Jax (Cocky Cage Fighter Series) Page 7

  "Thanks, Jude. You are definitely the more pleasant brother," she says when she accepts the offering and returns to her seat.

  "Yeah, Jax is a dick, but don't take it personally. He's like that to everyone because he thinks he's a badass."

  "I am a badass," I growl. Jude sits down beside her again and they both pretend to ignore me.

  "So how do you like to do yours?" Jude asks, grabbing a cookie and twisting it open. "I like to lick all of the cream off with my tongue before I shove the cookie in my mouth," he tells her, heavy on the innuendo.

  "I dip the whole cookie in the milk until it's soft and mushy," she tells him, grabbing a cookie and doing just that. "Then I like to chug the murky milk after I eat all my cookies."

  Seeing her like this is…strange after dealing with the uptight, stuck-up Page. I sit down at the table to watch more of this easygoing side of her.

  "Double stuffed are the best," she tells my brother. He quickly agrees.

  "Jude's gonna have to do double cardio tomorrow to work off this shit," I mutter, not letting myself give in to the delicious temptation, even though I have no idea how long it'll be before I can fight again.

  "Why you always pissing all over my parade, Jax?" Jude grumbles. "You're such a Debbie Downer."

  "He always such an angry pessimist?" Page asks Jude.

  "Oh yeah. And he gets worse every year."

  "Why do you think that is?" she inquires, while they both pretend like I'm not in the fucking room.

  "I don't know. Probably because he's sad knowing he can never be as awesome as me."

  "You think you're so fucking funny, don't you?" I ask, reaching to grab one of the fucking Oreos from the pack.

  Cracking it open, I notice Page's gaze on me. I hold her eyes as I slowly run my tongue over one of the white cream sides. Those perfect lips of hers part as she focuses on my mouth like I intended, just to fuck with her. Trying to get a rise out of her is more fun than anything I've done in a long time.

  "Let me know whenever you're ready to go home, Page," I tell her, making her blink and break the spell.

  "Ah. Can't we keep her? Pretty please, Jax? I've always wanted my very own gorgeous, yellow-haired attorney," Jude begs, turning to me with clasped hands and big pleading eyes, making Page laugh. I don't like that he's the one eliciting such a sweet sound from her. "I promise I'll feed her and take care of her all by myself."

  "Nice, I'm sure Page loves being referred to as a stray dog."

  "Relax, Jax. I can take a joke," she replies with a snort, making my brother laugh. Hearing her use my nickname so familiarly causes that battering ram feeling against my chest that I try again to ignore.

  "Relax? The woman who told me I could end up serving a twenty-seven year prison sentence is telling me to fucking relax?"

  "Holy shit! Are you serious?" Jude asks, his teasing and cookie in his hand forgotten.

  "With our progress today, I'm feeling a little more confident about your chances," Page responds with a smile. "I bet you won't get more than thirteen years."

  "That's not funny," I mutter.

  "Thirteen motherfucking years!?!" Jude exclaims.

  "That's the minimum I'll serve if I'm convicted on both charges, right Page?"

  "Minimum, as in the least?" my brother asks. "Jesus, Jax. Why didn’t you say anything?” He turns to Page. “What are the odds of him not getting convicted?"

  "I'd say fifty-fifty at this point. That's why I informed Jax that if he’s offered a plea to a lesser charge of just three or four years, he should consider it."

  "Jax, you'd be crazy not to take that shit!"

  "That's what I told him," Page responds to Jude, causing me to snap.

  "Fuck you both! I'm not pleading guilty. Why is that so hard for you to understand?" I jump to my feet and yell at them. "It's because you still think I did that shit, right? Screw it. Jude can give you a ride home because I've had enough of you for one fucking day."

  I slam the front door when I storm out of the house, and as soon as my car cranks, I throw it in reverse, peeling out of the driveway and heading for the gym. I need to burn off some serious stress and frustration. And yeah, maybe a part of me is disappointed that during the biggest fight of my life I don’t have a single person in my corner.

  …

  Page

  I yawn once again as I stare at my computer screen, working on direct and possible cross-examination questions for Jax. When my dad comes into my office I swear I must have nodded off and am dreaming.

  "Page," my father's voice booms.

  "Yes?" I ask, trying not to show the hurt on my face from his words the night before.

  "I owe you an apology. I'm sorry I assumed the worst. I didn't know you'd made so much progress on Malone's case so soon."

  I almost swallow my tongue. My father, Miles Davenport, was apologizing to me? Jax really had scared the sushi out of him.

  "Thanks."

  "Keep up the good work," he says, before leaving as quickly as he came. A compliment and an apology in one conversation? It was turning out to be a red letter day for the history books. But even that thought didn’t lift my spirits for long.

  I hadn't slept much last night after Jude gave me a ride home. I felt guilty about what had happened with Jax. I wanted to believe him, I really did. But a part of me...I just couldn't shake my first impression.

  That reminds me.

  I search through our firm's contact database, then as soon as I find the one I'm looking for I pick up the office phone and dial the number.

  "Hi, Mr. Rhodes. This is Page Davenport, a lawyer in Silver Spring. I have a criminal client who'd like you to give him a polygraph."

  "Oh, sure. How soon do you need it?" he asks.

  "First available spot you have."

  "I just had a cancelation, so how about this afternoon at four?"

  "I'll have to confirm with my client, but that should work. Do I need to be there?"

  "No, just him. But it'd be great if you could talk to him to formulate three or four questions and then email them to me, along with his charge sheets before the appointment."

  "Sure. I've already got your email address, so I'll get that to you, along with the confirmation that he'll be there at four today after I talk to him. I'll have him bring you a check drawn on our firm's account to protect the report under attorney-client work product. Do you still charge a thousand?"

  "Yes, and that sounds great. Thanks, Ms. Davenport."

  I hang up, but then hesitate before calling Jax. I need to give him as much notice as possible for the polygraph appointment, but what if he's still pissed? He might not even answer. That'd be good, and then I can just leave him a message. I take a deep breath and dial his number.

  "Hello?"

  Sheesh, he answered right away.

  "Oh, um, hey, Jax. So I've got you a polygraph scheduled for today at four, if that works?"

  "Yeah."

  "Okay, so I need to draft up the questions. Which ones are you confident you can pass?"

  "Any of them. All of them. Whatever the fuck you want to ask." So he still sounds a little pissed.

  "How about, 'Have you ever forcefully engaged in sexual intercourse with Christina Loftis without her consent?'"

  "Fine."

  "And, then after that, 'Did you strangle Christina Loftis?'"

  "Uh-huh."

  "And then the last one, 'Have you ever forced Christina Loftis to perform oral sex on you?'"

  Jax barks out a laugh on that last one. "Force someone to perform oral sex…what idiot bought into that bullshit?" he mutters softly, mostly to himself.

  "All right, I'll send these on over to Mr. Rhodes and email you his address. You'll need to come by here beforehand and get a check to pay his fee. That way he's working for the firm and not you, assuring the results are protected in case you don't pass."

  "Right," he grunts before hanging up on me.

  After putting in the urgent check request with our boo
kkeeper, the rest of the morning I busy myself with formulating questions for other witnesses. After lunch I get a surprise about as shocking as my father apologizing. Elliott apologizing. Of course he doesn't say the actual words, but instead sends a humongous vase of flowers with a note that says simply, "Hope to see you soon, so we can move past this misunderstanding." That was as close as I'll ever get to an apology from the stubborn man.

  A giggle slips past my lips remembering everything Jax said to him on the phone. I would've paid good money just to see Elliott's reaction in person. Jackson has a way with words, and a way of getting everyone's attention right away. The fact that my father and Elliott, two of the most bullheaded, untouchable men I know, fear Jackson Malone is gratifying to say the least.

  Even after receiving the peace offering, I don't call Elliott. I'm starting to look at my life a little differently, and that means his place in it, too. Was I really willing to spend the remainder of my days on this Earth tied to that arrogant, self-important man?

  For so long I've been told it's what I needed to do. Should do. That it's a great opportunity, and one day I might be the freaking First Lady. But what about what I want for myself? I don't yet know what that is, but I'm starting to think that whatever it turns out to be, it won't be a loveless marriage like the one my parents endure.

  It's easy to pinpoint the cause of my sudden contemplation. I'm developing a horrible, probably incurable, case of hero worship for the one man I never imagined would come to my rescue, and who also happens to be the one man I absolutely can't have.

  …

  I've chewed off every single one of my perfectly shaped, manicured fingernails by closing time Thursday. No call from Jax yet, but I don't know how long those tests take. It's been an hour and a half, so I figured he'd be done by now. He didn't even stop in to say hello when he picked up the check before his appointment.

  Ready to call the work day good, I turn off my computer and grab my phone and purse. Then it hits me. Jax doesn't have my cell phone number. Son of a...beach. Saving his number in my phone, I decide to send him a text, just a quick note to call me either way. Busy typing on my phone I step off the elevator and out the front door heading toward my car.

  "Page."

  "Sheesh! You scared the heebie-jeebies out of me!" I exclaim to Elliot, clutching the phone to my chest to keep my heart from leaping out onto the sidewalk.

  "Get a grip, Page. And when the hell are you going to stop using toddler phrases and speak like an adult?" he asks.

  It still amazes me that God would go to such trouble creating an exterior masterpiece, and then hand the man's soul over to the devil. Or maybe he traded his soul for all his millions.

  Elliot's gray designer suit fits his impressive frame perfectly, and his ridiculous four hundred dollar politician haircut has his thick brown hair sweeping to the right in the exact formation of his many right-wing supporters, my dad making the top of the list.

  "Oh, crap. I must have missed that adult speaking course in college. What was it, Proper Procedures in Profanity 101? Maybe there's a Potty Mouth for Dummies I can order from Amazon to catch up."

  "What the fuck is the attitude about?" he asks, rocking back on his expensive heels with his hands casually in his pockets.

  "Hold on, let me take notes," I say, pretending to type on my phone. "What the...was that f-u-c-k? I want to make sure I get this right. Here, let me practice using it in a sentence. What the fuck do you want?"

  Elliot scoffs indignantly. "You're not going to thank me for the flowers?"

  "Sure I will, as soon as you actually apologize. Go ahead, let's hear yours first."

  "Jackson Malone is a bad influence on you."

  A bark of laughter escapes before I can even try and hold it back. "And exactly how well do you know Jackson Malone?" I ask him, crossing my arms over my chest. His quick judgment pisses me off, even if I had done the exact same thing.

  "I know he's an out of control meathead, and he's going to get what he deserves."

  "You don't know anything about him! You're just jealous because he's the epitome of virile, and pissed that he was able to cut you, Mr. High and Mighty, down in a few sentences," I counter, walking past him.

  "Where are you going? I came to take you to dinner."

  "I'm not hungry," I mutter over my shoulder.

  "Well, I am," he says, grabbing my arm to stop me. "Come on, Page. I've missed you."

  Oh crap. He's looking at me with those sad, denim blue, puppy dog eyes. The look he pulls out right before he gets all charming and I can't help but give in every single freaking time. He's a good looking bastard and he knows it.

  What was the old saying? If you can't screw the man you want, screw the one you're with? Tonight I need the reminder that my thoughts about Jackson Malone are stupid and pointless, because he's definitely off limits. Maybe Elliot can help me accomplish that.

  Chapter Seven

  Jax

  I watch Page hesitate on the sidewalk, but I already know the asshole isn't going to take no for an answer. I had overhead their entire conversation from the shadows of the parking garage, and barely held back my laugh at Page's cattiness. I had no idea the woman had it in her, so maybe it was my bad influence.

  I'd been here for ten minutes before she walked out, debating whether or not to go inside. I had the polygraph report in my pocket, but for whatever reason I couldn't bring myself to show it to her. I wanted her to believe me without a fucking piece of paper to back it up.

  "Fine, but just dinner," Page finally responds to the jerk. I admit that I'm shocked when she actually caves after how shitty he treated her yesterday. Why does she put up with this hateful fucker?

  "You say that now," the asshole says, taking a step closer to her and reaching for her jaw. "But you know you'll change your mind."

  My teeth grind painfully against each other from the anger boiling up inside me at seeing him fucking touch her.

  When Page doesn't protest the jackass leans forward and kisses her cheek before moving over to her lips. Her posture is cold and rigid at first, but after a few seconds she relaxes into him and presses her palms to his chest.

  My own chest constricts, freezing my lungs just like getting slammed on the canvas during a fight. I've never felt anything like it before, and I have to say it sucks.

  As much as I want to get back in my car and leave, I can’t. My feet are cemented to the ground, forcing me to watch while I try to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. Whatever it is doesn't ease up. Not when he loops his arms around her waist, and definitely not when she willingly presses her body against his.

  "My place or yours," he asks when he pulls his lips away.

  "Yours," she responds, so softly I barely hear it from my hideout.

  "Then let's go. I'll drop you off at work tomorrow," the dickhead says, grabbing her hand and pulling her around the building.

  Still feeling somewhat numb, I get into my impractical car. For a few minutes I consider calling one of the many women in my phone to get sucked or fucked, just because I can. I had missed calls from four different girls just today, but it's stupid to even consider doing something so risky. As much as I hate to admit it, Page is right about needing to lay low when it comes to women until all this shit is over. Besides, I don't really want any of those faceless women. So if I'm not going to fuck, I'm going to fight.

  On the way to the gym I'm surprised to get a text message from Page. One that says, "Call and let me know how it went, either way." And immediately after that, "First thing tomorrow." Because it looks like she was going to be busy tonight. Fuck.

  I park and head inside what is practically my second home.

  "Jax! What are you doing back so soon?" my head coach and manager, Don Briggs, asks as soon as I walk through the door.

  Shit.

  I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone, but I know he won't just give up.

  "Nothing else to fu-reaking do," I say, catching myself at the last m
inute when I notice Coach's teenage daughter eating dinner behind the front counter with him. "How's it going, Sadie Hawkins?"

  "Bored out of my fucking mind," the brunette Annie replies with an eye roll.

  "Sadie!" Coach admonishes her. "You guys are bad influences on her," he says, scowling at me.

  "Your fault for bringing her in here."

  "Do you think I trust her to stay home by herself? Hell no. I'm not stupid. I know exactly what boys convince sixteen-year-old girls to do when they're left unsupervised."

  "Dad!" Sadie covers her face and groans in embarrassment.

  I shake my head in slight amusement and quickly go change in the locker room. I push the earbuds in and strap the iPod to my arm, turning the volume of the thumping bass up until it's at hearing damage levels. I consider running a few miles, but know that will never do. I need to hit something. Hard.

  After wrapping up my hands I go straight to one of the hanging bags and start in, pummeling my fists into it like it's someone's face and body. Imagining it's the jerk that doesn't deserve an incredible woman like Page doesn't help as much as I thought it would. Probably because it's hypocritical to say he isn't good enough for her, knowing I'm certainly not either.

  The longer I throw punches and kicks the worse I feel. I'm suffocating on the lack of control in my life. I can't fight. I can't get rid of these bullshit charges. And I can't fuck. Instead of my usual any-hot-woman-will-do policy, I'm starting to think it was now only-one-woman-will-do. And even if she didn't think I'm a fucking monster, and she wasn't engaged to an asshole, she's still off limits. There's no way I'd risk her losing her license to practice law.

  "Who you beating the shit out of?" Jude asks, when he yanks one of my earbuds out.

  "No one."

  "Right." He laughs, wiping the sweat off his face with a towel. "You don't rock the bag like an eight-point-oh on the Richter scale unless you're seriously angry."

  "I'm not angry."

  "Um-huh. So it won't bother you if I tell you that last night after you left I threw your hot ass attorney in my bed and tried to make an earthquake with her-"