Page 52 of Chained

And worse. She saw it, too.

I don't know why I care. I've never cared before—not about one of Vincent's girls, anyway. Yeah, when I was a kid I had that thing in the parlour, but I was a stupid kid with no clue of the rules. Now? I know it's a death wish. I know. But still, I think of her. Even when every inch of me screams not to. When my mind begs to lock her in a fucking box and think of nothing but the way slicing my knife through the contract's jugular had felt.

It ruined the euphoria. She ruined it. It's a bold statement, one I'll never say out loud. I didn't get that rush of dopamine after the sight of his stomach opening. I didn't get that thrill, that adrenaline I've been chasing since the first kill.

Because all I could see was her face, all I could hear was her voice.

Knock, knock, knock.

It's the fifth time he's knocked now; he isn't going to give up. He never does. I lean over the bed, grabbing my boot and, with every effort, launch it at the door.

"Piss off, Jarrod." I shouldn't have spoken. I may as well have invited him in myself. The door isn't locked, it never is. What's the point when the only people I want to keep out have their own set of keys?

The door slowly opens with a screech, the hinges old and rusted.

"So, you are awake." Jarrod bounces inside, hands in pockets, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

"Sadly." My voice is flat. I push myself off my mattress and move out to the balcony, my smokes sitting idly on the table beside me. I take one from the pack.

I notice something out of the corner of my eye from across the balconies, the end chamber's light on, a hoover blaring. My brow raises as Jarrod joins me.

"Who's moving in?" I nod towards the balcony, cigarette hanging between my lips as I spark the lighter.

"Uh, no idea." He shrugs. "So I have good news and bad news." He changes the conversation quickly as I let my gaze linger on the balcony for a second, the niggling in my chest beginning to simmer before dragging my eyes to Jarrod's.

"What did you say?" I hadn't heard, or maybe I did and I just don't care enough to acknowledge it. I'm not quite sure.

"News, Jax. I have news." He rolls his eyes as I blow smoke in his direction, which he wafts dramatically, a small cough rattling his throat. "Do you mind? Some of us would like to see their thirties."

"What news?" I suck on my cigarette harder, the burn in my lungs oddly soothing. It's nice to feel anything but the guilt that weighs heavy on my chest.

Don't start thinking about it now, Jax. Give yourself a break.

I sigh as Jarrod begins to play with the zipper on his hoodie.

"You want the good or bad?"

"Surprise me." I toss the cigarette end over the balcony.

"Good news: we can go together." He averts his eyes, a shaky smile on his face.

"And the bad?"

"It's another collection…" He takes a step back, almost like he's expecting a kick-off. I've never been violent to Jarrod, never so much as raised a hand to him in the fourteen years I've known him, but the kid is so spooked he expects it from everyone. Even me.

"We've just done a collection." My jaw tightens; I move into the bedroom and rummage through my drawers for a shirt. Fuck. Another collection. How many fucking girls can one bloke need? I swallow, my stomach sinking.

Unless they're all dead.

I shake my head and rake a hand through my hair.

Don't think about her. She's nothing. She's no one.

I stop in my tracks, Jarrod shuffling behind me, my fingers hovering over the soft material of a t-shirt that I ball in my fist.

You don't care. Of course you don't. Let him kill her, she's nothing. No one.

"Where?" The air hisses between my teeth as I pull the shirt over my head, grabbing my gun from the drawer and tucking it into my waistband.