Twisted(85)

What the hell had he been thinking, instigating a public display like he had with Jazz the other night? He’d practically put a goddamn target on her back. He hadn’t forgotten that Cricket had indicated there would be consequences if he didn’t make more of a dent in his debt. Sure, he’d paid some of what he’d owed, but he’d also gotten more coke. He was probably more in the hole now than he’d been before he’d practically emptied his saving account.

Even so, he could deal with paying half of it back, fast. Half was doable. He had a bit of money left, and he had his spare guitars, the ones he rarely played anymore. Every one of them counted as one of his prized possessions, but that didn’t matter right now. The important thing was to show them they could trust him, that he was making a good faith effort to get them their money. Then he could catch his breath a little while he took on a few extra shifts at the transport company.

It wasn’t like Deak and the rest of the band would toss him out on his ear if he was temporarily short on rent next month. Hell, he could even ask Jazz for—

No. He hissed out a breath and smoothed out the hat she’d given him. Real fucking drug addicts hit up their girlfriends for cash. That wasn’t him. Would never be him. He’d handle the first part of what he owed and figure out the rest later.

At this moment, he had a show to worry about. The car would be picking him and Nick up anytime now, and he couldn’t let any of this shit affect his performance. Jazz would be watching.

They would be watching, and they would be way too pleased to see they’d rattled him. He’d be damned if he gave them the satisfaction.

He set aside the hat and headed into the bathroom for a quick shave. Deliberately, he pushed aside the baggie of blow, not wanting to even be tempted. But fuck, just the feel of the powder sifting between his fingers and the plastic was enough to make him press his fist to his forehead.

How was he supposed to get through tonight without the help? They’d threatened Jazz. The idea of them—him, whomever the caller was—looking at her, even thinking about her, made Gray want to throw things. Rip the mirror off the freaking wall and pound his knuckles into the glass until they were as bloody and destroyed as the pieces of his mind.

Breathing hard, he braced his hands on the edge of the sink and faced his reflection. His bloodshot eyes looked like they belonged to a druggie.

Because you are one. Everyone knows but you.

And her. Fuck, he couldn’t let her know.

It was bad enough they’d smoked together. That he could brush off as just partying. Just a good time. It had never been the way he’d had a good time, but as long as she didn’t think more of it, he could rationalize. But this…it would kill her to know he had people threatening him because of his drug debts.

Threatening her.

Hands shaking, he took out his shaving cream. He went through the rest of the task by rote, finally returning to the bedroom to grab the hat and his wallet. At the last second, he grabbed the small folding knife he’d bought after Cricket had started her not-so-subtle threats and stuffed it in his pocket. It wasn’t enough. How could he protect Jazz with that? He needed a gun.

He threw back his head and sucked in a long, slow breath. No, he didn’t need a gun. Didn’t need to panic, either. As long as he got them the money he’d promised, he had nothing to worry about. Just in case, he’d keep Jazz close to his side.

“Yo, man, you coming? Ride’s here,” Nick called through Gray’s closed bedroom door.

“Yeah.” Gray opened the door and clamped his fingers around the knob. The words were out before he could stop them. “Look, I need you to do me a favor. And I don’t intend to say more about it than this, so don’t bother asking.”

Nick kicked back against the wall in his best don’t give a shit pose, eyebrow lifted. “Okay.”

“I know you care about Jazz, and her well-being is the most important thing. Just keep more of an eye on her than usual for the next few days, all right?” Gray swallowed, trying to force down the lump in his throat. How had he gotten to this point? “I’m going to make sure I’m with her as much as possible, but if I’m not, I need to know you’ll have her back.”

He expected Nick to argue. To demand to know how deep he’d gotten. If the positions had been reversed, he probably would have. But from the resigned lock to Nick’s jaw and his hooded eyes, he already knew.

Nick nodded and walked down the hall. Abruptly, he stopped. “You owe it to her—if not yourself—to end this.”

Gray hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. He didn’t know if Nick was referring to the coke or to his relationship with Jazz, period. “I’ve got it under control.”