Chapter 53
Chapter Fifty-Three
Kira
Leaning over the sink, I hold a cold cloth to my eyes to try to take down some of the puffiness before Jax retrieves me for the dinner that will either save me or condemn me.
I may have broken down in the shower after he left, crying until my eyes branched a shade of red that made me jump when I looked in the mirror after getting out.
I remove the cloth and find that it’s hardly done anything. Great. I guess this is what my face is going to look like while I kiss James’ ass. Obviously, as a bartender, I know how to turn on the charm when I’m looking for a good tip, but I don’t normally look so rough.
I loathe myself to admit that I’m willing to be under James’ thumb if it means keeping me out of prison.
I may not have grown up with a silver spoon, but I’m not a complete pauper.
How could I take a shower in prison with other women and with the disgusting tiles under my bare feet?
What about the food? I’m not picky—could never afford to be—but I refuse to eat slop.
And the toilet? I’m the one who uses all the seat liners in public places. I’m pretty sure they don’t have those.
I’m just not cut out for prison.
I’d like to think that I’m pretty tough, good at adapting and accepting the shitty cards I’ve been dealt.
But that’s the thing… I’ve been doing it my whole life.
I don’t want to have to thicken my skin any more than it already is just to survive prison.
Who would I be then? Nothing but a hardened shell. A hollow, broken thing.
Nodding to myself in the mirror, I take a deep breath and try to find the grit I used to have before all this shit whittled me down.
I can do this, have to do this. It’s no different than any of the other bullshit I had to man up and do.
I mean, I took care of a fucking baby when I was only eight years old, and she lived!
And she’s smart, and beautiful, and kind—well, no, she’s kind of a bitch.
But that’s beside the point. The point is that I can do this.
I’ll do whatever it takes to stay out of prison.
So tell me why my knees feel like jelly the second Jax leads me down the stairs.
He’s clean shaven, wearing a long sleeve to cover his tattoos, and seems to have forgone his gun for the night. Maybe it’s a peace offering toward his father, a show of good faith that he doesn’t need to be armed.
I hate that he has to do this for me.
I hate that even if James helps, it won’t be free. It will come with strings, and I’m not the only one those strings will tighten around. Jax will take the brunt of it. The thought of what else James could demand from him, what else he could take, stops me cold halfway down.
“What’s wrong?” Jax turns to look up at me from two steps lower.
He’s almost winsome without his stubble, his eyes filled with such ardor as he takes in the brimming on my lashes.
But, beneath the surface, his broad shoulders are rigid from carrying God knows what, sculpted under the weight of burdens that would break a weaker man.
And his eyes, however ardent, swirl with a darkness I couldn’t begin to understand.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, tears threatening to bring forth more puffiness.
Confusion crosses his features. “For what?”
“This has to be hell for you.” I wring my hands. “Asking him for help… I just… I’m so, so—”
He’s up the steps in a heartbeat, shaking his head and cupping my cheek. “Don’t say it. Don’t ever apologize again.”
His voice gets lower, rougher, and his gaze pins mine.
“I would go to literal hell and back for you and not give it a second thought. This,” he flings his hand toward the downstairs, “whatever happens tonight, is nothing compared to the thought of you behind bars. Nothing compared to the nightmare of not being able to touch you and protect you.” He dips his head so our eyes meet.
“Hell is you out of my reach, Kira. The sooner you understand that, the better you’ll feel. ”
He pulls me against his chest before I can argue, and I let him.
He’s so sturdy that I can’t help but sag against him.
He means it. He actually means every word, and I have no idea what I did before him.
The fact that I lived a whole life without his chest to rest my cheek on seems unfathomable, bleak and harsh and lonely.
I clutch him tighter, trying to make up for lost time and, possibly, the future I may not get.
When we finally make it to the bottom of the stairs, Caleb is waiting alone, hands shoved in his pockets, looking like he’s been pacing. He brightens the second he sees us, then immediately looks guilty, like he’s about to deliver bad news.
“Where’s Nix?” I ask.
“Uh, we kind of…” he rubs the back of his neck, “got into a fight? I think. I think it was a fight. We haven’t had one before.”
“We don’t have time for a lovers’ quarrel,” Jax says. “Go find her.”
“Over what?” I ask, my interest piqued. What could they get into a tiff about that Caleb wouldn’t just accept or agree to? I’m not saying he doesn’t have a backbone, it’s just… he’s Caleb.
“Nothing,” he says too quickly. “I mean, something, obviously, but not something,” he looks at his brother, gauging what, I have no idea, but Jax doesn’t seem to notice, too busy checking the time on his phone, “not something we have to worry about.” Caleb seems to finally decide on his words based on Jax’s demeanor.
“Oookay,” I say, rubbing my temple. “Well, tell her I said to suck it up for now. We kind of have bigger things to deal with.”
“Maybe she can sit out for—” Caleb starts.
“I’m here!” Nix’s voice cuts in, and she appears on the stairs behind us.
“Good. Let’s go.” Jax shoves his phone in his pocket and ushers us forward.
I don’t even get a second to make sense of the look that passes between my sister and Caleb before we’re moving, but I do notice the obnoxiously large hoodie she’s wearing.
“What’s with this?” I whisper as I fall back next to her and tug on the material.
“I’m cold,” she snaps, wrenching away.
“Cold?” There’s an actual sheen of sweat on her forehead. “But—”
“Do I police what you wear?! I’m cold. Fuck off.”
Jesus. What the fuck crawled up her ass? Whatever fight Caleb and she had must have been intense.
“Whatever then. Sweat to death for all I care.” I move forward and catch the hand that Jax has been holding out behind him.
“All good?” he asks, tucking me into his side as we weave through the wide hallways.
“Can I complain even though I’m the one who raised her?” I grumble.
“I can hear you,” Nix says.
“Good.” I toss the word over my shoulder.
“Bitch.”
“Brat.”
“You know you—”
“Enough,” Jax hisses as we near the dining room.
“Everyone needs to be on their best behavior. We’re trying to convince him you two aren’t liabilities.
” His gaze shifts to Nix, sharp and pointed.
“And that means you. Don’t back talk him.
We all know he’s a misogynistic prick, you don’t need to highlight it tonight. ”
“I don’t take orders from you,” Nix folds her arms.
“Or me,” Caleb mutters, but Jax speaks over him.
“Just bite your tongue tonight. You want to keep Kira out of prison, don’t you?”
My insolent sister gives him a look that says that still doesn’t give him the right. And, fair. I did raise her to never let anyone tell her what to do, but Jesus, she needs to learn to pick her battles.
“I don’t like it either,” I tell her. “But we need this. So can you just be nice? For me?”
She rolls her eyes.
“Maybe she should sit this one out,” Caleb says.
“Not. A. Chance.” Nix narrows her eyes at him, and there’s something in the way she says it that makes my stomach tighten.
“What happened between you two?” I ask.
“We don’t have time for this,” Jax says at the same time Nix says, “Nothing.”
She gives Caleb a look, but I know that look. It’s the one she uses when she wants me to shut up.
“What’s going on?” I glance between the two of them.
“She should go upstairs until we’re done.” Caleb frowns.
“Why?” It doesn’t make any sense. The two are normally inseparable. I get that her snark isn’t the best idea right now, but that’s Nix. Caleb should know this by now.
“She took—” Caleb doesn’t get to finish his sentence as James opens the doors to the dining room.