Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Kira
Dinner.
With the man who makes Caleb hunt bunnies and employs Jax to kill people—at least, that’s what I’m pretty sure he does.
Based on what Caleb said while I was in the hospital, and the implicit heads-up Jax tried to give me while convincing me to attend this dinner, I’m pretty sure James is the reason Jax does what he does.
Grinding my teeth, I twist in the closet mirror, admiring how my ass looks in the designer jeans. Jesus, I’ve never seen my body look this good.
“You’re welcome,” Nix says from where she’s lounging on the tufted ottoman.
“Did you pick this stuff out?” I spin on her.
She nods, throwing back another chocolate-covered almond that she must have pilfered from the kitchen. She seems completely at ease here, like Cleopatra on a chaise eating grapes—if Cleopatra wore combat boots and fishnets.
“Why would you let—”
She shakes her hand at me, mouth full. “Just stop,” she says after swallowing. “If he was offering, why wouldn’t I?”
“Because we don’t need to be under his thumb. He’s psychotic.”
I may be weak for Jax Landon, but my statement stands. He is psychotic. He just happens to be irresistible, and I haven’t decided yet if I’m fighting it. But I might as well sleep in a bed here than a cot at Bell’s while I figure it out.
“No,” she says the word slowly, like I’m dumb. “He’s smart, and rich, and caring.”
I open my mouth to disagree, but find I can’t. Because he is rich. And stupid isn’t something I would call Jax. But caring…? Does spending money on clothes and promising to buy me a new house mean that he cares? Or is his real caring in burning down our house so the police couldn’t search it?
I groan and turn away. “I take it those boots you’re wearing are on his dime, too?”
“Mhm.” She sounds pleased with herself.
“You do know that he kills people, right?” I dig around in one of the bags for a shirt. I’m starting to feel like I’m going crazy. I just want one person to admit Jax is unhinged.
“Yep,” she agrees but doesn’t seem fazed.
I take a steadying breath. “Do you know that he killed Nosy Nellie?” It’s a stretch, but still, it’s his fault she’s dead.
She pauses mid-crunch, and I think I’ve gotten through to her until she continues chewing. “I wondered why I hadn’t seen her.”
Her tone is so nonchalant that I spin back around and gape at her. “Have you lost your mind? She was a defenseless old woman.”
“She was crotchety.” She shrugs. “And if he did kill her, I’m sure he had a good reason.”
“When is there a good reason to kill someone?!”
My god, I should make Jax buy her therapy along with the house. Clearly, the Marshal thing has undone her. Or maybe it was me raising her that messed her up. Maybe I didn’t teach her right from wrong.
“Never!” I snap before she can say anything, and snatch up the bag of almonds. “Never,” I say again, scolding her like a child. “Never, ever.” I shove a handful in my mouth, aware that she’s not the only one that’s been undone.
“So, Marshal trying to force himself on me wasn’t a good reason?”
Shit.
I push the almonds to the side of my mouth. “‘Hat’s wot what I meant.”
“And you know,” she sits up, snatching the bag back from me. “Maybe I didn’t want to be in that house anymore after that.”
Double shit.
I sag, my heart clenching. I’ve been so caught up with just trying to survive this nightmare that I didn’t even think about that.
I just thought—I mean, of course, I didn’t like the idea of living where Marshal bled out, but moving never crossed my mind.
That house… that was all we had. And if she had said something, I would have switched rooms with her.
Or she could have slept in my room forever.
“I’m sorry,” I say and sit down next to her.
She crinkles her nose.
“I’m serious. I didn’t—”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Can we not get weepy? I just did my eyeliner.”
I click my tongue and roll my eyes. “You know, normal people talk about their feelings. If you don’t want to talk to me, maybe a counselor or—”
“I am not getting therapy.”
“I mean, you obviously wouldn’t be able to talk about Marshal, but—”
“No,” she says adamantly.
“Why?” I practically whine, knowing that I’ll get nowhere with this. She’s more stubborn than me.
“Because I’m not crazy!” She stuffs the bag of almonds on my lap and stands. “And I talk to Caleb. I don’t need to talk to some stranger.”
“Yeah, but he’s… he’s probably not the greatest person to talk to.” I feel guilty just saying it. He does seem sweet, but it’s clear he’s a little fucked up in the head himself.
“Why? Because he’s Jax’s brother or because he comes from money? You know, Caleb isn’t some spoiled rich kid. He’s been through stuff. And he gets me. He doesn’t judge me. Not like some psychiatrist would.”
“Fine.” I throw up my hands. “I was just trying to help.”
I don’t want to fight with her, not right now, not when I need her for tonight.
I feel so silly, but the idea of sitting down in this fancy mansion for dinner with Jax’s boss/lawyer/father has me wanting to crawl out of my skin.
I don’t belong here. I haven’t even attempted to leave my room after being escorted in all but by my hair by Nix and Jax.
I feel out of place, wishing desperately that I could sit down at our wobbly kitchenette and eat cheap chicken thighs with my sister before watching a gory horror movie that would be forced on me.
That’s what we would typically do, before Marshal.
But I’ll never get that luxury again.
Stifling my tears so I don’t offend Nix with my weepiness, I dump out a shopping bag on the floor, still in need of a shirt.
“I don’t know why I agreed to this,” I grumble. “It’s not like we’re going to be here long. I don’t even know how to be proper and respectable.”
“James isn’t proper or respectable,” Nix says, and I note the malice in her tone. “He’s a piece of shit.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I pull on a white long sleeve. It’s super basic. Nix knows me so well. But the material—I could cry in delight. It’s so buttery soft. Nothing like the discount store stuff. Is this what it’s like to have money?
“I bought you two of those. And wait till you see the boots I got you. No spikes, I promise. But they are going to look so good with the leather leggings I got you. You know, I had to—”
“Nix, what do you mean he’s a piece of shit?” I turn to face her, dread coiling in my stomach when I see that she’s avoiding my eyes.
“Nothing.”
“Bull. Shit. You better spill right—”
A knock sounds on the bedroom door. And for some reason, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. If it was Jax, he would have just walked in. Does this house have a maid or something?
“Relax,” Nix says, reading me like a book. “Come in!” she calls louder.
Two seconds later, Caleb pops his head nervously into the closet, his eyes half closed as if he’s worried we aren’t dressed, and relief floods me. I don’t know who I thought it was, but I am severely on edge.
“We’re dressed,” Nix huffs and then grabs his hand, yanking him into the space. He stumbles before righting himself and smiles sheepishly.
Almost immediately, I notice a studded strap of black leather around his wrist, and do his clothes suddenly fit better?
“Huh,” I say. “It seems I’m not the only one Nix did some shopping for.”
The blush that crawls up Caleb’s neck makes me laugh, and a light, airy thing stirs in my chest—subsequently making me frown.
I’ve lumped him in with his brother, but that’s not fair.
All other circumstances aside, I would have been happy about Nix dating Caleb.
He seems like a good kid. It’s a shame his family is twisted.
“What did you mean—” I start, intent on finding out why she thinks so poorly of James when she gives me a sharp stare, an imperceptible shake of her head, and a click of her neck toward Caleb.
“I can… I can come back,” Caleb says, not oblivious to Nix’s antics.
“No,” she says. “We’re ready. And I’m starving.”
Despite my better judgment, I allow them to show me to the dining room.
The house is a monochrome blur as we weave through halls, and my stomach ties itself in a knot.
There’s something Nix knows that I don’t, but I just want to get this over with.
In a moment of weakness, I agreed to this, and I’m not a chicken.
I’ve seen the most unsavory types at Bell’s. Men that I’m sure were rapists, serial killers, and drifters. I shouldn’t be nervous to meet Mr. Landon. So what if he owns a house in the millions and employs his own son to kill people?
Once on the main floor, we round a corner, and I’m met with the length of a table that could seat a wedding party.
Only one end of it is done up with serving ware, black cloth napkins folded over the plates and empty wine glasses waiting.
I’m momentarily breathless, feeling vastly under dressed.
I’m sure the clothes I’m wearing cost a fortune, but jeans have no place in this room.
Instantly embarrassed, I cringe when I glance to remember what Nix is wearing.
Oh, we should not be here.
I don’t know what Jax was thinking. He shouldn’t have allowed this. Jesus. I’m just about to turn and leave when a door across the table opens.
All the air leaves my lungs when I take in the man who enters.
He looks exactly like Jax, if Jax were older, meaner, and completely devoid of any soul. Silver hair perfectly combed back, suit so sharp it could cut glass, and eyes… those eyes. Dark and cutting and locked on me.
I instantly regret every bad decision that’s led me here.