Page 118 of Tar City
“No,” I growl. “You don’t.”
She’s already slipping past me, walking straight to Whistle like this is no big deal.
He puts his hand on her lower back and I can’t do a fucking thing about it. All the money, all the swagger and I’m just a goddamn loser. Every muscle in my body is screaming to launch across this pavement and put him in the ground, but what then? I’ve got no leverage. Not against a weapon. I don’t even have a fucking bike to chase them.I’m nothing.
Dillan claps a hand on my shoulder, trying to pull my attention. “Hey, man, don’t let him get in your head. She’s just playing the game. We’ll get her back.”
My eyes are glued to Sisk as she swings her leg over Whistle’s bike. My fists clench so tight my knuckles crack.
Whistle revs the engine and glances back—not at her. At me. A look that says “I win.”
The bike peels off and they’re gone. I stay where I am, feet planted like they’ve grown roots into the asphalt. Hands shaking with rage, or maybe something worse. Something that feels a hell of a lot like fear.Fear of losing her.
I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at the empty space where they vanished, that image seared behind my eyes. It’s long enough for the crowd to forget about everything, their attention shifting to the next spectacle. Long enough that Dillan gave up on getting my attention.
“Well,” Lou says, handing me a drink, “that wasn’t humiliating at all.”
I take the cup.
“I’m gonna kill him,” I mutter.
Lou hums thoughtfully. “Mm. Strong opener. But logistically? Bad plan. Too many witnesses.”
I don’t respond.
He glances at my face. “You’re doing the thing,” he says.
“What thing.”
“The silent, broody, emotionally devastating thing.” He gestures vaguely at my whole body. “Very effective. Very tragic. Ten out of ten. But it’s been… what, twelve minutes?”
I keep staring at the stretch of dark road where they disappeared. Every engine rev makes my head turn.
He sighs. “She’ll come back,” Lou says, more patiently now. “You know that, right? She’s doing this for you.”
I finally tear my eyes away from the ground and look at him.
He gives me a knowing smile. “To stop you from getting shot. Or worse. Think, Jax. Use the big head.”
Minutes drag by like years. The crowd thins, the adrenaline fades into a sick, cold pit in my stomach, and the night grows heavy with the stink of my own failure.
Then I hear it—the bike rolling back into the lot. A hush falls over the remaining crowd as Sisk swings off and walks toward me.
Whistle calls after her, his voice carrying in the quiet. “Hope broody boy over there fucks as good as he sulks.”
She stops mid-step. “You might’ve won the race, Whistle… but you lost the girl.”
He stiffens and she doesn’t look back again. Sisk closes the last few steps between us, grabs the front of my shirt, and pulls me down, pressing an unapologetic kiss to my mouth. “Let’s get out of here, Jax.”
* * *
“Are you sure?” I ask her one more time.
“For the third time, yes.” Sisk rolls her eyes, but I can see the nerves underneath all that talk. “It’s my birthday. I told Millie to not wait up. She actually seemed… happy I was going out.” She pauses, biting her lip. “She said I take life too seriously. That I never do anything just for fun.”
She shakes her head. “She’s probably right. I mean, now that getting into the academy is officially off my to-do list, I’m starting to think I wasted my entire senior year just… practicing. Planning. Stressing. I want to do something I didn’t plan. Something that’s not on a carefully curated life checklist. So yes. Can we please stop talking about it and just go?”
“Fine,” I say, opening the door. “Go home, Ron. I’m staying over.”
