Page 9 of Forget Me Twice

As I continue to stand there, realization of just how little I actually remember of last night’s exploits begins to creep in. It’s not a welcome feeling. There’s a few memories of the initial binge drinking with Rhett, and then…nothing.

I’m now trying not to think about Sebastian’s long list of favorite corpse disposal methods as he stares me down.

He gestures towards me a second time, his brows pulled low and suspicious. “This, Sabine. Your head injury.” The way he says it makes it sound like he’s talking to an unruly child. If I didn’t know better I’d say he was almost exasperated. Right now though, I’m just so thoroughly confused.

Head injury? Does he mean the car accident?

I’m about to question his sanity, or perhaps my own, when I’m interrupted by the large, warm hand sliding off my shoulder and down past my wrist to grip my own. Jax gently guides my fingers up and to the—what the fuck!—dressing that’s tapped in place, high on my right temple.Notmy left.

“This head injury, Sabe,” he says quietly, his warm breath feathering across my cheek as he leans in to speak against my ear. I want to close my eyes at the electric feeling of having him so near, his domineering presence never suffocating like Sebastian’s.

He’s been my rock; steady and safe despite the hellish storm of the past five years.

I can’t even enjoy the rare dose of comfort from his proximity; the air is still too thick with his sire’s displeasure. So thick you could stick out your tongue and taste it. Suffocate on it.

Jax can obviously sense it as well. His lips thin as he drops the hold he has on my hand, his strong fingers slipping gently over mine. He takes a small step forward, angling so he’s standing slightly in front of me. I’m almost touched that he’s trying to shield me, but then he shoots me a sidelong glance that’s full of regret.

Fuck, this can’t be good.

I suck in a breath and brace myself.

“I don’t believe she has any recollection of it, Father. She was inebriated prior to…the incident, and was given some pretty strong sedatives to sleep.”

Sebastian’s eyes are now almost black as they flit between Jax and I. A muscle tics along his jaw. It’s like he can’t decide exactly where he wants to focus his ire more. His fuckup Librarian or his disappointment of an heir.

“Incident?” he practically spits. “Has she crashed another one of your cars? Why wasn’t she being supervised?”

Jax looks down at me again, a dark curl falling forward and an apologetic look still staining his painfully handsome face. There’s no point trying to lie or downplay this. Sebastianalways knows.

He looks back to his father, and I can tell thatthis time I’ve gone too far. There’s a line and during my alcohol-fueled antics last night, I’ve somehow crossed it. His Adam’s apple bobs once as he swallows and then answers in a flat tone, “No, not racing. Russian Roulette.”

I feel my eyebrows hit my hairline, the dressing on my new wound pulling tight.

“I shot myself in the fuckinghead?”

I have to clap a hand over my mouth as laughter threatens to bubble up and spill over. I feel off-balance and giddy, even just thethoughtof doing something so monumentally stupid lighting up the pleasure centers of my brain. Already I can feel the haze-like tendrils of happiness starting to creep in at the edges like I’m not actually awake, but standing inside a lucid dream.

What a trip.

Jax’s expression doesn’t change, not even so much as a twitch. Always the stoic and competent team leader. He deliberately ignores the jibe about supervision.

A quick peek over my shoulder and I can see the rest of our Crew’s gamut of reactions. Foster, our Security Officer and resident wet blanket is looking pointedly at his boots, sullen as ever. Our deputy Enforcer Knox’s dark brown eyes are pained. He’s a round-the-clock worrier and hates when anyone on our team purposely puts themselves on the line.

Rhett, always the Devil on my shoulder, is fighting and failing to contain an amused smile. “Just a graze. You were too drunk to hold the handgun steady,” he chuckles before roughly coughing into his fist. Even the chaotic prankster realizes how fucking bad that sounds out loud.

I quickly glance back towards Sebastian and Dominic and immediately wish I hadn’t. I can now see visions of my team’s very painful demise written across both older men’s faces.

“Four overdoses, nine cases of alcohol poisoning, two hairline fractures, two concussions and three cars completely written off.” His voice is still pitched low, tone murderous. “That’s just this year to date, Sabine.” He doesn’t curse. Instead he clenches his jaw and presses a finger to his cufflink in that old habit; the only outward sign he’s agitated. I know now that his insignia shows a rook, not a crow. It’s an homage to his favorite chess piece and the symbol for his organization. “Thin. Ice.”

Someone on the outside looking in might mistake that agitation as fatherly concern for my well-being. But I know he’s simply terrified I’m going to cause irreparable harm to his most priceless asset—the keeper of his secrets. The amount my life is insured for would make your fucking toes curl.

I watch as he visibly collects himself.

“As Junior Council, you represent the future of our empire. I can’t say I’m still entirely confident that said future is a bright one.” His meaning is crystal clear as he looks between Jax and I. I represent the ongoing financial and structural foundation of The Gray Men. Jackson, despite being a talented tactician and natural born leader, doesn’t have his father’s stomach for indiscriminate anarchy. That makes him an unsuitable heir and a current source of great disdain for Sebastian.

He leans forward, his hands clasped together over the table. The aching in my skull has spread to my eyes now that little spike of excitement has ebbed. What I wouldn’t give for a horizontal surface right now. The strain of his stony silence doesn’t help any.

Finally he announces, “I have decided to offer you one last chance to redeem yourselves.”

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