Jagged Edge

“What?” he mutters and uncurls a little when I touch his face. He groans, his eyes hazy. His skin is cold, his face mottled with bruises.

“Christ, Jason.” My chest squeezes with worry. His clothes are encrusted with blood and muck. He stinks of old trash, puke, sweat, and sex. “Can you stand?”

His eyes are on me now, still unfocused. “Why do you keep coming back?” he whispers. His lips are cracked. “Wasting your time with a cheap fucking whore like me.”

“Shut up, Jason.” I press my lips together. “Just… come with me.”

I wrap my arms around his back, lifting him to his feet, and he sways against me. He looks like shit, his face pale, his eyes bloodshot.

He’s lost more weight over the past week. He’s so thin his cheekbones jut out like blades. It fucking scares me.

I want to crush him to me. I want to take care of him.

Yeah, I’m starting to understand how I feel about Jason Vega, and it makes no sense. After all this time, I barely know him. I’ve barely spoken to him. I don’t know his favorite color, what kind of music he likes, if he snores and if he separates M&Ms by color before eating them.

But I know he looked after Jesse Lee when he was in trouble. That he’s looking after his gang, sending them away to protect them. That he threw himself into a fight to save me, even though it looks like it got him into real deep shit.

And I realize that’s all I need to know.

“You’re worth it,” I tell him, looking straight into those wide, beautiful dark eyes of his. “I want to take care of you, and I’m not going to stop. Like you took care of me and my own. Now get into the damn truck. I’m taking you home.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jason

“You’re worth it.”

Mind games. A mindfuck and a half. Why is he here? I’m too tired to deal with him, always running hot and then cold with me. Fucking exhausted. What happened at the Club last time…

Nah, not going there. My mind shies away from the memory, and a full-body shudder rocks me.

“Hold on,” Raine says, “almost there.”

His arm is around me, a distant sensation through my jacket, pressed to my numb back. His voice, though… Warm and deep, an echo from pleasant dreams, it winds around me tightly.

He’s here. I’m leaning into his side, stumbling along as he guides me down the sidewalk. He smells damn good, clean and musky, of soap and man.

I probably stink to hell and back, and I’m filthy—but the thought is distant and foggy in my mind. Caught between his scent, his warmth beside me, and putting one foot in front of the other—surprisingly difficult, cuz they keep tangling together—we make our slow way toward his truck.

It finally hits me, what’s happening.

Shitshitshit. Bad idea. I dig in my heels, and we stop.

“What is it?” he asks, and grips my chin, turns my head until he’s looking into my eyes. He cups my face, and his fingers are shockingly gentle on my bruised jaw. “It’s not far now. Are you okay?”

Okay? If I’m okay? Holy shit. Laughter starts deep in my chest, and I think I’m gonna puke. The memories strapped in the pit of my mind break free and slam into me like meteorites on a collision course with earth.

Pain. Blood. Despair. Darkness. Dread. I’m at the bottom of the pit, sinking, drowning. Lost.

“It’s okay,” a voice is saying, that same warm, deep voice from before, “it’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Jase. Breathe.”

I breathe. Actually, I gasp and wheeze and start coughing, like I’ve really been underwater. Looks like I hadn’t been drawing any air after all, not until he told me to.

Raine.

I can’t see his face. Can’t see much of him, in fact, except for the blue fabric covering his shoulder where I’ve been doing my impersonation of a drowned rat, and the pale expanse of his strong neck, soft dark hair curling a little over his ear.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Cold, fresh air, and Raine, that scent of warm skin, apples and man.