Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 34

I shouldn’t be here.

But the tires found their way without asking me. The engine clicks quiet beneath me, metal cooling, like it knows it carried me somewhere I didn’t mean to go. My hands are still on the bars, white-knuckled. Three days. I haven’t touched a drink in three goddamn days. That's supposed to be progress, right? Then why the hell am I out here, circling ghosts like I want them to bite?

I swing a leg off the bike and stand. The night is cool but not enough to cut through the heat crawling up my spine. No breeze. No traffic. Just the hum of distant streetlights and the occasional echo of heels on pavement. I turn to the damn building. Its face is all new glass and chrome now. Renovated. Classed up. Pretending it doesn’t know what it used to be.

Pretending it doesn’t remember me.

I stare up at the top floor, same goddamn window. I used to know it like a second heartbeat. That fire escape. That broken gutter. I remember rushing up those stairs, high on something ugly and fast. I remember him pulling me back down them, both of us bleeding and laughing like idiots.

I remember them. All three of them. The only other ones who know what that place means.

My boots echo on the pavement as I step closer. Once. Twice. That’s all I can manage. My feet stop like there’s a leash on my spine. I can’t go any nearer. I never can. The second I try, it’s like the air turns thick with that old pain, hot and choking, crawling down my throat like smoke.

I tip my head back and let my gaze drift up. The lights are off. Doesn’t matter. That place never needed light to haunt me.

I check my phone, not really thinking. And there it is, the date. Nearly that day. It always creeps up on me like this. Always finds a way to slice me open when I think I’ve finally scabbed over.

I used to dream about setting it on fire. Standing across the street and watching the flames eat everything I couldn’t forget. I almost did it once. Almost lit the whole place up with a smile on my face. But they stopped me. The three of them. Grabbed the lighter from my hand and dragged me back to myself, kicking and half out of my mind.

Now I’m out of excuses. I’ve been ignoring their calls for months. Pretending I’ve moved on. Last time I pulled that shit, one of them was at my door before sunrise. No knock. Just there.

I let out a breath, jaw tight. Fingers clench around the phone. I scroll through the contacts. Tap the one who won’t give me hell for it. Not right away, anyway.

It rings twice before I hear a voice, familiar and rough with sleep.

“Jax?”

Dorian's voice is both strange and familiar. Like a song I used to know all the words to, now just a faded hum in the background. I almost hang up. Almost.

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“Damn… you actually called.” I can hear the disbelief threaded through his tone, and something else too. Concern. Always concern with him. Like he’s bracing for the worst. “Everything good?”

I walk back and lean on the bike, my boots scraping against the curb. I stare at the building again—gleaming and gentrified and smug. “I’m fine,” I lie. “Just thought I’d check in.”

There’s a pause, and then he laughs. “You should do that more often. Seriously. You calling is like… a goddamn solar eclipse.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”

He hums like he’s not surprised. “Still in Seattle?”

“Yeah.”

I tried leaving once, didn't work out too good.

“Still working at The Pit.”

" I am. "

“Right,” he chuckles. “Of course. They love you over there, huh?”

He's the one who first took me to that place, he once owned that ring like I do now.

“They’re obsessed,” I say flatly. “Can’t get enough of me. Sam especially, I’m his favorite cautionary tale.”

He laughs again, but it doesn’t reach full amusement. It kind of folds in on itself halfway through.

He picks up on the mood shift immediately. Dorian always did read me too well. “You okay?”

I don’t answer that, instead I ask-“Where are you these days?”

“Texas. Work brought me out here. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“ Talked to Nate a few days ago. Sounded okay. Kieran texted me too, said he’ll be unreachable for a few weeks.”

“Unreachable?” I scoff. “He accidentally join a gang again?”

“God, I hope not,” Dorian groans. “More likely he pissed off someone he shouldn’t have. Again.”

We both laugh at that...short and dry, but real. Familiar. Then his voice softens. “How are you really doing, Jax?”

The question sinks under my ribs like a slow knife.

I deflect. “Still breathing. Still charming as hell.”

“You always were the whole damn package.”

There’s a stretch of silence that says more than anything spoken.

“It’s been a long time since all four of us were in the same room,” he says, voice lower now.

Four. I flinch.

“Would be nice to get together,” Dorian adds after clearing his throat. “You know… hang out like we used to. Just a few days. A weekend maybe.”

“Yeah.” I say it because it’s what I’m supposed to say. “That’d be nice.”

We both know it won’t happen. The Risk brothers don’t stay in one place long enough to plan anything, let alone a reunion.

“I gotta go,” I say, standing up off the bike.

“Alright. Just… reach out more often, alright?” His voice softens again. “And call Nate. And K. They’d love to hear from you.”

“I will.”

I won’t.

We hang up. And just like that, the silence comes crashing back.

I stare at the building one last time. It hasn’t changed since I pulled up, but something in me has. My gut clenches, throat tightening around something too old and bitter to name. I used to fantasize about torching this place. I still do sometimes. That feeling, that need, it’s quieter now, but it’s never really gone.

I swing my leg over the bike and settle onto the seat.

My instincts, every damn bone in my body, is screaming for Xander. I want his voice. His hands. The way he looks at me like I’m not broken glass waiting to slice skin.

But I can’t do it. I won’t. He made it clear. Stay away. And for once in my goddamn life, I’ll listen.

I grip the handles. The engine growls under me like it knows the storm brewing in my chest.

I’ll give him what he wants. Won’t taint him with my bloodstained hands or drag him through my personal hell.

So I twist the throttle, and I ride.