Feel My Pain (Curse Bound 1)

Roach stepped closer and pulled the hood off Zane’s head to see the label at the back of the neck. He hesitated. “Is it warm enough? I don’t want to hear you moaning about it. It does say here it’s waterproof.”

The gentle tug made Zane step back, and one of Roach’s hands pressed against the small of his back, hot and sturdy even through the thick jacket. “That’s… that would be perfect for the snow and stuff,” Zane said and glanced over his shoulder, straight into the mysterious green depths of Roach’s eyes.

But Roach stepped away before Zane could have guessed his thoughts. He pulled two banknotes out of his wallet. “Go on, buy it.”

Zane took the money, and had a better look at it once Roach walked off. He tried to organize the money in his head as he walked toward the cash registers. Because of his issues with numbers, he’d developed alternative ways of handling money, and given enough time, he could work out some of it.

Washington.

Jefferson

Lincoln.

Hamilton.

Jackson.

Grant.

Franklin.

He had a Grant and a Franklin. So a fifty and a hundred. He always struggled to grasp how much more one was then the other, but he knew two Grants made up a Franklin, and Franklin was the biggest, so he must have gotten far more than seventy. Seventy would be a Grant and one of the smaller guys.

He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, unsure whether he should accept the money. Roach had done a terrible thing to him, but that had been two years back, and he was now looking out for Zane, even if it gave him nothing but scorn and a hard floor for a bed.

Should Zane pick something less expensive?

But when Roach noticed him stalling, he urged him with a gesture, and Zane chose not to change his mind. Roach wouldn’t have given him a Franklin and a Grant if he didn’t think the coat was worth it.

So he walked past the Pink Lady, nodding at her in greeting—and yes, the perfume had definitely been hers—straight for the cash register.

A burly ginger guy with blue eyes smiled at him, trying to catch Zane’s gaze. He wore a dark blue apron with the store logo and a nametag reading Jory.

“That’s a good choice. The winters around here can be harsh.”

“Yeah, I’m from down South, and I’ve been feeling sorry for myself since it started getting cold,” Zane told him, relaxing his shoulders. Now even the snow would have nothing on him!

“You should get gloves as well. You know, to protect your hands.” Jory laughed as he scanned the price tag. “Sorry, that came out ass-backwards. It’s ‘cause you’re a musician. I’ve seen you play at Tony’s.”

Those blue eyes. They were swiping Zane’s body with more attention than straight men usually dedicated to him. “Ah, yes, I do. It’s a sweet gig.”

Jory handed Zane change. “Do you ever give guitar lessons?”

The question was, did Jory want to pay for them with cash or something else. “Yes,” Zane lied, because teaching guitar to a cute redhead was preferable to waiting tables.

Jory’s grin widened, and he scribbled his number on the back of the receipt. “Let me know when you’re free next week.”

“Sure, maybe we can work something out,” Zane said, and as he picked up the piece of paper, Jory’s warm fingers rubbed against his by pretend-accident. Zane met his gaze, confused as to what he was supposed to do. Not that long ago he’d have maneuvered Jory into closing the store for fifteen minutes and had him in the back room. But now?

His gaze sought Roach.

He half-expected to spot sizzling jealousy overcooking Roach’s flesh, but he hadn’t even noticed the flirting, busy talking to a bald guy with a tattoo on his cheek. Zane knew the bastard too, since Roach had to throw him out of the bar twice since Zane’s arrival. What the hell were they doing, chatting away like two parrots?

The rails were a labyrinth, but Zane cut the time by diving underneath women’s tops, to emerge just a few steps away from Roach. He knocked on his back.

Roach spun around. “Yeah? You done?”

The other guy patted Roach’s shoulder like a good friend. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

He wasn’t yet out of the store when Zane leaned in, whispering so the older guy shopping for hats close by wouldn’t overhear them. “What was that about?”

Roach hummed and led the way out into the cold, prompting Zane to don his new jacket. “A… business opportunity.”

“Really? What kind of opportunity can this guy have for you? I bet he can’t even spell his own name,” Zane grumbled while slipping into the green jacket. It was heaven made of fabric.

“An illegal one. Of course. Do you wanna earn some money or not?”

Zane went quiet and pulled the soft, furry hood over his head to protect himself from the falling snow. “Why? Since when do you talk to him in the first place?” he asked as the asphalt shook under his feet. Or was he the only one feeling the tremors?