Page 92 of Blue

“Come on,” she said. “We’ll go to Blue’s room. Cruz’s is a mess.”

Before I could follow McKelle, Rogue pulled me against him. “You come find me if you hear anything, if you think of any other place he could be, or if you just want to sit out here with me.”

I nodded with my face pressed against the warm, cigarette scented flannel covering his massive chest. “Tell me if you hear something. Please don’t hide anything from me because you’re afraid I can’t handle it.” I lifted my gaze to his. “I can handle anything but lies.”

“Same goes for you. I better not find out you’re keeping shit from me.”

I stiffened and took a step back. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Kiss—”

“No.” I repeated Blue’s words to me. “I promise not to lie to you. But I’m not going to tell you anything that isn’t your business.”

He growled, and McKelle linked her arm with mine.

“Fight later,” she said. “Don’t ask her to betray Blue. Good luck to anyone who would try to get information on you out of Jazzy. At least Kiss isn’t threatening to cut off your balls. Jazzy would already have them fisted in her palm.”

She didn’t wait for his reply. The temperature in the club had cooled. Hellers might not know what was going on, but I suspected they blamed me.

Blue wasn’t here, and I wasn’t supposed to be.

Chapter Thirteen

Blue

Crushing the side of an empty soda can I’d found on the ground, I created a flattened center with my thumb. Then I used my knife to punch holes into the indentation, and also a vent on the side. Finally, I piled a bud with some shake over the holes, positioned the end of the can to my mouth, held my lighter to the weed, and inhaled the first scorching hot hit.

The pungent scent hit my nostrils at the same time as the toxic smoke filled my lungs. I propped my phone against a chunk of broken brick wall with the screen open on a photo I’d taken of Kiss before the night at Indulgence, before her relapse, before she’d told me she loved me.

But not before I knew I loved her.

Another hit from the can had the weed glowing red, curdling, and turning to ash. Just like my fucking life.

I leaned my head against the brick wall and exhaled smoke. My throat burned from the heat. I lifted a bottle of whiskey to my lips and sent the burn deep into my gut.

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

Lifting my eyelids and focusing on the voice took a herculean effort. Fuck. Maybe I was finally drunkenough that my conscience sounded like a pissed off Cruz. I was a fucking asshole.

“You don’t have to jump. I’m going to throw your ass over.”

Definitely my conscience. That was the problem. I hated all the memories. Every fucking day, the same sick shit staining every possible good thing in my life. I couldn’t take this, not for the rest of my life. Unless someone lived in hell, they couldn’t understand the draw of finally getting the hurt to stop. A permanent solution for a permanent problem.

I tipped the bottle to my lips and swallowed two more gulps, wincing as the liquid seared along my throat, heated my chest, and pushed me one step closer to the fucking mental edge.

My entire life was a list of reasons to jump.

“Kiss is out of her head worrying about you.”

My conscience needed to shut the fuck up. I reached over, tapped the screen on my phone, and brought up her image again. Those blue eyes, a mouth made for kissing, and a body that had blood rushing to my dick. “You’re a fucking traitor,” I told my dick.

“I’m your friend. And you’re fucking up. She’s a recovering addict. Why the fuck would you do this to her?”

“I know. I fucking hurt her. But if I keep breaking down, she’s going to have questions. She’s going to find out about Carl. I fucking let it happen.”

Footfalls crunched as they came closer. I was hearing shit now. No one knew of this place but Kiss. I lifted the can, but the bud must have rolled off. “Fuck.” Wait, I had more. I patted my cut, reached into the inside pocket, and pulled out the baggie. Once I’d pinched off another bud, I tried to focus on the can.

“Blue, you need to call Kiss?”

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