Page 104 of Iris' Lying Eyes
Jig’s troubled gaze scans the room before he says, “Yeah, he was…not right in the head. I barely remember him. All I know is that he was sent away and eventually went to prison.”
Where he wrote letters to my mom that were downright threatening at the end. If she had just told me the truth all those years ago, maybe my mom wouldn’t be dead. That and I could’ve avoided the bastard.
“If Finnen is in charge, what’s the deal with John?” Jig asks, smiling at Alice although his vivacious energy is missing. She frowns and grabs his hand, and he squeezes it silently.
What a mess.
“John doesn’t know about Finnen. Whatever happens, he’s mine.” I meet each of their gazes and hold Bastion’s, where he eyes me with a scowl.
I fight a sad smile when he’s the first to turn away. What I don’t say, and they’ll never know, is that I still have a job to do. As much as I’d like to lay this burden down and accept help, I can’t.
We got lucky today, but even if by some miracle they let us stay gone, I’m still expected to perform. I made a deal. And if I don’t follow through, it won’t just be Sam who suffers for it.
∞∞∞
When I wake, I have a crick in my neck. Everyone is sleeping in varying degrees of discomfort, and I suppress a smile when I spy Bastion scrunched up on the tiny pink chair against the wall.
Tiptoeing into the hall, I glance into the bare rooms as I pass before heading for the coffee maker in the kitchen.
For all Bastion’s new largesse, a cook was not a priority, apparently.
While the coffee brews, I sit before the window, staring over the front-drive. It’s quiet but for the occasional goon who passes before me.
It’s also a far cry from the days when we had to steal beer just to get a buzz, and I silently marvel at where we are now.
Bastion is a mafia don. Shit. Who would’ve thought?
Swallowing a sigh, I turn to the pot when the buzzer sounds, pausing at the mousy maid standing on the threshold with a weird expression.
“What?” I growl. I know I castigated myself yesterday for my bad behavior, but she gets under my skin.
Which I concede has everything to do with Bastion. Whatever.
Pressing her finger to her lips, she waves at me to follow, and I glance at the coffee. What’s B up to now? Don’t I deserve coffee first? I thought he was asleep, for fucks sake.
Grumbling under my breath, I follow her down an intersecting hall I haven’t yet explored, stopping in the doorway of a small room with a bed and dresser.
“What’s going on?” I ask when Bastion doesn’t magically appear with a broody demand.
She turns to the bed, and I eye her ass cheeks revealed under the short skirt as she bends over.
“Mouse-Rose, where’s B?”
“He’s not here,” she mumbles, producing a gun which she aims at my chest.
Stepping back, I bob my head. “What the fuck?”
Her mouth tilts in a smile. Waving the gun, she points at a chair, and warily, I sit. I could run, but I have no idea if she knows how to use the damn thing.
Little mouse has balls. Hm.
She shuts the door, all while watching me steadily. Once we’re closed inside, she says, “I have a message.”
“This message required a gun?” I sneer.
Her eyes light with frustration, and she waves it in the air. “Careful. When I get nervous, I shoot things.”
“Right.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I wait, and when she doesn’t speak, I bark, “Well.”