“Oh my god.” I grin. “You still have feelings for Snake, don’t you?”
“Bonnie—”
“Jackal. That was six years ago, and you’re acting like?—”
“Drop it, Bonnie.”
But I can see it in his eyes. The way his shoulders went rigid. The muscle twitching in his jaw. My big, tough brother still has it bad for my tattoo mentor.
Six years ago, before Dad sent Jackal to Mexico to help set up a supply line, Jackal and Snake were inseparable. I was thirteen and didn’t understand what I was seeing—just knew my brother spent more time at Serpent’s Ink than he did at the compound. Then Jackal left for three months, and when he came back, Snake had stopped coming around. Stopped returning calls. Started dating other people.
I found out later that Jackal had ghosted him. Didn’t call once from Mexico. Came home and acted like nothing had happened between them.
Snake met Louie a few years after that, and they’ve been solid ever since.
“Does he know you still think about him?” I ask softly.
“I don’t think about him. We messed around. That’s it.” Jackal pulls out a cigarette and lights it. “I’ve been with plenty of people since then. So has he. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Then why do you look like you’re about to have a panic attack?”
“I’m not—” He takes a long drag. “It’s been six years, Bonnie. People move on.”
“Uh-huh. And that’s why your hands are shaking?”
He looks down at his cigarette, then shoves his free hand in his pocket. “Fuck off.”
“You broke his heart.”
“Yeah, well. He got over it. He’s with Louie now. I’m not gonna fuck that up for him.” He flicks ash onto the ground.
“And you?”
“I’m fine. Got a whole chapter to run. Don’t have time for—” He waves his hand vaguely. “That.”
“Jackal—”
“You wanna visit Snake? Fine. But I’m staying on my bike. And we’re not talking about this anymore.”
I follow him back to our bikes, fighting back a smile. This is the most flustered I’ve seen Jackal in years. For someone who claims not to care, he sure is working hard to convince himself.
We ride in silence to Snake’s shop in the industrial district. The neon sign flickers in the fading light—Serpent’s Inkin green letters.
I park and pull off my helmet. Jackal stays on his bike, engine still running.
“You’re not coming in?” I ask.
“I’ll wait out here.”
“Coward.”
“Fuck off.”
I laugh and head inside. The shop smells like antiseptic and ink. Heavy metal plays from speakers mounted in the corners. Snake looks up from the counter where he’s sketching.
“Bonnie!” He comes around and pulls me into a hug. “Look at you. You’re glowing.”
“I’m sweating. There’s a difference.”
