Page 40 of Jig's Last Dance

Chapter Six

Now that I’ve been sanctioned to party with Jig fucking Blackstone, I find myself at Jig’s house on Friday night.

I didn’t tell Shawn because I’m scared to involve her when I don’t know what’s going on. I know she’s going to be pissed when she finds out, but what can I do?

She’s safer away from Jig and me.

Although I recognize many of the dicks here tonight, I’ve never technically partied with them. I was beneath their notice in high school. So much so that many don’t even know me.

Dicks.

Jig has avoided me since I arrived. Now he’s out by the ridiculous pool in swim trunks looking fucking glorious and surrounded by a bevy of beautiful chicks.

Every single one of them has a nice rack while my pathetic tits barely fill out my bathing suit top. I was told to wear a suit, and I complied, but I’m not swimming and definitely not with him and his fucking harem.

Especially when every time I glance that way, I’m filled with memories of us in the same place. Did I see the real Jig that night? Or a jerk who wanted in my pants?

I’m glad I didn’t go all the way with him.

With a sigh, I take another slurp of my beer. Cyn and Rain are cuddled up on the couch across the way. And I have no idea what Bastion is up to until he appears before me.

I raise a brow when he stares at me broodily and mutter, “Yes?”

With Bastion’s revelation that my dad sent his to prison, I’m doubly uncomfortable around him. Did my dad do it? If so, was it justified?

Would framing a loved one inspire them to commit violence?

After all the revelations of the past few days, I’m forced to accept that my parents didn’t die by accident. So, who did it?

I guess when I entertained the thought, I assumed it was a no-name thug with an ax to grind, but could it be one of these assholes?

Eyeing Bastion speculatively, I concede that if I were angry enough, I might try to hurt the man who put my dad away. But could Bastion murder someone?

“What was Iris like?” Bastion asks with a forbidding scowl, breaking me from my inner musing.

Smothering my surprise under a cough that fools no one because his brows drop over his eyes, I say, “She looked terrible. High.”

I shiver at the memory and glance away, but his gruff tone brings me around. “What?” he says.

Raising my gaze, I swallow at his dark expression but say, “It’s like she’s not there anymore.”

He looks over my shoulder, his jaw ticking. Curiously, I study him from the corner of my eye, but he’s like a brick fucking wall. I’m not getting anything from him unless he plans to share.

“Jig, um, said my dad was a killer. What did he mean?” I stumble over the words because it still feels preposterous to me, but I’ve been brooding about the possibility since Jig made the accusation.

Bastion’s eyes drop to mine, and he grimaces. “Your dad wasn’t just a killer. He was a hit man.Thehit man,” he says.

“Hey, bro,” Jig interjects, glancing between us suspiciously.

Bastion grunts and walks away without looking at Jig, and I watch him go with wide eyes. My dad was a hit man—thehit man. What does that mean? Holy shit.

I don’t have time to process it, though, because Jig says, “What did you say to him?”

His bright eyes are blighted by darkness, and I back away with a tingle of awareness, but he follows, slamming his hand against the wall next to my head. “You messing with my bro?”

Shaking my head, I whisper, “No.”

He leans in until his lips are a breath from mine and says, “You fuck with him, and I will mess up your world.”

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