Page 81 of Jig's Last Dance
“And we’re telling her this, why?”
“Apparently, Castinetti is involved too,” Rain says.
He looks at me coolly, and I shift, resisting the urge to bite my fingernails, but Iris’ actions in the car make me cringe. Yeah, no.
Fuck. But it’s do or die. I can tell the truth and hope for a way out of this or lie and face the consequences. The problem is, I don’t know what the consequences are.
I’ve got both John and Uncle Sal on my ass, Rain, Cyn, and even the scary motherfucker currently glaring at me pale in comparison.
But I don’t want to be the person who’s responsible for someone getting hurt. I couldn’t live with myself. This I know.
“I miss the good old days when I didn’t have to fucking babysit a bunch of kids,” he grumbles.
Silently, I agree. I miss the good old days too.
“I’m probably going to regret asking this, but what’s so special about you?” Hate asks.
“My dad was Ice Man,” I say softly, meeting his stern gaze.
His brows rise over his head. “The same Ice Man who killed over a hundred men?”
Flinching, I suck in a shaky breath. A hundred? Fuck me.
When I don’t answer, he frowns and pulls out a chair, sitting down across from me.
“You work for Castinetti?”
“Sort of,” I mumble.
“Either you do, or you don’t,” he barks.
“Hate,” Jig growls, and Hate looks up at him without blinking.
“Look,” I sigh. “I don’t know, but I think I’m paying for my dad’s sins. Uncle, um, Castinetti wants me to be the go-between with John or whatever.”
I trail off and look up at Jig, who scoffs and gives me a wretched smile. Whatever.
As it stands, I’m on the road to hell. Will I like myself when this is over?
It’s better to get it over with now.
“So, your dad was a snitch,” Hate muses.
“Maybe,” I snap. “Whatever. That’s not the point. I’m here because Iris stopped by to give me a message.”
This is it. I’m choosing my road. I hope I don’t come to regret it, but I’m starting to think it doesn’t matter because I’m going to die regardless. If my dad met his death for being a snitch, and I’m paying for his betrayal, what else but death can be waiting for me?
I’d rather be a snitch than a piece of shit, and I refuse to be a part of something that hurts others. It could’ve been me in those pictures. Only my dad’s reputation and our supposedly normal existence saved me.
I’m them and they’re me. I’ll end this once and for all if it kills me.
“What?” Jig spins toward me from where he was glaring at Hate. Hate rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.
Absently, I note his nicely bulging arms before Jig leans into my face with a black expression and growls, “What did she say?”
Narrowing my eyes, I say, “Do you mind?”
“Yeah, I fucking do. Because every time I turn around, you’re in bed with the fucking enemy.”