Page 85 of Chaos
Nerves pit in my stomach as he leads me down the stairs, where the strong Russian accents are filling the room.
They all stop and turn as we walk into the kitchen. The big one doesn’t change his neutral expression, but the other man does, revealing his silver tooth and the pretty girl next to him, with long straight blonde locks. They both smile at me.
“Guys, this is my girl, Sofia,” Jax announces.
“Ah, the girl who turned Mr. Chaos down changed her mind.”
“Alexei.” The big one scolds him. Jax laughs as he places his arm on my shoulder, pulling me against his side.
“What? Our boy Jax loves the chase.” Alexei winks at him. Heat rises into my cheeks.
“They have no idea,” Jax whispers in my ear, and that only makes me blush harder.
The blonde woman steps forward after slapping Alexei in the back of the head.
“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Lara.” She extends her perfectly manicured hand, covered in diamond rings.
Shit. Is she some sort of Russian royalty?
Awkwardly, I extend my arm and grasp her palm. She bursts out laughing, pulling me in for a hug. “Ignore those asshats. Just stick with me. You’ll be fine.”
God, is it obvious I’m so nervous?
“Thank you,” I whisper back, as she pulls away with a smile.
“Hey, you didn’t give me a hug today.” Alexei fakes a pout towards Lara. Nikolai glares at him.
I can’t help but laugh at their interaction.
“Don’t pout, sladkiy. It’s not a good look on you,” she replies in her thick Russian accent.
I almost jump when Nikolai claps his hands together, announcing our departure.
“We’re going in the Lambo. You guys can park next to me when we get there,” Jax says. He laces his fingers through mine and squeezes.
Alexei storms forward, and Lara drags him to a swift stop by grabbing onto his shirt.
“Keys. I’m driving,” she says, holding out her hand.
FORTY-TWO
JAX
Song- Limits, Bad Omens
We’re in the underbelly of Vegas. Where the public doesn’t venture, but where the darkest money comes to play.
There’s no weigh-ins, no referee. This is a blood sport, and the crowd is already thirsty for more.
Cash and drugs change hands as I wrap my palms with athletic tape. We don’t use gloves, just enough to hold our knuckles closed when we try to bash each other’s faces in.
She watches me, her lower lip tucked between her teeth. Sofia’s been silent most of the night, staying close, but so distant.
I know she’s scared. But she shouldn’t be. I’m not.
Some days, I don’t care if I win or lose. Dying wouldn’t be that bad. The last few years, I fought like I had nothing to lose.
That’s changed.