Strays

I Want...

Chapter Four

Tully

The buzz of the payphone against my ear is the only thing keeping me tethered to the moment. This room reeks of piss and institutional-grade bleach. The kind of chemical mix they think masks the rot, but it never does. Fluorescents above me hum like hornets. The concrete beneath my boots is cold and cracked, stained with time and confessions no one will ever own.

I lean back against the wall, shoulder pressed into cinderblock, and wait.

Then—click.

"Yeah," Jax's voice cuts through the static, low and tight.

Only a few hours since our last talk. That's... interesting.

"Well, well," I purr, adjusting the toothpick in my mouth. "Didn't expect to hear from you again so soon. Don't tell me you already miss my charming conversation."

Silence. Then, a sigh. "I talked it over with some people."

Bullshit.

I smirk, rolling my eyes toward the flickering light overhead. "So what's changed, Jackson? You were ready to bite my head off earlier. Now you're calling like we're old pen pals."

Another pause. "Things are shifting. I don't owe you details."

Fair. But I know there's more. I always know when a man's lying to himself. "She's running, ain't she?" I ask, tone just above a whisper. "Or thinking about it. And you think I might be the leash to keep her still."

There's a long beat before he mutters, "She listens to people she respects. That list is getting shorter."

I smile to myself, sliding a finger along the phone cord. "And you think I'm on it?"

"I think you're a shot in the dark," he says. "And I'm running outta daylight."

Goddamn, that's poetry.

"I'll take that as a yes," I reply smoothly. My voice drops a little lower, silk wrapping around a blade. "You know, Jax... it means something. You calling me. Reaching out like this. It tells me you're starting to see it."

"See what?"

"That I don't want to control her. I want to understand her. That's the difference between power and ownership. I've had plenty of the former. I'm done chasing ghosts."

More static. Then, "Don't screw this up, Tully. I don't care how much time you've done. She's not your redemption story."

I grin, slow and deliberate. "Maybe not. But I like how you said 'your'—like you've already decided she's mine to ruin."

He hangs up without another word.

I let the phone rest against the receiver, the dial tone echoing in the cage of the booth like a warning bell. But it's not fear that curls in my chest—it's something colder, smoother.

It's satisfaction.

Because now?

Now the game's officially started.

Jaycee

I'm vibing to Tourniquet by Marilyn Manson, letting it wash over the day's grime still clinging to my skin, when Jax yanks the left bud out of my ear.

"Ow—what the fuck, Jax?"

"Been calling your name for ten minutes." His voice is all bite, zero apology. "You know you're not supposed to wear both. You tryna get docked?"

I shoot him a glare, tugging the remaining bud out. "I caught us up on everything we fell behind on. You could cut me some slack for once."

I turn to the fridge, grab a prickly pear soda, and pop the top. The hiss is satisfying. So is the first cold sip. There's nothing else like it—bright, weird, sharp. Like me.