Page 89 of Jig's Last Dance
Sometimes it feels like he can see into my soul, and I’m pretty sure my hatred should be kept under wraps. It could be very bad for my health.
“I’m not sure. What do you want me to do? I don’t . . . I’ve never . . .,” I wave my hand, ignoring the shiver that comes with thoughts of John.
Sal is no fool, which means he knows how dangerous John is. Pushing me in his direction isn’t meant to be a good thing, but what is he expecting John to do?
“For now, check in. I want to know what he’s doing. Bring back whatever he gives you.”
This seems a little too innocent for someone supposedly liaising between the boss and the grunt, but I’m not going to insist on doing more.
He nods, his eyes assessing, and I smile weakly, brushing a stray hair out of my face but when his eyes narrow, my heart skips a beat. I shrink away when he stalks forward and grabs my hand.
“What’s this?” He waves my hand around, the ring I found in my mom’s jewelry box glinting in the low light.
“It was my mom’s,” I whisper, caught in his dark stare.
His mouth forms a hard line before he drops my hand and says, “That wasn’t your mother’s.”
“What do you mean? Of course, it was hers,” I say, wrapping my fingers around the metal.
“Alice.” After a tense silence, I meet his stern stare. “That wasn’t your mother’s. Do you understand?”
Shaking my head, I stare at him mutely until he sighs. “It belonged to someone who’s long gone. But you can’t keep it. If someone found it . . .. If you want a ring, I’ll buy you a ring.”
Uncurling my fingers, I stare at the diamonds with horror. Did this belong to one of his victims? Fuck me.
Pulling it off, I hand it over with a shiver, my heart in my throat as he places the damn thing in his pocket.
“Why did you think it was your mother’s?”
“Um, just a mistake,” I rasp, swallowing past the saliva pooling on my tongue. Absently, I note I might puke. Right here. Right fucking now.
After a moment, I look away and say quietly, “Why am I here? Is it because of her?”
My hands are shaking, but I don’t care. He’s vile. He’s a monster.
“You do remind me of her, but no, little Alice. You’re here because you came to me.”
“Convenient,” I mutter, and he smiles.
“Perhaps. You did come along at the perfect time.”
“And my dad? John says I’m being punished because of him.”
Sal tsks, but he doesn’t show any surprise. “John has a big mouth.”
“If I do what you want, are you going to let me go?”
“Don’t be foolish. Once you’re in, you’re never free,” he says. “Come, walk me to the door.”
I still think I’m gonna puke, but I’m quite sure this monster doesn’t care, so I take the fear and revulsion and shove it away. I’ll have plenty of time to freak out later—a lifetime of it.
Once again, I wonder about my dad and his choice in career paths as Sal precedes me to the door, only to pause at the sight of Roman Smith, Bastion’s father, standing there.
It’s like every which way I turn, I’m met with the bad guy. Is anybody fucking good?
Last I heard, he was still in State for murder. Apparently, he’s free now. Bastion hasn’t mentioned it, but of course, why would he? We’re not friends.
From time to time, Roman came around the house. This was usually so the adults could play poker, which is how I know Bastion.