Jagged Edge

He shakes his head, staggers back. “I’m fine.”

“Your arm.”

“Jesus, listen.” He glances down at his arm, sighs. “Why did Simon’s men have you? What the hell, Raine? What’s their beef with you?”

“My dad set me up. And how the hell do you know them? They your buddies?” I shake my head. “Do you bend over for them, too?”

He flinches but doesn’t reply, which is a reply all by itself.

Christ. “Did they invite you in on the fun? Is that why you showed up right on time? I thought…” Fuck, I don’t know what I thought. “Who is Simon? What’s the Club?”

Jason is staring at me, his jaw working, his mouth pressed in a thin line. He doesn’t look like he’s about to answer.

Dammit.

“Why were you there?” I take a step toward him, and he lifts a hand, taking a step back. “Jason. Just answer this one question. How did you know?”

A street lamp is behind him, casting his face in shadow. “What’s the use? You’ve already made your mind up about me. I’m a scammer, a dirty whore, a junkie and a liar. Am I forgetting anything?”

He’s messing with my mind. Or maybe my mind’s messed up anyway. ?

??I didn’t say that.”

“Oh fuck you, Raine Storm.”

He turns around and starts walking away, and I’m frozen in place, feeling cold all the way to the marrow of my bones.

Hell. I kick at a piece of trash and rub a hand over my face. I did accuse him of all those things. Was I wrong? The things he said to the thugs in the alley… and he did show up out of nowhere. I need the truth.

But maybe I was too harsh. He gets under my skin, that much is true, but that’s no excuse, especially for a guy who fought off those guys to save my ass.

“Jason!” I finally get moving, going after him, still unsure what to do or say. Should I apologize? “Jason!”

But the whistling wind is my only reply. He’s disappeared in the shadows of the small park. I keep looking, worried that the thugs will catch up with me—with him—but it’s all quiet apart from the random passing car.

He’s gone.

I keep seeing the blood running down his arm. Hearing his words, the slight crack in them I hadn’t paid much attention to. Fear. And sadness. Pain.

Pain that echoes through me. Shit, my side really burns. Bringing a hand up, under my jacket, I find blood soaking through my sweater, and remember the knife in the thug’s hand.

Fuck.

And still I’m not worried about myself. I’m more concerned about Jason.

What if he has a good explanation for everything? What if he has his reasons for not talking? He’s pissed with me, and scared.

I shove my scraped hands into my pockets, the sting in my knuckles joining the burning pain in my side, reminders of what went down in the alley, of Jason distracting the thugs, giving me a fighting chance, then joining the fight himself.

He fought them. They sure didn’t look like they were his buddies as he kicked and punched them. He got hurt trying to help me, and like always I was an ass to him.

Goddammit. What have I done?

Various more aches wake up all over my body as my muscles cool down. I trudge to where I left my truck, an itch between my shoulder blades. Nobody’s there whenever I turn around, though. Good, because I don’t think I can run anymore.

My truck is where I left it. No smashed windows. No flat tires. Nobody waiting to assault me.

Still, my hand shakes as I fish the key out of my pocket, unlock and climb inside. I rev up the engine and drive away from the curb, my movements jerky and uncoordinated.