Page 16 of Painkiller (Sin Records #3)

M oonlight streams in soft beams through my bedroom window, creating shadows and shapes on my walls and ceiling. I lay awake watching the silhouette of the overgrown oleander dance and sway, trying hard to keep the tears at bay. I’m ten years old. Too old to cry.

A soft tapping sounds at my door as if they’re asking permission to come in. No one ever asks my permission for anything, and Dad doesn’t allow us to lock our doors. Even Graham can’t lock his, and he’s fifteen. When he tried a few weeks ago, Dad removed his entire door.

Just as I suspected, there’s a click from the knob turning, and a stream of light from the hallway beams across my room, snuffing out the shadows I’ve been watching.

If the soft knocking didn’t give away it was Mom at the door, then the nonexistent footsteps would.

Mom has always been soundless when she moves.

Lashes tickle against my cheeks as I close my eyes, trying to pretend to be asleep. The mattress of my double bed dips beneath her slight frame. Fingertips brush over my cheeks, and I realize a tear has slipped down my cheek. I shove Mom’s hand away and swipe furiously at the wetness.

“Jagger, I’m sorry, baby.” She slips her fingers into my hair, scratching gently at my scalp like I’ve always loved. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” A heavy sigh spills from her lips. “I-I’ve had a bad day, but that was no excuse to take it out on you.”

Mom is sick. That’s what Graham and Dad always tell me, but not like a cold or something.

Her head is sick, and since my baby sister died, she’s gotten worse.

My dad and brother tried to make it sound like it wasn’t so bad.

We even moved to California for the summer, so she wouldn’t be surrounded by the memories of Bonnie back at our house in New York.

I knew it was bad, though. Worse than they wanted me to believe.

I’d caught her trying to hurt herself a few times.

I probably should’ve told Dad or Graham.

Instead, I beg her every chance I get to teach me more on the guitar, hoping it will distract her.

But today, it didn’t work. She yelled at me.

Getting upset is stupid, and the truth is I’m not upset because she hurt my feelings. I’m upset because I just want to help her. I know she’s always had bad moments, but spending time with her has always made her feel better. At least it used to.

Even now, I don’t know what to say, so I just don’t. “Tomorrow we’ll practice, okay? First thing, I promise.”

I turn to face her, my mouth twisting a bit. My shoulder tips toward my ear. “It’s okay, Mom. We don’t have to. I know you’re tired.”

She cups my face, stroking along my cheekbone with her thumb. “Such a good boy,” she whispers, her lips screwing into a smirk.

I freeze. Pressure grips my chest, seizing my breath. This isn’t right.

“A very good fucking boy.” My brows dip, confusion and nausea filling me as her face distorts and green eyes become blue. Dark tresses fade, strand by strand.

Not Mom.

I go rigid, unable to move. My skin crawls as she hovers close. Blood-red lips dip to mine, and bile rises in my throat. My body tenses and…

Sweat coats my forehead as my eyes fly open. My heart pounds in my chest as nausea and panic build, mixing with guilt, regret, and so much fucking bullshit. I screw my eyes shut.

When her face appears behind my closed lids, I launch myself from the bed. Movement and soft moans draw my eyes back to the mattress. My panic increases until I spot dark hair spread across the pillows instead of blond.

Scrubbing my hands over my face, I blow out a breath of relief.

This is why I don’t do sleepovers. It might make me an ass, but it’s better than waking up in a cold sweat. Or worse.

I only have myself to blame. I let the text about lawyer appointments fuck with my head. It was fuel to my already raging fire after the argument with Maverick. Between Absinthe and X, ending up in a strange bed with a strange girl is the most normal thing that could’ve happened.

And the nightmare that followed is typical.

Another moan drags my attention to the other side of the nameless girl, and I barely contain my growl when I see another dark head.

Ripping my hand through my hair, I take a breath, cursing myself for indulging to the point of blackout.

You’d think I’d learn my lesson after…I shake my head, hating that the oblivion I seek is one of the many causes of why I seek it.

Hating that it also triggers sleep. And with sleep comes the bullshit nightmares, especially when the reminders are so fresh in my mind.

And when the memories mix and mingle with my regret and shame, I relive it all over again, except worse.

Because that psychotic bitch and my mom don’t belong in the same thought.

Silently, I grab my clothes off the floor, along with my phone, and walk out the bedroom door into an open floor plan apartment.

Judging by the pink throw pillows on the navy-blue sofa and the cream shaggy rug in the middle of the living room, this is definitely a girl’s apartment.

At least I shouldn’t have to worry about any boyfriends coming home.

Once dressed, I turn my phone on, swiping my fingers across the screen to pull up my contacts. It rings three times before the rough voice answers. “We left the club five hours ago. Unless you’re a two-pump chump, how in the hell are you awake already?” Thad grumbles.

I glance at my watch. “Shouldn’t you be at the office already?” I whisper as I walk toward the door.

“Yeah, I might make it by noon. Now, why are you calling me? I’ve been asleep for a fucking hour.”

“Where’s my car?”

“It’s your car. Shouldn’t you know the answer to that?”

“Don’t be a dick. Hurry and tell me before someone wakes up. I want to get out of here.”

“I drove it to your apartment last night. It’s perfectly safe. Can I go now?”

“You drove my car after you’d been drinking?” I growl.

Don’t give me that look. I might be a borderline junkie alcoholic, but I don’t drive when I’m wasted. I value my car—and my motorcycle—too much.

“I was sober, jackass. You’re the one who drinks the bar and snorts his way into the stratosphere. I had two drinks all night.”

“Whatever.”

Another voice—a female voice—murmurs in the background. “Shhh. Go back to sleep,” Thad tells her. “If that’s all, I want a little more sleep before I have to go to work.”

“Yeah, that’s it. I’ll see you later.”

He doesn’t say anything else before he hangs up. Dick.

Wincing with every tap of my boots on the tile floor, I make my way to the front door. I jerk my wallet out of my pocket, dig out a few bills, and toss them into the bowl sitting on the console table by the door.

It might be a dick move, but it ensures these girls don’t bother approaching me if our paths cross again—most of the time. It keeps everything impersonal—almost transactional. The way I prefer it.

Cold metal presses into my hand as I grasp the door handle. The knob turns with a click that feels like it fucking echoes, making me cringe. I step out into a well-lit corridor, turning to pull the door shut as noiselessly as possible, when someone crashes into me.

Reflexes take over, and I’m reaching out to grab the culprit. I look down, meeting eyes wide with surprise.

What are the fucking odds?

Poppy blinks a few times before she rights herself, pulling away from my hold. She looks at me, then at the white metal door. A slow smirk pulls her lips until a dimple pops in her cheek. “Someone had fun.”

I look for the slightest sign that finding me stumbling out of some random girl’s apartment days after I was trying to get in her pants upsets her, but find none.

I brace for the flicker in her eyes. Disgust. Disappointment.

But she just smirks, unbothered. My head ducks as I run my hand over my hair with a chuckle. “Someone had something.”

“Trying to make your getaway?”

“Yeah.” I look behind her, wondering if she’s doing the same, and feeling an irrational flip in my stomach at the thought. “You?”

“Nope. I live here.”

Seriously? I look around and finally recognize it’s the same hallway I followed Poppy down. My one-night stand brought me to her building.

The shit is getting bizarre.

Her lips tuck between her teeth. She finds my predicament humorous. I suppose I would too in her shoes. “Come on, pretty boy.” She tilts her chin behind me. “This way.”

She walks past me, leading me down the corridor. Her hips sway with each step, and my eyes are drawn to her toned ass in those tight as fuck leggings that show just what phenomenal shape she is in. And whatever happened last night didn’t satisfy me because my dick is getting hard watching her.

When we get to the elevator, she spins on a sneakered foot, a single brow arched high. Busted. “Didn’t you get your fill last night?”

I chuckle, stepping into the elevator with her. “I believe in honoring the classics.”

“That is a lame pickup line.”

“You’re right,” I laugh again. “It is.”

Her eyes, full of greens and golds today, scan me from head to toe as she chews on her cheek.

I already know she likes what she sees. She’s proven that more than once, and it seems my current walk of shame—though of all the things I’m ashamed of, a one-night stand isn’t one of them—doesn’t change that.

The elevator doors slide open, snapping me out of my thoughts. We step out, and she slips that thick coat on while I shrug my arms into my jacket. The lobby of the building is quiet, unnervingly so, as we walk wordlessly to the door.

When we step out, the biting winter chill cuts through me. From the corner of my eye, I see Poppy shiver. The heavy coat doesn’t help much when all she has beneath is a thin pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. “Would you like my jacket too?”

She bites her lip, and I wish I were her teeth. Contemplation dances in her eyes. She wants the jacket but doesn’t want to admit it. “How would you get it back?”

“You can give it to Casey.”

“Because that wouldn’t raise a million questions,” she grumbles before shaking her head. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get to the subway.”

This time, I can’t hold back my frustrated growl.

I rip off the leather and place it over her shoulders.

When she tries to fight me, I grip her hands.

“Just stop. Take the damn thing. I’m offering a jacket, not my dick.

” Though I would hand it over, too, if I thought she’d take it.

Twice now, she’s left me with blue balls. “There’s nothing to explain.”

Her nose scrunches, and a small, humorous huff passes her pouty lips. “Fine.” Something twists in my chest when I watch her pull it tighter.

“Now, how about coffee for the trip?” I jerk my head to the left. “Isn’t there a coffee shop around the corner?” I know there is. I’ve seen it a few times, but I’ve never been inside.

Her mouth twists to one side, then the other.

Reluctance dances in her expression once again.

It takes a surprising amount of restraint not to toss her over my shoulder.

I’ve never felt that urge before. But I see when she relents.

“Yeah.” She nods, brushing past me with a half-smile. “I was going there first, anyway. ”