Chapter 20 Jagger
JAGGER
“What the hell was that?” Ford demands. “I leave you for two minutes, and this is what you do?”
I knew he’d be pissed. I knew they’d all be pissed.
I also knew the only person I could rely on to not lose his shit is standing beside them, aware of the repercussions the same way I am.
The same way I was when I rushed into that room to stop Violet from bowing out and losing the cash I knew she needed.
I rip off my mask and toss it aside. “I know I messed up—”
“I covered for him,” Roman says, defending me. “No one knows.”
Ford’s glare cuts to Roman. “You don’t know that.”
He’s right. Roman doesn’t know shit. It was a risk. And not even a calculated one. Not really. I scrub my hand over my face, repeating, “I messed up.”
“No shit,” Ford seethes. He paces the small room, too amped up to sit his ass on the couch and discuss this like a rational person.
Then again, it’s not like I’m one to talk.
Not anymore. “Her dad lost, too. Did you know that? Lost a grand after betting on number seven, who was in the lead, by the way, after Violet froze—”
“Give him a break,” Roman mutters.
Ford barrels on. “If anyone finds out how shitty her relationship is with her dad after what just went down, it’ll only give them more reason to believe you threw the bet on purpose.
Ever think of that, Jagger?” He scoffs. “Yet, I’m the impulsive one.
Now, will you hurry the hell up and wash off your face so you can redo your facepaint? ”
“For once, I’m on Ford’s side,” Hawke finally says.
He tosses a change of clothes to me. Roman must’ve asked him to grab them after I disappeared into the haunted house.
Smart. I hadn’t even thought about it. Catching the clean T-shirt and jeans, I step behind a broom closet door to strip off the sopping wet clothes as quickly as I can while my brothers wait on the opposite side.
“We pride ourselves on keeping shit fair,” Hawke continues, well aware I can still hear him despite the thin barrier separating me from everyone.
“Whether you’re from The Drift or Harden Heights, it doesn’t matter.
Keeping things equal is a promise we made to every single person who attends.
Whether they’re spectating or making a wager or participating.
They know we’ll provide them with a solid and fair experience.
” I slip the shirt over my body, then reach for the dry jeans.
“You stepping in to protect your girlfriend doesn’t exactly bode well for our promise, now does it? ”
I stick a pin in his girlfriend comment and reappear in my new outfit. “One of the reasons we opened this up for other players is so they have a chance to make money.”
“Yeah, a fair chance,” Ford snaps. “Or did you not hear a single word Hawke said?” He scoffs again. “Just because your girl can’t swim—”
I give him a warning look, and his words die in his throat.
Not because he’s scared of me. Nah, the man might not like participating in fight nights the way I do, but he knows how to hold his own.
All of us do. Even so, he knows pushing my buttons and pissing me off won’t bode well for any of us, which is why his mouth snaps closed.
For a few seconds anyway. Molars grinding, he tries again.
“If anyone pieces together that the room wasn’t supposed to have anyone else inside it, people will question the validity of every single event we put on from here on out, and that’s on you. ”
“I covered for him,” Roman repeats.
“You did your best to cover for him,” Hawke clarifies. “But let’s be honest with ourselves instead of pretending Jagger didn’t fuck up tonight. We don’t know what people saw.”
“They saw a man in a mask chasing after a girl who’s terrified of swimming,” I tell them.
“That’s what you think they saw,” Ford argues. “You. Don’t. Know. And that is the only real fact we have.”
Scrubbing my hand over my face again, I drop my hand to my side and collapse onto the couch, defeated.
“What do you want me to do?” I look at each of my brothers.
Roman. Hawke. Ford. They all stand in the room, none of them uttering a single word.
“What do you want me to do?” I repeat. “You’re all so quick to point out I screwed up, but none of you are very vocal when it comes to a solution, now are you? ”
Sighing, Hawke collapses in front of me, pulls out a small tray of facepaint, and starts re-creating my skull face. “What’s done is done.”
“Of course it is,” I mutter, careful not to move as Hawke begins slapping paint onto my cheek with a sponge.
“He’s right,” Roman says. “It’s done. We’ll be careful. Keep shit quiet for now. Make sure not to rock the boat.”
“You better hope it doesn’t bite us in the ass,” Ford mutters. “Because if it does…”
“I know,” I grit out. “Trust me, I know.”
“Do you? Because if you fuck this up for a piece of ass—”
Jumping to my feet, I grab my brother by his throat and shove him against the closest wall. “She’s not some piece of ass.”
“Then what is she?” he challenges.
She’s my Little Thief.
The words resurface before I can stop them, scaring the shit out of me. I swallow thickly and let him go. “No one’s gonna know.”
“You’re right. They’re not. Because you’re gonna keep your distance.
You’re not gonna show any favoritism tonight, or at any other party, or during school, or anywhere.
Do you hear me?” Ford steps closer until we’re nose to nose.
“Because if you do, it’ll be that much easier to piece together how bad you fucked up. ”
“He’s right,” Roman says. “Give it a few weeks. At least another bet or two.”
“Then, you can fuck her all you want,” Ford adds dryly. “It’s the least she can do after the mess she’s made.”
“Fuck you,” I snap.
He lifts his hands in defense. “Don’t shoot the messenger, big brother. You know I’m right.”
And that’s the predicament, isn’t it? I do know he’s right. I want to hate him for it, but I can’t.
“Sit your ass back down,” Hawke pushes. “We’ve been in here long enough. No one will notice if me and Roman are missing, but you two?” He shakes his head. “Let me finish your face so you can get the hell out of here.”
I sit on the edge of the couch and Hawke starts again, finishing the skull makeup in under five minutes.
And the entire time, I can’t help but replay the scene from inside that room.
The way Violet looked. The fear in her eyes.
The slight tremble of her bottom lip. The way her clothes clung to her body.
The way she said my name like it was a plea.
And even now, I can’t make myself regret going in to help her, even if it does screw me over. And that? Is a dangerous thing.