A Solo Drive

ENZO

I shoved the door to my quarters open, the hinges creaking as I stepped inside. The air was heavy, stale with the scent of leather and cigar smoke that clung to everything I owned. I yanked my coat off and tossed it over the arm of a chair, then walked to the punching bag hanging in the corner.

My knuckles were itchy so I didn’t bother with gloves. I slammed my fist into the bag. The thud reverberated through the room, a dull echo of the chaos in my head. 

Jaden’s eyes flashed in my mind, green, blazing, and spitting hate as he’d screamed, “I hate you, Enzo. I fucking hate you.” 

I delivered another punch, harder this time and the bag swung back. Jaden's voice had been a blade slicing through me, and I hated how it lingered, how it hurt. I drove my fists in again, left, right, left, the rhythm pounding out the memory of his tears, his contempt, and the way he’d looked at her instead of me.

Sweat beaded on my forehead and dripped down my temples as I hammered the bag, my breaths coming sharp and ragged. He’d been mine—promised and bound by a deal he couldn’t escape—and yet he had decided to run.

He choose her! 

I’d given him a roof, protection, my name, and he’d thrown it back in my face. My knuckles split and a thin smear of blood stained the bag. I stepped back, my chest heaving, the ache in my hands a faint shadow of the one in my ribs.

I stripped down and headed for the bathroom. The tub filled slowly, steam curling up as hot water stung the cuts on my hands. I sank in but the heat didn’t touch the cold knot inside me. 

It was one thing to see those letters, and it was another witnessing Jaden glued to her like a tick. I scrubbed my skin raw, trying to wash off the anger, but it stuck to me. 

When I climbed out moments later and toweled off, my mind was already drifting to Jaden.

His room was down the hall, and I didn’t knock. The door creaked as I pushed it open, the dim light from his lamp casting shadows over his curled-up form on the bed. He faced away, brown hair spilling across the pillow. His shoulders were hunched. 

I crossed the room, running my gaze over his form, and sat on the edge of the mattress. 

“Jade,” I murmured softly as I leaned in, brushing my lips against his neck. His skin was warm and tasted faintly of salt. I kissed him again slowly, gently, my hand sliding up his arm.

He didn’t move. Hell, he didn’t even speak, but I felt the shudder under my touch, and the faint hitch in his breath. 

“Are you still mad at me?” I asked, tracing his shoulder, petting him like he was something fragile. There was no response. All I got was the quiet sound of his uneven breathing. 

I shifted closer and pressed my chest to his back, my lips grazing his ear. “What’s going through that head of yours, huh? Talk to me.” 

Silence again. 

I tried again in a low voice, almost coaxing him. “You know I didn’t mean for tonight to go like that. I just… I couldn’t lose you.”

Still, I got nothing. My hand moved to his hair, threading through the soft strands as I kissed his jaw tenderly. “Jade, look at me,” I whispered, but he stayed still with his face buried in the pillow. 

Then I heard a muffled sob and my fingers froze. I pulled back just enough to see tears streaking his cheeks and glistening in the low light. His eyes were squeezed shut. 

My gut twisted. A sharp, hollow ache was imprinted on my chest. I sighed and dropped my hand. 

“Alright,” I said in a voice that was barely above a whisper. “I’ll be patient. I’ll wait for you.” I stood immediately, the mattress creaking as I left him there.

Back in my room, the silence was too thick. I sank onto the bed. The sheets were cool against my skin, but my blood ran hot.

Jaden’s face swam behind my eyes: those tear-streaked cheeks, the way his lips had parted when I’d kissed him, even through his crying. My hand slid down past the waistband of my pants and I gripped myself, slow at first, as I imagined him. Not the hate, not the tears, but him. 

I could remember the way he’d felt under me before, his mouth stretched around me, his eyes wide and locked on mine. I stroked harder, my breath catching as I pictured his body pressed to me, his resistance melting into want. 

Heat built within me, coiling tight in my core, and I groaned against the image in my head.

I saw him as he could be. His head was thrown back, and my name was on his lips, not hers. That fucking bitch. 

My hand moved faster, slick with sweat, and I pictured pinning him down, claiming him, his skin flushed and trembling under my touch. The memory of his taste flooded me—salt and submission—and it tipped me over. 

My hips jerked, a growl tearing from my throat as I came. Warmth spilt over my fist, pulsing hard and fast. My chest heaved, the room spinning as I rode it out. Jaden’s image burned into me as curses filtered past my lips.

I lay there, panting, looking at the mess cooling on my skin. My eyes drifted to the ceiling. 

He hated me. He had said it, and he probably meant it, but that didn’t change the truth. He was mine. Promised, bound, marked by my hands and my will. I’d seen the fire in him tonight and it only made me want him more. 

“You’re mine, Jaden,” I swore to the empty room, my voice rough with conviction. “No matter how much you hate me, you’re mine.”