Chapter Sixteen
Jax
My mind is elsewhere as Caleb fires a thousand questions at me about what to say to James.
We’ve just pulled through the gates at home, the long driveway lined with garden lights that look like they were placed by an architect who’s never felt joy, and Caleb hasn’t taken a breath since I picked him up after dropping off Kira.
‘What do I say when he asks why I called you instead of him when I ‘wrecked’ my car?’
‘What do I say we were doing all day and night?’
‘What if he asks who else was racing?’
They’re valid questions, but I don’t care about appeasing James right now.
I shouldn’t have let Kira go into Bell’s.
That was never the plan. I had every intention of convincing her to let me take her home.
I was going to figure out how much she’d typically pull in on a Saturday night and then just give her the cash, if only so she doesn’t croak and draw attention to our little problem.
But if I’m being honest… no one should have to go to work after having a heart attack—or tear. Especially Kira.
It’s easy to see she’s been grinding her whole life just to barely hold it together.
It’s in the dollar store curtains on a duct-taped rod above the windows in their tinderbox of a home.
It’s the way the kitchen sink was spotless regardless of the chipping enamel.
It’s the fucking weekly meal plan on the fridge with prices next to the ingredients.
I have no idea how long their father has been out of the picture, but by the looks of it, Kira has their meager existence down to a grueling science.
But when does she get to take a break if she couldn’t even spare one after being in the hospital?
Even I take a few days to myself after each job, and my line of work never sleeps.
But you have to, or you’ll fall apart. Kira has to.
Clearly, she never has, or she wouldn’t be saddled with a heart issue at twenty-six.
If she doesn’t relax now… I’d hate to think what’s going to happen to her.
And I hate that I’m thinking about what might happen to her.
“I fucked up, Jax. I can’t do this,” Caleb starts to panic as I cut the engine under the rounded awning. “He’s going to see it on my face, and he’s going to start digging, and he’s going to send you to kill Nix and her sister, and it’s—”
“Stop. The only thing he’s going to see is fear,” I cut him off.
“Exactly! And then—”
“No.” I turn to find his wide eyes. “He’s going to see fear, not know what it’s for. You have to make him think it’s because you wrecked your car. Nothing else. You hear me? Nothing else.”
This is going to be Caleb’s biggest test. If James finds out we moved a body and didn’t clean up the loose ends, he’ll clean them up for us.
And I don’t want to know what kind of fucked-up Caleb will be if that happens.
Your father killing your high school girlfriend?
I’m pretty sure that would end up in a psych file.
I’d like to think that there would be no skin off my nose—what’s a little more blood on my hands, anyway?
But the infuriating reality is that if Caleb fucks this up, this isn’t just any blood.
This is Kira Noland’s blood. A piece of my past. The last shred of a life where things weren’t bleak.
When I saw her in the headlights of my Hellcat last night, I knew.
I knew that I had to put a bullet in her head as fast as I could, or else this would happen.
This fucking feeling. It has no place in the life I live.
And yet, here we are—my mind more concerned with a stubborn girl than the death sentence James can hand down.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Caleb swallows.
“You and me both,” I mutter and get out of the car.
Inside, the house is cold and lifeless. But that’s to be expected and doesn’t mean that James isn’t here.
If anything, the icy atmosphere is even more of an indicator of his presence.
He sucks up warmth and light with the snap of a finger.
It was always our mother who kept this stone box a home, and I cringe that I’ve left Caleb here for so long without her.
This isn’t the type of place that’s kind to the mind.
The house is a testament to James, with his presence that feels bigger than the space he occupies.
His hair is cut sharp, graying at the temples, and his expression is permanently settled somewhere between amusement and disdain.
The man is built like a politician but carries himself like an executioner—one who enjoys his job too much.
White marble sprawls throughout, meeting slate gray walls devoid of mercy.
Light fixtures and doorknobs are uniform steel, and the furniture is a collection of black minimalism.
It’s a monochromatic nightmare reminiscent of a deprivation tank.
Sure, it costs a fortune, but price doesn’t mean comfort.
James calls it an architectural masterpiece, but what’s so masterful about sharp angles and cold stone?
I wonder if Caleb remembers our mother’s eclectic rugs that used to line the hallways, or the bushels of plants that thrived like ivy before they died without her.
I can almost see her prized monstera on the round table in the foyer as we pass it, and a pang of regret for not taking care of it when she passed hits me in the gut.
She doted on those plants. They were one of the only things that kept this coffin alive. And I let them die.
Clenching my jaw, I train my eyes on the floor as we pass through the living room and into the kitchen, where the only light in the house is on.
With his back to us, James stands at the island, a tumbler of whiskey in hand, the ice melted from too many pours. A single paper sits on the counter beside him, but I don’t need to look at it to know it’s probably the report on Caleb’s so-called accident.
“I thought you two were dead,” he says without turning, his voice cold and even. His senses are sharp and honed, as if he has eyes in the back of his head.
“You sound disappointed,” I reply, an unwanted edge in my voice.
Caleb stiffens at my retort.
It’s a risk, this antagonism—but if I don’t keep up my hatred, James will know something is up. I take my hands out of my pockets and raise my chin.
He turns slowly, his eyes narrowing before he shouts, “You think this is funny?”
I don’t flinch. I stopped flinching for him a long time ago. But Caleb—Caleb takes a step back, just a subtle shift of his weight, but it’s enough to make my blood boil.
I know that step.
It’s the step of someone who’s felt the sting of a backhand one too many times.
Gritting my teeth against this new knowledge, I take a deliberate step forward. I may have fucked up by staying away, but I’m here now, and I’m going to make damn sure Caleb sees how to stand up for himself.
James’s gaze snaps to the motion, eyes flicking between us and narrowing in realization. He quickly picks up what it means for me to stand between him and Caleb.
And he doesn’t like it.
I can’t help the smirk that curls my lips, satisfaction flooding through me as I watch his jaw tighten. Yeah, that shit is over.
He straightens, a sharp breath escaping his nose as he realizes his mistake. He broke his own rule—never show emotion. It’s a rule that serves him well in his world of dirty deals and legal facades. But it’s also the reason he has two sons who despise him.
His jaw works as he smooths his tie and regains his composure. “Care to tell me what this is?” He snatches the report and, with a flick of his wrist, lets it flutter to the floor at my feet.
I force myself to bend and pick it up, though every part of me wants to leave it there, to show him I’m not a fucking dog. But I have to keep up an air of ignorance.
Sure enough, it’s the report that Officer Cully filed. Except it fails to stick to the story I gave him. The small area for officer observations states suspicion of arson post-accident.
Fucking weasel.
I’m going to have to show him who, exactly, he should be more afraid of.
“It looks like Caleb wrecked his car.” I shrug, trying to stay nonchalant despite my annoyance.
James’s lips flatten into a displeased line. “It looks like a cover-up.” His voice is almost a growl now, tight with disdain. “A poorly done one, at that.”
“Audis are known to explode on impact,” I counter smoothly. “Your lapdog is reaching.”
“Hm.” He knocks back the rest of his drink in one swift motion. “We’ll see. I have Arnold looking into it.”
My fists automatically clench at the mention of Arnold. “You put that prick on our tail?”
“Both my sons disappear for a day after one of their cars is towed in like scrap metal. Of course, I did.”
I catch a worried gaze from Caleb, and I have to bury my own concern to give an imperceptible shake of my head.
There aren’t many people who can get under my skin, but Arnold has been there since before I even learned to drive, let alone hardened the soft spots.
If I acquired how to manipulate the law from James, I mastered the art of crime from Arnold.
And not because I wanted to, either. If Arnold is digging around, we have a problem.
“That sociopath is going to make trouble where there isn’t any,” I grind out.
“We’ll see,” James says again, calling my bluff.
Fuck.
This is not going to work unless he calls off Arnold. Backtracking, I quickly tuck in my anger and force my shoulders to sag.
“Look,” I sigh as if giving in. “Caleb fucked up drag racing out on Industrial. There’s nothing nefarious going on besides a kid too afraid to tell his father he wrecked his car.
” I pause, raising a brow to let him know we both know why that is, before continuing.
“He called his older brother to clean it up, and I did. Would you have preferred I didn’t?
Because I don’t think Columbia accepts students with a record. ”
James seems to contemplate this, his gaze sweeping between me and Caleb as if he can spot the cracks in our story with just his eyes. And I don’t doubt he can. In another life, he would have made a ruthless interrogator.
“And where were you two all day?” he finally asks.
“We went into the city.” I resist the urge to glance at Caleb. We never discussed what we would say—which is mostly my fault—but checking that he’s on board now would be a dead giveaway. “I showed him what happens to people who play recklessly but don’t have the same resources as us.“
“Hm.” James turns and pours another drink. “So you’re saying Cully is inept, then?” he asks with his back to us.
Damn it. He’s testing me. It was never my intention to bury Officer Cully, but if it’s him or us—or rather, him or Kira and Nix—then so be it. He shouldn’t have tried to play teacher’s pet. And I can’t back down now.
“I told him to just file it as an animal-avoidance collision,” I say. “Putting arson in the report is only going to draw unnecessary attention.”
“Shame.” James turns back to us, seemingly accepting our story—for now. “I really thought he had promise. But no worries. I’ll have Wayne handle it.”
Caleb stiffens at the mention of Wayne, and I don’t have to turn to know the pieces are finally clicking into place. Wayne, as in Marshal Wayne—the name on the badge we pulled off the body. Yeah, little brother… your girlfriend killed our father’s favorite dirty cop.