Chapter 59
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Kira
This time, I get a first-class seat to watch a house burn.
The flames are out of control against the dark sky, a loud roaring that none of us can speak over, only watch as black smoke thickens above and chokes the air.
My eyes are watering as I clutch Nix’s hand.
We’re both barefoot, made to look like we fled the house in a panic.
Caleb stands a clipped distance away in slippers, and Jax is fully dressed, taking none of Nix’s lamenting about optics.
Apparently, it was her idea to be in pajamas.
Optics.
I squeeze my sister’s hand tighter, as if keeping her close enough can keep her from whatever she’s becoming.
She’s only eighteen, and she’s killed two people, barely phased by the first and eager to clean up the second with no remorse.
James was a piece of shit, but he was a person, and she stepped over that line without hesitation.
Jax did something to the wiring in the house, triggering it to spark. He says that if anyone looks further than that—looks into James’ body that we left on the dining floor—that Nix is right, he’s the head of the firm now, and it will quietly get buried under the guise of an electrical fire.
Sirens sound in the distance, and I find Jax’s eyes, needing reassurance that this is going to work because even if my sister is unhinged, I refuse to let her go to jail.
We’ll figure it out. We’ll get her therapy.
I’ll make sure she doesn’t kill again. But first, burning the house down with James in it has to look like an accident.
He gives me a slow nod that says trust him.
When the firetrucks appear, the gates are already open, and they come barreling through.
Police follow, lights flashing across the grounds in frantic streaks.
Everything turns chaotic in seconds. I’m separated from Nix by paramedics, then by officers asking questions, then I’m guided onto the back of an ambulance with a silver blanket wrapped around my shoulders.
But all I have to do is look up, and Jax isn’t far. His gaze is an anchor, always there to meet mine, nodding no matter who he’s talking to. It’s the only thing that keeps me from unraveling as the fire is doused and the sun begins to peek from the horizon.
Two hours later, the sleek mansion is nothing but a steaming carcass, and James’ body is being wheeled out in a black bag.
Just in time for Layton to show up.
He’s not even disheveled as he steps out of the car, though it’s barely nearing five a.m., and I imagine he stays prepared for calls like this—calls where his prime suspect in a murder case is involved with another house fire.
My stomach knots at the idea of giving him the same story I’ve already mumbled to two officers. He’s going to know it’s bullshit. He’s going to figure out that Nix shot James. And then he’s going to realize that it was never me who had anything to do with Marshal in the first place.
My heart picks up speed as he makes a beeline straight toward me, gaze hard like a cat that has his mouse right where he wants it.
My chin trembles as I try to raise it, and I shake off the blanket, looking for the badass inside me that slings drinks to bikers and tells them to get the fuck out when they get too rowdy.
But this isn’t a bar, and my sister’s life is on the line, and I don’t think I can—
Jax steps coolly in front of me, blocking Layton out of my view.
Somehow he looks even more handsome than he usually does as he nods down at me, and I remember that this is his element. Burning things down and covering them up. His dark eyes are sharp, jaw ready to cut. The confidence is formidable. I only wish I felt a fraction of how he looks.
“This looks bad,” I quickly whisper, panic crawling up my throat. “It’s not going to work.”
“Breathe, buttercup.” He smirks, breaking his stoic deposition for me. “You’re untouchable now.”
There’s a gleam in his eyes, and they flare with excitement as he turns to face Layton, who rests his hand on his gun as he approaches.
“I would say this is a really bad case of luck,” Layton says, “but you make your own luck, don’t you?” He flicks a side-eye toward the lone stretcher with a black bag.
I grimace and lean into Jax, hoping like fuck that his confidence is well placed, and I happen to catch a glimpse of Nix.
She’s with an officer, playing the part perfectly—arms hugged around herself, face blotchy, tear tracks on her cheeks—not the least bit panicked that the body they just wheeled out has two bullet holes that she put into it.
Maybe that’s why I don’t have any faith—her and Jax are eating it all up.
“We’re done, Layton,” Jax says casually, and I whip my eyes back. “No need for smart quips anymore—as much fun as they’ve been.”
“I think we’re just getting started, actually,” Layton counters, voice tight.
“Oh?” Jax tilts his head, voice lazy and teasing, and I realize he’s enjoying this. “Have you… spoken to your captain?”
In between questioning, Jax has been on the phone nonstop. I can only assume it’s been with said captain, and probably other lawyers at the firm, spreading the news and taking the reins. I don’t know what goes into a transfer of power like this, but it seems Jax has already got the ball rolling.
Layton’s eyes turn to slits, and he looks around the grounds with slow suspicion, as if he can spot who’s tugging his strings. “The captain is eager to see justice found,” he says, half paying attention, but he doesn’t sound too sure anymore.
Jax clicks his phone on to check the time. “Was that before or after 3:42 a.m.?” He glances meaningfully at the black body bag, no doubt quoting the declared time of death.
Layton doesn’t miss the emphasis and suddenly stomps away.
Jax rolls on the balls of his heels, clearly pleased, as Layton pulls aside the guy opening up the back of the coroner’s van.
There’s a rushed, frustrated exchange of information, and then Layton straightens without turning around, as if trying to find a shred of composure, or possibly dignity.
Layton must know all too well what it means for James Landon to be dead, sharper than the rest of us in putting together where that elevates Jax.
I can’t imagine he knew the inner workings of the Landon family, but he must have somehow deduced that Jax wasn’t being backed by his father, otherwise there wouldn’t have been an opening to take my truck.
But now that he’s dead, Jax doesn’t need anyone to back him, and Layton must be having a hard time coming to terms with that—with the fact that, in Jax’s words, Jax is untouchable, and anyone else he sees fit to place in that category with him.
Me.
Whatever fucking do-gooder hard-on Layton has for me is vanishing right before his eyes, causing his face to turn a fluster of red.
And I almost can’t believe it. I know that James was supposed to be some almighty hot shot, that he held the Cloverwick PD in the palm of his hand, but seeing it on Layton’s face, seeing how thwarted he is just by deduction when no directives have been given, has me mystified.
Whatever they find, or possibly already found in my truck, must mean nothing now.
If Layton can sense it, then it must be true.
A weight leaves my shoulders, replaced with hope, and I look again for Nix.
She’s rubbing her arms, pretending to sniffle, but she has a sharp gaze on our little scene, and when she meets my eyes, she winks.
Little shit.
“See, buttercup? Untouchable,” Jax says under his breath, at the exact same time as Arnold appears out of nowhere and punches him in the face.