Vicious Little Darling (Love So Cruel #3)

15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

JAXTON

I should’ve killed her before the thought of killing her started to bother me—but how was I supposed to know that was going to even happen? I’ve never regretted snuffing the life right out of anyone. But I’ve also never been able to come by sticking my cock in someone either.

It usually takes death to get me off.

I take a long sip of my coffee, staring at the sign Hidden Books. I shouldn’t have gone in there in this state, but I couldn’t see her through the window—and I needed to make sure she’d made it to work okay. Why do I even care? I shudder as I walk away from the bookstore, heading in the direction of the restaurant where my uncle demanded I meet him.

The walk will take me only fifteen minutes, and all I can think about is Ember as my shoes pound the pavement. I don’t know why she’s under my skin like this. Sure, I’m obsessive, but it’s about ruining the stupid whores for existing…

Not because I’m intrigued by their very existence.

Maybe I should put a little space between us. I laugh out loud at the high-school-puppy-love thought. But seriously, I might actually need some fucking space from her. I can’t even imagine wrapping my hand around her throat right now, and that’s troublesome to my unempathetic brain.

I get to the Italian cuisine place and peel my hoodie off from over my head. I had to shave this morning, just for this fucking meeting.

“Name please?” the hostess asks without even looking up.

“Marks,” I grunt, smoothing out my dress shirt. I hate meeting up with my fucking uncle.

She looks up at the name, taking me in. There’s judgment saturating her expression, but I ignore it, unfazed by the way she waves at me to follow her without saying a word. Her black heels click on the tile floor as she leads me to a private dining room.

“In here,” she mutters, swinging the door open.

I don’t thank her as I step inside. I catch sight of my uncle, getting up from the table in his Armani suit, his dark hair slicked back. Roman Marks looks like a drug king pin. Not a soul would ever guess that he owns a chain of domestic car dealerships—well, and a drug smuggling business as well. Someone might call that one.

“Jaxton,” he greets me, raising a brow. “I see we’re still struggling to dress appropriately for business meetings.”

“This isn’t a business meeting,” I snap, not shaking his hand before I take a seat at the table. “I’m not interested in getting involved in the family business. I thought I’d made that clear. I’m not going to feed people’s addictions.”

He’s unamused. “But you’re perfectly fine feeding your own, yes? Because let’s not forget who’s been covering your ass for the past six years. It’s getting old, Jax. You need to find something else to do.”

“Like lines of cocaine? The same shit that fucked my mom up for years.” I fold my arms across my chest. Call me a fucking hypocrite, but I’ll happily murder a bitch over helping some tweaker get their next fix.

“I don’t know why you’re so stubborn,” he grimaces. “Your father would be disappointed.”

“And why should I care what he thinks? He’s six feet under and probably burning in hell right now.” I pick up a glass of water and take a sip.

“You’re where you are financially because of his inheritance.”

“Cool,” I say. “Maybe he shouldn’t have gifted me all that. It’s not my problem that he didn’t sign it over to you.”

My uncle rubs his eyes and sighs. “I don’t want your father’s money. I have my own. I’m glad you have it—just like I was glad to take in you and your mother when she couldn’t keep herself sober.”

I sigh, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I hate these kinds of conversations. “She only got hooked because of my father.”

“She was a junkie long before he came along. He spent years trying to get her ass clean, and you know as well as I do what kind of woman your mother is.”

“She’s the same as the rest of them,” I grunt, my gaze dropping to the table. “They’re all worthless.”

“Mm, till you meet the right one,” he chuckles. “And you’re gonna have a hard time explaining your hobby to her.”

I cringe inwardly at that for some reason. “I won’t ever have to explain it.”

“I know you’re interested in a girl who works at a bookstore…” A wicked grin pulls at his mouth. “Or is that just another hobby? ”

My heart thuds an extra beat. “She’s just another hobby.”

“What a fucking shame. She’s pretty.”

“How do you even know about her?” I ask.

“It’s my job to clean up after you, Jax. If I’m not one step ahead, then I’ll get royally fucked. I keep thinking this charade is going to end, but I’m starting to question that thought.” He leans back in his chair as a waitress appears, to pour him a new glass of wine. He thanks her, orders for the two of us, and waits for her to leave.

“What do you want from me?” I ask, sighing. “I’m doing what you want. Therapy. Staying away from your side of the city. I’m not breaking any of the rules you’ve set in place.”

“Consider this me checking up on you,” he says, crossing his own arms across his chest, mirroring me. “I want you to get a job—just fucking do something with your life, Jax. I’m tired of you spending all your time playing Ted Bundy.”

“I don’t lure random girls into my car,” I joke.

He glares at me, his gaze menacing. “Same thing in my book.” He’s got more blood on his hands than I do, but he’s a different kind of killer. If he gets a hard on from dismembering bodies, I’d never fucking know it.

“I want you to do something else. I’ve given you years to figure your shit out. I’m done.”

“Well, lucky for you, I got a job,” I snap, pushing back from the table. “And I don’t need your fucking charity meal.”

He rolls his eyes. “What’s the job?”

“Bartending,” I quip, waiting for him to have some kind of reaction.

His face stays stone cold. “I see. I’d guess this is in connection to your hobby, yes?”

I hesitate. “Kind of. She works there.”

“That’s quite ballsy, Jax.” He frowns. “It’s not a good idea, though. You’ll put yourself on the radar. You’ve always been more methodical and invisible than this.”

“Okay, yeah, but this girl…” I trail off when I realize how stupid I sound, and I get to my feet, suddenly feeling suffocated in the private dining room.

Clearly, my uncle is intrigued now.

“What about her? Is she finally waking up that dead heart of yours?”

“No,” I mutter. “I’m just more curious .”

“Tell your therapist.”

“Fuck no,” I spit back at him, shaking my head. “He’ll call the cops, and you know it. He can’t know shit about me.”

“He already does, dumbass. Why do you think I hired him?”

I ignore that comment. “I got shit to do. I’ll see you later.”

“Maybe ask her on a real date instead of strangling her, kid,” he laughs after me, and I cringe as I storm out. I’m overreacting. Being emotional. I hate that. It’s abnormal for me. I don’t need to have this kind of thing going on. It’ll cloud my judgment, and I don’t want that.

The hostess gives me the stink eye as I slip out into the street, and I run my hands over my face. I have a shift at the bar tonight, and I have to be ready to face Ember, as the guy who bought her a coffee—and then was fucking rejected. I can’t act as if I know how tight her pussy is.

I swallow hard at that thought, my cock growing rigid and my mind running wild. I head back toward my penthouse, thankful that shadowy facial hair will line my jaw by the afternoon. I don’t want Ember to see me with my pretty boy face. It’s obnoxious, and she’d immediately be turned off by it.

That’s the man behind the mask.

My stomach lurches at my uncle’s mention of someone finding out about me. It’s annoying being so fucking messed up in the head. I’ve never tried to get close to someone as myself, while also intending to harm them.

He’s right, it might be a mistake.

I could just let her go as far as stalking goes… But I don’t like the idea of being just another rejected friend of hers. I run my fingers through my hair as I make it to my apartment building.

“Jax,” the doorman greets me with his usual nod, and I slip past him, wondering who my uncle has on his payroll to keep an eye on me. He’s got the whole city under his thumb and, as much as I dislike the guy, he’s the reason I’m probably not locked up in a cell somewhere.

Though I probably should be. I laugh at my own joke as I step into the elevator. My phone begins to vibrate in my pocket and I fish it out, expecting it to be my uncle, trailing me to verbally assault me for leaving.

But no.

It’s my fucking narcissistic mother. I hesitate, but then I answer.

“What?” I demand.

“I got the books you bought me for my birthday. They suck. Maybe you should return them and get some new ones.”

“Maybe you should just say ‘thanks’ when someone buys you something,” I seethe into the phone. “It’s rude to complain about a present.”

“You have enough money to buy me a lot more than just a couple books, Jax, honey. I thought I raised you to take care of your family. This isn’t what that looks like.”

“I pay your fucking rent, your utilities, and make sure you have groceries.” I step out onto my floor. “You’re lucky that I do that. I think that’s more than you deserve.”

“Wow, okay,” she answers, her tone full of false hurt. “I guess I’m just a burden to you then. Never mind. You don’t have to pay my rent.”

I bite back the urge to scream at her, but instead, I keep it cool. “Okay. That’s fine. You can live on the fucking street then.”

“God, I had no idea I’d raised an asshole.”

“Yeah, fuck you, Mom.”

I hang up then and, as soon as I step into my apartment, I chuck the device across the apartment. It shatters on impact with the corner.

It does not make me feel better.