Page 39 of Jig's Last Dance
From the hall, Bastion bellows, “Let’s roll. I need to get my dick wet.”
“Wet pussy,” Jig says with a playful smirk, but his hard eyes are glaring into mine.
Why he thinks I care, I don’t know, and I refuse to acknowledge I do. Instead, I say, “I’m out.”
“Fine, run for now,” Jig says, “but until we figure out what the fuck is going on, your ass is with us.”
Cyn looks up from where he was glaring at the floor. Jig meets his cold scowl, and they speak in silent bro code or something before Cyn nods. Bastion’s heavy sigh can be heard from the other room, and I laugh. “Yeah, no.”
“I wasn’t asking,” he says coolly.
Why would Jig want me around?
∞∞∞
The following evening, I find myself sitting across from Uncle Sal, who’s staring at me with a disapproving frown.
“What?” I ask, glancing away.
“How can you possibly have a bruised face when I sent Marco with you?”
“It’s nothing. I was defending myself,” I say, twisting my hands in my lap. I hope he doesn’t chew out Marco over this because I’ll never get him to leave me alone again.
Sighing, Sal shakes his head, and I shrink under his dark stare. “Alice, this is not who you are.”
“Then who am I?”
“You’re a young lady with a bright future ahead of you. But instead of realizing your potential, you’re brawling like a commoner.”
Sitting back, I eye him uneasily. I don’t know what he means because last I checked, I am a “commoner,” and frankly, the word choice is elitist at best.
“That’s not what I wanted to speak to you about,” he says, tapping his finger against his mouth.
“Okay?” I say, sweat gathering on my palms.
“Where did you go yesterday?”
“Um, just a friend’s,” I say, widening my eyes. Will he buy the innocent act?
I’m still uneasy about everything that took place yesterday. Where does Sal fit in? The others?
Until I know, I have to fucking pretend as though my life depends on it. Hell, maybe it does.
The thought makes me itch, and when his brows lower, I resist the urge to squirm.
“Really? Marco said you were upset?”
Fucking Marco.
“Well, I got, um, tired of waiting and went inside. One of my friends,” I trip over the word, “was inside. She looked terrible. Drugs. Said some shit.”
Sal’s stare bores into my skull, and hiding a grimace, I meet his gaze. His eyes flicker, and he stands. “Hm. It was unfortunate you had to go along. Next time, wait in the car like you’re told.”
Nodding, I too stand, hoping to escape, only to pause when he says, “There’s much about this business you don’t understand, bambina. Let’s keep it that way, hm?”
Stiffly I mumble my agreement and leave, but his words follow me up the stairs, where I spend another sleepless night worrying over shit I don’t understand.
Why would John or Iris have my dad’s keys? What does Jig have to do with it?