I thought I’d gotten my family free and clear before I left Louisiana, paying for their release with my service, my blood. But maybe I was wrong. Drew’s disappearance is probably him paying for my sins, in one way or another, and it’s all my fault. Samson’s stress. My mother’s worry. Drew’s absence. All my fault.
Running a hand through my damp hair, I inhale deeply through my nose and stare at the bed. There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep tonight, not with my mind racing like it is, or my chest pounding the way it has since I took Samson’s call yesterday. Restful sleep won’t come until I know my family is safe. And free.
I almost snort. If that’s the case, I may never sleep again.
I hear Jenna pad around her motel room and watch as, one by one, each of her lights go out. Then I shut off the last lamp beside me and the only light left behind is the glow of the yellow bulbs outside our motel doors, shining in through the thin fabric of the window curtains. It’s faint, but in the darkness it’s enough to see through to Jenna’s room.
Our beds mirror one another across the propped-open door so I can see her lying on her side facing me and she can see me on my back with my head turned in her direction. Our eyes are glinting bits of dark marble, trained on one another in the soft yellow light, as if we’re sleeping side by side in a single bed instead of thirty feet apart in separate ones.
The last time we looked at one another across bedsheets was last December, but it feels like years have passed since then. I turn away and stare at the ceiling, remembering the first time I saw Jenna.
She was a new hire at the Thirsty Coyote, and I’d heard only intriguing things about her from coworkers. She was from New Orleans, born and raised, with both Creole and French in her blood, which accounted for her “exotic” look, as everyone called it. She was rumored to practice Voodoo, and had more attitude in her soul than she had tattoos on her body. All of these things, along with the fact that she was one of the best bartenders my boss had ever seen, had me curious to meet the mysterious new hire. And when I finally did, I wasn’t disappointed.
She was just as feisty and headstrong as I’d been told, but far more attractive than anyone had described. When I first saw Jenna, with her mile-long eyelashes, long graceful neck, and diamond stud in her nose, “beautiful” wasn’t the right word. “Striking” was more like it. Looking at her was like being hit by something powerful. A force. A bolt of fire.
She had her back to me at first, as she reached for a tequila bottle high above her head, but then she turned around and struck me with her golden eyes, and I was scorched on the spot.
And I’ve been burning ever since.
9
Jenna
I absently turn the fake diamond band on my ring finger and frown into the dark. The day I met Jack also happened to be the first day I’d ever worn my grandmother’s gris-gris ring. When Jack asked about the ring earlier, I realized, for the first time, that the day I started wearing the gris-gris ring was the same day we met—and a thick combination of fear and hope knotted my stomach at the realization.
But there was no way in hell I was going to let Jack know that. He’d probably just use it as a sign that we’re supposed to be together. And it’s not a sign. It’s not.
The ring had nothing to do with Jack’s attraction to me—or mine to him.
If anything, it was Jack’s voice that first drew me in. Long before his silver eyes took me captive, long before his art-stained skin named him my comrade, the sound of Jack’s voice poured into my ears and dripped down my spine, melting me one syllable at a time, until the sound of him was permanently embedded in my being.
The first time I heard him speak was my second day at the Thirsty Coyote, back when Jack used to work there. I was straining for a bottle of high-end tequila on a shelf just out of my reach when his voice brushed over me from behind.
“We have stepladders for this very reason,” he said in that husky tone that is uniquely Jack.
I spun around to face a tall, dark, and handsome heartthrob and tried not to react to how attractive he was.
“Yeah, well. What fun is a ladder when I can earn the satisfaction of grabbing it on my own?” I hopped up, nearly grasping the bottle before landing, then jumped again.
He glanced at the bar top crammed with patrons. “I’m sure our customers think watching you jump up and down is more fun too.” I stopped jumping as he easily lifted the bottle from its shelf.
“See, this way,” he said, handing it to me, “I don’t have to worry about you knocking the bottle down and breaking it. There’s no risk.”