Page 102 of Jig's Last Dance
“Jig?” I whisper, my chest thumping, but he doesn’t hear me and turns to the wall, slamming his fist against it.
The brutal smack resounds in the quiet, but he doesn’t stop there, punching the wall over and over.
Shocked, I stare until Cyn grabs him around the waist and pulls him away. The flashlight in Jig’s hand spirals across the walls, and I follow the trail with my heart in my throat. So many women. Fuck me.
“Goddamn,” Jig moans, and Bastion grabs the picture from his hand.
I can’t see it from here, but as Jig slumps, covering his face, Bastion murmurs, “Mandy.”
“Oh fuck,” Rain breathes, and I silently agree.
His sister? My stomach plummets to my knees. It doesn’t take a genius to know this must be tearing him apart. Based on his previous behavior, I suspect he’s never gotten the chance to work through it.
Not that grief ever truly goes away, but I know for myself that I have hope the bitter sting that’s wrapped around my heart will eventually fade to a dull ache.
Jig is still staring at the floor, and tentatively, I step toward him, touching his arm, but he pulls away. Helplessly, I watch him retreat behind his pain and say softly, “Jig?”
He pauses, staring at the wall, his shoulders heaving before he turns to me and wraps me up in his embrace. Folding myself around him, I hold on tightly, my heart burning when his arms tremble.
It’s all I can do not to cry, but Jig needs my strength, not my sorrow. With a sad smile, I brush my fingers through his hair.
Beyond Jig, I watch Bastion approach the last wall and another series of no doubt macabre pictures. A menagerie of darkness that I can’t make sense of.
My brain is on vacation, and I note from beneath the cloud hovering over my vision when he tips his head back and closes his eyes.
Clearly, John can’t be responsible for all of this. It’s not possible. This is too fucking much. He’s one man. Does Castinetti know the extent of John’s perfidy? Does he care? Are they all in on it? The men in the pictures? Sal. Roman. Yates, the unknown men, . . . my dad?
I wish I could turn away from the knowledge that this might include my dad, but I know they’ve all been here. I guess I’ll have time to face the inglorious horror later.
Did they take turns? The holes? Fuck. Did they play with their victims? Where are these women now?
Time is suspended as I clutch Jig, seeking my own comfort in the wake of this gruesome revelation. Eventually, he steps back and meets my gaze, but his bright eyes are blank. Wincing, I manage a smile and let him go. As much as I hate the mask, now is not the time for him to fall apart. We have to get the fuck out of here—alive.
“What now?” I whisper.
Cyn, who was rocking Rain in his arms, whips his head around with a heated glare. “Enough. Whatever you know, you spill it. Now.”
Although I bristle at his high-handed tactic, I agree with his assessment. The time for secrets has passed. Lowering my gaze, I say quietly, “I saw John with some guy last night.”
Bastion’s head shoots up, but I don’t look at him, hunching into myself as Cyn barks, “And?”
“The guy was threatening John, about the keys, about my dad. He mentioned a girl but didn’t say her name.”
I can feel Jig’s icy disapproval, but I refuse to look. I knowingly kept information from them, but in my defense, I still think he’s hiding something. The question is, will it get me killed?
When no one speaks, I say softly, “I found mon—”
I flinch when a shrill scream rents the air and step back as Bastion strides to the window and peeks beyond the curtain. “I don’t see anything,” he says, dropping the dusty fabric with a grunt.
Visions of some girl wandering the woods while that fucker hunts her down invade my skull. Grabbing my bag, I root around blindly, staring at the door. If this fucker is here, I’m going to kill him. I don’t care. I’m past the point of rational thought. I’m past it all.
What has he done but take and take? The world would be a better fucking place without him, all of them. Look what happened to Jig’s sister, now reduced to nothing but a disgusting picture on a wall. She deserved more. They all deserve more.
“Alice,” Jig says when I pull the gun from my bag. Ignoring him, I scan the room, passing over Cyn speaking to Rain in a heated whisper.
“Still nothing?” I rasp. Bastion shoots me a grim look before shaking his head.
“What if whoever that is needs our help?” I ask no one in particular, curling my fingers around the knob.