Working at Mona’s Wednesday sucked moose balls.

A steady throbbing pain moved from my temples to my eyes, and then back to my temples. My eyes were swollen, and I told myself it was allergies. I told Jax that was why I looked like crap when he asked me why I looked like shit. But that was a lie. When I woke up Wednesday morning, I could still smell Reece’s cologne on my sheets and I . . . I cried like I had when I’d found out Reece was dating Alicia Mabers, a perfect blond tennis player within a handful of months of moving to town. Except then I had Charlie to ply me with chocolate and stupid horror flicks to get me through what had felt like the end of the world.

I kept telling myself the tears were for what was probably the loss of a friendship more than the potential of what we could’ve become. I’d never let myself truly consider a future with Reece, so the tears couldn’t be because of that.

They couldn’t be.

Halfway through the night, Brock “the Beast” Mitchell showed up without his usual entourage of girls or muscle-­bound guys. Brock was kind of a big deal around these parts. He was an up-­and-­coming UFC fighter who trained out of Philly. I had no idea how he and Jax knew each other, but Jax seemed to know everyone.

Taller than Jax with a body that showed he spent hours in the gym every day, Brock was a hottie. He had dark, spiky hair and skin that reminded me of sunbaked clay. Brock had an edgy look about him that was super intimidating for ­people who didn’t know him, but he’d always been low-­key and kind every time I’d been around him.

He took a seat at the bar, giving me a wink as Jax strolled up to him. Immediately, it was bromance time between the boys. I wasn’t really paying attention to them, but since it was a Wednesday night and only the regulars were in the bar and the music was off, I couldn’t help overhearing their conversation. At first, it was nothing major. Just information about an upcoming cage death match and something about a sponsorship deal that Jax looked like he was going to have an orgasm over, but then the subject changed.

“Man, today has been fucking sick,” Brock said, tipping the bottle back and taking a drink. “One of the girls who works in the office at the club where I train wasn’t at work yesterday. Coach Simmons said she was a no call, no show but . . .” He shook his head, his dark brown eyes glinting with anger. “Some sick ass got ahold of her.”

I stopped, clutching the cloth I was using to wipe down the higher end liquor bottles on display. Jax cocked his head to the side. “What happened?”