Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Jax
Idon’t doubt the younger Noland clocks my Hellcat as she leaves the house, but for whatever reason, she doesn’t go back in and narc to Kira. She’s sharp, that one—sharper than Caleb, who drove past me, none the wiser, on his way to park in front of their house.
James got him a new car—a nice little red piece with shiny chrome tires.
But as nice as it is, it doesn’t make up for the bruise I know is forming under Caleb’s left arm.
I caught the tail end of an argument between them this morning when they came back from the dealership.
James had a grip on him—one I can remember being made on me not too many years ago—that only ceased when I walked into the kitchen.
I sigh, scrubbing my face with my hands as Caleb pulls away with Nix, again oblivious to me. He won’t make it in this business.
I’ve been here all day, watching the Noland house, with nothing but time to think, and I keep coming back to the same conclusion; he won’t make it.
I could have said something in the kitchen this morning, done something. And while it took everything in me not to, I didn’t. As much as I wanted to break every single one of Jame’s fingers, Caleb has to learn to stand up to James on his own. If he doesn’t, he’ll be under his thumb forever.
I just hope it happens sooner rather than later because I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to control myself.
I don’t know what I was thinking, leaving Caleb with him in the first place.
I know firsthand what it’s like. But I had to get out.
Or I was going to kill James, which would have only left Caleb an orphan.
I thought I was doing the right thing. I mean, James never touched Caleb back then.
I should have known, though. I should have known that without me to take his rage out on, he would turn to Caleb.
Cracking my neck, I take a deep breath and settle in for another night. My Hellcat isn’t the comfiest thing, but it sure as fuck beats laying back at the house and going crazy not knowing if Kira is alright or not.
She hasn’t left the house for the last two days, but Caleb said that Nix said that she’s okay, so I’m content to just keep watch for now.
I thought maybe she would try to go to the police after Arnold shot the old lady, but it hasn’t happened.
And it seems she didn’t even tell her sister because down the grapevine, it would have gone to Caleb and then to me.
But that doesn’t mean she still won’t. Which puts a giant Arnold-shaped target on her back—the fucking prick.
That wasn’t the first time he’s made a mess just to piss me off, but it was the first time he did it on a public street. He’s becoming more unstable with age, more bitter and angry. Apparently, killing people isn’t enough for him anymore. He has to find a way to fuck with me.
But he’s not going to fuck with Kira.
I’ll put a bullet in him myself if I have to.
I sit for so long, picturing it in my head on loop, tasting the satisfaction, that when an unmarked car pulls in front of Kira’s house, it takes me too long to sit forward.
My blood runs cold as a man steps out and surveys the house. I’ve been in this business long enough to know that, without a doubt, the man in wrinkled slacks and a dingy white button-up is a detective.
Fuck me.
Of course she would wait for her sister to leave.
Of course. I shake my head and grab onto the door handle, watching as the detective walks up the drive, my mind working overtime.
If I insert myself, it’s only a matter of time before I’m connected.
That doesn’t bode well. But if I don’t, and Kira throws me under the bus, then I’ll be getting rid of the body of another cop tonight.
And another missing cop will only cause more trouble.
Shit.
With no time to spare, I pull open the glove box and grab my flask.
The bourbon burns as I chug it, essentially wasting the seven-hundred-dollar liquid with haste.
I pour some onto my hands and rub my jeans before throwing it onto the passenger seat.
Wrenching down the visor, I check my reflection before aggressively rubbing at my eyes until they turn red.
A couple shuffles through my hair and a tug at my shirt later, I’m out of the car.
I make sure to stumble as I pass by the unmarked cruiser—in case there’s dash footage—but when I make it up the drive, Kira is already standing in the open doorway, a shaky hand motioning the detective inside.
This fucking girl.
She’s going to be the death of me.
Doesn’t she know you never willingly let the police in your house? Even if she’s the one who called them, this is common knowledge. It’s the first thing you learn in law school.
I’ll teach her that lesson later. First, I need to get rid of this badge.
“Who the fa-wk is this?!” I bellow just as Kira notices me over the detective’s shoulder.
Her eyes widen as the detective turns.
“You think you’re—” I stumble on an invisible crack. “Gonna fuck my girl?” I point a wobbly finger at him. “Is this who you call when I’m not here?” I ask Kira with a sneer.
Her mouth opens and closes, but I don’t give her an opportunity to find her voice before I stagger between them, cutting off his entry.
“Sir, have you been drinking?” the detective takes a step back, his hand going to rest on his gun.
“Have you been fa-wking my girl?” I counter.
“Sir, I’m Detective Layton, and I’m here to ask a couple questions.”
“‘Bout what?” I grab onto the door frame to ‘steady’ myself, further blocking him and locking Kira behind me. “You ain’t talking to my girl.”
Kira seems too stupefied by my antics to say anything, thank fuck. The last thing I need is her causing even more of a scene. If this guy thinks I’m abusive, I’ll be hauled off for a night in a cell.
Not that I would be there long.
But still, I don’t like being locked up.
“Right,” the detective says. “It will only take a moment, and you can be,” he grimaces, “present.”
Fucking hell. I suppress an eye roll. He’s younger than expected, a little too green for my liking.
If he was older, my stunt would be too much trouble.
Everyone likes to think detectives are these hard-working, get-to-the-bottom-of-a-case types that bring work files home with them, but in actuality, the longer they’ve been on the force, the more burnt out they are.
And the less likely they are to push when met with shove.
“Damn right, I’m gonna be ph-easant,” I slur, embarrassing myself and internally wanting to put a bullet in my head..
Fucking Kira. If this was any other situation where I was face-to-face with a detective nosing around, I would tell him to ask his superior about the Landons and come back if he still feels like it after.
But tossing around the Landon name will only alert James to Kira’s existence—if Arnold hasn’t already—and then James will start digging.
Hopefully, I can turn this around. If Kira tries to implicate me in the killing of her frail neighbor, I’ll just say she’s trying to get back at me for sleeping with her friend.
It’s a flimsy cover, but I have to try. If not, Kira’s going to find out just what happens when you try to expose a Landon, because nothing she tries to pin on me will stick, and instead will nail her own coffin.
“Mind if I come in?” Detective Layton asks.
“We’re fine right here.” I bob my head.
“Jax!” Kira suddenly finds her voice from behind me.
“I said we’re fine,” I repeat. “Why don’t you go make us some dinner?” I turn my back on Layton and cut her with a very sober look.
Her jaw works before she hisses through her teeth. “I would but you spent the grocery money on booze.”
She’s angry. But at least she’s playing along. Though, I’m not sure why she would if she’s the one that called the authorities.
“Actually,” Layton says, “if you’re both residents here, I would like to speak with both of you.”
A resident here? Curious now, I slowly turn back to the detective.
Pulling out a pad and pen, he asks, “Do either of you know a Marshal Wayne?”