Page 101 of Tar City
“Jax, what’s—?” I start, but he raises a hand. His eyes dart, unfocused, and a thin line of dark fluid drips from his nose. In the dim emergency lighting, I can’t tell if it’s blood. It’s too thick, too dark. A cold dread curdles in my stomach.Tar.It has to be tar. He uses one hand against the wall for support, and his othercomes to press hard to his head. His breathing turns shallow and frantic.
Suddenly, without warning—he collapses to his knees. “No—” he chokes out, a sound like tearing flesh. “It’s not her fault. Stop!”
I scramble to the door and scream for help, my voice splintering with panic. Someone shouts in the corridor, attempting to break in. I grab the door handle, but it rattles violently—locked. I twist. Slam. Nothing. “JAX!” I sob, turning back to him.
His nostrils flare.He’s hurting.A low growl rattles in his chest, something that should never come from a human throat and he convulses like he’s been electrocuted.
He grips the side of the exam table and drags it a full foot across the floor. I step toward him, hand extended, but he hurls a chair between us with impossible speed, the metal skidding to a halt just inches from my feet, blocking my path. The force sends me stumbling back, shielding my face.
“HELP!” I scream.
His whole body pulses like something is trying to rupture through his skin from within.
Out of nowhere, light floods the world as the sun returns, and it's so bright I flinch, my hands flying up to shield my eyes.
The overhead lights stabilize. One by one, the monitors reboot with their cheerful chimes. A defibrillator in the corner chooses now to run its diagnostic, beeping insistently.
Jax’s still on the floor, but his eyes are changing. The red slowly disappears. He stares at me as if he’s just surfaced from a nightmare and isn’t sure which world is real anymore.
“Are you okay?” I rasp. “What the hell was that?” My throat is so tight with fear I can barely speak.
He doesn’t answer, and that’s what really terrifies me, because the look on his face tells me everything.He has no idea.
Thirty-Three
THEN | JAX
I'm fucking sick of not having my own wheels—I don't even need something fast, I'd take a slow piece of shit at this point. Anything but Ronny's black town car gliding through the City like I'm on my way to some fundraiser instead of a senior party under a bridge. Mom says it's too dangerous. Dad says he'll think about it when I start college. Which means never.
I had Ronny drop me four blocks out. He gets it, and I’m grateful for the discretion. No reason to be seen stepping out of a car like a kid who still needs help with his seatbelt. I walk the rest of the way, hands shoved in my pockets, hood up.
The noise from this shitshow carries for miles. I turn the corner and it’s just engines and garbage music pounding out of a speaker. Exactly how Tar City celebrates anything.
This was supposed to be seniors only, but of course, everyone’s here. Bruce, that guy from my history class, said it was just a “small gathering” before The Formal. A real party, not the supervised nightmare where they check your pockets.
Bikes are parked all over the damn place. Headlights are cutting across everyone’s faces. Some dipshit’s revving his engine way too hard.
I scan the crowd without even thinking, my eyes searching for her. Since she came for dinner, we’ve barely spoken. She’s avoiding me, I know it. I’m caught between wanting to respect her boundaries and the overwhelming urge to fill her every thought until there’s no space left for anything but me.
She’s leaving, that’s her excuse. I’ve thought about what to do about it. I could easily follow her, get a shitty job near the Academy, see her after her classes. I would. In a fucking heartbeat. If I knew she wanted me to.
“Hey you!” Someone calls out, and I turn. It wasn’t for me. I look anyway. A couple of guys from the south side are standing near a busted pickup. Wouldn’t be surprised if half the losers here are jacked up on Ash. Someone across from them snaps, “Hands off, you fucking moron. That’s Dice’s bike. You touch it, he’ll break your hands.”
Someone slams into me hard enough to make me stumble. “Shit, man, you came!” Dillan’s grinning, clapping me on the shoulder like he’s trying to dislocate it. “Did you make Ronny drop you off like a fucking nanny, or did you finally run away from home?” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Very funny,” I say, my eyes still scanning the crowd. “Seen Sisk?”
“Sisk? Of course, it’s all Sisk now,” he says, his grin fading a little. “Haven’t seen you in weeks, man. What the fuck… gonna ditch your best friend for a piece of pussy?”
Dillan is not my best friend. He’s the one who gave himself the title. I know he means well, but… shit.What the fuck is wrong with me?He’s a good guy, just… his family is normal. He’s normal. Hanging out with the rich kid is a fun novelty for him, a way to get free beer and a story to tell, but we have absolutely zero in common.
I scan again and finally spot Becca by the stacked speakers, two other girls with her. “Be right back, man,” I say, already turning away from him.
“Whoa, leaving me already?” he calls after me, grabbing my arm. “For real? You see me for the first time in a month and you’re gonna bail to go chase some skirt? What happened to us, man?”
I pull my arm free. “I’ll catch you later, Dillan.”
I walk toward Becca and Whistle.Of course he’s here.He’s leaning against the railing with his usual look, the one that says he thinks everyone else is here for him. Becca’s talking fast, trying too hard. One of the other girls keeps glancing at his waist like she’s trying not to get caught looking.
