The second I glance at him, my nerves get the better of me. I don't know what the h.e.l.l I'm doing here with him. This is only going to end in a disaster. s.h.i.t. Now he's smiling, and I d.a.m.n near melt but manage to keep a straight face. I don't want him to know he has any kind of effect on me because that's when they know you're vulnerable.

"So anyway..." I clear my throat. "Sorry I just kinda called you. I just, I don't know." I shrug, my cheeks warming. "Needed to get out and, uh, yeah..."

The bartender places our drinks in front of us.

Jax immediately wraps his hand around his, tracing his finger over the gla.s.s. "Sweetheart, I'm working a case where, a few days ago, we pulled a girl in ten different pieces out of an abandoned house. Seeing your name pop up on my phone was the best thing to happen to me all day." He takes a long drink of his whiskey, his unfocused gaze straying toward the wall of liquor bottles, as if something is weighing heavily on his mind. "You use that number any time you want." He redirects his attention to me.

"Thanks." My leg is furiously bouncing. I bite my lip, struggling to come up with the appropriate thing to say. "And that sucks..."

"Sorry." He grins, taking another drink. "Probably a little too much information for you. I'm just... I don't know. It's just been a h.e.l.lacious week." He scratches at his beard, shaking his head slightly.

I grab my drink and tip it back. Swallow. Then turn the gla.s.s up again. The cheap tequila burns my throat on the way down, but s.h.i.t, I can't drink this fast enough.

He eyes me with a grin, shaking his head. "f.u.c.k, I've been known as a drinker in my day, but tequila... f.u.c.k that. Too many bad experiences with Senor Jose back in college."

"Yeah-" Another quick gulp. "I've not had any problems with it. Not yet at least." But at this rate, tonight may be my first...

"Well s.h.i.t, there ought to be some sort of award for that."

"Oh, I'm sure there is..." And... here is that awkward silence. I stare at him, that dirty part of me wanting to undress him with my eyes. Imagine his heated, stifled breaths next to my ear as he has his way with me- "You know, your conversation skills are quite impressive." He laughs.

"Oh, f.u.c.k you!" As soon as I say that, I cover my mouth with my hand. A Freudian slip he'll never pick up on, hopefully.

"Hey now, this is only our second date. I don't think propositioning me for s.e.x is very ladylike." That d.a.m.n grin again. "Do you?"

I bite my lip, hard, and narrow my gaze. My foot is furiously shaking, making the small amount of tequila left in my gla.s.s slosh against the sides. What would that girl do? What would she say? "Trust me..." The alcohol is buzzing through me, making me not really care what comes out of my mouth. "That was not an offer." I laugh and tip the drink back again, smiling around the rim. I can be that girl after all.

He motions with his hand to catch the attention of the barkeep. "Bartender, another drink for the lady please." He shoots me a quick, mischievous glance. "And another one for me."

"If you're trying to get me drunk, too f.u.c.king late."

"I suppose that's why I heard from you tonight?"

"Maybe." I lightly touch his arm because that's what that girl would do.

"No EA to keep you company? Or, I guess, Edwin as you call him."

"Again, f.u.c.k you," I whisper. I lock my gaze with his. The second I realize my hand is rubbing his hard bicep, I jerk it away. "But, you know, if you'd rather me leave..." I go to stand, and he quickly places a hand on my shoulder.

"Hey now, you better sit that cute b.u.t.t of yours back down." His hand lingers on my shoulder until I'm fully seated again.

His fingers drift down my arm before returning to his gla.s.s. Chill b.u.mps sweep over my skin, and I find myself wishing he'd put his hand back on me. Touch me just a little longer.

My gaze falls from his eyes to his full lips, and all I can think about is kissing him. f.u.c.k, I hate this. My hand quickly wraps around my gla.s.s, my eyes never leaving those lips of his as I suck back the last of my drink. "Fine. I'll stay... for a minute at least." Then I giggle. Dear G.o.d. Who am I?

"A minute? And how does a guy go about spending more than just a minute with you? Does he have to be an author? Because I'll tell you what, I can't write to save my life, but I'll put together the nicest picture book you've ever seen. Penguin cops or some s.h.i.t like that."

Shaking my head, I nearly choke on my drink. "I'm sorry. Penguin cops?"

"I'm just saying that s.h.i.t should be worth at least a couple hours."

"Wow," I say through laughs. "You're special, Jax."

"I'm glad you can see that so soon. Usually it takes a lot more convincing on my part. I prefer the term unique though."

"Okay." I arch both brows. "We'll go with unique."

The bartender places the next round of drinks in front of us, and I push mine aside.

Jax eyes me as if he's trying to figure me out, sizing me up. "I just can't read you, Miranda..." He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing.

"Cross."

"Miranda Cross." A deep smile fills his face. "And I'm a f.u.c.king cop. Do you know how bad that makes me look?"

"Look, don't feel bad. I've spent my entire life perfecting the art of being unreadable."

"Did you perfect that before or after the RBF?" he asks, a laugh ready to bust loose from his lips.

"Excuse me? I don't have resting b.i.t.c.h face."

"Now, now, it's a good quality to have. I bet more people on airplanes try to talk to me than you. And then there's the whole mall kiosk issue everyone else has to deal with. I bet they never ask you if you'd like to try pine-scented, age-defying lotion. That's a win if I ever saw it." A laugh finally does break through, and he shakes his head before taking down more of his whiskey.

I'm trying my d.a.m.nedest to keep a straight face. "Okay, first of all, I don't fly. Second, no, they don't talk to me, but maybe it's because I don't need age-defying lotion yet, a.s.shole."

"You don't fly? What, do you f.u.c.king teleport? And maybe that is what it is... because of course you don't. Ooor... maybe it's the fact that they think you want to kill them and eat their babies." He's smiling, those d.a.m.n dimples popping.

I look away from him and stare at the bottles of liquor on the wall, my heart banging against my ribs as I trail my fingertip over the curve of my gla.s.s, wishing it was him I was touching, relishing... "I hate flying." I glance back at him.

"You know, it isn't plane victims we're zipping up into body bags every day." There's a soft smile on his face. "A lot more stuff to worry about in this world than flying, my dear."

"Yeah, I know. Just one of those things..." My eyes drift back down to his lips and pause for way too long. But I just want to kiss him. I shouldn't, but I do.

"Hey, we all have them. Don't even talk to me about f.u.c.king dolls. Those porcelain motherf.u.c.kers with the beady little eyes..." He shakes his head.

"Oh, I hate those things too. My mother had tons of those. Most were clowns." I shudder thinking about that collection.

"No f.u.c.king way." He laughs, his eyes wide. "My sister and I used to have a babysitter who had clown s.h.i.t f.u.c.king everywhere. I'm talking wall-to-wall. Our parents weren't home very much, so I had to live with that s.h.i.t for a while. I didn't sleep very well those days." He smiles, his eyes taking me in as they move from my lips to my eyes then back again.

I grab his arm before I realize I have. "Yeah, I had nightmares about them. And then Stephen King's It... ruined me. I'm convinced that was the moment I officially became f.u.c.ked up."

"Holy s.h.i.t, you have no idea. I've always been a big-time reader. Read that s.h.i.t when we were visiting family in Texas back in sixth grade." Lifting his brows, he gives me an understanding nod. "That s.h.i.t changes a f.u.c.king kid. I'm talking scar-city type s.h.i.t."

"'We all float down here...'" I shake my head. "Gutters. I avoid them at all costs."

"G.o.d, that's awesome." He laughs and raises his gla.s.s to me. "Well, here's to a mutual hatred of dolls and clowns."

Nodding, I clink my gla.s.s against his and laugh before setting the untouched drink back on the counter.

"So... I'm not very good at this kind of thing." He points at himself then at me. "Whatever this is. I actually haven't been out on a date in a long, long time."

"And you think I am? What with my impeccable conversations skills and all?" I laugh. "Yeah, I don't do people. Ever. But you..." I trail off before I say something I shouldn't.

"So if I'm brutally honest with you, you won't hold it against me?"

"Nah."

He gently grabs my arm, pulling me toward him. I have no choice but to follow his lead and grip the edge of the seat with my hands to keep from sliding off the stool. His other hand comes to rest on my cheek, his eyes intensely set on mine. When his thumb tenderly brushes over my jaw, my heart bangs against my chest, heating my body. I can't help but to lean into his touch. It feels too right. Too perfect. He inches forward until his lips meet mine with such a soft touch I'm not even sure he's really kissing me. Within seconds, he takes my bottom lip into his mouth, his teeth nibbling just a little before releasing. He brushes his fingers into my hair as his lips crash hard against mine again. And from that simple touch, my entire body goes limp, every last inch of my skin heating. He cups the back of my neck to pull me closer and deepen the kiss. Just before I give in to him any further, I tear away, my heart in my throat as I stare at him.

A confused expression crosses Jax's face, and I immediately regret pulling away.

"Everything okay?" He looks around, but no one's paying us any more attention than we're paying them. "Sorry about the PDA... your lips are too distracting."

And now I feel like an idiot, so I do the only thing I can think to do-I grab him by the face and drag him to me, closing my eyes, and kiss him again. A subtle moan slips from my lips because, d.a.m.n, his lips feel good like this. They're soft and warm and just... right.

And... this is bad. I know this is dangerous because I generally don't like people touching me, but Jax... there's something about him that I crave, possibly need-which means, in the end, I'm going to get hurt. Or maybe I'll just end up hurting him.

I go to move away, but this time, he grabs the back of my head, giving me one tender kiss before he releases me, his eyes locked on mine. And even I, with my lack of social understanding, can pick up, by that desperate glimmer in his eyes, that he feels the same way. And that's scary as s.h.i.t.

Jax trails his rough fingers over my jaw, a soft smile settling on his face. My cheeks warm; my body flushes.

"Hmm," he says, settling back in his seat. "I could see this being a problem."

"What?" I feel a scowl form on my face, and he chuckles.

"This." He touches his finger to my lips. "Kissing you is kind of addictive. And I have quite the addictive personality."

I should probably say something instead of staring at him like an idiot, which is exactly what I'm doing right now. "You're ridiculous," I mumble.

Heat floods my body, and I turn in my chair to face the wall of liquor, my heart thumping in my throat. Really? Ridiculous? That's the best you had? You could have said, "I like kissing you too. Thanks." Anything....

Jax laughs, bringing his drink to his lips as he shakes his head. "Ridiculous, huh?" He smiles around the edge of the gla.s.s and winks.

I have no idea what I'm doing here, why I'm drawn to him like this, but I don't like it-and I like it all at the same time. Something about him seems safe and familiar, and as we sit here and talk, with every stupid, awkward comment I make, he grins. Maybe he gets my little quirks.

By the end of the night, I have my arm slung through his as we walk to the exit. I find myself leaning closer to him, pulling in the scent of his cologne. I too easily get lost in his smile and those eyes that tell me there's so much more to him than most people try to see.

We round the corner of the brick building, turning into the dark alleyway that leads to the parking lot. We've barely made it two feet before Jax stops and gently pushes me against the rough brick, pinning my shoulders to the wall. We share an intense stare in the brief moment before his lips crush mine. His hand sweeps up my neck and cups the side of my face as his teeth rake over my bottom lip. He pauses, his warm lips barely resting against mine.

"Yeah, I'm definitely in trouble," he says with a sweet smile.

And in this moment, I know I'm f.u.c.ked. Because even though I hate the vulnerability, the way he makes me feel is worth the possibility of having my heart ripped out. And if you know that's what will happen, are you really that vulnerable after all? So I give in to him.

I wrap my arms around his neck, tugging his body flush against mine. I try to quiet all the thoughts whirling around in my head so I can just enjoy how right this feels because it's not often I've felt anything in my life was right. But Jax, at this very moment, with his soft lips pressed against mine, his hands roaming over my body... that's exactly how he feels.

"Killing Time"-City & Colour My fingers wind around the leather steering wheel, my breath fogging the driver's side window with each angry exhale. I knew it was a man she's been talking to. I could tell by the way she spoke, the way she reacted, the stupid, silly little smile on her face. But I didn't for a second think he'd be local. I didn't think that of all people f.u.c.king Janine would play a role in it. I could f.u.c.king kill her. My thoughts roam to Janine lying on her back with both hands pointlessly held up in defense as an ax comes heaving down on her. Splitting her f.u.c.king face in two after mangling her hands and fingers. The thought brings me immense pleasure, and a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.

I will kill Janine.

For an hour, I've been sitting outside the bar, rage flooding my veins, adrenaline simmering just beneath the skin, ready to explode.

Watching them joke and laugh and kiss, seeing him take what is rightfully mine right before my f.u.c.king eyes... it takes everything in me not to remove the gun from my glove box, walk into that f.u.c.king bar, and shoot every last motherf.u.c.ker in there. All I can think about is them going to a motel room, his hands roaming over her body. I'm overwhelmed by visions of him penetrating her and her loving it. I bet she'd love every f.u.c.king minute of it.

Miranda doesn't think of me like I think of her. If she did, she wouldn't be giving herself away like this. She wouldn't be hurting me like this. The pain suffocating me is overshadowed only by an incredible anger I don't think I've ever felt. I slam my palm against the edge of the steering wheel over and over until my entire hand stings.

I'm struck again with an intense urge to kill... anyone and anything. f.u.c.k plans. f.u.c.k methodical thinking. Someone's going to f.u.c.king die tonight, but it's gotta be smart. I think of Janine as I put the vehicle in drive, but I know her murder must be planned-if I ever hope to not be caught, that is. She's just tied to me too closely.

A wh.o.r.e on Tenth Street will have to do. I tuck my hair into a hat and pull it lower over my face. Just as I pull my vehicle onto the road, a lifted truck, metal b.a.l.l.s dangling below the tailgate, comes screaming past me. I stomp on the brakes just as the truck's horn blares and a skinny middle finger darts out the window.

I feel a slanted, wicked smile fill my face as anger surges through my body until I'm in an all-out tremble. Streaks of light take up my vision. Rationale fades.

I pull my vehicle out slowly and follow the truck, which is now quite a ways down the road.

To my complete satisfaction, the truck continues out of the city and into the farm-rich countryside. I follow him for a good forty minutes, a safe distance behind, antic.i.p.ation shaking me to my core. As a thick patch of darkness surrounds us, the city lights long since faded in the rearview, I snag a police light from my glove compartment and set it on the dash. I've never used it before, but right now, I'm happy I picked it up.

I flash the lights, and moments later, he pulls to the side of the barren road. I pull in behind him and put the Range Rover in park. Grabbing a Bowie hunting knife in its sheath in the glove compartment, along with a snub-nose revolver, I climb out of the vehicle. I slip the revolver into my front pocket and the knife behind my back in my waistband.

The walk is endless. Each step sends shivers up my spine. I can taste the kill. I can smell the iron in his blood. And I see Miranda's lover. In my head, it's him I'll be killing. It's his pathetic eyes staring back at me in horror as the life is ripped from him.

One day it will be.

"There a problem, officer?" the redneck asks, arching his head out the window just as a bullet rips through the door.

His high-pitched squeal lets me know I hit him, and I can't help but smile. A German shepherd barks at me from the backseat, its lips reared back, teeth gnashing, but he's leashed to the back door.

Opening the man's door, I direct the gun toward the dog's head. The man's confused eyes meet my own. I crook my neck and smile.

"Wh-why are you doing this?" he bellows, two hands grasping his blood-soaked knee.

I shift the revolver's aim from the dog, down to the man's already destroyed knee, and pull the trigger again. A blast ricochets out into the vast nothingness. The man slams his head back into the seat, screaming in pain. The dog wildly licks the man's face.

I crack a smile, studying his thrashing body as I stow the revolver back in my front pocket and retrieve the knife from my waistband. I hold it in front of his face, letting him get a good look at it.

He whimpers as he bats at the mess that once was his knee. "Please," he begs hoa.r.s.ely. "Please, stop." His eyes drift to mine, pitiful as can be. "Please."

"Please, save me your tears. I have no use for them. Now your blood." I grin. "That's a whole other matter."

I pull the knife back then thrust it up into his chin. All six inches settle in his skull.

I catch a glint of moonlight off the sharpened blade through his open mouth, then with one quick motion, I pull the knife back out.

All I see are the whites of his eyes as he slouches over the middle console, motionless.

Slipping the blade back into its sheath and returning it to my waistband, my eyes wander to the dog in the backseat, still barking wildly and sending surges of anger throughout me. I want to kill it too, but before I can retrieve my revolver, a brilliant scenario plays out in my head-a dog eating its owner. I've read stories about it, and the idea fills me with a giddy, childlike wonder.

Depositing the revolver back in my pocket, I pull the knife out of my waistband as I turn the car off with my other gloved hand. Shutting his door, I creep around to the back pa.s.senger side door. I open it and quickly cut the leash before closing it again.

I wander back to my truck, a smile taking up my whole face as I imagine what it will be like for the man's family to walk up on this scene, the dog snout-deep in the man's guts. I imagine his family on the news, crying over their stupid little redneck f.u.c.k-up who was "going to make something of himself one day." Please.