Ruin Me, Page 8

  I want to slide out from underneath him and put the barrier up between us again, but I'm too exhausted to move. At least, that's the reason I give myself. Deep down, I know there's more to it than that. There's a reason Jax is pretty much the only person who can make me smile anymore, who can make me laugh. Who can sneak past that wall I have around me. Because I care about him more than I want to admit.

  I'll put the rules back into play tomorrow, I vow to myself as our lips connect. I can't let this get out of hand. Can't let my heart get broken again.

  But as our lips connect and my body nearly trembles for his touch, I wonder if maybe I'm too late. The moment I agreed to this trip, I was pretty much agreeing to get closer to Jax. Eventually, I'm going to have to tell him what he's getting into.

  I just hope he doesn't ruin me.

  Chapter Seven

  Jax

  Eighteen hours after we leave the motel, Clara and I pull up to my childhood home. It looks worse than it did when I left--the entire neighborhood does. The siding is peeling off the two-story home, the porch is caving in, and the lawn is yellow and patchy. Someone has ripped up chunks of the concrete around the yard, for who knows what reason.

  "This is home sweet home." I announce in a flat, unenthusiastic tone as I park the Jeep in the driveway.

  "So, this is where you grew up?" Clara tentatively asks and I nod. She bites on her thumbnail as she studies the broken windows and shingles peeling off the roof.

  Ever since we left the motel room, she's been acting torn over something. She hasn't been cold toward me or anything like that, but she's been stuck in some sort of internal battle over something ever since I spread her legs and kissed her until she came apart. I didn't mean to take things that far with her. I was only messing around, figuring she'd stop me before I got too far, but she'd practically came undone just from me licking her stomach.

  "Are you sure it's safe to go in?" Clara asks, plucking at the loose threads of her cutoff shorts.

  I stare at the house, remembering all the rough, slightly insane people that have been in there. "Maybe I should go in first and check things out."

  She glances around at the crumbling home next door. "I think I might feel safer being with you."

  "Clara, I don't want you to worry." I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach over the console to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I won't let anything happen to you."

  "I know you won't." Her fingers fold around the door handle. "But I want to go inside with you for support." She offers me a smile.

  An emotional lump forms in my throat. "Okay, just stay close."

  I get out of the car and meet her around the front. I lace my fingers through hers as we step up the rickety porch toward the front door. She doesn't pull away this time, probably because she's scared out of her damn mind.

  Like the officer told me, the front door is busted in and hanging on one of the hinges.

  "What happened to the door?" Clara gapes at the splintered wood of the doorframe.

  "Someone probably kicked it in when my mother didn't answer. It happens sometimes." I squeeze her hand before stepping into the house.

  The living room is exactly how I remember. Stained orange and brown carpet, broken glass on the floor, empty syringes everywhere. Alcohol bottles line the crooked stairway, and the air reeks of cigarette smoke and mold.

  "You can go outside whenever you need to," I tell Clara when she draws the collar of her tank top over her nose.

  "I'm fine," she assures me. "It just smells in here... like a dead animal or something."

  I take a whiff of the air then wince. She's right. It does smell like something died in here. Adrenaline soars through my body when I realize what that could mean--it might not be a dead animal, but my mother's body rotting away.

  "Wait here," I say then hurry through the house to track where the smell is coming from. Memories haunt me around every corner. So much happened in this place, so much bad stuff. Fights. Yelling. Drug use. Abuse.

  By the time I reach the top of the stairway, I'm on the verge of throwing up. Not just from the smell, but because I'm remembering all the reasons I left.

  I hate that I'm here again.

  I check my mother's room, which has been cleared out; the bed and dresser are gone along with her clothes and all of her belongings. I peek into the room that used to be Avery's. All that's in there is a lumpy mattress on the floor and beer bottles. I stick my head into the bathroom and dry heave. The toilet has overflowed onto the floor, and the stench is enough to make my eyes water. I quickly shut the door. The dead animal smell has to be coming from inside there.

  Still, I look inside the last room to be sure. My hands quiver as I grip the doorknob and enter my old bedroom. It looks exactly the same as I left it. Even the dresser is still tipped over from when my mother's then husband tried to throw it at me.

  I swallow hard as the memory of that day rushes over me. Lester swung his fist and I swung back. Blood painted our knuckles. He kept shouting for me to respect him, that I had to because he was my father. He wasn't my real father, though. He was my fifth stepfather and acted like he was the man of the house, even though he was a blip on a long list of men my mother let into her home. In his words, he was the boss and made the rules, even if the rules he set were fucked up and warped. What really sucked is that I didn't--and still don't even know who my real father is. Even my mother doesn't. Men like Lester are all I've ever known when it comes to fathers.

  "Are you okay?" Clara unexpectedly moves up behind me and gently places a hand on my shoulder.

  I'm so lost in the memory I jolt from her touch. "Yeah, I'm fine." She pulls away as I face her. "I'm just thinking about stuff."

  "About your mom?" she asks.

  I shake my head. "About what happened the last time I was here."

  "Oh, the fight?"

  I free a shaky breath. "It happened in here."

  When I nod my head at the room behind me, she scans the messy area, the holes in the walls, the cracks in the ceiling, the broken window. "Was this your bedroom?" she asks.

  I run my thumb along the ring on my finger, thinking about the time my mother gave it to me, the one happy moment I ever had in this place. "It was."

  Sorrow fills her expression. "Jax, I'm so sorry."

  "For what?" I ask. She has nothing to be sorry about. She came with me on this trip, is making being in this house bearable.

  "That you had to live here." She threads our fingers together. "I didn't realize... that it was this bad for you."

  "I tried to warn you. This is why I asked you not to judge me." Please, please, don't let her judge me.

  "I know you did, but this," she glances around the room again, noting the holes in the walls, "is more than I'm capable of imagining."

  "That's a good thing." I sketch my fingers along her jawline and think about kissing her, knowing if I did, I'd probably feel a little better. She's even holding my hand, so I'm betting I could get away with stealing a kiss. But it seems wrong to do something I love so much when we're standing in the midst of a crackhouse. "We should go get checked into a motel, get something to eat, then start asking around to see if anyone's seen her." I start for the stairway, pulling her with me. "We need to move fast since we only have three days here before we have to head back."

  She nods in agreement. "Do you have an idea of where to start? I mean, who to ask. Or are you just going to wing it?"

  "I have a few ideas of where to start," I reply as we descend the stairs, the steps creaking under our weight. "But I'm going to warn you in advance that pretty much every place we go is going to be as bad as here. In fact, you might want to stay in the motel room or hang around town."

  She hesitates, as if she's actually considering doing it. Part of me of is glad that she is. Somehow I'd forgotten how bad this place is. But then she straightens her stance.

  "No, I'm going with you. You shouldn't go through this alone."

  "Are you sure?" I give
a pressing glance at the drug paraphernalia on the floor. "I won't be upset if you don't want to. In fact, I'd kind of prefer if you didn't."

  "Jax, you asked me to come so you wouldn't have to be alone in this, right?" she asks, and I unwillingly nod. "Okay, then. I'm going with you."

  "All right, but only if you promise me one thing."

  "And what's that?"

  "If at any point things start to get dangerous, you bail. I don't want anything happening to you."

  She nods, looking worried.

  I want to tell her everything will be okay. That I'm just being overly careful. Nothing bad is going to happen. But I don't want to lie to her.

  I lived this life for too damn long and know how dangerous things can get.

  Chapter Eight

  Clara

  "Okay, this place isn't too bad." I bounce down on the queen size bed in the motel room.

  After seeing where Jax lived, I was expecting a lot worse, but the motel seems to be in the better side of town and could probably pass for at least three stars. Add that to the fact that I just got a text from Nelli saying she actually took my mother to a restaurant for lunch, and I'm feeling pretty okay right now.

  Jax shoves the keycard into his wallet. "This is the best place in town."

  My expression plummets as I kneel up on the bed. "I hope you didn't fork out a lot of money just so I'd feel safe. Please tell me you didn't."

  "It wasn't that much." He empties the spare change from his pocket and dumps it onto the nightstand.

  "Jax--" I start to object.

  But he talks over me. "So, there's this drive-in diner place like a mile away from here that has the best hamburgers ever. I was thinking we could stop there then head out to this motel my mother sometimes hangs out at. It's on the other side of town."

  "Why does she hang out at a motel?" I ask as I put my hair up into a ponytail.

  He avoids eye contact with me, staring out the window. "It's where she goes to make money."

  I climb off the bed. "Doing what?"

  His shoulders lift and fall as he exhales heavily. "Whoring herself out basically." He looks so ashamed about the fact, even though I already knew his mother is a prostitute.

  I want to hug the pain away, wrap my arms around him and tell him everything will be okay. I remember, after my father died, how much I wished someone would hug me and assure me everything would turn out all right. No one ever did, though, and it really wouldn't have mattered in the long run, wouldn't have changed anything.

  I wrap my arms around myself and move up behind him. "Are you going to be okay with this?"

  He has asked me the same question like a hundred times, when really he should be worrying about himself more. The agony in his eyes when he entered that home made me want to cry. And the condition of that house... I'd thought my apartment was bad, but that place... No one should have to live under those conditions. And Jax grew up in it.

  "I'm fine," He stares at the greying sky stretching across the town. "We should probably get going, though. We're running out of daylight."

  "You make us sound like vampires," I joke in an attempt to make him smile.

  "Another fantasy of yours? You want me to bite you tonight?" His lips twitch in amusement.

  I want to tell him no but I also don't want to ruin the moment. "No way. I'm the boss," I play along, "therefore, the biter."

  "That's no fair. You always get to be the boss." He fakes a pout, looking so adorable and sexy it's ridiculous.

  "No way. You were the boss the other night. Remember?"

  "How do you figure that?"

  "Because you're the one who," I motion downward at my thigh area, "you know."

  "No, I don't know." He taps his finger against his bottom lip. "Guess you'll just have to say it aloud."

  I give him a playful shove and laugh.

  A second or two ticks by, and then he cocks his brow. "I'm still waiting for you to fill me in on what you're talking about. What did I do the other night that made me the boss?"

  "Oh, my God, you're such a smartass sometimes." I collect my purse from the chair and head for the door. "Come on. I'm starving."

  "So am I," he says, following after me.

  Although I'm pretty sure a sexual innuendo is hidden in his comment, I choose to ignore it.

  "So, a drive-in diner, huh?" I sling the handle of my bag over my shoulder as we step out of the room. "Does that mean the waitresses are wearing roller skates and short little shorts."

  "Why? Would that turn you on if they did?"

  "Jax," I hiss as the breezy Wyoming air bites at my skin. The sun is descending behind the mountains enclosing the town, and the later it gets, the lower the temperature seems to drop. "Seriously, can we lay off with the dirty talk for like maybe an hour?"

  "I could try, but it kind of relaxes me." He yanks on the door, making sure it's shut all the way, and then we cross the parking lot toward his Jeep. When I shoot him a doubtful look, he says, "What? It helps distract me, at least it does with you."

  "Aw crap. You can't give me an answer like that."

  He cocks his head to the side. "Why not?"

  "Because now I have to let you."

  His eyes glimmer mischievously. "Did I just get a free pass to say whatever I want?"

  "Maybe." My frown deepens at my response.

  He rubs his hands together. "Wow, where to start? There's so many things running through my head right now..." His gaze darts to a woman strutting toward us. She's wearing a leopard print dress that leaves hardly anything to the imagination, neon pink stilettoes, and her brown hair has a matching streak down the front strand.

  "Fuuuck," Jax curses under his breath, jerking his hand roughly through his hair as he kicks a rock across the parking lot.

  "Is that your mom?" I ask, even though the woman looks too young to be his mother.

  Jax grudgingly shakes his head. "No... it's one of my ex-girlfriends. Please, for the love of God, don't judge me on what's about to happen."

  Before I can even process what he just said, Miss Leopard Print reaches us.

  "Well, well, well, look what the dog dragged in." She flashes her yellow teeth as she grins. "Jax Hensley, what the hell have you been up to? I haven't seen you in forever."

  Jax tensely rubs the back of his neck. "That's because I moved to North Carolina a couple of years ago."

  "Really?" Her bloodshot eyes widen in astonishment. "How come I didn't know about this?"

  Jax shrugs, his arm falling to his side. "I didn't really tell anyone when I left."

  "Well, that's cool, I guess. We all need to get away sometimes." Her eyes flick to me then back to Jax. "Are you moving back?

  "Fuck no," he answers sharply. When the woman flinches, he offers her an apology. "Sorry, Bev, I didn't mean to sound like such an ass. It's just that... Have you by chance seen my mom?"

  She squints one eye as she thinks. "You know what? I think the last time I saw her she was down at the Dirty Tiger. That was about a week or two ago."

  "The Dirty Tiger?" I don't mean to say it aloud, but the name is just too ridiculous.

  Bev stares at me with her face screwed in puzzlement.

  "Oh, Bev this is Clara, my," he glances at me, "my friend I guess."

  "Your friend you guess," Bev states with skepticism, focusing back on Jax. "Since when do you have female friends?" Her tongue slips out of her mouth and wets her chapped lips. "Because the Jax I remember didn't use girls for friends. He just fucked them."

  I fight back a gag. But seriously, the idea of Jax being with this woman who has track marks on her arms and teeth rotting out of her head makes me want to hurl. He said not to judge him, so I'm trying to keep an open mind, but it's hard.

  "Sorry," she offers me an apology.

  "It's cool," I reply, even though I'm lost as to what she's apologizing for.

  "So, the Dirty Tiger," Jax interrupts with disdain in his tone. "That's where she's hanging out now?"

 
Bev nods, still gawking at me. "Yeah, but like I said, that was a week or two ago."

  "Dammit, I really fucking hate that place," Jax says heavy heartedly.

  "It's not that bad." Bev finally rips her gaze off me.

  "You used to not think that." Jax elevates his brows at Bev's outfit.

  She lifts her chin. "Hey, I do what I gotta do to survive. Don't judge me just because you got out of this shithole."

  "I'm not judging you," he tells her. "I just think you're better than this."

  "Well, I'm not." She shoves her hand at him. "Do you have any extra cash you can spare? I'm running low."

  "I'm not giving money to you so you can buy drugs." Jax's gaze fleetingly drops to the circular bluish and purple splotches on Bev's forearm.

  "Whatever." She crosses her arms and spins on her heels. "Thanks for wasting my time." She stomps toward the front area of the motel with her heels crunching against the gravel.