“Did you run the names?” he asks, keeping us on track.
“I did when we got back to the hotel, but I’ll text them over so you can take a deeper look.” Chewing the inside of my cheek, I dive into the territory I wanted to avoid. But I’m thoroughly engulfed in it now. “What happened in that meeting with Axel at La Lune Noire after I left?”
“Not much,” Wells muses. “We wrapped up about fifteen minutes later. He wasn’t amenable to any of our ideas concerning Balzano. I may have found an angle though. Why?”
“She knows something. Based on her location, I’d guess that she at least suspects her connection to Balzano.” It was clear to me that something more was rattling around in her brain, but she held on to it.
“I figured as much about Balzano too,” Wells agrees. “Another reason her brothers will see red if they know you’re there with her. Oh, and on that note, New Age Tech gave us that AI software, so Axel and Ryker are joining us this morning to put her description into it. If she’s anywhere with any type of camera, she could be spotted.”
“Shit,” I hiss. Detected is bad because I’ll have no defense for being with her without reporting it.
“What else do you think she knows?” Liam asks.
“I’m not sure. She’s pissed. Lost. It’s more than just the tracking. I don’t want to push her to tell me too fast, but there was a two-second exchange that wouldn’t fit that or the Balzano piece. When I said something about our life being a death sentence, she said that was par for the course for her.”
“No wonder I fucking lost my money,” Liam hollers. “That’s the shit you lead with?”
“It wasn’t a pickup line, asshole. I was trying to dissuade her from getting involved with me.”
Liam’s unmistakable roaring laughter bellows through thephone. “That girl is addicted to rebellion. You waved a flame in front of a moth. On second thought, brilliant fucking pickup line.”
“She must’ve overheard Axel say that she and Jax were Balzano’s,” Wells supplies. “He also mentioned making a deal and that Rena and Jax would be dead if they found out. That’s all a mess I’m working to sort through. He hasn’t given me all the details, and the ones he has need to be verified before I can move, but I’m handling it. I’ll fill you in when things settle.”
“So, basically, we’re on the lam, hiding whatever the hell this is from KORT, and in danger of being hunted by her family or discovered by her birth father, who wants to kill her and would love nothing more than to stick it to me because I assist Ivy, whom he hates, in running the O’Reilly seat.” I stand, swipe my hand over my hair, and stretch out my cramped legs. “Yeah, this did wonders for my anxiety, Wells. Thanks.”
“Take some deep breaths, Tytan,” he orders. “I’ll take care of it and do my best to buy you a couple of days. Other than getting your head straight with how you want to proceed with Rena and encouraging her to answer a call from either my wife or Celeste because they miss her and are sick with worry, you only have three responsibilities. Lie low so she doesn’t get picked up on the AI. Keep your dick in your pants because the Noires will skin you alive if you fuck her and cast her aside, no matter how noble. And keep me abreast of any and all developments. Understood?”
“Got it, Chief. Lie low, dick in my pants, keep you informed. No problem.”
RENA
My eyes peek open to a dim room. The blackout curtains are drawn, but a sliver of sunlight streams in. Midday, if I had to guess. Mornings are rough for me. Sometimes, my limbs are so heavy, my head so foggy, I can’t find the will to crawl out of bed. Everything seems too much. Even when life is going famously, my mind views it like a house of cards. Until I concoct a scheme to smother the phantom affliction ailing me.
No one really understands that part of me. Except Jax.
Freedom doesn’t belong to either of us.
We hold each other accountable, fighting off this web of depression together. My chest cracks open, pain lancing through my sternum. He’s probably wrecked, high, lost. Drowning. I’m his anchor. And despite how untethered he is, he’s mine. That’s why his part in the tracker conspiracy hurt so much. He was supposed to be on my side first.
As the bleary haze begins to dissipate, I catch sight of tonedcalf muscles angled on the floor. Ty. Curling my frame so that I’m nearly in a C-shape, I find him doing sit-ups.
Shirtless. Tatted. Sweat drenched.
Holy. Hell.
I’ve rarely seen Ty out of a button-up, other than the few times I’ve glimpsed him in a fitted tee when I was hanging with Ivy and Celeste at their house. Those were fleeting sightings though, not affording me the opportunity to properly gape. And last night, it was too dark to make out any specifics.
Since he’s unaware I’m awake, I give in to a scrupulous ogle. At first glance, his ink seems disorganized, but upon further inspection, it melds together for a meticulous narrative. His smooth tawny-brown skin is illuminated by the sliver of daylight, shimmery beads of sweat lending a 3D skew to the art etched onto his upper body. On the bulging bicep nearest to me, there’s a Chinese dragon, scaly and fierce, coiling around it and onto his chest. It appears to be nipping at a kraken fisting tridents on the opposite pec. I can’t make out the images on his other shoulder, his back, or his stomach, but he’s covered. Everywhere a shirt touches.
“Good morning,” he croons without peering my way. Not as oblivious to my ogling as I hoped.
“How long have you been working out?” I ask as he flips to a push-up stance.
A mound of skulls is tattooed on his lower back. Out of them, a massive tree sprouts up his spine, adorning his shoulder blades with beefy branches, while the roots weave through the cavities—sprouting from the mouths and eye sockets. Beauty planted in the soil of ruins.
“About three hours.” He barks that answer while clapping his hands in the air three times. Chest. Back. Chest. Ground. Again. And again. And again.
Well, all righty then.
