Chapter Eighteen
Jaxon
I went down a rabbit hole trying to figure out where the hell my mother is hiding out and who is protecting her, which caused me to miss the fact that Sailor packed all of her things and left.
I caught a glimpse of her out the window as she threw her last bag into the trunk of her car and slammed it shut.
It took a moment for me to realize what was going on, and I quickly went to the cameras, backtracked the footage, and listened to the conversation she had with Sam.
Guess we’re going back home.
I pack up everything I need, which isn’t much, and get on the road about twenty minutes after Sailor leaves.
Either I’ll come back for the rest of my things another time or I’ll send someone else to do it…
I don’t want to keep asking Vincent for favors by using his guys, but if he’s offering, it’s hard to ignore it when I could use the help.
I just need to remember that nothing is free and everything he does will have to be repaid somehow.
I may be into some fucked up things, but I’ve seen what that organization does to you, and I’m not interested in it taking over my life.
I’ve gone my whole life with that dark cloud hanging over my head, with my mother being up my ass about making it my life, that I just don’t fucking want to.
I want to live my life on my terms, and that’s fucking it.
Driving directly to Sailor’s house would be stupid—she’s likely looking out for me—so I park around the corner and pull up the camera feed on my phone.
Right after she left, before I found the open apartment in Sam’s building, I changed all the camera’s I’d put in her house.
I figured if she ever came back, which I assumed she would, she’d turn the house upside down trying to find out if there were cameras hidden.
She’d never mentioned knowing they were in the house, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t know.
Of course she could still find them now, but the new ones are upgraded and much more difficult to find… thanks to Vincent.
But either she doesn’t know or she doesn’t care, because she doesn’t go searching for cameras. Maybe there is hope for us after all. Or maybe she has underestimated me.
After I got into my car, I noticed the message from her telling Shadow that she was leaving, and so I send a message back asking her how things went, even though I already know. After putting her things away, she hops in the shower— to which I enjoy way too much.
The lighting in Sam’s bathroom was all wrong and cast too many shadows, making things difficult to see.
Sailor’s bathroom has perfect lighting, even in the shower, making it easy to see everything.
Every curve, every dip, every inch of her skin.
Washing herself is innocent, but I feel her softness beneath my fingers as she does, craving to be in there with her and doing it for her.
My chest gets tight, and my eyes fall closed for a moment so I can fucking breathe and tell myself that this won’t last forever. She’ll be mine again soon.
My phone rings, startling the fuck out of me.
Vincent.
“Yeah?”
“You busy?”
“A little, why?”
“We’ve got some problems… and we need to talk.”
“So talk now,” I grunt.
I’m not in the mood to listen to his spiel about getting me to join and running this shit with him, and we just checked in about my mother, so it can’t have to do with that.
I handle enough of these things on my own, I don’t need his help.
I was fine without him before, I’ll be fine without him now.
My mother never did a thing for me, never gave me any benefits of the organization.
In fact, all she did was threaten me with it.
Nothing Vincent can say to me will make me change my mind about running it with him, or taking it over, or even just being affiliated officially—I don’t fucking want it.
“Not over the phone.”
I’m met with silence, those words lingering in the air.
Not over the phone? So something is going on, something I shouldn’t care about and shouldn’t even be involved with, but unfortunately, dodging this shit is going to be my life because my mother made it so.
God, I fucking hate her. Even my father is still wrapped up in this bullshit, and they’ve been divorced for years.
He’ll be stuck in it until the day he fucking dies.
I don’t want to be him. I don’t want this shit held over my head forever.
“Okay,” is all I say, not sure I hid my annoyance at being dragged into this shit.
Again.
“You know where to meet me.”
The call goes dead. The video on my phone starts again, but it shows an empty, glistening shower.
I skip through the feeds and find Sailor curled up on the couch, doing something on her phone that the angle of the camera won’t allow me to see.
I watch her do this for nearly ten minutes before tossing my phone to the passenger seat and heading to the meet-up place with Vincent, which is a forty-minute drive if I don’t hit traffic.
By the time I get to the Mountain View Motel, which does not, in any form, have views of mountains, it’s been nearly an hour and a half.
It annoys me that my brain is full of all this useless information, like where to meet him when he says “you know where to meet me” versus “meet me at our spot” or “see you at the location.”
Each phrase has a different place to meet, and I am fucking tired of living my life in code. Maybe I should consider kidnapping Sailor and bringing us to the other side of the country… or better yet, the other side of the world.
My mother hasn’t touched any of the money in my accounts, and as long as I graduate—which I will, considering my father is the dean—I’ll get the rest of it.
Money won’t be an issue for me and Sailor.
I also know she has her own money, not that I would ever allow her to spend that on me or anything we need, but at least it’s there.
I do think my mother is afraid to do anything that’ll flag her location, so allowing me to keep my money and live my life is her punishment for being a fucking cunt.
I hope she cries herself to sleep about it every night, pissed off that my life is exactly—well, almost—how I want it while she’s wallowing in misery, begging for people to be on her side and staying in hiding while living in poverty.
The room on the far end of the one-story building has a crooked number nine on the door, and I knock twice. It’s pulled open a moment later, the stale stench of cigarettes and body sweat assault my nose, and I hold back a gag as I walk in.
“You really could pick a better place,” I mutter as I look around the room.
The walls are covered in thick gunk from years of smoke, the bed sheets are a vomit orange with too many holes in them, and there’s a large stain on the carpet by the bathroom that may or may not be blood. It’s a fucking biohazard in here.
“Sit,” Vincent says, pointing to the wooden chair beside the dresser.
I purse my lips, giving it a once-over before looking back at Vincent. “No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
He sits on the end of the bed across from the chair, the mattress squeaking and groaning beneath his weight. He’s a big guy, lots of muscles and tattoos with a shaved head. The kind of guy people stare at as he walks outside because they’re sure he’s gone to prison and will likely go back.
They’d be wrong. His record is cleaner than mine, though he certainly has done a lot more shit than me, he just knows better people so he doesn’t get caught, the lucky bastard.
Not that I have to worry about shit like that, because I don’t, but still… There are some perks to the lifestyle that would be convenient. However, once I get Sailor back, I won’t have to worry about any of that shit because I’ve made up my mind—we’re getting far away from here.
“So what brings me to this STD-infested motel?” I question, crossing my arms.
“We’ve got a problem.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” I say. “You have a problem, Vincent, and I’m tired of you trying to bring me into it. I told you I don’t want any part of this shit.”
“Well, this time it is your problem.”
I raise a brow, wanting to hear him out so I can tell him to fuck off. Nothing to do with the organization is my fucking problem.
“There’s been some talk,” he comments. “Not much yet, but you know how it starts. First it’s little, then it spreads like herpes.”
“Or it goes away entirely.”
Smirking, he gives a slight shake of his head. “You know that’s bullshit.”
Running a hand through my hair and letting out an annoyed sigh, I drop into the chair.
“What the fuck is it now?”
“People think you’re working with your mother.”
“I’m not,” I growl.
“Right, but the fact you aren’t part of this, tells them otherwise.”
“So it’s ‘you’re with us or against us?’”
“Basically, yeah.”
“And why don’t you tell them to fuck off?” I say through gritted teeth. “Don’t act like you don’t have that power.”
He gives a shrug of his shoulder. “I suppose I do, however, in my experience—”
“You’ve been doing this for two months.”
“It’s best to listen to the people, agree with them, do what you need to get them to change their minds rather than argue with them with words.”
“Meaning?” I snap.
“You need to do something to show you aren’t against us, Jaxon.”
“And how the fuck am I supposed to do that?”
“It’s simple, really…”
“You have me on the edge of my seat,” I say sarcastically.
“Find your mother. Kill her.”
I stare at him, unblinking and un-fucking humored, though the smile on his face tells me he’s loving this.
I’m not so naive to think Vincent was just going to be my best friend and give me all this help without wanting something in return, which is why I was careful in what I took.
It was never anything big and never anything too important.
Yet, here he is, turning on me already. I was sure I had a few more months before he tried to pull this shit.
“You’re a fucking prick,” I spit out.
“Yeah, well, I have a job to do.”
“You think I’m not already trying to find her?”
“Of course, I know that, but they don’t.”
“And what do I do in the meantime? How the fuck am I supposed to prove I’m looking for her?”
“I’m sure if they heard something about you asking around, traveling… we have eyes everywhere.”
I narrow mine, unsure he’s giving me the full story.
“Is this really just them, or is this your way of getting me under your fucking thumb?”
He shrugs, getting to his feet and straightening his tie. “You know I have responsibilities, Jaxon, and you know where my loyalties lie. You know I’ve wanted this position for a long time and would do just about anything to keep it.”
“So basically blackmailing me?”
“Sure, you can call it that.” His hands shove deep into his pockets, his stance cool and relaxed.
“Let’s not forget you offered it to me.”
“And you denied it. Multiple times. I did my due diligence of going through the channels. Now I need to act the part and take care of my people.”
Staring at him for a long moment, I finally say, “What did she do?”
Obviously she did something to piss them all off. He’s said as much before, but hasn’t gone into detail.
He doesn’t answer, so I add, “She must have done something bad if everyone wants her head. If she took off quietly, no one would care. And no one cares about the Mindy thing because she’s going to pin that on me, not on you. So what is it?”
If we fought it out, I’m not sure who’d win. Not that killing him would do any good; it would only prove what I’m trying to disprove.
I get to my feet, standing chest to chest with him.
He chuckles. “See, and knowing that is a perk of being on the inside.”
“Well, lucky for me, I’m not, and I don’t give a fuck what happens to her either.
I was doing this anyway, but you want to call me here to light a fire under my ass?
Do you really want me against you, Vincent?
Because I’m sure you don’t. Whatever the fuck is going on, you need me, or you’d tell them to fuck right off and mind their business.
And you know what? I don’t give a fuck what it is, and I don’t give a fuck about your threats.
I’ve been dodging them from my cunt of a mother my entire fucking life.
I’m going to do what I want to do, and it just so happens to be the thing you need me to do, so you are fucking welcome. ”
I turn on my heel and head for the door, yanking it open.
“Don’t make me use her against you, Jaxon,” Vincent calls out behind me, but I ignore him and keep going.
His words echo in my head all the way back home, because I know the her he mentioned isn’t my mother.