“You do? Tell me sweets, how many twenty-one-year-olds do you hang around with?”
“I told you, I hate that name, Jax. If you insist on using it, then I will call you Shaft. Well, that or asshole. Right now, asshole seems a better fit.”
“Damn, you can be mouthy for a kid.” The girl has sass and it makes my dick practically weep with want.
“I’m ignoring you now.” Those tempting lips screw into a pout, serving as a reminder of how old she is.
“What? Did I hurt your feelings? Pouting is not what an adult would do.”
“You really are an ass. I happen to think that your experiences, and the things that life throws at you can age you as much, if not more than years, Shaft. I grew up with Viper as my father for most of my life. That’s it, unless you count a club whore, who took pity on me. I had no one other than them, until my grandfather rescued me. So, I figure in the grand scheme of things I’m more adult than most people I know. Especially asinine bikers who think they can talk down to people and get away with it.”
“Viper was a fucking prick, I give you that. But, at least you had him. You had someone to look out for you. You have no idea how cruel the real world is. Be thankful for the hand you got dealt,” I tell her. I admit I shouldn’t say that to her. It’s a dick move, but she touched a wound I haven’t revisited in way too many years to count.
I expected her to spring back at me. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Bree, she’s quick to come back at me. She doesn’t take crap, and I have to admit I like that about her. I like it more than I should. Fuck. I like every damn thing about this girl—except her age and her relatives. I could get lost in her, and I can’t. I’m too fucking old for her. She’s beauty. The real kind. The kind that goes to the very depth of the bone. The kind a man protects and feeds. The kind that makes a man sell out his own brothers to touch. Too fucking precious for a son of a bitch like me. She doesn’t come back at me though. She goes quiet, too quiet, and I’m too fucked up in the head to push it, so I let the words lie between us. I let the silence stand as a wall between us.
The waitress brings our food and Bree offers a quiet, polite thank you to the waitress. She pushes her fries around on her plate. I try to concentrate on my burger, knowing I’ve hurt her, but it’s for the best. Really…it is.
“Can you let me out? I need to go to the restroom?” she asks, her voice and face strained, making me feel like even more of an asshole. Shit, she’s gonna go in there and cry, and I have to let her. I clear my throat as I get up. I stand there watching her walk to the back where the half-broken neon sign flashes the word restrooms. When she disappears out of sight, I finally sit back down. I rub my chest where a slight pain has started. Shit, maybe I’m having a heart attack.
Chapter Eight
Bree
I hate him. How I ever thought he could be someone special I don’t know. I hate him with a passion. Leaning against the restroom door, I try to stop myself from letting the anger take over. Because, I know what will follow the anger…my tears. Tears I haven’t shed since Pops found me. Tears that I swore I would never give into again. That is what makes me hate Jax even more. I could have taken it if he was an asshole. I could have. I could have accepted it and moved on. But…he was an asshole who made me think he might be more, and that makes me want to cry. That shit hurts.
He wants me to be thankful I had my sperm donor? He has no idea the abuse and life I had with that man. It’s a story I don’t want to share with Jax. He doesn’t get that from me—not now. I have to get away from him. I can’t go back out there and let him tear me down. That’s out of the question. Tears are burning in my eyes, threatening to run down my face, and if I’m not able to fight them down, I sure as hell ain’t letting him see them. Letting people see your tears exposes your weakness. Viper used to love to see me cry. No one. Not one more person will ever get my tears again.
There’s a small, sketchy looking window over by the toilet. It’s tiny, but I think with some work I can maneuver through it. I go straight to it, turning the trashcan over for a makeshift stepstool, and I don’t stop pushing and wiggling till I break free. I fall, letting the pavement below catch me. Now, there’s a rip on the knee of my favorite jeans and that is all Jax’s—no Shaft’s fault. I guess I should be thankful I didn’t land in the dumpster judging by the smell out here.
I take the long way around the diner, avoiding the windows. I don’t want to take the chance that the asshole will see me. Once I get back along the main road, I breathe easier. I’m not too far from Aunt Beth and Skull’s house. I’ll have Mattah bring the kids to me and figure out how to get through the party tomorrow without seeing Shaft again. It’s a great plan. I look at my scraped palms where I caught myself when I fell, it stings, and I hope he chokes on his food.