Joker (Hell's Ankhor #8) - Aiden Bates Page 0,2

when I was under pressure or feeling nervous.

“I can help,” Brennan offered. “If that’s cool.”

Logan raised his eyebrows curiously.

“I work in construction,” Brennan said. “Seen my fair share of wounds, and I usually treat them myself.”

“Fair point,” Logan said

“Quit talking about me like I’m not here,” I said.

With a huff, Logan stood up. “I was just trying to help. But if you’d prefer to be left in Brennan’s capable hands, that works for me.”

I cringed. The last thing I wanted was to be left alone with Brennan—he was hot as fuck, sure, but he’d also made it extremely clear he didn’t like me. I really didn’t want to be this close to him. But before I could say something to that effect, he and Logan were swapping places.

Blade wrapped his arm around Logan’s waist and tugged him out of the bathroom, but not before throwing a curious look between Brennan and me. Logan smirked a little and hauled Blade away, toeing the door closed behind him.

Then we were alone in the silence of the bathroom. Brennan opened up the first aid kit and peered at its contents. I still had my thumb under the running water.

I tried not to think too hard about what that look between Blade and Logan meant.

If I really wanted to deal with this myself, it wouldn’t be too hard to throw Brennan out. But that’d cause too much trouble with the club. Beau was with Tru now, and Brennan was working on Beau’s house, so he was going to be around. I didn’t need to make things weird or uncomfortable for him. Blade would be all over me if I did.

That was the reason I didn’t kick him out. Not because I wanted him to do this for me. To feel his hands on mine even if it was just for this stupid task. Not because of that at all.

2

Brennan

“It’s not that bad, just need some hard pressure on it, and it’ll stop bleeding,” I said. I took Joker’s wrist and tugged his hand away from the water, then pressed a piece of gauze tightly to the wound. I held his hand up, and pressed hard enough that a grimace curled his full lips.

God. He smelled really fucking good. It was one of the first things I’d noticed about him, and I was trying to ignore it now. I was in here to help him with the gash, not stand here and objectify him. But it was hard for me to ignore how fucking hot he was, especially when he smelled like that. Warm, woodsy, a little spicy—and now, there was an edge of campfire smoke that clung to his clothes from the firepit. Like fall. It made me want to nuzzle close and inhale it right at the crook of his neck.

I already had a weak spot for guys who took the time to smell nice—I spent so much time being sweaty and gross on jobsites that I couldn’t resist a guy who smelled good. And to make it even worse, Joker was gorgeous, with a strong jawline, sharp eyes, and straight brows. Even the usual asshole expression he wore couldn’t outweigh how naturally handsome he was. Joker had a sort of James Dean thing going on. Like right now, how he leaned one hip against the counter casually, drawing my eye to the curve of his hip in his tight jeans. His effortless sensuality was irritating, considering he was such a dickhead.

Only when Joker’s lips curved into a greasy smile did I notice how close we were standing. Like I’d drifted closer to him as I held pressure on his cut. Unconsciously trying to close the distance between us, his scent like a drug.

“This the part where you kiss it better?” Joker snarked.

I took a step back and said nothing. Yep, he had a mouth on him—like I could ever forget it. Despite how hot he was, he was a sarcastic son of a bitch, and that absolutely wasn’t my type. I didn’t like cocky assholes, and that seemed to be all Joker had going for him when it came to inner beauty.

Or—it seemed like that was what he wanted everyone to think. The party at the bakery suddenly flashed in my memory, the first time we’d really interacted. I’d seen him treat Tru’s and Beau’s grandmothers with such politeness and care—charm, even. Smiling a handsome, broad smile he’d never trained on me. And it hadn’t looked performative at all. He’d looked like