Jax (Titan #9)(79)

She wasn't talking. No way. Not about guesses and misunderstandings that could get Johnny killed, not when he was high or coming down, making stupid-ass decisions. She hated him, but damn it, he'd been in her life for as long as she could remember. "I need to be by myself."

Hawke's hand rested under his shirt. "Say it, Seven."

Fuck! "Bianca and Nolan. That's the only thing I'm going to say. Do what you need to do." She left, each boot step weighed as much as a lifetime of her burdens, and every inch of space that she put between her and Jax made Seven wish she was wearing her wedding band. A wedding band had always been a cage, but she wanted to spin the ring on her finger and hold on to it as hard as she'd held on to Jax.

It took an eternity to get to the elevator and to her hotel room. Finally, the door clicked shut, and she was alone but no closer to sanity or answers. Maybe Victoria would answer and Deacon was lying. Seven dug out her cell phone from her purse and called. No answer. Then she tried again. No answer. Each time, Seven got her voice mail.

Frustration pounded in her head, and she opened up the slew of ignored text messages from the day, scrolling until she found the only one of importance, from Ryder.

Go find Jax. Trust him.

"Trust Jax." God, she was trying. Her eyes closed. "My husband."

Trust him… How she wished she could remember more of that night. Seven curled the phone to her chest and sank against the door. She'd always thought that if she ever got married again, it would be more traditional, more of what she'd always dreamt of. The fairy tale. A poufy dress with a long veil in a church. Maybe that dream wasn't meant for her. Maybe she was only supposed to marry Jax so she would have a guaranteed abduction rescuer. How about that for fate working her magic?

Knock, knock. "Housekeeping."

Oh, for the love of God. Seven crawled away from the door, barely able to find enough composure to say go away. "No, thank you." But it came out as a whisper filled with tears she hadn't cried. Pushing to her feet, Seven gripped the side of the couch, cleared her throat, and—

A key card clicked in the door before it opened. The cart pushed in before the whistling woman's face showed. "Oh, ma'am. So sorry."

Seven swallowed, unexpectedly grateful to see anyone that didn't wear a leather motorcycle cut or know how to fire a grenade launcher. For a second, life was normal.

"Would you like me to come back later?"

Her tongue stud clicked against her teeth, and she couldn't find the words to send the woman away. Seven had company that didn't kill people, who didn't use drugs, who she didn't know. It was a break from reality. Gesturing, Seven grabbed a folded blanket and moved to the bedroom area, unable to send the housekeeper away. "It's mostly clean…" Everything was exactly how she wanted it. Then her hands started, and she couldn't think of anything else, not the woman emptying the kitchen trash or the guys downstairs.

Smooth, fold. Smooth, fold. Precise and perfect. Over, over, and done.

Again, Seven pulled another blanket out of the closet, smoothing away every possible crinkle and wrinkle until it was impossible for one to exist. A tear slid down her cheek, and she swatted the wetness away.

"No crying." Because what was the purpose of the folding if she couldn't control her mind? Seven bunched the newest blanket into a hideous, skin crawling mess and quickly smoothed it out. Nothing was under control, like the edges of this ratty hotel blanket that wasn't even.

She tried harder, tugging the corners to make the square the right angles as another tear slipped free. "Please don't cry."

Nolan had a blanket just like this. My babies… She couldn't stop it, and she buried her face in the softness, sobbing into hysterics. Were they scared? Were they hungry? Cold? Did they ask why? Did they ask for her? Seven hiccupped and clung to the blanket, squeezing it to her breasts as she collapsed on the bed.

She needed Jax. But Nolan and Bianca needed him more. Anything she asked of him—come hold her, hug her, tell her it would be all right—would only slow the process of bringing them home. Trust Jax. She trusted Ryder, and he said to. She trusted Jax, and he promised everything would be okay. He would bring her babies home.

"Do you need anything, ma'am?" The quiet compassion of the housekeeper's voice pulled Seven from her cries.

There were so many things she needed, but nothing this nice person could assist with. She shook her head as the shadow of pink hair fell over her tear-stained face. "No."

"Are you sure?"

Seven rolled her lips into her mouth, nodding. "I'm positive. Nothing you can help with."

The woman fished a paper from her uniform pocket and unfolded it for Seven to see. It wasn't a paper. It was a picture of Bianca and Nolan.

The blanket fell from Seven's fingers as she jolted upright. "Wh-who are you?" Her father had taught her to never show fear, and she quickly pulled it together even as anxiety like she'd never faced stood feet away. Seven lifted her chin defiantly. Her eyes turned to slits as her cold terror morphed into disciplined Mayhem royalty. "Who the fuck are you, and where are my babies?"

The housekeeping imposter lowered her arm and slid the picture of Seven's children back into her uniform pocket. "I'm just the messenger."

She sealed her molars. "Then tell me the message."