— Chapter 17 —

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I clenched my jaw as my gaze landed on a familiar brunette on the dance floor.

Angela.

What the hell is she doing here?

Dancing with her friends to the club's bass-heavy music, she had what looked like a martini in one hand and her other on the chest of the man she was dancing with. She didn't know that I was here tonight—the surprise that flashed on her face when her gaze found mine made that fact clear.

Taking her hand off his chest, she hesitantly moved her focus away from me and adjusted the red, skin-tight dress she had on.

I hadn't answered any of her calls all day. Of course she'd found some other way to entertain herself. Angela was never really the type to sleep alone.

So Marcus's words held water after all.

Of all places... why Crave? Did she know about the street racing? Was that why she was here?

No. It's Angela.

Stop overthinking.

"Relationship issues?" Tats smirked beside me, following my gaze to her. He took a sip of the alcohol in his glass as I replied.

Tats was a few inches shorter than me, with a lean build and silver spikes pierced at the bridge of his nose, the ends of his brows, and along the bottom of his earlobes. But what really made him stand out were the tattoos spanning every inch of his skin—like some kind of mural, painting different pictures over every limb. There were tattoos over his face, too, but perhaps the most intimidating were the sclera tattoos that had turned the milky-white of his eyeballs into an empty shade of black. He definitely wasn't the type of guy you'd take home to your catholic mother.

"I didn't come here to talk about my personal matters," I said. Stepping away from the bannister, I put my hands in my pockets and landed a flat look on him. "So—just to be perfectly clear—you don't know a damn thing? So... what? I came here for nothing?"

"Like I said," he pointed out. "I just know what my bikers told me—exactly what Marcus told you. I don't know why you're so surprised. If whoever's behind the races is keeping you in the dark, of course they'd do the same fucking thing to me. Every idiot in Boston knows the two of us are in league with each other."

I frowned. "Your bikers are the only lead on this. One of them knows more than they're letting on. They're playing you."

"You don't think I know that?" He shrugged, furrowing his brows briefly. "Look, I'll figure out who it is, and I'll deal with it, alright? If I find out anything else, you'll be the first person I tell."

"The sooner, the better," I said. "They've already put someone in the hospital while we've been standing here sucking our fucking thumbs. And if they've already got Stray Dogs racing behind my back, I have no doubt they've got Mayhem members too."

"So you're telling me to watch myself?"

"I'm telling you to take it seriously," I answered. "You're smart, Tats. I trust you to figure shit out."

There was a pull on his lips as he turned his gaze back to the dance floor.

"Enjoy the rest of your night, Edge."

A frown pulled on my face as I returned to the VIP lounge, where I'd left Elliot a few hours earlier.

People turned their gazes to me whenever I entered a room—and that wasn't my ego talking. It was a cold-hard fact, and one that I hated.

I hated the attention. The nit-picky stares that would pull me apart and overanalyse me, like I were some kind of freakish creature that could lash out at any moment.

I hated the way people would look my way and whisper. I hated how they always defaulted to reactions of fear, disgust, or awe.

Fear was the most tolerable. It gave me the upper hand. Awe was irritating—absolute strangers would come my way expecting something, kissing up as if I could wave my damn hands and all their problems would melt away. Sex, power, money... all three of which meant nothing to me.

Disgust was the worst.

Disgust told me that I wasn't wanted. That I were no more than some common street thug, a lowlife to be loathed and ostracised. People always needed someone to hate. A villain. Whether it was for my tattoos, my position, or for the scars that littered my wrists—I was the one they looked at that way.

So if people wanted to whisper, fine. The chaos in my head could drown it all out anyway.

The entire night had gone to shit.

Tats didn't know anything about the races. Nothing I didn't already know. And if he did know anything, he definitely didn't plan on letting me in on it.

I still hadn't gotten the chance to talk to Elliot, either—the one person I was actually looking forward to seeing before this whole shit started.

Angela and I had managed to steer clear of each other throughout the night. Maybe that was for the better. There were too many things on my mind as it was—I didn't want to add a fight with her to that list.

Chains and a Mayhem biker named Ash sat on the lounge beside each other, snickering in a loose conversation as Ash thinned a line of cocaine on the coffee table. People split out of my way as I headed for the two of them.

"Where's Elliot?" I asked Chains, ignoring the sets of eyes unsubtly passing glances in my direction. Damn sheep.

Chains shook out his silver-white strands of hair and slowly rested a gaze on me. With wet lips and red eyes, he reeked of liquor and cigarette smoke.

"Uh-ha, Edge... hey..." he mumbled, holding a shot glass lazily to me. There was blow staining the collar of his shirt.

I took the glass away and put it back on the table.

"Where's Elliot, Chains?" I repeated.

He slapped the side of his cheek twice and furrowed his brows. "Hm... 'm pretty sure he went outside? Said something 'bout getting air?"

I pursed my lips.

Someone in earshot spoke up from behind me, butting into the conversation. "He was outside a few minutes ago when I was having a smoke. Hurling his guts out and everything."

I didn't ask you, I was going to say, but I figured to just take the information and keep my mouth shut.

"Elliot's alright!" Ash commented loudly after snorting the white line. Laughing with Chains, he nudged the silver-haired biker's shoulder and snickered, "Can't hold his l-liquor for shit! But alright!"

"Looked like he was about to pass out," Chains slurred with a lazy grin. "Barely even... made it three shots in. He's a crack up though, I tell ya'."

Ash laughed, "Oh yeah, the story about the fuckin'—the uh... what's the damn thing called? The thing with the—"

"The chicken!"

Ash slapped his hand against the table as the word came to his mind. "The fuckin' chicken!"

I passed them both a look and straightened my posture, shoving my hands in my pockets. There was a small tug at the side of my lips.

"You guys are off your damn faces," I told them. "See you later."

"Wait, have a drink!" Chains spoke. "Nobody likes sober Edge, you'll scare away the wome—"

Ash interrupted as he poured liquor in two shot glasses, "You're so loud, Jesus Christ! My fucking ears!"

"Don't interrupt me, shitface!"

"Oh, go fuck yourself!"

"Only if you watch, prick!"

They clinked their shot glasses together and poured the liquor down their throats, before slamming the glasses down on the table in unison. Loud heaves left their lips, the two bursting into laughter.

"It's like I can see my headache getting worse," I shook my head. "At least remember to save yourselves some cash for your cab rides home."

Ash frowned, crinkling his forehead. "Wha' was that last part?"

I sighed and shook out the back of my hair.

"You're both hopeless," I said. "Later."

Turning away, the sound of their boisterous laughter echoed behind me as I descended down the large staircase leading out of the VIP sections.

Anxiety made me fiddle with the lighter in my pocket, watching as people turned to me only to widen their eyes and jump out of my path. With pursed lips, I clenched my jaw and winced at the tension in my neck. The bass-heavy music had given me a headache.

A familiar brunette stepped into my line of sight. Angela. With her red dress riding up her thighs and her hair falling messily over her shoulders, she shimmied in my direction tried to get my attention.

"Noah, wait, let's just tal—"

I was quick to cut her off. "Not now, Angela. Go home."

"But—"

But nothing. I had already pushed through the crowd, leaving her stuck somewhere behind me. I didn't want to deal with it tonight.

Finally stepping outside of the club, I frowned tightly as the cold air began to sting my cheeks. The parking lot to the club was filled with smokers and people waiting for cab rides home.

I couldn't spot Elliot's head of light-brown hair.

Pulling out my Marlboros, I put a cigarette between my teeth and placed the box back in the pocket of my jacket. Cupping the end to get a flame from my rusty lighter, I managed to light the cigarette and felt the familiar taste of smoke on my tongue as I inhaled. It tasted like shit.

I'd first started smoking for the head rushes, but with the tolerance I'd built to nicotine over the years, I didn't get them much anymore.

I found myself fiddling with the lighter as the smoke left my lungs. Twirling the brass metal around my fingers, I gave it an indifferent look.

The lighter was old, made of cheap metal, and beginning to rust at the edges of its base lid and the hinge. An engraving marked one of its flat surfaces, running down the side of the lighter. In a cursive font, it simply read:

I'd had the damn thing for years... and perhaps the only 'serendipity' was in the fact that the lighter was never mine to begin with.

It had been left behind by someone a long time ago.

I'd held onto it all this time, and had even taken the effort to replace the gas when it went empty. Sure, it was rough around the edges—scratched and scraped up over the years—but for whatever reason, I kept it around. Better to give it another life than have it thrown away, I figured.

Half of the cigarette between my lips had been burned through by the time I'd decided to check the alleyway beside the club for Elliot. It was cold, my head was aching, and I just wanted to go somewhere quiet.

Turning into the alley, a flash of brown caught in the corner of my eye. Elliot. A relieved sigh of smoke left my lips as I finally found him leaning against the side of the building. I tossed my cigarette butt to the snow and headed quickly over to him.

He looked sick.

With his phone in one hand and the other hand gripping onto the wall, he let out a long yawn. I was more concerned about his stance—once of his legs looked limp, unable to support his weight.

"Hey, hey, woah—" I muttered quickly, catching him by his arm before he could fall flat on his face.

Slowly sinking down the wall of the building, his ass hit the snow and he pulled his legs to his chest. I bent down beside him, tilting my head to get a better look at his face.

"Mm..." he whined, turning loosely to me.

His face had gone pale, though his skin was shiny with sweat and burning hot in spite of the cold. Locks of his hair had been stuck together as snow melted in his hair. With red staining the whites of his eyes, he stared blankly at me with half-closed eyes.

"Jesus, Elliot," I said, noticing the pungent smell of alcohol coming off his body. "You're supposed to drink liquor—not bathe in it."

He let out a soft giggle at my words, though it wasn't long before his face contorted back to a frown.

"You're high," I pointed out. Really fucking high, from the looks of it. And from the way he stunk of liquor, I could also bet that he was absolutely wasted. "How the hell did you manage that?"

Elliot furrowed his brows and complained softly. "Damn... g-gummy bears..."

Gummy bears?

...Oh.

"Chains," I deduced with a small smile. Elliot wasn't really paying attention to me, but I couldn't help but talk to him. "You got into his edibles, huh?"

Chains' stuff was pretty damn potent. God knows how much he'd let Elliot have.

"...Gummy bears..." Elliot repeated with a small pout, swatting lightly at my shoulder.

As a dry cough overtook him, he rubbed his neck for a few moments and rested his head against the wall.

The angle of his face against the lights made me notice something I hadn't before. A dark mark at the side of his chin—just beneath a cut on his lip. Not only that, but a scab on his cheek, too... hiding just behind stray locks of hair.

I asked lowly, "What happened to your face?"

I didn't exactly do a great job at hiding the bitterness in my tone.

Elliot didn't answer, pursing his lips in a thin line as he slouched against the building.

"Elliot," I said, taking a gentle hold of his chin and making him face me. His skin was ice-cold to the touch, and noticeably pale.

He frowned at the movement. Aside from an annoyed groan, no reply left his lips. I clenched my jaw.

"Who did this to you?"

His eyes widened slightly to meet my own.

It was so easy to get lost in them—in the way Elliot's hazel-browns sparkled with life, despite always conveying such an unexplainable sadness. Parts of him I could read like an open book. But the other parts... I still wasn't sure. It was like he had pages missing.

Something inexplicable flashed in his irises for a brief moment—but it was gone just as quickly as it came.

Elliot moved his face out of my hold and broke out into a fit of light coughs, refusing to meet my gaze. Rubbing his neck, his tongue grazed his bottom lip and a muffled whimper left his lips.

"You're sick?" I asked. For a moment or two, the only response to my question was silence.

He dropped his head onto his arms and let out a broken whine.

"I-It hurts..."

I clenched my jaw. Part of me was incredibly pissed off—that I couldn't lay my damn hands on whoever had beat him like this. That Elliot was in pain, and instead of asking for help, he'd kept it to himself until he'd gotten drunk enough to confess it by accident. The alcohol had clearly impaired the filter between his mind and lips.

"Where does it hurt?" I asked him.

He coughed again and whimpered painfully into his jacket sleeve. "James..."

James?

"Who's that, Elliot?" I asked him, nudging his knee carefully to get his attention. "Is that who did this? Is he the prick that's hurting you?"

Elliot didn't answer, rubbing his neck again and mumbling inaudibly beneath his breath.

I sighed.

"Come on," I told him. "It's too cold out here—I'll drive you home."

I fixed up my stance and began to get to my feet, but Elliot gripped my shirt before I could.

"Don't... don't leave m-me..." he pleaded gently, sadness in his tone. "Please... not again..."

I frowned. He was right—I had completely left him alone tonight. I'd spent all that time listening to Tats just to learn no new information and have my time entirely wasted.

"I'm sorry I left you on your own tonight," I said, feeling a twinge of anxiety in my chest. "I got held up. I didn't mean to leave you alone for so long."

"Don't go..." he continued to mumble. "I'm sorry, I..."

I took a gentle hold on his forearm and was patient as I helped him get to his feet. Elliot let out a pained hiss, which made me worry, but he got enough balance to stay standing with my support.

"Let's get you home, alright?"

"Too bright," he murmured in response, wincing against the lights as we slowly walked out of the alley.

With his arm around the back of my neck so that I could hold him up, I eventually found my truck in the parking lot and struggled for a bit to unlock the doors.

"You good?" I asked as I got him in the passenger seat, noticing the stray giggles that would leave his lips every now and then. They didn't last long, though, as the pain would quickly put a stop to his humor.

Fussing a bit with me as I strapped the seatbelt over his torso, Elliot furrowed his brows and pursed his paled lips. His eyes could barely stay open.

He probably wasn't listening in the first place, but I exhaled anyway, "You better not unbuckle yourself, you hear me?"

"Mm."

I shut his door with a thud and got into the driver's seat, turning on the engine to the truck and letting it warm up. The radio began playing quietly in the background, with heat slowly beginning to pour in through the vents.

"Hurts..." he whimpered again, clutching his side. "It's so bad..."

I didn't know how to help him, and it made me so frustrated. I didn't know how he'd gotten like this to begin with, and I didn't know how to alleviate his pain. He was suffering, and I didn't know what to do.

I rested an uncertain gaze on him, a heavy exhale leaving my dry lips.

"Let's just get you home."

Elliot was asleep with his head against the window by the time I'd pulled the small pickup to a stop in front of his house.

I turned the engine off and heard his quiet snores. It wasn't the most comfortable position to fall asleep in, but he was passed out regardless, his lips parted slightly and his cheeks flushed red. Part of me didn't want to bother him.

Passing a look to his house, then back to him, I let out a soft exhale and pushed my dark hair back.

I spoke gently as I prodded his upper arm. "Hey. Time to wake up. We're here."

Elliot creased his brows and dropped his head. An annoyed grumble left his lips.

"Elliot. Wakey-wakey," I tried again, nudging him with a bit more strength. Elliot just swatted my hand away and curled his lip.

He mumbled a response indistinctly beneath his breath. "...I'll kill you."

I felt a smile grow at his words.

"Alright," I shrugged, unlocking the door and hopping out of the truck. I ruffled the back of my hair and spoke to myself as I walked over to his door. "Tell you what, Elliot. You're damn lucky you're cute."

I opened his door, and he flinched at the sudden movement. It took a bit of fussing, but he eventually got out of the way enough for me to unbuckle him.

He grumbled as I managed to move him, wrapping his arms around my neck as I resorted to having him piggyback me. Hoisting him up out of the truck, I got used to his weight and shut the door behind us.

Elliot adjusted quickly, pressing himself against my back and resting his head against the crook of my neck. I tried not to pay attention to just how much of him was feeling up against me.

I began walking towards the porch of his house, slightly hunched in posture to avoid toppling both of us over into the snow. It was freezing outside. Snowflakes were already falling in thin layers over both of us.

"Mm..." Elliot murmured, pressing his mouth dangerously close to the sweet spot at my neck. I shuddered at the touch. "...Warm."

His moist lips grazed my skin, causing a blush to creep up my cheeks. Ah, shit...