Page 8 of Call It What You Want
“Jackson,” she says. “Come on, you don’t want me in a hotel, alone. It’ll just be a couple of days until Mom cools off. You know she’ll be texting me tomorrow with a million excuses and apologies.”
I’ve always watched over my little sister. A hotel alone is one thing—but Rush House? That’s a whole different kind of nightmare. She doesn’t belong here.
“Call Dad.”
“Seriously? Do you have a brain lesion?Dadis your solution? The guy who’d sell my organs as a favor to someone he met at a golf tournament?” She blinks at me, then throws her hands up. “Fine. Sorry to turn to my older brother in my time of need. I guess I’ll just figure it out on my own.”
For fuck’s sake.
She’s really slathering the guilt on thick, and what’s worse, it’s working. Just like she knew it would.
I push out a harsh breath and tilt my head back. “Fine. But you’ll stay in your fucking room the entire time you’re here.”
She squeaks and bounces on the balls of her feet. “Thank you! I’ll be good, I swear.”
I pin her down with a stern glare. “Two days,” I say. “And you won’t talk to anyone, for any reason.”
“Yup,” she says, sobering, trying not to look too excited.
“Don’t even look at anyone, Em. I’m fucking serious.”
She lifts her hands, green eyes wide. “Promise.”
Fuck, somehow I already know this is going to be a mistake.
I grab her bag, turn on my heel, and head inside. I take her up to Roman’s bedroom. He hasn’t lived here in months, since hooking up with Lux, so he won’t care. And members aren’t generally allowed upstairs, so Em’ll be good there for a couple of days.
Guilt stirs the ashes of my black soul. Em shouldn’t have to deal with Mom alone. Living with a raging alcoholic is hellish on a good day. And when Mom is drinking, she’s erratic, angry. Paranoid. It was an okay arrangement when it looked like Mom was on the road to recovery, but now that she’s relapsed, I’ll have to figure out a more permanent solution for Em…
I open the bedroom door and usher her inside.
“The decor is a little tooAddams Familyfor my taste,” she says. “But it’s nice.”
“So glad you approve,” I say dryly. “Remember what I said—you stay in this room. Don’t go poking around.”
She arches an eyebrow in challenge. “What if I’m hungry?”
“Obviously, you can go down to the kitchen, Em. Jesus. Just don’t talk to anyone.”
“So, you want me to be rude…”
Goddamnit. She’s only been here ten minutes and I’m already regretting this whole thing.
“Yes,” I snap. “Be rude.”
Before she can lob another annoying comment at me, I bail, slamming the door shut behind me. In the hallway, I take out my phone and text the guys.
My sister is staying in Roman’s room for a couple of days. Anyone who talks to her will be murdered on the spot.
I roll my shoulders, trying to work out the tension there. It’s un-fucking-bearable. I could hit the gym, but that’s in thebasement, where we’re keeping Sin. He’s been down there for weeks now. Normally, we’d just kill him and move on. The motherfucker turned one of our own, and when that didn’t work, he attacked Rush House. Twice.
That’s more than enough to earn a death sentence. Hell, we’ve gutted people for less. But Christian’s girl, Eve, is Sin’s sister, and she made a case for keeping the bastard breathing.
Which is a big fucking mistake. I can feel it.
But I can’t make the call alone. The Burning Crown is run by the four Sacred Sons—Lucas, Christian, Ash, and me—and the consensus was to keep him alive. For now, at least. So he’s being held in our basement, which means the basement gym isn’t the sanctuary it used to be.
No good deed goes unpunished.The theme of my fucking life…
