Page 116 of Tar City
“So that’s when your precious ‘no magic’ rule conveniently gets forgotten?”
He shrugs. I take a breath. Then another. “And if I refuse?” I ask.
“Then you better win your little game. Because you’re not walking away from this.”
Something in my chest twists at that, the fact that he means it. “You’re not scared I’ll ruin your life? That I’ll be the most annoying, exhausting thing you’ve ever had to deal with. Every. Single. Day.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “I’m counting on it.”
I stare at him for a long moment. “I’m not promising anything.”
He nods. “Then win. Or it’s us under the same roof. And on the same bed.”
I huff a laugh despite myself. “You’re impossible.” I glance past him, toward the noise, the blood, the fight, then back to him. “No more raising the bets,” I say. “Next round, someone loses.”
He watches me as I step away.
I have no idea what I’m doing. But I know one thing: I need this win. Not because moving in with him would be the end of the world—honestly, it would make too much sense. Too easy. That’s the problem. He’s using this stupid bet to avoid doing the hard thing. Again.
I know what he was about to say. I saw it—right there, behind his eyes.That’s why I love you.And he swallowed it down. I know he loves me. The same way he knows I love him. How long have we been doing this? Eight. No—hell. I’m turning twenty-eight. Ten fucking years of this. Ten years since he told me heloved me and all hell broke loose. It’s been a decade of this. A fucking decade of push, pull, fight, and fuck.
And now? Now he decides he wants me to move in? Fuck him. I’ve been waiting for that ask longer than I want to admit. But he needs to mean it. Own it. Not tuck it behind a joke-bet and a clenched jaw like he’s still trying to prove he doesn’t feel anything.
Not proposing marriage.What the fuck does that even mean? He’ll offer me his bed, his key, his whole fucking life, but the word ‘marriage’ is the one thing that’s off-limits? What kind of backwards bullshit is that?
I reach for the nearest tray and take a shot without asking, without thinking—throw it back so fast the girl holding it flinches. I just throw a bill at her and move on.
Another fight’s about to start in the ring. I move with the crowd. Because if he won’t say it—if he can’t say it—then I have to win. And he’s gonna pay for it. Six times. With his dick. And his fucking mouth.
I walk straight toward the guy who’s been eyeing me since the second I stepped in. Behind me, I feel Jax fall into step. “Wait here,” I say over my shoulder. Then add, dry: “Try not to glower anyone into a coma.”
Two thick guys step in front of me as I approach the boss. One touches his earpiece, the other just crosses his arms. “I’m not here to cause trouble,” I say, lifting both hands. “Not yet.”
The man in the chair watches me with mild interest. The kind of look that says I’ve seen prettier girls, but you’re saying something interesting. “What’s a girl like you doing over here?” he asks.
“You look like someone who appreciates a good deal,” I say.
He leans back. “You selling something?”
“Not selling. Betting.”
“Go on.”
“I’ve got a fighter,” I say, flicking a glance over to Jax, who is still watching like a statue of simmering violence. “One match. If he wins, we split the pot. Fifty-fifty.”
The man arches a brow, plucking a piece of tobacco from his tongue. “You that confident?”
“I know what he can do.”
“And if he loses?”
“We cover the full fee. No argument.”
“Sounds like you’ve got money.”
“Sounds like you’ve got an opportunity too good to pass.”
He considers for half a second, his eyes moving from me to Jax and back again. “Alright,” he says, waving a dismissive hand. “You’re on.”
