Page 113 of Jig's Last Dance

Slowly I nod, my heart jackknifing in my chest. He glares at me for another moment, his eyes icy before he turns away. Shit.

What are my chances if I run? Desperately, I glance toward the door.

“Maybe once I have what I want, I’ll consider letting you go.”

Raising my eyes to his, I stare into the abyss and back down. Perhaps I’m doing this all wrong? Either way, baiting him feels sketchy at best.

“Okay,” I whisper, summoning a wan smile.

His brows rise and he eyes me quietly before saying, “Did your mother ever tell you where she came from?”

“Um, no.”

“She was my stepsister.”

“What?” My world tips once more, and I press my hands against the cushions to ground myself.

Is he serious? No way! Mom never mentioned it, never even suggested . . .

“Yes,” he says, turning to the window. “My father married her mother when she was sixteen.”

When I don’t comment, he continues, his tone soft. “She was incandescent. Beautiful. And I wanted her from the minute I saw her.”

I gasp and cover my mouth. So, he did love her. But what about Mom?

He turns back to me with a bitter smile. “She wanted nothing to do with me. It was the only gift I gave her.”

“Only?”

“Yes, she wanted away from me, so I gave her to your father.”

Swaying in my seat, I clench the rough fabric between my fingers and command my body to perform.

“Gave her? She didn’t love him?” I ask, my tone oddly childlike.

He laughs, and I shrink at his amusement. “No, Alice. Although I suppose she learned to get along.”

“Why? Why would you do that to her?”

His mouth lifts at the corner. “She didn’t want me. That was the only free pass I gave her.”

“And my dad?”

He cocks a brow. “He accepted the gift with open arms. Now you’ll do your job with John until I don’t need you anymore.”

I resist the urge to ask what happens after that because I’m afraid of what the answer might be.

∞∞∞

I hid away after my altercation with Sal. Then, this morning, I was determined to go to the house, so here I stand. I know Ben doesn’t want me here, but it’s the only place that feels safe.

Or at least it did, but when I enter, relieved to find the door unlocked, it’s quiet. The stillness sends a shiver down my spine.

Knowing all the secrets that were built in this space has ruined it, and with a sad smile, I turn in a circle and stare at my past.

On the living room shelf are pictures Mom displayed, seemingly proud of the family she created. But if she didn’t love Dad, what then?

I never got the sense that she was unhappy, but clearly, there was more to the story, and therefore things I wouldn’t have seen.