Page 82 of Jig's Last Dance
Snorting, I stick my finger in his face. “I wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for you people! You’ve got every dick on the planet up your ass.”
He laughs caustically, raising a brow. “You’re here because your dad is a fucking snitch.”
My palm rebounds off his cheek, but he doesn’t flinch, merely pulling his lips into a grim smile. I look away before I do something I’ll regret, which is any number of violent things.
Rain rises from her seat. John’s devious plans may include her, and I can’t lose sight of that. She touches Jig’s arm, and he backs away, grabbing his neck and bowing his head. My chest hurts at his deference to her, but I raise my chin as the second person in a fucking row gets in my face.
“What did Iris say?” she asks coldly.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I mutter, “I’m supposed to pick up whatever for Sal at the cabin. Iris said you know where it is.”
There’s complete silence after my statement until all hell breaks loose.
Cyn roars behind Jig, exploding from his seat. Bastion stands from his lean against the wall. Hate tips his head back and sighs dramatically. And Jig? He grabs me up by my arms and says roughly, “What the fuck?”
“Stop,” I cry out, and he drops me as though burned. I back away from him and his black scowl before he frowns and scrubs his hands down his face.
Cyn has no such qualms, though, and he pushes Jig aside to loom over me. Raising my chin, I clench my hand and suck in a breath, my pulse pounding wildly under my skin.
“I don’t think I heard you right,” he says, his green eyes hard.
“Back off, bro,” Jig says, but Cyn just glares at me.
“I’m just telling you what she said.” I maintain his stare, but I can’t control the shiver that rolls down my spine.
Cyn enraged is positively feral.
He huffs out a breath. Jig grabs his arm and Cyn swings. They both pause while staring at each other before Jig rushes him. Then they’re on the floor rolling around.
“Fuck,” Hate mutters.
He reaches into the fray and grabs Jig by the shirt. Jig comes up swinging and pops Hate in the mouth. Hate roars. And then there are three jerks tossing punches.
Bewildered, I watch the trio for a moment before stalking from the room. Outside, I lean against the wall and scrub my face. What the hell am I going to do?
My phone buzzes against my ass, and I open a text from an unknown number.
Who told you your dad is dead?
Who is this?I type with fumbling fingers.
What the fuck does that mean?
But I get no response and close my eyes. Is my dad truly dead? If not, is he at the cabin like John said? Is he hurt?
Shit.
How do I not go? But if I do, what am I walking into?
My dad has a gun at the house. He taught us how to use his weapons because he never wanted any tragic accidents. I’m actually a pretty good shot, although I abhor guns.
Ironic, considering my dad’s career choice. He must have been annoyed by my grumbling whenever he insisted we go shooting. With what I know now, his rabid intensity makes sense, but it doesn’t change my mind about guns.
Especially with the revelation about how he was murdered. I’ve avoided the prospect, but I’m done with being the girl with her head in the sand.
My dad didn’t raise me to be afraid, so I’m about to embrace every tenet he ever taught me.
Only when silence pervades the room do I step back inside. Hate, Cyn and Rain are gone, Bastion is tapping away on his phone, and Jig is staring at me intently.