Page 125 of Jig's Last Dance

He emerges behind me, his voice rough. “What the fuck does that mean?”

At the door, I spin to face him, ignoring the struggle I see shining in his eyes. My heart hurts at his pain, but I curl my lip and say, “Revenge gets you dead, Jig.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Laughing, I grab the door handle. “I don’t fucking care about you. My dad killed my soul, and I fucking killed him. I guess you got your revenge after all.”

I’m out the door and striding to my car before he can respond. Bastion, Rain, and Cyn are just exiting their SUV, and they watch wide-eyed as I march past, only to shriek when Jig picks me up from behind.

I can’t breathe through the ache constricting my lungs, and I’m so angry I see proverbial stars.

Whatever the events that led to this moment, we’re both ruined, and I hate the men who put us here.

Twisting away, I buck and kick wildly. I need away. I need fucking numbness.

“Hold still. I didn’t spike the whiskey,” Jig grunts, but I scream at the top of my lungs and slam my head into his face.

“Fuck,” he says, rearing back, allowing me to slip free.

From my peripheral, I see Jig reach for me as Bastion rumbles, “Bro, let her go.”

But Jig ignores him until Bastion steps into his face. And I take the opportunity to stumble to my car, flinging the door open and screaming, “My father’s dead for real this time, Jig. I hope you’re happy, fucking hypocrite.”

With that, I peel out and I don’t look back.

∞∞∞

I’m sunk in myself and huddled against the cold when Ben finally pulls up in his truck. He studies me from his seat for a moment before emerging.

I’m not here to rekindle what appears to be dead but because I have nowhere else to go. Whatever. I suppose the fucker hates me too.

“We need to talk,” I say heavily.

He grunts and bypasses me to open the door. I follow behind him, smiling grimly when the door swings in my face. I’m seriously fucking tired of the attitude.

He drops his stuff by the entrance, toes off his shoes, and heads for the kitchen. After several gulps of a beer he grabbed from the refrigerator, he levels me with his blue-eyed stare and says, “So talk.”

Pulling out a chair, I collapse into the seat and run my fingers over the wood. Once upon a time, we gathered here as a family. I thought what we had was real, but behind the lies was a truth I could have gone my whole life without knowing.

“Dad was a snitch.” I leave out the part about him being alive because I don’t know how to do that and confess he’s gone again.

Besides, how do I admit I shot our father in the face?

“That’s what you’re here for?” he growls, throwing his bottle into the sink.

I flinch at the shattering glass and suck in a breath. “Partially, yes. I thought you might like to know,” I say frigidly.

“It’s not a fucking surprise. He worked for scum,” he growls.

“Whatever. If you don’t care, it’s not my business.”

“Don’t fucking preach to me,” he says.

“Ben, seriously?”

Standing, I stalk to the door and pause at the threshold. “Did you know?”

“Know what? About the snitch shit? No.”

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