Chapter 30 Jagger
JAGGER
As soon as The Body Shop’s door closes behind us, Ford lets out a groan and drops his head toward the dark sky above us. “What an asshole—”
“You really think you were helping in there?” Hawke shoves Ford in the shoulder.
Stumbling to the side, Ford catches his balance, then tosses back, “You really think you were helping in there? Fucking with his niece right in front of him? What the hell?”
Hawke shakes his head. “I wasn’t fucking with anyone.”
“You would if she let you,” Ford counters dryly.
His voice raises a few octaves as he bats at his face like a girl in middle school.
“I bet you’d love a taste of my slippery nipple.
Wouldn’t you, Hawke? I mean, Robin?” Ford snorts.
“Bet she’d love for you to brave her bat cave, along with the rest of the guys in there. ”
Hawke glares at our little brother, and the idiot has the decency to raise his hands in surrender.
“All right, all right. I’ll back off. I’m sure her bat cave is very nice and exclusive and only a few wealthy super heroes with a shit-ton of money have been granted access.
Happy now–ouch!” Ford rubs at his shoulder as Hawke shakes out his fist, having dealt a quick but hard jab to my brother’s arm in hopes of shutting him up.
Good.
Ford deserved it.
As we climb into my truck, Roman asks, “So, what do you think?”
My finger hovers above the ignition button for a second too long before I press it, causing the engine to roar to life. “I think the only thing we can do is wait and see if Gus breaks our agreement,” I answer.
“You mean if Ethan breaks our agreement with Gus,” Roman counters.
“Yeah.” I scrub my hand over my face. “Guess so.”
“Even more reason to keep your distance from Violet,” Ford adds. “The last thing we need is for any of our customers to question the legitimacy of our system.”
I drop my head against the headrest and sigh. “We’ve had this conversation.”
“That was before I saw you,” Hawke interjects.
Well, shit.
My attention holds his in the rearview mirror, and I swear, it’s like I can read his damn mind. I promised the guys I’d keep my distance. I tried. Trust me, I fucking tried. Then, Violet walked up, got jealous, and…I messed up. “You mean us,” I mutter. “You saw us. Didn’t you?”
“Saw them when?” Ford questions.
“Yesterday,” Hawk answers. “After one of their classes. They disappeared into a classroom and…”
“And talked,” I lie.
Hawke’s brow quirks in the rearview mirror. “Talked. Right.”
Ford scoffs beside him. “So fucked. Got it.”
“I didn’t fuck her,” I argue.
“Semantics.” Ford groans. “Come on, man. I’m sure she’s great, all right? But that’s not the point—”
“The point is, this has nothing to do with you,” I interject.
“If that was the case, you’d be buried inside her right now,” Roman declares.
And that’s the kicker, isn’t it? He’s right. I would be.
“You promised three weeks,” Hawke murmurs. “It hasn’t even been two.”
He’s right. I know he is. Doesn’t make staying away from Violet any easier, though.
Turning onto the main road, I say, “Saturday night. Drag race at the old airfield. We’ll see if Ethan tries anything, or if he’ll stick to sports betting.”
“You want to test him?” Roman asks.
“Yeah. Let’s see how well Gus knows his nephew.”
Ford rubs his hands together. “I’ll get it done.”
Roman nods his agreement, the wheels already turning. “What are your thoughts on—”
When my cell blares through the bluetooth speaker, my father’s name flashes on the dashboard’s screen.
“Well, shit,” Ford mutters. “Since when does Daddy Dearest call?”
I glance at my brothers in the rearview mirror again, confident their confusion matches my own. “At least three months.”
The reminder doesn’t ease the pit in my stomach. Why is he calling now?
“You gonna answer?” Roman asks.
I reject the call and flick on my blinker. It rings again, but I ignore it. I’m not in the mood. Not tonight. When his call comes in a third time, I clench my jaw but hit answer despite myself. “Hello?”
“What the hell were you doing at The Body Shop?”
“I’m sorry, who is this?” Ford calls from the back seat.
Hawke tries to swallow his snort as he covers his face.
“So immature,” our father grits out under his breath. “Have I taught you nothing?”
“Only how to backstab those we love most, Daddy Dearest,” Ford quips.
“You’re lucky we’re speaking through the phone, Ford Walker, or I’d wipe the cocky smirk off your face with the back of my hand.”
“Been there, done that,” Ford volleys.
My knuckles tighten around the steering wheel. Ford can make light of the way my father used to wail on him, but it only stirs up memories. Ones I’d do anything to forget. “What do you want, Titas?” I demand.
“I want you to start feeling the repercussions for your actions.”
Repercussions? The man is delusional. Don’t get me wrong. We understand the risks of dealing with a person like Gus, but he’s a businessman first and kingpin second. As long as we continue providing him with his cut of our earnings, the man’s happy. If only my father was so easy to please.
Ford looks around as if searching for something in the cab. “Huh. That’s weird.” He pauses, bending down to look under the seat. “Do you see any repercussions, Hawke?”
“No. No, I do not see any repercussions, Ford. Do you see any repercussions, Jagger?” Hawke asks.
“Only our father’s for hanging our trust funds over our heads and not liking how we responded by building a name for ourselves,” I answer.
“Now, will that be all? Or…?” My question hangs in the air for a solid five seconds until the call goes dead.
The entire cab breathes out a long sigh.
We might talk a big game, but the truth is, none of us want to be on our father’s radar.
We only want to be left alone. And for some reason we don’t fathom, Titas can’t let this shit go.
“How do you think he knew?” Hawke asks.
I check my rearview mirror, confirming what I already knew. No one’s following us. I have my truck checked for tracking devices at least once a week. Which means one thing. “I think Gus has a mole.”
Hawke sighs. “You and me both, brother.”
The drive is only about twenty minutes until I’m home. It’s late. I’m exhausted. But after lying in bed for three hours, I finally give in and head to the gym.
Maybe a good workout will curb my racing thoughts.
It doesn’t do shit. I’m too pent up from my conversation about Violet with my brothers and Roman in the car earlier.
Scrubbing my hand over my sweaty face, I finally give in, head back to my room, and unplug my phone from its charger on my nightstand. I’ve had Violet’s contact information since the day I reached out to the school about her living arrangement, though I doubt she knows it.
Maybe it’s because it’s still dark outside. Maybe it’s because of my conversation with my brothers. Maybe it’s because I can’t stop thinking about how good she felt when she came on my hand. I pull up her contact information and send her a text.
Me
You up, Little Thief?
Her response is almost instant.
Little Thief
Who is this?
I sit on the edge of the bed and type my reply.
Me
Do others call you Little Thief?
Little Thief
How did you get my number?
Always so suspicious. I guess I don’t blame her. Considering what I’ve learned about her home life, she’s probably not used to this kind of attention unless it’s negative.
Me
I have my ways.
Little Thief
It was Ford, wasn’t it?
My low laugh surprises me as I reread her message. She’s so quick to toss out accusations. And even though I know Ford has her number, she can blame the school for this one. Well, the school and my connections, but I think I’ll keep that to myself.
Me
Not going to reveal my sources.
Little Thief
Of course not.
My mouth curves up.
Me
How are you? How’s the new place? Getting along with your new roommate?
The bubbles appear, then vanish about a dozen times until her response finally comes through.
Little Thief
Well, aren’t you just a little reporter.
Me
That’s not an answer.
I hit send, curious as to whether or not she’ll give me what I’m looking for. An actual response instead of evasion tactics even when I know I don’t deserve it.
Little Thief
I’m good. The place is amazing. And my new roommate is awesome, but I’m pretty sure any roommate would be better than my last one, if you know what I mean.
Me
How are your ribs? Still sore?
Little Thief
They’re okay. Definitely better than when I showed up at your place. As long as I’m keeping up on my pain meds and taking it easy at work, it isn’t terrible. Now, if only I could finish this Econ paper…
Me
Struggling, huh?
Little Thief
You have no idea. Tell me, do you actually read these things when you help Donahue grade papers, or do you phone it in?
Me
Do I seem like someone who would phone it in?
Little Thief
Until Halloween, I’d say yes. You definitely seem like someone who would half-ass it.
Ouch. Her candor hurts, though I don’t fault her for it. I can’t. It’s just another perk of being a self-entitled Harden. Even so, I can’t help my curiosity as I type my response.
Me
And now?
Little Thief
Mmm…let’s just say you’re not exactly the person I thought you were, but the jury’s still out.
My mouth curves up when another text comes through.
Little Thief
Seriously, though. Economics is rough.
Me
It can be.
Little Thief
Says the TA. Tell me, are you majoring in Economics?
Me
Is there a problem with Economics, Miss Public Policy degree?
Little Thief
Did your research again, huh?
Research. Obsession. Same difference, right?
Me
I have my ways. What made you want to go the public policy route?
Little Thief
You can blame your father on this one.
My eyes widen. My father? What would Violet’s degree have to do with my father?
Me
What’d he do this time?
Little Thief
I’m half-kidding.
Me
I’m not. The man’s an ass. Let me guess. Seeing the way Harden Heights thrives while The Drift is a crime-ridden shithole taps into your savior complex and makes you want to fix the imbalance of it all?
Little Thief
Ding, ding, ding. So tell me, why Economics?
Me
Maybe you and I aren’t so different, Little Thief.
She types a response but must delete it at least a dozen times.
I wonder why. Did I accidentally step on a grenade by highlighting our similarities instead of our differences?
With a frown, I reread our conversation a couple more times before following up my text with another one.
It’s an out. Or is it? I’m not sure, but I send the invite anyway.
Me
There’s another Harden Night next weekend. I want you to come.
Her response is just as jilted, but after a solid thirty seconds, her text comes through.
Little Thief
Who says I’m free?
Me
Are you busy next weekend?
Little Thief
I haven’t decided yet.
Me
Do I need to lick your pussy to convince you?
The bubbles play another round of showing then disappearing.
Little Thief
Are you going to act like you don’t know me?
Me
Probably.
Still want to see you.
The same bubble disappearing act plays out on my phone until my screen lights up a minute later.
Little Thief
I’ll see if I can make it.
Me
Good girl.
One more thing.
Little Thief
What is it?
My mouth lifts as I type my demand.
Me
Make sure you wear my hoodie.