25. Sage

Crew stops beside me with Echo caged in his arms. He plants a kiss on the top of her head before she slips away to meet Lyla, Fel, and Reed. They're standing at the railing that overlooks the lower level of the club.

"Look at you two letting your girls out of their cages for once." Crew takes a sip of his drink, glancing from me to Jude.

"Did you just compare my wife to a hostage?" Jude glares.

"I mean, she's stuck with your ass for life, might as well be." Crew shrugs.

"And Echo's not stuck with your stupid ass?"

Crew grins. "Don't worry about my Goldie, I keep her plenty happy."

Like she senses Crew staring, Echo glances back at him and winks.

"Besides"—Crew turns to me—"I'm not the one with my girl on literal lockdown."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I play dumb.

"You think I don't know what's in that choker she's wearing. I was the one who helped Kane commission those from one of my buddies."

"What is it?" Jude asks.

"A tracking device."

Jude tips his head back and laughs. It's so big and bold that it has Fel's attention moving to us because he's never amused.

"You low-jacked your girl?" Jude rakes his hand through his hair. "That's funny shit."

"It's not how it sounds."

Crew hitches an eyebrow at me.

"Fine, it's a little how it sounds." I shrug, sipping my beer. "But it's for her own good."

"All right, psycho." Crew shakes his head. "And you two think I'm insane."

"You're both insane," Jude decides.

Maybe we all are. But as I glance at Lyla, standing against the railing as she bounces to the music, I don't give a shit. I'm not letting anyone hurt her, even if it makes me unhinged for tracking her every movement.

Her long black hair is down, waving around her shoulders. She's wearing a skintight purple top that still manages to dull in comparison to her violet eyes. It hugs her chest, dipping low in the front, but covers her back completely, hiding the scars that run the length of her shoulder blades. And she's paired it with a pleated black skirt and Doc Martens, showing off every inch of her smooth legs.

This girl is my fucking fantasy. Everything I've ever wanted and never deserved.

When she's around, it doesn't matter what's falling apart. She's the balance at my center.

Lyla tips her head back and laughs, glancing over her shoulder at me. Her eyes pull the air from my lungs. They dim the lights in the room. They level me.

"Careful." Crew leans in. "You're starting to look like us."

"Whipped?"

"Exactly." He grins.

At least he's unapologetic about it.

Crew ditches Jude and me, walking over to Echo. He grabs her hips the moment he reaches her, and she spins in his arms.

"Hey." Jude nudges my shoulder, showing me his phone. "Looks like the guys aren't going to be able to make it."

"My sister's going to love that news."

At least I stopped by the shop earlier to catch up with Noah and Rome. Because finding time to hang out is impossible with their busy schedules.

Jude and I make our way over to the railing to join the rest of the group.

"Bad news, girls." I stop between Reed and Lyla. "The band had to leave town early, so they can't make it. Something about a PR issue. Celebrity bullshit."

Reed frowns. "There goes my chance at a rockstar boyfriend."

"I thought you already had a boyfriend." Lyla rolls her eyes, but Reed just shrugs.

While Reed is disappointed, Lyla doesn't seem to mind who's showing up so long as she can be out in the middle of it. She's still so much like she was back when we were younger. It didn't matter what we were doing, she just wanted to be a part of it.

She's like me in that way. Chaos over boredom.

"I need another drink." Reed holds up her empty glass, shaking the ice around.

Mason places a hand on her lower back and leans in. "I'll take you to the bar."

"I swear to fucking God." I look at him.

"It's just a drink." Reed rolls her eyes. "Thank you, Mason."

I don't like her asshole boyfriend, but I kind of wish he was here right now. Mason is worse than I am with women, and if he thinks I'm going to let him get in my sister's pants, he's in for a rude awakening.

Watching the two of them walk toward the downstairs bar, I take a sip of my beer.

"She's an adult, you know." Lyla turns to face me, resting her hip against the railing.

"No, she's my sister."

Lyla shakes her head, biting her straw and trying to bury her smile.

On the level below us, a couple of guys are looking up at her.

"You've got an audience."

She glances down at them and waves just to get a reaction. One of them tips his chin up at her and the other grins.

When she glances back at me, she gives me a vicious smile because she's always trying to test me.

"Like you care when you've got one yourself." She takes a sip of her drink, her eyes darting behind me. "Guess some things never change."

I glance back to see a few girls watching me from a corner booth. They're pretty, dressed up, and clearly ready to get into trouble the way one winks at me while she whispers to her friend.

"I'm good." I turn back to Lyla, shifting closer.

She's a force that rips anything else from the room, and I stand here, my flesh flaying from my bones with her attention. My heart tearing in my chest. All I want to do is be closer to her storm. To feel every raging thrash of it.

"You look like you're thinking about something." She tips her head back when I take another step closer. "What's on your mind?"

"You."

"That's bold."

"Mm-hmm."

She wets her lips and stares up at me. The lights of the club throb around her. "Is that what you do now to charm the ladies?"

Lyla presses closer until we're nearly chest to chest. And her fingers reach out, grazing the back of my hand. It's subtle, sparking fireworks on my skin.

"What am I doing?"

She blinks up at me, shifting closer. "You're being distracting. Making it hard to see anyone else in the room."

"Is there someone else you'd rather be seeing?" I hate that a tinge of jealousy courses through the question.

She shakes her head once. "No."

"Good."

If I was smart, I'd pull back. Or I would have taken Brandi up on her offer at the clubhouse. If I cared about my life, I'd walk away, but Lyla makes me lose all good sense.

"So you don't hate me anymore?" she asks, drawing her drink up between us to take a sip.

"I never hated you. I was just… I don't know."

"Hurt?"

I'm a punk for nodding, but I can't lie to her.

"Sorry I left without an explanation. I just had to." Her voice drops to almost a whisper.

Or maybe the music in the club is louder.

"You don't owe me an explanation." I shake my head. "I get it now."

We're moving closer. It might be on purpose, or the center of gravity might have centered between us. But I can feel her with each exhale. The heat of her under my palm when I toy that line of almost holding her hand.

She makes me feel like a kid who has no idea what they're doing when that's not the case anymore.

"You haven't even looked at them." Lyla glances around me, at where the girls are sitting at the table near ours. "Want me to get a few more numbers for you?"

"I don't want their numbers."

"Why not?" She skates her fingers up the back of my hand.

She knows why not, but she wants me to say it anyway.

"You know why not."

My heart is racing at her touch. A boulder lodges in my throat as she skims her fingers to my side and brushes up and down.

"Everyone says you're a fuckboy now."

"Remind me to thank them for that." My teeth clench.

It's not that I'm ashamed. I didn't give a shit about anything after Lyla left, and I used everything I could to numb that feeling, especially women. But I don't like Lyla forcing me to face it.

"I'm not upset about it, if that's what you're worried about."

"I figured." Because she understands me like no one else in my life has.

Her attention drops to her drink, and she lowers her hand. "You're different now."

"So are you."

And I can't decide whether that's good or bad given we're torn the fuck up. Even if on the outside we're older versions of ourselves, inside we might as well be unrecognizable.

A waitress pauses at our side, and I assume she must have asked if I want a drink, but I can't hear anything right now except for Lyla.

Lyla sets her empty glass down on the tray, shaking her head at the waitress, who then disappears into the crowd.

"I lied to you," Lyla says, but I can barely hear her with the music.

Tipping her chin up with my thumb, I force her to look at me. Slowly tracing my fingers down until I'm drawing the line of that choker around her throat.

"What did you lie about?"

She swallows, her throat working under my fingers, and I'm tempted to wrap my hand around it. To pull her to me. To make her see she should never have left me.

"Not here." She takes a step back, and my fingers glide down her throat at the movement.

And when she steps back again, my hand falls from her completely. But she doesn't take her eyes off me as she backs up until she finally turns and walks away, still not answering my question.

I follow, just like she knows I will. Because she's never getting out of my sight again.

We make our way down the stairs to the front door of the club. She steps out first, but while I pause under the overhang, she walks into the alley between Incinerate and the tattoo shop.

"What are you doing?"

She stretches her arms out in the pouring rain. It soaks her clothes and turns her hair into a black river down her back. Water beads over her arms and runs rivers down her face when she tips it up to the sky.

Stepping out of the cover, I walk into the rain and place my hands on her hips.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" She spins around, facing me, her makeup washing off her face with the water.

"It feels cold."

She laughs, shaking her head like she thinks I'm ridiculous.

A car driving down the road has me pulling her against me, but she just giggles again.

"Come here." I grab her hand and tug her deeper into the alley.

Here, the iron staircases that wind up the side of each building block some of the rain, even if a few drops still manage to find their way through.

"You're going to make yourself sick."

Lyla backs up to the brick wall, and I cage her between my arms. My hands press into the wet brick like it'll stop me from touching her. Her chest heaves, and her nipples peek through the thin, wet fabric of her T-shirt. Her mouth parts and beads of water run over her plump lips as she looks up at me.

Violet eyes.

Purple violence.

She's the center of an amethyst. Plain on the outside, but the moment you crack her open—the moment you get a glimpse of what's hidden—you're never going to see anything more beautiful for the rest of your life.

"What did you lie about?" I ask again, keeping my hands on the wall, even as they start to itch in desperation for the smoothness of her skin.

"When I said I was also out there getting experience." Her face flushes and she shakes her head. "I'm not saying I did nothing these past eight years. I just didn't… you know."

My hands ball into fists, even if I have no right. "Why didn't you?"

"Because of what happened in the basement…" She closes her eyes, tipping her head back to the rain. "Trust is a hard thing to get back once you've lost it."

"Lyla." I reach up, cupping her cheek, and she flinches, before blinking up at me. "I'm sorry."

"No." She plants her hand over mine when I try to pull away. "I trust you, Sage."

She rubs her hand over mine, pressing her shoulder blades to the brick wall and shifting her hips forward.

"I've always trusted you." Lifting off the wall, she raises onto her toes and brings her mouth to my ear. "The rain makes me feel good, and I want to feel good."

I swallow hard as her body presses close. Her hands run down my chest, and rain falls all around us in a rhythmic hum. Skating her palms down my sides, I feel every graze of her fingers through my wet T-shirt, sticking to my skin.

Gripping her jaw, I turn her face to mine. "You make me feel good."

Her body slumps against the brick wall, and I step closer, pinning her to it. Every heavy breath has my sanity snapping.

"We can't do this again, Lyla." I grip her cheeks harder, and she blinks up at me. "I'm not that same guy you remember."

I'm haunted.

Broken.

There's blood on my hands and a body count that should terrify her.

"Are you scared?" She taunts me.

Bringing my face directly over hers, rain drips from my mouth to her lips. "You're trying to push me."

"Maybe."

"Always making me fuck everything up."

"Only because you know you want to."

"And what do you want, Lyla?" I press my body to hers, swelling against the heat of her core as she widens her stance.

"You," she whispers.

"You shouldn't."

Tipping her mouth up, she grazes her lips to mine. "Why not?"

I sink my teeth into her lower lip and tug. And the moan that drags out of her shakes my bones. "Because if we do this now, I don't think I'll ever be able to let you go."