And, fine, I was hoping she’d stop glaring at me for a change. It’s getting to me, turning me inside out. Ridiculous, I know. Stupid. I barely know her. But it’s somehow important to me.

Besides, Micah should know that’s how I am. Worrying at the bone, poking at the snake to see if it will bite. Scratching at the scabs to see if they’ll bleed. Trying to figure life out.

Hasn’t worked out too well so far. At least not where people are concerned. The only ones who’ve stuck around are Zane and his gang, and if you asked me, I wouldn’t know to tell you why. Doesn’t make a lick of sense to me why they’d want me around.

My concentration isn’t the only thing I lost at that party. My leather wrist band is gone, too, and I’m pretty sure I wore it there. That band’s important to me. This sucks.

I go back to work, an itch between my shoulder blades. When I bring the drinks to the guys’ table, Amber’s there, talking quietly to Evangeline, and I let my glance bounce off her. Ocean and Cassie are giving me intense looks I can’t decipher—at least Ocean’s, ’cuz I know Cassie wants in my pants—and I grin at them, pulling the mask back down over my face.

Thanks to Zane and Rafe, I’m learning a craft I love, I have a place to crash, and now I got this second job through Megan. I know I’m damn lucky to be here, and I won’t fuck it up, I swear it to any god who might listen. Hell, I swore it to Helen.

I’ll stay away from Amber and keep the smile on my face every day, even if it kills me. Nobody ever wants a sullen, whiny brat around.

“Here you go, guys.” I put the cups on the table with a flourish, wink at Cassie who winks right back—see? Some people are easy to please—and avoid Micah’s heavy stare. “Anything else you need?”

“Sit, have coffee with us,” Ev chirps, and I give her a genuine smile, because she’s so nice when she has no particular reason to like me—apart from the fact I work with her boyfriend at Damage Control.

“No can do, sweets, sorry. Gotta work.”

“When do you get off work?”

I keep the smile firmly on. “In an hour.”

“In an hour, then. We’ll still be here.”

“Right.” I lift a hand, rub the back of my neck. “Fact is, I really need to run afterward. Gotta work.”

She blinks.

“You still work at that taco place down the street?” Ocean asks. “I thought you’d stopped.”

“Can’t do that, man. Need the money for the rent.”

“Isn’t Rafe helping you with that?”

“He is. He has helped me more than enough. I need to start taking care of myself now. I’m a big boy.”

I grin so widely my cheeks hurt, and I know Ocean isn’t fooled, but fuck him. I’m telling the truth. I feel shitty knowing Rafe is still paying for my rent, even if it’s not that much. Not to mention that the need to carry my own weight is eating at me. I need to be able to pay my rent on my own.

But that’s not the only reason I need more money.

“Rafe rocks,” Ocean mutters, and I nod in agreement. He does, and I’m grateful to him as I am to Zane who’s taken me as his apprentice. Can’t thank those guys enough.

Also can’t deny that moving out of the apartment I’m sharing with three other guys would be so fucking great.

Shit, I’m not ungrateful. My roomies aren’t bad guys, but there’s only so much testosterone that can live peacefully under one roof, and I need some quiet. Some place where I can wake up howling from a nightmare without waking everyone up, or jerk off in the shower without one or the other walking in on me.

Yeah, I jerk off a lot. Hey, I’m a horny boy, and I like getting off. Takes my mind off the crap that sits on my mind.

Can’t ignore the fact that I’ve been jacking off more often lately, a certain prickly chick on my mind. Damn her curvy body and the heat in those angry blue eyes. Makes me hot as hell, which just goes to show. My body wants her, even if my brain knows I can’t have her. She hates me, and even if I don’t know why, it hurts.

The more it hurts, the more my dick stiffens when I think of her and the more I want to crack that shell of hers.

Yeah, I’m a fucked-up son of a bitch.

As I turn around, taking the tray back to the bar and grabbing my next order, I wonder how long it will take until this nice group of people who do their best to like me realize the truth and run away, just like everyone else in my life.

***

Zane shows up at the taco joint where I work, his spunky girlfriend Dakota in tow, soon followed by Dylan and his supermodel-lookalike chick, Tessa.

I didn’t expect to see them. They used to come by before Megan got me the job at the café. I guess someone must have spilled the beans to them about me keeping this job.

Zane is giving me one of those looks that say he wants us to talk, or rather he wants me to talk, and hell to the no. Besides, there’s nothing to talk about. Everything’s cool.

Too cool to be true, in fact.

Yet, as I look at them standing there, talking and laughing while ordering their street tacos and tortilla soups, I allow myself , just for a moment, to believe things will remain this way, that this illusion of stability and peace won’t shatter into a million pieces come tomorrow. That I won’t fuck it up.

Yeah, right.

Automatically I reach for my leather band, to rub it as my ritual goes, but of course it’s not there.

Lost it. The one thing I have from her. From Helen. So instead I put my hand on my right pec, over my demon tat.

I know I promised to try, Helen, and I am giving it my best shot, I swear.

“How’s everything, fucker?” Zane drawls. Figures he wouldn’t waste any time asking. “Your roommates? I see you haven’t killed each other yet.”

“Then that’s all you need to know,” I tell him cheerfully and turn to the next customers—an old man with a pretty girl who has to be his daughter. “What can I get you?”

They order their burritos and drinks, and I pass the info to Mel at the back, who’s whistling a Metallica song completely out of tune. The pan sizzles with chilies and onion. Damn, it smells good.

“That all?” Mel growls and throws the meat into the pan. “Not much traffic tonight, is there?”

“Nope,” I agree and try to memorize what he’s doing. I wish I could cook up something like that, but the kitchen at the apartment is like a war zone, full of minefields.

Not that I know the first thing about cooking. I don’t even remember setting foot inside a kitchen up to a year ago, unless it was to nick something to eat and leave before I get caught. My efforts to create something edible have most times backfired, quite literally.

Sweat sluices down my back and face. I wipe at my brow with the back of my hand. Everything around me smells of fried onion and grease, and my mouth waters. I’ll have to grab a taco as soon as there’s a lull in business.

I also wouldn’t mind sitting down for a bit. I’ve been on my feet all day, but Mel is talking to me.

“Do they want extra cheese?” he asks, and I grunt, because I always forget to ask the question.

Turning back to the old man and the girl, I open my mouth to inquire as to their cheesy preferences and freeze. The guy has his arm around the girl’s shoulders, way too close, way too personal.

Not her dad. Not his daughter.

Something dark flashes at the back of my mind, a trickle that turns into a gushing torrent, burying rational thought. I don’t see her face anymore. Dark eyes superimpose blue, dark hair flow over blond, and it’s Helen in the old man’s arms, fear marking her features.

Fuck. Muscles tensing in my back and legs, I take a step forward. My hands curl into fists.

“Jesse. Come here, fucker,” Zane calls.

My legs shake, and the face in front of me is going in and out of focus.

Christ. “What?” I grunt.

“Bring over the chili sauce, kiddo.”

I blink, lick my dry lips. It’s not Helen. I know that girl’s not Helen, so why does my brain keep seeing her? “Dylan has the sauce.” I point at the bottle. “Wait your turn like a good boy.”