Wrecked (Dirty Air Series Book 3)

I walk into the hotel’s elevator with my takeout bag. Jax told me he’d stay in the suite while I went out and grabbed dinner for myself. When the elevator stops onto the floor of our room, I can tell something is not right by the music thumping through the hallway.

My frustration increases as I approach the door, awareness running through me at how Jax decided to take advantage of my thirty minutes of freedom.

I enter the suite, finding it dark and packed with bodies. Music pours from speakers, which weren’t present before I left.

Lovely. Droves of people partying like rock stars. Lots of bodies dance, swaying to the music violating the hotel’s policy. I move around them as I look for the man behind this.

It doesn’t take me long to find Jax, sitting on a couch with a bottle of Jack in one hand while a woman tries to speak to him. She leans into him, whispering in his ear as she strokes her hand across his bicep.

I roll my eyes at the sight of her. Fury replaces irritation as Jax remains oblivious as I rip away the bottle of whiskey from his hand.

Jax looks up at me, bored and distant. “Look who it is.”

“Get everyone out now.” My voice remains eerily calm despite the anger threatening to burst out of me.

“Love, you’re killing my buzz. If you don’t mind, please go to your room.”

Instead of fighting with him, I turn around and go to my bedroom in a rush to collect myself before I explode. I enter my bathroom and go to the sink, dumping the amber liquid down the drain.

“You will not kill him. You will not kill hi—”

Someone shouts in the distance about shots.

“Okay, you’re totally going to kill him.” I grip the bottle tighter as I shake the last few droplets out of it.

“Why are you pouring out good liquor?” Jax’s husky voice surprises me.

“Because tonight’s fun is over. I don’t care if you landed on the podium earlier, this isn’t how you’re supposed to celebrate.” I leave the empty bottle on the counter.

Jax gives me room to walk around him. “Your eye is twitching.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard when that happens, people better run. You included.” I grab my phone and look up the top clubs in Bahrain.

After I find the perfect one, I give them a call. I repeat Jax’s Amex information to the hostess because he needs to learn his lesson. At the start of the season, he gave me the approval to use it in cases to help his reputation, and well, this calls for it. I’m saving him from himself.

Jax’s lips form an O as I hang up the phone. I exit my room, not waiting to check if the object of my frustrations follows behind me. With little effort, I find the speaker cords and tug hard, basking the room in silence.

“Sweet, sweet quiet.” I cross the living room and hit the lights, resulting in groans from suite-crashers.

I make my way to the wooden coffee table in the center of the room and stand on it. “I’d like to invite everyone to Club XS in honor of Jax’s epic race this morning. First twenty people there get free bottle service on Jax!”

The room clears in a matter of minutes, with people nearly tripping over one another as they rush out the door. Not even groupies can resist access to one of the most exclusive clubs on someone else’s dime. I would laugh if I wasn’t pissed.

I check out the hotel room. Plastic cups litter the floor, along with counters covered with half-filled alcohol bottles and some white powdery substance I have no interest in cleaning. A rolled-up euro next to it screams the debauchery expected of the rich and shameless; meanwhile, Jax hangs around, looming in a corner, gauging my reaction.

Jax’s eyes bounce between me and the counter. “I didn’t do drugs. I only drank to the point of feeling a little tipsy. I’m not even drunk, sadly because I couldn’t go through with it.”

Instead of yelling at him, I grab a trash bin and start cleaning up the mess. It takes ten deep, cleansing breaths for me to gather a few words to express myself. “I shouldn’t speak when I’m this pissed.”

“To be fair, you told me I couldn’t go out. You never said people couldn’t come in.”

The extra breaths I take do nothing to calm my escalating heart rate. “Are you seriously trying to justify this?” I gesture toward the mess around us. “Week after week I try to help you boost your image and make you look like you have it all together. Clearly, it’s a lie, based on the way you keep trying to ruin everything good I’ve done.”

I clean up the room in silence, ignoring Jax who helps. He even cleans up the drugs on the counter.

“I thought it would make me feel better.” Jax places a discarded cup in the bin I’m holding.

“And how did it work out for you?”

“I felt nothing. All these people here, and I stared at the front door, waiting.”

I freeze, unsure of his confession. “Why?”

“Why do I feel nothing?”

“No. Why did you stare at the door?”

His eyes flash with a rare vulnerability I’m unaccustomed to seeing from him. “I was waiting for you. Because when you’re around, I feel something.”

“And what’s that?” My hoarse whisper fills the quiet. Based on how he acts lately, I can’t tell whether he has the good or bad kind toward me.

“I don’t know. And I really don’t want to find out.”

My chest squeezes to the point of discomfort. I can’t ask Jax what he means because he retreats to his room, shutting me out, leaving me to clean up his mess yet again.

My eyes open to the sun peeking through the curtains. I shut off my bedside lamp before stretching out in my bed. Like every morning, I grab my picture frame of my parents and say a quick prayer. I place it back on my nightstand and go through my morning routine of shutting off all the lights in my room.

I’m slightly ashamed to admit I still don’t sleep in the dark. I can’t stand the shadows creeping in at night, reminding me of memories I struggle to let go of. One day, I’ll sleep like a normal twenty-five-year-old. Until then, I’ll continue to sleep with the lights on because it keeps the nightmares away.

Opening the door to my room, I pummel straight into Jax’s body. I let out a squeak as I lose my footing. My hands grab onto his chest to steady myself from falling over. A very strong, tattooed, shirtless chest I wouldn’t mind exploring. The same chest belonging to a male who makes me angrier than a scorned woman on Jerry Springer.

“Oh, I was about to go check if you were still alive. What a shame. I almost thought you suffocated in your sleep, but I realize I’m not that fortunate.”

Somehow the two functioning brain cells working before my morning coffee assemble some words together as I remove my hands from his chest. “Good God. Do you take asshole pills every morning instead of vitamins?” My eyes run up and down his body before settling on his face.

Why was he waiting outside my door? Why is he shirtless? And why the hell does he have to look so damn good? No one should look like him at 7 a.m. It’s a disgrace.

His lip twitches. “Nope. This kind of attitude doesn’t require a supplement. I was about to wake you up because I don’t want us to be late for our flight.” He sucks in an audible breath as I reach out and brush my fingers across a tattoo of an unfamiliar constellation.

“Hmm.” I trace the individual stars, trying to make sense of the way my body responds to him. It’s a mystery I’ve yet to fully comprehend. I never liked confrontational assholes before, but here I am, intimately touching him. A lover’s caress when we’re anything but.

“I’m a Gemini.” He lets out a soft sigh, his skin pebbling where my fingers linger.

Interesting. Joy rushes through me at the idea of me having the same effect on him that he has on me. At least my attraction isn’t one-sided.

“That explains so much.”

“Do tell.” His voice has a humorous tone to it.

“You’re hot and cold. Up and down. Kind of like that Katy Perry song.” My fingers impulsively run down a set of butterflies near his rib cage. His muscles contract at my touch. He may be all sharp edges with his words and attitude, but the delicate butterflies trailing his side tell a different story. A story I might never get to know, seeing as he resists any semblance of a friendship with me.

“And what’s your sign then? My turn to judge, especially when you’re feeling me up for free.”

I rush to remove my hands from his body, too embarrassed to pay attention to the way my fingers buzz from touching him. “Virgo. AKA the best one.”This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

“Spoken like someone who’s biased.” He grabs his phone from the pocket of his shorts and taps away. “Oh, look. Analytical, observant, sarcastic, judgmental. Ah, and they even mention Virgos in the bedroom. It says you like a heavy dose of petting before getting, and you might be one for many fetishes. I wonder what weird shit you enjoy?”

“Besides guys who actually treat me with respect? The horror.” I mockingly gasp.

He laughs, the sound soft and unlike his abrasive personality. “My guess is porcelain dolls watching you while you have mundane sex. You scream creepy doll addiction since they kind of look like you: vacant and small.”

I laugh to the point of wheezing. Unfortunately for me, I find him funny when he says something so ridiculous with a seriousness I admire. “Oh, God. You caught me. I thought my secret was safe, but here you go figuring me out in a few weeks. I keep a doll in my carry-on for those types of nights.”

“Hmm. I knew you were weird.” He continues scrolling. “Oh, see they say Virgos tend to suffer in silence.”

“So, we have something in common then?”

The glare he sends my way makes me feel as if someone dragged an ice cube across the base of my spine. “Suffering means I feel guilty. And if you’re trying to get me to admit I feel bad pissing you off, try again. Just because McCoy hired you doesn’t mean I need to make your time here any easier.”

“I don’t back down from challenges.” I hold my chin up high. He thinks he can instill fear in me, but I’ve already seen the worst of people. “By all means, good luck trying to make my life hell. I don’t mind the heat.”

Jax steps out of my way so I can walk toward the kitchen. I fiddle with the hotel’s coffee maker, desperate for something to kick my butt into gear. I’ll need all the help I can get with Jax in an irritable mood first thing in the morning.

He frowns as he leans against the counter. “Every time I think I’ve said or done something to make you quit, you surprise me by staying. Why is that?”

“If I quit because you make fun of something I do, then I need to reassess my job. Get over yourself. I’m here for the long game.”

“That’s my fear with you. Short game, long game, endgame.” His eyes flash with uncharacteristic vulnerability before it disappears as quickly as it came. “I’ll leave you to it then. I need to get ready for our flight.”

I’m left staring at Jax’s retreating body. Why is he afraid of me?

Truly, I’m afraid of him. I have no idea how to cope with my attraction toward the one person I can’t and shouldn’t want.

“Where have you been hiding this for the past few weeks? When you mentioned us going on a private jet, I didn’t expect this.” I stare at Jax’s sleek plane, the black paint gleaming under the morning sun.

“My dad had to borrow it for work stuff, but we get it for the rest of the season. Don’t get used to it though. One season will fly by and then you’ll be back on commercial airlines with cheap pretzels and screaming kids.” Jax struts the carpet like a catwalk, his Doc Martens thumping against the ground as he twirls.

“Did you say a bad pun? I’m shocked.” My eyes linger on his butt. I can’t even remember the last time I was this focused on every part of a man. From Jax’s long legs to his muscular thighs, to his corded arms straining from dragging his luggage behind him.

“My eyes are up here.” Jax snaps his fingers.

My eyes lift, meeting his hazel ones. “I know. I was checking out the carpet. Black just like your soul, I’m guessing?”

“Now you’re getting it.”

Seeing as Jax is the human equivalent of a Rubik’s cube, I was—under absolutely no circumstance—getting it. “My bad. Insinuating you have a soul means you’re redeemable. You’re like my dolls: vacant and cold.”

He taps his chest with one tattooed finger. “Emphasis on the cold, especially around my heart. You’re lucky I give a shit about my career because if not, you’d be fucked out of a job.”

I let out a shrill laugh. “No, I wouldn’t. I’d end up working for people who actually want my help instead of an entitled prick who acts like he’s God’s gift to Earth.”

Okay, maybe I would be out of a job paying double what I usually make. But at least I wouldn’t be a few months from finding my first gray hair.

“Elena, dear, stop showing your true colors. I’d almost think you have a thing for our back-and-forth. I won’t lie to you though, that type of self-inflicted torture would make for an interesting personality trait.”

“My personality is begging me to shove a heel up your ass, but I keep it in check. I deal with greater douchebags behind the scenes at press conferences.”

“Who knew you had such naughty kinks?” Jax laughs at my growl of frustration.

We walk up the stairs of the plane and greet the pilot. The interior of the plane is creepy. I’m surrounded by black—from the leather chairs to the carpet to the walls. “This is yours?”

“That’s what my accountant tells me. Why?” Jax deposits himself into one of the captain’s chairs.

“It’s so…”

“Depressing?”

I nod my head. “You’d think something this expensive would be more welcoming.”

“I like the color.”

“It’s the equivalent of a flying coffin.”

Jax scowls at me. “Fitting, seeing as I’m mourning the loss of your career.”

“A little premature, don’t you think?”

He shrugs, grabs his headphones from his backpack, and messes around on his phone. I sit on the opposite side of the aisle. Jax remains engrossed in whatever he does, ignoring my presence.

I pull out a puzzle box from my bag and place it on the glossy tabletop in front of me. The moment Jax mentioned a private jet, I asked if I could purchase a few things to keep myself entertained over the weeks of flying. He looked at me weird and said to have at it.

I sort the pieces in groups based on edges versus normal pieces. The task is calming, with me getting lost in the arranging process.

My body prickles with awareness. I turn to find Jax staring at me, his usual scowl replaced by a small smile. On command, my cheeks flush at his appraisal. He holds my gaze when our eyes meet, trapping me in a temporary hypnosis. It feels like he wants to let me in for a moment, showing me someone different than the one I’ve seen over the past three weeks.

Something about the way he looks at me entices me to invite him. “Want to join?” I smile as I flash him a puzzle piece.

He shakes his head, replacing his smile with a frown. “No.”

My smile flattens. “Okay.” I turn back toward the table, resuming my task.

“Maybe next week.” He speaks low, making me think I misheard him.

I say nothing. Maybe next week he gives me a chance, even if it’s in silence while working together. Jax’s mind is nothing like the thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle in front of me. He’s one I’ll have the hardest time putting together, wondering if it’s worth even trying.

I spend what feels like hours organizing the pieces by color groups. The stunning photo of hot-air balloons mock me, all happy colors and a bright day. My chest burns at the sight of the breathtaking festival.

I envy the kind of freedom hot-air balloons have. They’re not bogged down by responsibilities and extra baggage like me.

I don’t know what pushed me to choose this puzzle. By the end of the flight, I promise myself I’ll go to a hot-air balloon festival. Not because of the beauty or the rarity of it, but because I want it to represent me moving on.

From my past. From my pain. And from the creeping emptiness threatening my future.