Page 34 of Jig's Last Dance
“Hey,” I say weakly, and he looks at me with a raised brow. That’s it, just his fucking brow, and I’m fighting back hysteria. His stare says a thousand things, and I receive the message as intended, stepping back.
He could and would hurt me without remorse.
“Do you know how quickly someone dies when you slit their throat?” he asks in a conversational tone, as though we’re discussing the weather.
I stare, caught in his gaze. I’m looking at a fucking killer. I’m guessing based on Jig’s assertion, my dad wasn’t much better, but fuck me. At least my father had light behind his eyes.
Faltering, I look away, shame clogging my throat. But I can’t help her. I’m not sure I can help myself. Where the fuck is Marco?
“Iris, where did you find the keys?” he asks again, and I’m drawn back to the spectacle when I hear her choke.
“Jig,” Iris slurs.
Jig? Huh?
“What?”
Iris nods; she blinks, her eyes pools of devastation before she again says, “Jig.”
I’m caught in her blank stare when she winks at me, and I fall back, grabbing the knob on the useless door. Fumbling once again, I stiffen when John says right behind me, “Here.”
I turn far enough to see him holding out his hand and shrink away as he grabs the door and pushes it out of the way. I don’t look back, escaping through the hole. When I emerge, I suck in a breath, my lungs burning, and stalk toward Marco, who’s waiting for me in the car.
Ripping the door open, I crawl inside and curl up on the seat, muttering, “What the fuck?”
“Miss—Alice, are you okay?”
Ignoring his stare, I mumble, “Where were you?”
“I’ve been waiting for you for twenty minutes.”
Blankly, I stare at him, but I see nothing but confusion on his face. I have no idea what’s happening, but this is not fucking good.
“What do you mean? You were inside?” I wave at the door and he glances at it with a frown. “No,” he says, “when I went inside, no one was there.”
“What?”
“Miss . . . Alice?” Marco says, and I recite an address before leaning back and closing my eyes.
This just went next level, and I’m fucking scared.
∞∞∞
“What are you doing here?” Jig asks, looking over my shoulder with a frown.
“I need to talk to you,” I whisper, and he meets my gaze, his brows slamming over his eyes.
“What’s happened? Why are you fucking shaking?” he growls.
“Please, can I come in?” I ask, clenching my hands at my sides.
When I do, the keys dig into my palm, reminding me, as though my dad is whispering in my ear, to keep it together.
He slowly nods, opening the door, and I step in without glancing back.
Jig leads me into a sitting room with pretty chairs arranged behind a fireplace, and I glance around absently. From one pretty prison to another. Fuck me.
“What’s happened?” he asks, raising his hand toward me before changing his mind and clenching it behind his neck.