Page 59 of A Spark in the Ash

Jaxon has carried the guilt of his brother’s death on his shoulders since the moment it happened.

“But this is the family business,” Vivian says as she stands there and looks up into her son’s eyes. “Life must go on, even if you want out. Scarlett is a capable girl. But whatever might befall her, it is on you and your choices, son.”

Another crack shoots up Jaxon’s forearm and I can feel the heat of him from here.

“Jaxon, we have to go,” I say softly as I step forward and place my hands on his shoulders. “We can’t stay here. We can fix this later.”

Vivian’s eyes narrow as they shift over to me.

Jaxon tried. He tried to keep me out of this, to steer the blame away from me.

But it’s so obvious and clear. Vivian does blame me. And she always will.

And she will punish her son for it.

“I will deal with you later,” Jaxon says. And I’ve never heard his voice this low or this rough. He’s trembling under my touch and I can feel how he’s losing control.

Suddenly, he yanks away and storms straight out the doors.

I look back at Vivian. For three whole seconds, we stand there, staring at each other.

“You’re trying to hurt him,” I say as I stand straight and lift my chin slightly. “And I’m going to make you regret that.”

I don’t give her the chance to respond. I turn and follow after Jaxon.

I spot him down the hall, with Agents Sybil and Azrael hanging behind, watching him. I pick up my speed, jogging down the hall in my white heels.

Jaxon doesn’t say a thing when I reach his side. He simply stalks forward, keeping his eyes fixed ahead. We’ve already said what needs to be said.

So, without another word, we both go to the elevator and push the down button. Sybil and Azrael don’t bother hanging back anymore. They climb in with us, hitting the button for the second-floor parking garage after I hit the third.

It’s a silent ride down. The air is filled with tension and anger and thoughts for the future.

The elevator dings when we reach the third level and the both of us step out, leaving the others to go down one more level.

Without a word, Jaxon and I cross to the motorcycles waiting side by side. Jaxon reaches into his pocket and pulls my keys out and tosses them to me. I catch them easily and pull my helmet on.

This is certainly not the ideal outfit to ride a motorcycle in. The dress is tight and long in the back. I have to twist the train of it up behind me and sit on it, leaving the vast majority of my thighs exposed. And the heels are another problem entirely.

But there isn’t time for a wardrobe change.

I straddle my bike and rev the engine to life.

“My bike needs gas,” Jaxon says over the purr of our engines. I look down at my own gage. I’m down to half a tank. I just nod to him.

In synchronization, we pull out of the garage and onto the Strip. We roll north and then turn right onto a side street. There, just half a block down, we pull into a gas station.

Jaxon parks at the pump closest to the doors, I park on the other side of the pump. We both climb off and pull our helmets off.

“I’ve got cash,” Jaxon says. His mood is still dark and angry. He should be, so I let him have his feelings. “I’ll pay for both. Be back in a minute. I need to pee.”

I simply nod and lean against my bike to wait.

The second he disappears through the door, a white sedan pulls up right next to me. I stand straight, when the window of the driver’s door rolls down.

My insides chill and begin to rearrange when I see who it is.

It’s two women. One with black skin, her hair braided into a complicated design and then piled on top of her head. The driver has brown skin, her nose is pierced, and her eyes are fierce.

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