Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(91)
“You gonna shoot me now?” I may as well put it out there, right?
He tilts his neck to stretch it out. “I’m thinking about it.”
“So what’s the f*cking verdict?”
He looks over at me. “I still don’t like you much, Stiles.”
“Feeling’s mutual.” And f*ck you, by the way.
“But I think you might be growing on me.”
Wish I could say the same.
Instead of making that a known fact, I keep my mouth shut. For now.
“Then let me f*cking help you.”
“We’re handling it.”
“Yeah, I see that.”
“You got the information you came for. It’s time for you to go.”
“But I─”
“Goodbye, Jack.”
He starts to leave me, but I can’t have this conversation end like this.
“Thomas. When my kid brother…” Shit, this sounded better in my f*cking head. It was easier, too. I’d drop it all together except Thomas’s attention is back on me, and I’m pretty sure if he feels like I’m wasting his time here, he might just change his mind about capping a bullet into my head.
I like my head the way it is.
“When Mikey died, I wanted to crawl into a f*cking hole and die myself. I blamed myself for a long time.”
Who am I kidding?
“Okay, I still blame myself. And maybe you’ll always blame yourself for Robert’s death. But you have the opportunity to do something here.”
His eyes fall for only a second but I see it.
Hell, I see it every day I look in the mirror.
“Stop feeling f*cking sorry for yourself, man.”
By now, Dice is back with us, and the gun he’s holding is pointed at my chest. At the tattoo I’m sporting there, to be exact.
“Goodbye, Jack.” Thomas walks away. When he’s far enough that I can’t get to him easily, but still within earshot, I yell out to him.
“Who was it, Thomas?”
Because I need the confirmation.
I need a goddamn name.
“That I don’t know. Yet.” He calls back without a glance this time. “I never met him face-to-face.”
He calls off Dice after that bullshit comment, and they all disappear into the neighborhood buildings like rats during a flood.
I guess that’s that.
I’m on my own here. Fine by me, but other than the backstory on what Thomas has to do with this shit, I’m still at square one with finding out where the hell Stix is.
I check my watch. It’s f*cking early. I need some sleep and time to prep for stalking Anonymous tonight.
On to plan B.
X X X
A couple shots of liquid courage later and I’m sitting in a dark corner of the city’s most famously kept-quiet cheaters club, watching Green. I’m slumped like most of the drunks here and the baseball cap I’m sporting will hopefully be enough to hide my face.
Emma however, is out there, plain as day, waiting for her next instructions from the king douche of this whole situation.
A random woman, wearing a cheap wig, slides up into my booth and puts her hand on my dick.
“Hi, I’m Vanessa.”
“And I’m not f*cking interested.” I take her hand and move it to her own leg.
“You’re no fun.” She pouts and puts her lips up next to my f*cking face. Like that’s tempting.
“Not tonight, honey.” Or any other night, for that matter. No, and thank you.
“Jackass.” She gets angry and pushes herself out of the booth.
“Good meeting you.” I wave as she stalks away, looking for another score. I shiver off the encounter because, blech.
Green giggles over by the bar. She clearly saw that shit. I give her the finger and look the other way to see if anyone here seems like they might be a visitor of the asshattery kind.
When my attention returns to where Green was, she’s gone.
I’d like to say I handle the situation with the cool ease of an experienced detective, but I’m in full on panic mode for about thirty-point-five seconds. All that changes when I feel warm, familiar lips on my neck from behind me.
My heart rate can’t take giving a f*ck about someone.
That’s all I’m saying.
“You’ve got a nice, quiet corner here, Mr. Stiles.” She whispers with this Marilyn Monroe kinda voice going on.
She had to go there.
I turn to give her some of her own medicine when she says, “Kiss me.”
“Damn, Green, we just─”
“Seriously, kiss me. Someone’s headed this way.”
She licks her lips, and my eyes zero in on them like a deer in the headlights. They’re full and tasty-looking, and best of all, they’re not covered with any of that sticky ass lipstick bullshit. Just gloss. Barely any, at that. And it smells like f*cking cherries.
“No problem whatsoever.”
Now, should I be more concerned with the fact that this anonymous douche might very well be here, somewhere? Maybe. On the other hand, it’s not like the guy’s going anywhere. Not yet, anyway.
So I press my lips against hers. They’re f*cking delicious and soft, and they move with mine perfectly.
Her tongue teases mine. She knows that shit pisses me off. So I give a little back by moving my attentions across her jaw, below her ear. I move some hair and kiss around to the back of her neck.