her mistake.

  Yeah, don’t poke the manic bear.

  A glint of metal catches my eye, and I swear viciously. Don’t mess around with knives, that’s my motto. Knives and guns. Bad things are bound to happen.

  I make a grab for him, snag his sleeve and haul him back before he touches her. He swipes the small blade wide, and I twist my hand in the fabric and jerk him back again. The blade passes a mere inch from my face, and I duck, letting him go.

  Stepping away before he takes a stab at me, I grab Sydney by the arm and drag her away.

  She doesn’t appreciate it much, it seems. “Let me go, Jarett.”

  “You’re so fucking welcome,” I hiss as the guy keeps advancing on us.

  On me, dammit.

  “Nobody asked you to come rescue me.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  But my attention is on the guy.

  “Hey, man, relax.” What’s his name? Ben? Bart? The crowd parts to let us through. Nobody wants to find themselves at the point of a knife. I lift my hands to the sides. “Just let her go, okay? No need for this.”

  “Get out of my way, bitch.” He’s still coming at us, knife held out, pointing at me. Anger burns in his eyes. “That woman should stop asking questions. She has to learn her lesson.”

  I couldn’t agree more, but not on my watch. “Let her go. She meant nothing by it. I’ll talk to her.”

  Another swipe of the knife, and I stumble back, dragging Sydney with me—only she jerks her hand free, and I turn to find her being hauled away by another guy whose face is totally unfamiliar.

  “What the hell?” I mutter, starting to turn after her.

  The moment of distraction costs me. Someone gasps, and that’s when the burn on my back registers.

  The fuck. I twist away, years of fighting alerting me to the fact I’m about to get gutted like a pig, and bring up my arm to stop another hit.

  Which is already coming. His wrist catches on my forearm, and then I let my other fist fly and punch him in the stomach.

  His breath goes out in a groan, and he doubles over, knife dangling from his fingers. I kick at it, send it skidding on the floor, and more gasps sound all around.

  Yeah, good show, huh?

  I chance a glance over my shoulder, but Sydney and the guy who grabbed her are nowhere to be seen.

  Fucking awesome.

  “Jarett!” A hand lands on my arm, and I jerk, too tense, adrenaline making my blood pump faster, my heart racing.

  Then the voice clicks, and some of the tension leaves me. “Gigi.”

  She tugs on my arm. Her blue eyes are huge in her heart-shaped face. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “Go where?” I spare a glance at the guy who’s now down on his knees, cradling his hand and moaning, making me distantly wonder if I broke his fingers and God, I fucking hope so.

  “Away from this awful place,” she says, her voice shaking, and I nod, because it makes sense, and fuck, nothing else right now does.

  I turn, grab her hand and start once more toward the exit,
this time determined to reach it. I’m getting her out of here, taking her someplace safe, because I’m holding Gigi’s hand, and strangely it feels as if I’m holding everything I need in the world.

  “Where’s your friend?” I ask as we exit the club and walk down the alley.

  “Sydney? No idea.” Gigi glances up at me, and I stumble, so caught up in looking at her—her eyes, her flushed cheeks, her mouth. “She left. Again. I’m so frigging pissed at her right now, I can’t even.”

  I swallow hard and manage to tear my gaze away as we cross the street. “A guy pulled her away. I hope she’s not in danger.”

  “A tall, dark-haired dude?”

  “Yeah? You know him?”

  “Must be one of her friends.” She squeezes my hand as we reach the other side. “You saved her again.”

  “Well, some of us can’t help our awesomeness,” I drawl. “That’s how it is.”

  She huffs. “Jerk.”

  I shrug and hiss at the burn in my back.

  “Hey, stop. I thought he cut you but…” She steps behind me, and pokes at my ribs, making me hiss again. “Shit, he did.”

  “Will I die?” I try to see over my shoulder, but all I see is the streetlight glancing off her bright hair. “I’ll need to get my affairs in order. I’ll leave you the cat.”

  “God, will you stop being a smartass for a minute? You don’t have a cat. And you’re not going to die.”

  “You promise?”

  “But you should clean the cut and tape it,” she goes on, ignoring me, and it makes me grin. “To avoid infection, and stop the bleeding. What?” She mock-punches my shoulder. “What’s so funny?”

  I lick my lips, fighting the grin, but it’s no use. “Nothing.”

  “Right.”

  I turn and grab her hand again. “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  I haul her into a side street, and then across another, until we reach the main street. “My place.”

  She’s laughing, but she hasn’t pulled away. “So that I can clean the cut? Why, you can’t reach your own back?”

  “Exactly that.” I lift my hand and hail a cab. “I knew you’d get it.”

  The cab stops, and we pile in the back. I give directions and lean back in the seat, only to twist at the burn. Shit, I’m probably getting blood all over the guy’s seat.

  Then I turn and see Gigi beside me, her eyes bright in the dim car interior, her cleavage drawing my eyes like gravity. Her neck, the blond strands curling on her shoulders, her red mouth—and I’m caught in a web of desire, unable to escape.

  I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into me. Why I thought taking her home would be a good idea. Sebastian could be home, and the last thing I want is for him to see me with Gigi, especially if he manages to rally his memories from that first night when I pulled him away from her. Hopefully he was too drunk to remember her.

  We sit in the cab in warm silence. It’s strangely comfortable, to be sitting there with her, our sides touching, lights streaking by outside. It reminds me of that time three years ago, when we’d walk side by side on the street, and sometimes she’d fall silent, but not press me to say anything, and we’d just walk. It felt so right.

  But the ride is over way too soon. I pay the cabbie and scramble out of the car, walking around to open her door.

  She blinks when I reach for her hand to pull her out. “Who are you and what have you done with Jarett?”

  I have no reply to that. Hauling her to her feet, I pull her against me for long seconds before I come back to my fucking senses and slam the door shut so the cab can go.

  All I want is to drag her back to me, feel her tits pressed to my chest and crush my mouth to hers, but when I reach for her, she steps away from me.

  It hurts more than the cut in my back. For just a few minutes, those it took for the cab to drive us here, I’d fantasized about holding her in my arms, kissing her again, kissing her like there’s nobody else in the world, nothing to worry about, no danger, no past and no future.

  But that’s not the case. I asked her over to help dress my wound. That’s all.

  What the hell am I doing?

  Crossing the street, we hurry to my building and I unlock the door, glad Seb doesn’t jump out of the shadows at us. Thank fuck for small mercies.

  Uncomfortable heat spreads down the back of my neck as we ride up the elevator, and my heart is hammering. I’m so fucking pissed at myself for slipping like that. Because having her near, pretending she’s my girl, is not real.

  It can’t ever fucking be.

  Still, she hasn’t run away yet, I think as I unlock my apartment door and push the door open for her to enter. I eye her as she steps by me, my gaze instantly locking on the curve of her waist, on her ass. It’s not the end of the world if I let her tape that cut closed.

  Then she goes. I’ll call her an Uber to take her home, and I’ll drink until I forget her taste on my tongue, or pass out, whichever comes first.

  I limp inside after her and close the door, all the pains that had faded in the adrenaline rush—of saving Gigi’s friend and then walking away with Gigi and escaping in the fantasy of being with her—returning.

  She’s walking in a circle in the living room when I turn toward her again. “You live here?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t… look very lived in.”

  What is she talking about? Distracted, I glance around, trying to see the place through her eyes. A TV set. Worn furniture, a couch covered in a blanket to cover the holes, a table covered in take-out containers.

  “Shit. Sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expecting any visitors.” In fact I rarely have any, and most of the mess was left behind by Sebastian, but I can’t heap all the blame on him.

  Then I turn toward the kitchen, and through the door I see empty bottles huddled on the counter and wince.

  Jeez.

  “What? Oh no, don’t worry about that.” She shrugs. “I meant mostly, you know —bare walls, bare tables. Nothing of yours.”

  “I don’t own anything,” I mutter, the back of my neck heating for a different reason this time.

  Embarrassment. Just fucking great.

  “What do you mean?” She’s watching me, I realize, and I start moving, to avoid talking about myself. Gigi always had a way to make me talk, even when it was the last thing I wanted. She pulled words out of me that hurt like razorblades, and she didn’t even know.

  Didn’t know I hadn’t talked to anyone in years until she came along. That her appearance in my life had been my own personal little miracle.

  And then she was gone, proving miracles don’t exist.

  Even more importantly, miracles don’t happen twice, much less with the same girl. So I really should put the flicker of hope out before it fucking burns me down to ashes.

  The sooner this is done, the better. I start to shrug off my jacket and stop for a moment, burning pain ripping through my lower back.

  Fuck, ow.

  Starting again, I carefully slip the sleeves down my arms, feeling blood running, hot, down my hip, soaking into my pants.

  “Wait!” Suddenly Gigi is there, behind me, tugging the sleeves off all the way. “You’re making it worse. Let me help.”

  Making it worse is my talent, I think but keep the quip between my gritted teeth. No, I won’t talk to her. Won’t tell her what my nightmares are about. What I remember, what I forgot, what I lost.

  Or that losing her cost me most of all.

  “Your jacket is ruined,” she says. “Your sweater and T-shirt, too, and…” Her voice goes all hushed. “Crap.”

  “What?” I twist, trying to see. Am I bleeding to death? Can she see my goddamn liver? “What is it?”

  “It’s pretty deep. But I think some butterfly bandages, and it should be fine. Do you have any?”

  I sag in relief, my head spinning. “I dunno. Maybe. I’ll check the first-aid kit in the bathroom.”
r />   At least I keep it well stocked. Old habits, plus a life in the gang and living with Seb means injuries are par for the course. You need to keep that shit handy.

  “Know what, I’ll go look for it,” she says, her hand warm on my lower back. “You sit down. You’re shaking. And take off your T-shirt.”

  Am I? I’m cold, I know that much, even colder when I pull off my ruined T-shirt and let it drop to the floor.

  Then again the apartment is like a meat locker. I’m freezing my balls off. I should turn the heat on. I should check the fridge for food. I should check that Seb hasn’t broken everything.

  Should, should, should. I should show Gigi the door. I should walk away next time I see her or her friend.

  But I don’t.

  I sit on the chair, my chest to the back, and listen to her rummaging in my dingy little bathroom, trying not to think how comforting the sound is—someone who isn’t crazy high on drugs moving nearby, doing something nice for me—trying not to think at all.

  My eyes are closing, and I snap them wide open again. I shouldn’t feel so… so safe with her around. There’s nothing safe about her. She’s my drug, and I’m dying to have her again.

  Still. She won’t attack me with a knife, won’t steal my shit. Her hands are soft and gentle, and her smile is real.

  I fold my arms over the back of the chair and drop my forehead on them. Sleep is rolling over me in a slow, heavy wave, no matter how I fight it. I’m just so fucking tired.

  Of everything. Of fighting, time after time. Of doing all I can, only to find it wasn’t good enough. That good things end, every single time, just as I start to relax, thinking life has stopped toying with me, stopped fucking me over just for shits and giggles.

  I snort softly against my forearms. As if. Guess fate singled me out for special treatment. Special kick-Jarett-while-he’s-down offer, buy one, get two.

  Kick the bad, selfish guy in the nuts, until he learns his lesson. Only what that lesson is, I honestly have no fucking idea.

  “Found it,” she says from behind me, jolting me, and ow, my back. “You’ve got everything imaginable in it. It’s kinda crazy. Our first-aid kit at home is practically empty.”