Page 94 of Jig's Last Dance
Does Iris know this? Did she send me here because of it?
Fuck me. Now what? Who do I tell? The answer is no one. I don’t fucking know who did this or why, and until I know the extent of the mess I’m in and whether this body is related, it’s best to keep my mouth shut.
Shawn stares at me like I’ve lost my mind, and I probably have. Grabbing the necklace, I close the hatch once more and brush past her but hesitate at the mess she made on the floor. Can they get DNA from her puke? Shit.
“Are you insane? We need to call the cops,” she says, following me to the car. I grab a bottle of water from the seat and pour it over her vomit. It disperses some of it, which flows down a drain I hadn’t noticed in the floor.
Wincing, I back away. I hope I didn’t just send her puke in with the body before I shrug it off. I can’t control fucking everything.
As it is, I’m completely ignoring the fact that I’m leaving the body here. I think I’m in fucking shock.
“Alice!”
With a sigh, I say, “We can’t tell the police, Shawn. Not now, maybe later. But until I know what’s going on, this could be my death sentence.”
She watches me walk away, and I sit in the car and wait for her while she processes my words. Harsh, yes, but true. That poor person. I shudder, but I still have a little life left in me. And at least I have the necklace. Maybe I can trace my way back to who she was.
Finally, Shawn comes back to the car, and we’re quiet as we drive away. I keep my head bowed when we pass the girls on the street because I’ve seen enough to know they’re damned, just like I am.
Chapter Thirteen
Although Shawn offers to take me home with her, I decline. I don’t know what’s happening, but I do know I don’t want her exposed any more than she already is.
She drops me at the bridge, and after promises to call her, I head in no particular direction in Sal’s car. I don’t want to go back to his damn house, but I can’t imagine looking into Jig’s eyes and pretending.
So, I have nowhere to go. Story of my life, these days. It’s late, I’m fucking tired, and out of sheer stupidity, I go where I know the place is abandoned.
Iris’ childhood home is dark when I pull around the corner and park down the street. With a shiver, I walk the rest of the way. I’m hoping whatever Jig and the others are up to tonight, they’ll be less vigilant about this place. I’m exhausted. I need time to regroup.
I enter through the same window, still unlocked, and sit down in the living room.
It feels skeevy to sleep in one of the bedrooms upstairs, so instead, I lay out on the dusty couch and ignore my aching stomach. Breakfast is long gone, but I have little money unless I want to spend Sal’s blood money.
Soon, I’m dozing, but I rouse when I hear a noise that’s out of place. Sitting up slowly, I peer into the darkness, shrinking when I hear John’s creepy as fuck voice.
“You wanted to meet. So, talk,” he says.
Dropping to the floor, I grab my bag and crawl away from the voices, which from the sound, appear to be coming from the kitchen. I pause in the shadows and hunch against the wall, hoping like fuck they don’t turn on a light.
“You’re getting reckless. This isn’t what we agreed to,” the other voice says.
This one is muffled, and I cock my head to the side, trying to determine whether I’ve heard it before.
“What I do is none of your concern,” John says dismissively.
A scuffle breaks out, and I crawl across the floor to get a better view. From the edge of the door, I see John hanging from the man’s arm. A wicked burn of pleasure seers through my veins to see him defenseless.
How does it feel? Fucker.
“You listen, you little shit. You’re alive at my mercy. I decide what happens in your pathetic little world. Understand?”
Closer, I confirm I do know the voice. It’s Roman Smith. What’s he doing here with John?
Does Castinetti know?
Swallowing to draw up some spit in my dry mouth, I ease back far enough to spy without being noticed. John nods, his face puce, and Roman drops him before stepping away.
“Stop playing games. That little Flaherty bitch is the least of your problems. Castinetti is on your ass.”