Page 98 of Jig's Last Dance

Is he lying? But to what end? Maybe Ben was lying. When the fuck did he speak to Ben?

Fuck me. Rubbing my chest, I try to suck in air without revealing to the whole fucking car that I’m freaking the fuck out. But I’m pretty sure that’s impossible.

“Stop the car,” Jig says, and Bastion grunts. “What?”

“Stop the fucking car,” Jig says, slamming his hand against the dash.

Bastion pulls to a rough stop at the side of the road, and I’m out and walking into the trees.

I can hear someone behind me, and I know it’s Jig, so I start running, but before I get far, he’s picked me up in his arms.

Flailing wildly, I kick out, saying, “Let me go.”

“No,” he says gruffly.

Asshole.

Arching away from him, I slam against his body, and although he grunts, he doesn’t let me loose. We fight like this for what seems like a lifetime before I sag.

“Why?”

“Why what?” he says, pulling me closer.

“I don’t know,” I sob.

He sighs and drops me before turning me around and pulling me back into his embrace. I collapse against him and shudder. It’s all too much. I’ve learned more about my supposed life in the span of days than anyone bothered to tell me in the seventeen years leading up to it.

And now this? Really?

Sniffling, I pull back. “Why would my brother tell you that? When did you even speak to him?”

Jig glances down, his eyes bright. He clears his throat and dips his chin. “I reached out after we were almost run off the road. He told me then.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” I sniffle.

His eyes soften, and he brushes a stray hair off my face. “You know it’s true.”

“I don’t know anything,” I say stiffly, turning away.

Jig grabs my arm. “Alice, whatever you think, Sal Castinetti isn’t going to hurt you.”

“Oh yeah? The same guy you called swine? Who hurts girls? All of a sudden, he’s not a dangerous prick?” I say, my tone downright snotty.

I’m tired of everyone thinking they know shit. Because they don’t. I’m the one he locked in a fucking closet. I’m the one he continues to threaten.

Where’s my fucking brother? Not here, that’s for sure.

“Ali—”

“No,” I slash my hand through the air. “If this jerk cared about me, why would he send me to skeevy John?”

“I don’t know,” he says stonily.

“I think you do,” I whisper, and his eyes flash to mine.