Jax (Titan #9)(48)

Seven slipped her hand into the back pocket of his jeans as they walked through the room filled with men hopped up and on edge. It was quite the situation when rival gangs pulled their act together and presented for a meeting like this, which was why it seemed as though only a representative or two from a few of Hawke's top picks were even invited.

Everyone wore their insignias, and their women were plastered on. A few girls that Seven had said were Mayhem pussy, who they trusted, played the role of bartender, server, or whatever else was needed.

For their part and for most of the women, they were dressed like he would expect them to be at a wild night at the Mayhem compound or an ordinary night in Vegas. Short leather skirts, boots that inched high, and tattoos in every direction. Lipsticked and eyelashed women who'd spent years in the sun on the backs of Harleys. Seductresses who'd perfected their stances by running clubs.

There was a lot of testosterone in the room and a lot of drinking. Men thought themselves hardasses, badasses, whether they were or weren't. Seven told him there would be a few other guests like him, but he didn't press her as to who they were.

"Beers?" a woman no younger than Seven offered, though she looked years older in how life had treated her.

"Yeah, two'd be good," Jax said.

The server thanked him and greeted Seven then rushed off after Seven pointed at where she wanted to sit. Thankfully, she chose a corner so Jax could keep good tabs on who came and went out the front door.

"Jax." Hawke ambled out of the hallway. A fat joint burned between his thumb and forefinger, and he rolled it slowly between his fingers before offering to him then Seven.

"Hey, man." Jax held his hand up, and Seven gave a quick refusal. "Thanks for the festivities."

"Any friend of Seven's…" Hawke raised the joint as if it were a beer and took a slow hit, finally pulling it back and passing it to another guy walking by. Dark, thick curls of smoke drifted from his mouth before he blew it out. "Relax. Tonight's for friends."

"Eclectic friends." Jax's eyes darted to the black man walking with the Latino man wearing a leather cut.

"Eh, come tomorrow. They'll hate each other again." Hawke lifted a shoulder. "There are a few old guards from around the country that get the weight of leading a club. Some places are a DMZ."

"You're saying I shouldn't be strapped."

Hawke laughed. "Well, how about this? A well-armed demilitarized zone."

"I'm not carrying," Seven cut in.

"Honey, that's because you're pretty pussy, and no one would let Cullen Blackburn's daughter be harmed. No one."

She gave a sarcastic bat of her eyelashes.

"There's a princess for you." Hawke laughed again as the joint made its way back to him.

"Two beers." The girl pushed two longnecks into the conversation without entering herself.

"Thanks," they said in unison as Hawke wandered.

Jax took his beer and his woman and headed toward the vantage point he wanted. Easing onto the couch, Seven slipped onto his knee instead of sitting next to him and leaned back, draping her legs over his. They fit in, with her like that, but hell, he didn't care. Mayhem might've gone from the worst gig to best job in the speed of a day.

"Why is it," she purred against his ear, "that you wanted in here to begin with?"

Jax casually drank his beer and positioned her better, running his hand into her hair and bringing her ear to his mouth. "See the players in action. Like a study guide for test day."

"You don't think I could've told you everything you needed to know?"

"I thought you could've told me some." He lined their faces up. "I didn't know how much of the outside world you were schooled in."

"Really?"

He shrugged. "And I didn't know how careful they'd be of you."

Her eyebrow crooked. "Meaning?"

"No one in this room would allow you to get hurt. Not Mayhem. Not the Brotherhood. The Niners. No one."

"I'm just lucky, I guess."

"Don't BS with me, princess."

"Ding, ding. You called it."

Jax chewed on the inside of his cheek, but all the tossing of ideas didn't compute what she meant. "Explain."

"You know my father was a founding member."

He nodded. "Heard something about that."

"Yeah, I bet." She snort-laughed. "I'll bet you've got all kinds of recon on us."

"Surprisingly, not a lot of detail on that."

Seven hummed, almost sounding as though she were taunting him.

"We missed something?" He rubbed his hand up her spine. The short leather top tied around her neck and exposed her back, covering only her front. From her hairline and shoulders straight to her skirt, Seven's skin was exposed. The high-necked, ultra-conservative leather shirt surprised him at first glance—but when she'd turned around, Jax had been floored. He liked both looks—the barely there tease and taunt of hidden curves, and then a torturous reminder that her shirt was tied on around her neck. One flick of a knife's blade, and leather covering would fall away.

"Titan only missed something if they were interested in me."