Payable On Death: A Jax Rhodes Novel, Book One (The Jax Rhodes Series 1) (5 page)

"It's true what they say, to the victor go the spoils." Dane managed in between coughs. "I still won."

"I am not going to breakfast with you."

"I can cook. How about I make you breakfast instead?"

"I don't want to go to a public place with you, why would I go to your place?"

"We could go to yours if it makes you more comfortable." There was the wink again.

My body ached and not just from the beatings it'd taken lately. It had been a long time since I'd been with anyone. Too long.

I rolled off him, onto my back, sprawled out on the mat next to him with our legs touching. I threw one arm over my eyes to avoid looking at him when I finally gave in. "You cook me breakfast and then you'll leave me alone?"

"What?" Dane sounded genuinely shocked he'd managed to wear me down.

"Breakfast and that's it." I moved my arm so he could see I meant what I said. "And then you walk away."

"If that's what you want, sure." He got to his feet, offering a hand to help me up. "You might change your mind after you've tasted my western omelet."

I took his hand and let him pull me up. The cat calling and whistling stopped as the guys realized Dane had accomplished the all but impossible feat of asking me out on a date.

A date.

No, I couldn't think of it that way. It was a meal, we'd share a meal and nothing more. It was just breakfast. I'd eaten with other people thousands of times at the shelter. It didn't mean anything. It wouldn't lead to anything. I refused to let it.

Your heart is safe if you don't let anyone in. I reminded myself getting hurt was the least of my worries when it came to relationships. Anyone too close to me risked being hurt by demons. And that was just another kind of heartache I didn't have time for.

Dane was out of the ring grabbing my stuff before I could jump down off the curtain. I ignored the stares and assumptions, the jokes they'd no doubt tell once we walked out the door. We reached Mister Joe, who stood up to stop us before we left.

He put an arm around Dane, turning him to face the gym and the guys whose stares had darkened just a little, all signs of humor gone. "Let me make something clear. My money's on her in a real fight. Jax can take care of herself, but if you hurt our girl.... Well, I won't be the only one in line to whoop your ass. You picking up what I'm putting down, son?"

"Yes, sir." Dane didn't look away, meeting their gaze to let them all know he understood.

I tried to
part ways outside of BBC, wanting to get cleaned up before he came over and assuming he'd want to do the same. Dane assured me he was fine, saying he hadn't even broken a sweat. He threw out a jab about reneging on the bet, calling me a welcher. I've never welched on a bet in my life and reacted exactly as I’m assuming he'd hoped - indignant and stubbornly demanding he come over immediately. With a cat that ate the canary smile, he gestured for me to lead the way.

The look in his eyes said omelets weren't the only thing on the menu.

I left Dane in my kitchen—otherwise known as the barren wasteland—and jumped in the shower. After slipping on my pink pajama pants with the little skulls and crossbones on them and a tank top that said ‘never been normal’, I followed the smell of coffee to its source. I squeezed through the narrow space left between Dane and the galley style countertops to the coffee pot, brushing up against him on the way. Having another person in my apartment was a new and alien experience, one I feared I could get used to.

"You hungry?" Dane certainly knew his way around a kitchen, making do with the limited pans and utensils I owned. He flipped the eggs one more time before sliding them out onto the plate.

"Starved, actually." I took the plate he handed me and settled in at the small card table occupying what would otherwise be as a dining area.

He joined me, taking the other seat at the table. "Well, what are you waiting for? Dig in."

"I was just saying grace.” I shoved a forkful of food in my mouth, ignoring the look of surprise on his face. "Was that a mushroom I just ate? I didn't know I had mushrooms in the fridge. Or tater tots for that matter."

"You didn't. And the mushrooms are canned, I'm afraid, the diced peppers and onions were frozen, and the ham is lunch meat instead of the real deal. I had to make do with what I could find at that little market on the corner. No potatoes, either. I figured the tots were as close to home fries as we were going to get today."

"You shopped and cooked while I took a shower? Aren't you nice and domesticated?" I popped a tater tot in my mouth.

"You take really long showers." Dane caressed my body with his gaze, letting me know without saying a word how much he wished I hadn't showered alone.

"I'm going to get some ketchup. You want some ketchup?" I couldn't get away from the table fast enough.
Just breakfast, just breakfast and then he's gone
, I reminded myself.

"It's not my best culinary work but I'm afraid I can't let you ruin those eggs with ketchup." Dane followed me into the kitchen, cornering me between the counter and the open fridge door. The cool air from inside the fridge was a welcomed respite from the heat of his body so close to mine.

"It's for the tots." The words fell from my mouth on a sigh. Completely distracted by his beautiful lips, I was barely aware I spoke.

Dane leaned in, angling his head to move in for the kiss. I simply had to rise up on my toes to meet him. Butterflies took up residence in my stomach. I was a bundle of nerves and desire. Bells rang out. Was it a sign that we were meant to be?

Or it could have been the doorbell. Followed by a persistent pounding.

Startled, I dropped the ketchup on Dane's foot and jerked up, colliding my skull into his face and giving him a nose bleed. I called out, telling the person at the door to hold, on and ripped some paper towels off the roll for Dane, who was leaning up against the counter with his head back. Before I could tell him he was doing it wrong, Tommy called out from the hallway.

"Yo, Jax, you gonna open the door or what?"

"Jesus, Tommy. It's open." I started to apologize to Dane but he waved his free hand absently, cutting me off.

I think busting his nose in a moment of romantic awkwardness was more a sign of how things would go between us than anything else. And that was definitely for the best. As much as I wanted him, I couldn't allow myself to have him. Once he saw my crazy life, he'd split and I'd be broken and alone.

Tommy let himself in, eyeing the two breakfast plates warily. "There's some lady at the shelter talking all kinds of crazy. Which probably isn't unusual, except I heard her mention your name. Thought you might want to have a look, see if you know her."

"What are you doing at the shelter?" My heart swelled, daring to hope I knew the answer.

"Figured I'd help out, seeing as how you weren't feeling well. Who gave you that shiner? I catch you at a bad time? You got company or something?"

Dane stepped out from the kitchen, leaning on the doorway.

Tommy's expression darkened but he didn't say anything. Teen crushes were a powerful thing. I intended to have a talk with Tommy later, sort things out. I hadn't realized until that moment he had feelings for me.

"So you're picking up my shifts at the shelter. That's great, as long as it’s not interfering with school." I'd finally gotten through, rubbed off a little on the street-hardened kid, so I ignored the eye roll. "What's up with the lady at the shelter? She knows me? I mean, like you said, it's probably not unusual, I meet a lot of people there."

Tommy never took his gaze off Dane. "She's different, calls herself Joan of Arc. I've never seen her around the shelter when we have dinner together." Tommy put a heavy emphasis on the
together
part.

Yup, we definitely needed to have a talk.

Dane noticeably stiffened. His interest in what Tommy had to say about the woman calling herself a saint was obvious; never the less he remained silent.

My stomach rumbled, announcing its discontent to the entire room over the idea of abandoning the omelet to go talk to a complete stranger. Still, the woman said she knew me or was at least talking about me. I wasn't sure what I could do to help her, but if she was in trouble, I had to try.

"Are you going to hate me if I bail? I feel like I should go talk to this woman." I cut into the omelet, wolfing down a couple bites. "God, that's so good," I moaned before taking another bite.

Dane went into the kitchen, opening the cabinet above the coffee pot and pulled out a travel mug. After filling it, he returned to his spot against the doorway with the cup held out to me. There was something undeniably sexy about a man who knew his way around a kitchen. I took the mug, or tried to. Dane didn't let go, using our combined grasp as leverage to pull me toward him.

"Are you trying to welch again? The bet was for breakfast. I'd hardly say this counts."

"I already told you, I've never welched in my life." Tried to find loopholes or break a contract? Yes, albeit, only with the Devil. I doubted anyone would hold that against me. "Rain check?"

He mulled the suggestion over for awhile, making me regret the offer before a wicked grin split his face. "Since you're bailing on breakfast and our bet…." He raised a scolding brow when I tried to argue, silencing me with one facial movement. "You owe me dinner."

"Dinner?" Oh, he was good. He was very good.

"And dessert, at a restaurant. A nice restaurant."

"Whoa—that's way more than breakfast and you cheated."

"You failed to negotiate the terms. That's not the same as cheating. Dinner and dessert or all the guys at BBC will know you welched."

"Resorting to blackmail? Those sound like words of a desperate man." It actually sounded a little like the Devil. He'd scolded me once for failing to be specific. I hadn't gotten any better at wagering in the last five years.

The part of my dream where Dane turned into the Devil replayed in my mind and I turned away, going into the kitchen for some makeshift Tupperware. I'd suddenly lost my appetite. It would always be this way. Incapable of being with someone because I'd see a demon or the Devil. I had more in common with the unfortunate soul at the shelter. At least she saw angels.

"Hey, I was just messing with you. I'm not one to kiss and tell." He stopped me before I reached the table, turning me to face him. Concern over the rapid change in my mood was all over his face.

"There's nothing to tell. I haven't kissed you yet." Shit. I realized my mistake the second I said it, clutching the plastic tubs tighter against my chest as if they would shield me from his sexual prowess.

"Yet." With one word and a smile, Dane succeeded in lightening my mood. "Tonight. Seven o'clock?"

"Can't. I'm working remember?"

"Tomorrow, then?"

"At seven. I get to pick the place."

"It's a date."

Before I could remind him it wasn't really a date, Dane said his goodbyes and left me to get ready to go to the shelter. The idea of a date with him didn't upset me as much as I'd hoped. I'd only thought of demons once when we were together. That might have been a record. Maybe it was possible to be normal around him. As normal as I could be anyway.

"You gonna go like that or you gonna get changed?"

I'd almost forgotten Tommy was there. Poor kid looked like he wanted to hurl after watching the exchange between Dane and I. We'd have that talk on the walk to the shelter.

"Put the leftovers away while I go get changed." I tossed the containers to Tommy and headed to my bedroom.

I came back out in a pair of black leggings, black ankle boots and my leather jacket. I’d decided to keep the tank top. I'd probably end up wearing this to work and the
never been normal
quote was a good conversation starter. And by conversation, I mean flirting. Which meant better tips.

"Come on, Tommy. Let's go see the saint."

Michelle was fussing
over a woman in the far corner of the sleeping quarters. Cots were lined up in rows of ten each direction, offering safe haven to a hundred women. On a typical day, at least a quarter of the beds were in use at any given time. The new arrivals slept more; free from their abuser, they could finally rest in the safety of the shelter. The scene before us was anything but typical.

The strawberry blonde had backed herself into the corner, pressing herself against the wall as if she'd slip inside and disappear. Michelle's attempts to calm her were only agitating the woman more. Her cries sent the rest of the women running for the dining hall. Through the wails and moans, I managed to make out my name and stepped closer, Tommy clinging to my arm.

Michelle looked up, catching my gaze. "Oh, thank God. Do you know her? She's been saying your name over and over again. I don't know how she got out of the hospital. I already called Dane. He's notified the family and is coming to get her."

"What?" Call me confused. I had no idea what the hell was going on.

"This is Joanie. The woman Dane had been looking for. Honestly, I have no idea how she got out of Shepard Pratt or what she's doing here. She's been muttering nonsense about demons since she arrived. And then she just kept saying your name over and over. First Jacqueline. Then Jacqui girl and now Jax. It's like she knows you." Michelle rubbed her arms, backing up a step with a bewildered look in her eye. Joanie obviously freaked her out.

I felt the same way.

"Joanie? Joanie, do you know me?" My voice, calm and level, belied the fear building up inside me.

Something was coming. And Joanie was at the center of it.

The woman refused to answer, continuing to mutter in a nonsensical language. I tried again, this time using the name Tommy called her, even using the French pronunciation.

"Joan. Saint Joan of Arc. Do you know me?"

The crazed woman looked up that time, turning her head in jerky movements as she took in the sight of me. Joan raised her arm, her crooked finger extended, and screamed my name. Michelle covered her ears to deafen the sound, even as she cooed comforting words at Joan.

"I'll take that as a yes. I doubt very much I'd forget meeting a woman like you, so how do you know me, Joan?" I stepped closer.

"Wingless, soulless. Demon slave. Devil's bride!" Joan’s voice escalated to an octave and decibel capable of shattering glass. "Cast thee from thy sight. Oh Lord, my God, why has thou forsaken me with these accursed visions? Send them back, Lord."

I resembled some of that but I hoped the rest was for someone else. I had no intentions of becoming anyone's bride, especially the Devil's, or being a demon slave. Ever.

"You don't have much time." She lunged forward, grabbing my hand. She pulled me into the corner with her, whispering in my ear. "We have little time. They are coming. They are coming."

"Who's coming? The demons?" I leaned into her, my face almost in the crook of her neck. "They're already here."

"Winged beasts. Feather and leather skin alike. Use caution, child. For whichever side you choose, they'll demand more than just your soul."

"Joan, the demons—how do I stop them?"

"A pint of blood, a pound of flesh, or even losing your soul. Whether it's for those above or below, the work will take its toll."

The half answers and riddles were going to driving me as insane as she was. "What does that mean? What work? I'm just trying to survive here. Joan, how do I get my soul back?"

She knew. I don't know how I knew she knew or why this woman who sounded insane to everyone else made perfect sense to me.

"You were marked at birth, Elioud. A prized prey, the hunter set his trap and waited. He waited for you. For you are the last. And then his set is complete. He covets you above all others. So much sorrow, so much pain. You're very beautiful despite the darkness in you." Joan pushed me away. "He's coming. He's coming."

Joan lunged from the corner, knocking me down in the process and pulled a filet knife from inside her trench coat.

"Jesus, Michelle. You didn't check her? How the hell did she get a knife out of the kitchen?" After scrambling to my feet, I cautiously approached Joan with my hands out, hoping to reassure her I wasn't a threat.

"She's never been in the kitchen. I don't know where she got the knife." Despite having faced worse than a standoff with a crazed woman over the years as a shelter director, fear threaded Michelle’s her voice.

Joan apparently had that effect on people.

"Well, it's definitely from the kitchen." I took another step forward. "Joan—put the knife down, Joan."

Something or someone caught her eye. With lighting speed and a surgeon's precision, Joan slit her throat. Her body collapsed in slow motion, folding in on itself as her life drained from her body along with her blood. Time snapped back when she hit the floor and I rushed forward to help her, to apply pressure to a wound I knew had been fatal.

"We have to go." Tommy grabbed my arm, his fist like a vice on my bicep, and yanked me back to him.

"Call 911. Tommy, call 911!" I tried to pry myself free as his grip tightened, his fingers digging in painfully.

"We have to go." Tommy pulled, managing to drag me back a step.

"We can't leave. What's the matter with you? You can't watch a woman kill herself and just walk away. Can you? Because I sure as hell can't."

"There's nothing you can do to help her now. Even God can't help her."

"That's an awful thing to say while she bleeds to death. Jesus, Tommy, her body's not even cold yet."

"God might not be able to help her, but I can." Dane brushed past Tommy, knocking into his shoulder.

Tommy let out a low growl, though he didn't shove back. Dane ignored me calling his name, his attention focused solely on Joan. He knelt down beside her, anointing her with oil and salt. He placed a small wafer of bread on her lips as he prayed in what I assumed was Latin. The prayers continued as he pulled another small vial from his coat pocket and removed the stopper.

Dane looked back over his shoulder, the pain in his eyes burning a hole in my heart, before he turned back to Joan. His prayers picked up again and as the last breaths left her body, Dane took the wafer from her lips and placed it on his tongue. He consumed the bread and drank the wine like the body and blood of Christ in some bizarre form of communion. With his head bowed, Dane closed Joan's eyes and said one final prayer.

The police arrived, along with an EMT, even though there was no hope of resuscitating Joan. They approached Dane cautiously, clearly unsure if he was somehow responsible for the dead woman on the floor. The two uniforms ordered him to step away from the body, their hands hovering above their guns, expecting him to resist. Dane slowly stood, raising his hands and backing away from Joan. One officer patted him down while the other watched with wary eyes. The search revealed nothing except for Dane's PI license, which quickly changed the officers' demeanor.

"Can we go now?" Tommy turned to leave, his sneaker squeaking on the linoleum floor.

"Hey, where you running off to, kid?" One of the officers left Dane answering his partner's questions about the religious items on the floor and headed our way.

I barely heard Dane's explanation of communion and last rites over Tommy's muttered cursing.

"You got something more important to do right now than giving us a statement?" The officer gave Tommy a once over, visually sizing him up.

"No, sir."

"I'm hearing the right words, just the wrong tone."

"No, sir, I'd be happy to give my statement now." The words dripped like honey from his lips as daggers flew from his eyes. Tommy was fired up and I wasn't sure why but he finally told the cop what he saw.

I waited for my turn, repeating for the most part what everyone else said. I added a few details about how she seemed to know me, that perhaps she knew my mother. Recognition dawned in the officer's eyes at the mention of my mom. Every cop in the city showed up at our house the night she killed my stepfather.

I left out the part about demons and the Elioud, because the first he wouldn't believe and the second I didn't know how to explain. And he wouldn't believe it even if I did.

After what felt like days, we wrote down all of our contact info and were deemed free to leave. Everyone except Dane. His missing person case had become a police investigation and they wanted to know more about the dead woman. Tommy and I walked out with just enough time for me to make my shift at the bar and for him to meet his mom for dinner. I wanted to talk to him about why he'd been acting so weird, but unfortunately it had to wait, along with the conversation about his feelings for me.

Bad Decisions was, thankfully, uneventful. My tank top, as I figured it would, proved to be a wise choice. The conversation, beer, and tips flowed freely. Any other night, I would have been exhausted after a shift like that. Instead, I felt relieved for the reprieve, for the normalcy after one of the weirdest days of my life. And that was saying something, believe me.

After the last inebriated patron found his way into an Uber car, I wiped down the bar top and tables, counted down the till, and headed home for what remained of the night.

I tossed my keys and cell on the nightstand, stripped down to my bra and panties, after I closed the blinds and hit the sheets. Dreams of winged creatures, feather and leather alike, tormented my sleep. Twice I woke screaming, certain I felt something brush my cheek. Another time it was from a backdraft-like breeze despite all the windows being closed.

I woke the next morning to find down strewn about my room, the small white feathers fluttering across the floor. I must have tossed and turned more than I thought. I smacked the comforter, watching more of its soft filling fluff out. Time for a new one, I supposed, making my way to the bathroom. I caught sight of a larger feather with a strange opalescent sheen and a chill ran down my spine. Someone else might have panicked but my life got weirder and weirder every fucking day that passed.

I was getting used to it.