Page 58 of Jig's Last Dance
With a frustrated sigh, I stand and stumble over a shoe before dropping to my knees. Fuck me. My hands are shaking, and sweat is pooling at the waistband of my jeans. Calm the fuck down, Alice.
Closing my eyes, I inhale sharply and push to stand, but my hand rebounds off a lump in the floor, and I rub the sting in my palm before cocking my head to the side.
Now that I’m looking, I can see the bulge. Running my fingers over it, I follow it toward the wall before pulling at the edge of the carpet. The loose fabric gives way easily, and I move back to pull it as far as it goes, revealing a pocket beneath.
Inside, I find pictures, hundreds upon hundreds of pictures. The first few are of girls I don’t recognize in poses that make me moan. The next few are of Iris, and my heart fucking stumbles in my chest at the sightless eyes staring at me from a broken soul in a position I would never wish on another human being.
With a sob, I shove them back in the hole before pausing on a new stack. These contain pictures of young women who are pregnant, all with lifeless eyes and burgeoning bellies.
Picture after picture, they’re all the same. Young women, girls my age who had untold horrors carried out against them, and when I get to the bottom of the stack, I pause, staring blindly.
It’s Roman, Bastion’s dad. He’s holding a rifle and smoking a cigar. The next is Sal, grinning triumphantly, with a pair of women’s panties wrapped around his fingers.
How could he be affiliated with this? It’s fucking disgusting.He’sdisgusting. I don’t want to see more, but I’m compelled to keep looking until I reach the end, and my gorge rises when I confirm what I refused to admit I was looking for.
The last picture is of my dad. He’s standing outside the cabin beside Roman. His face is grim and his eyes dark. But what’s he doing? Why would he do this? Why? Fuck me.
Wiping my mouth, I stuff the pictures in my bag and move the rest back into the hidey-hole before covering it. My limbs are stiff when I stand, and with a trickle of unease, I rush to the door and pause in the hall. My instinct is to run as far and as fast as possible, but I promised Iris.
Shit.
Backtracking, I open the door to the only room I haven’t checked. It’s dark but lived in, with clothes, books, papers, and more covering the floor in what I assume is Iris’ room. Stumbling before the bed, I reach under the mattress and start pulling shit out.
She was a fucking pig; everything but a damn box goes flying.
“Fuck,” I mumble, turning on the flashlight app from my phone and shining it underneath.
Dust bunnies, clothes, and other shit layers the floor, and with a grunt, I move the stuff out of the way until finally, I see the damn box wedged against the wall.
Exhaling, I slip it into my backpack and zip it up before stepping into the hall. I need to get out of here, like now. But I’m not fucking alone, and I stop up short to find Jig staring at me with a thunderous expression.
“I can explain,” I say weakly.
“You sure as fuck better,” he barks, grabbing my arm and forcing me down the hall.
“Stop,” I protest, but he just picks me up and carries me.
Stiff as a board, I push against his shoulders until he maneuvers me up and over his head before I fall with an oomph against his shoulder.
“Jig,” I huff.
“Shut the fuck up!”
Chapter Nine
Bastion greets me with a scowl on the front porch and follows us out to the idling SUV.
Once Jig deposits me inside, none too gently, I scooch to the other door, but he grabs me up and hugs me to him.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” he says softly.
All the hair on my arms rises on end, and I whimper before bowing my head. I’m still shaking from the pictures, and I can’t catch a full breath. Even if I don’t trust Jig, I’m safer with him than in that house. So, I sag, barely flinching when he pushes me away from him.
“Let’s roll,” he says, and Bastion pulls out of the driveway.
None of us speaks on the way, and I stare out the windshield blindly, visions of those poor girls running across my brain. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to erase what I saw, and the fucking reality is pressing at my lungs.
My own father. Those girls were my age. Younger. How could he? How?