13. Jasmine #2
She doesn’t look at me when I sit across from her. In fact, she looks down, like making eye contact might cost her something. I frown.
Landon leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “She’s Talia,” he murmurs. “Marcus’ girlfriend.”
I jerk back, my spine stiffening. Girlfriend? She looks barely eighteen. And Marcus looks like an expired thirty-five year old.
I didn’t like him before. But now? Now I’m personally planning his fucking funeral. Before I can speak, a voice breaks through the static of my disgust.
“Lanny Lan!” a too-cheerful guy calls out, sliding into the seat beside me with a grin and a plate stacked so high with barbecue it might collapse under its own weight. “What have you brought for dessert?”
“Nothing,” Landon growls, clearly unimpressed. “You can get a bite of Zay.”
I turn, a smile spreading across my face before I can stop it. Isaiah Cross, is the owner of Tat Attack in town, the place where I have gotten at least ten of my tattoos over the last year. I used to live for their thirty dollar Thursdays and holiday specials.
“Isaiah, don't tell me you tat so many asses, you don’t remember mine?” I snort, and his dark brown eyes flash with recognition.
Isaiah shakes out his moss-green hair and leans over his tattoo-covered knuckles grazing my arm. “I could never forget an ass like yours…”
“Jasmine?” I snort just as another girl—barely more than a teenager herself—glides past and drops two plates in front of us. Fuchsia hair braided tight to the side, deep brown eyes, and a low-cut tank top.
“Right, Jasmine.” He nods and I laugh because the guy fucks everything in town, so him not remembering me in A-Okay probably better than just okay.
Before I can come up with a response that includes teeth, a monotone voice cuts clean through the noise. “Isaiah.”
I glance up.
The man standing near the end of the table could be my biological brother if I squint hard enough. Same grey eyes. Same blonde hair.
He’s just tall, lean, and pale—but not sickly. More like carved from marble. His blonde hair is long and tied into a bun on top of his head, the sides of his scalp shaved into a low fade, and his eyes are a darker grey than mine, like he holds the clouds in them.
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smile. Just stares at Isaiah like he’s a fly buzzing too close to something sacred.
Isaiah rolls his eyes. “Come on, Asher. I’m being friendly.”
“Too-friendly,” he comments, sitting next to Talia and sliding her a smaller plate of barbeque.
We fall into a strange, almost peaceful silence for a few minutes, and I decide—if I die tonight, it’ll be fine as long as it’s by this plate of barbecue.
The ribs slide right off the bone, the mac and cheese is gooey perfection, the yams are sweet without being cloying, and the green beans are seasoned just right. And the cornbread? Thick sliced, golden crust, with honey butter melting into every crevice. It’s an actual crime how good this food is.
I take one bite of the ribs and moan, eyes fluttering shut. Because holy fuck. If this is what dinner with the Raiders is like, I might have to join.
Next to me, Landon clears his throat pointedly. I open my eyes to find him staring—hard.
Isaiah nearly chokes on his beer. “Shit,” he grins. “If she’s gonna keep making noises like that, I’ll go fix her another plate myself.”
“No.” Landon’s voice is sharp. Final.
I pretend not to hear him and keep eating. Because honestly? He should be grateful I’m not moaning louder.
I’m about halfway through the best meal I’ve had in years when Marcus finally speaks again. “Where’s my little brother?”
The table stills for a beat. Isaiah’s smirk fades, his face going a little red. He’s still holding a rib an inch from his mouth when he answers. “He’s with Cassandra.”
Marcus leans back in his chair, drumming his fingers once on the table. “Still?”
Isaiah shrugs, not meeting his eyes. “She wanted company. He volunteered.”
A few of the other guys chuckle low under their breath, and right on cue, a girl saunters into the garage. She has big, bouncy blonde curls, bruised lips, and a ring of hickeys around her neck that almost looks like a necklace. She’s wearing daisy dukes and a flannel shirt tied around her waist.
Hot on her tail is a terrifying sex god on legs.
He’s tall. Slender but built. His black hair falls in soft, deliberate waves, slightly damp like he just stepped out of a shower.
Hazel eyes flick calmly around the garage, and he’s covered in tattoos, not messy ones, but clean, sharp designs that stretch across his arms and peek from under the collar of his fitted black shirt.
“Thank you for joining us Xavier,” Marcus snarls, but Xavier just shrugs.
“Sorry, for keeping him.” The girl who I am assuming is Cassandra pouts, in an exaggerated southern belle accent. “I can be so distracting at times. You know that, Marcus.”
“Mmmhmm,” Marcus grumbles, just as Xavier steals some of his ribs off his plate and slides into the seat between Marcus and Isaiah.
Xavier leans back in his chair, Cassandra curled across his lap like a smug housecat, and nods at the table. “What’s this about?”
Marcus smiles, slow and wide. The kind of smile that says he’s been waiting for the curtain to rise.
“Well,” he says, dabbing his mouth with a crumpled napkin even though there’s no mess to clean, “Now we can get started since everyone’s here ...”
His gaze slides over the table—lingering on me.
“You,” Marcus says, tapping his fork against the edge of his plate without breaking eye contact. “Are gonna help us out, sweetheart.”
I blink. “Me?”
“You,” he repeats with a nod, like he’s confirming my name on a list. “Jasmine Rivera. Late admission to Haven, lives in a pretty little apartment with our favorite runaway, and—if I’m hearing things right—currently warming up to one Brooke du Pont. ”
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. “Excuse me?”
Marcus grins. “Come on now. You didn’t think we invited you just for some grub?”
I glance at Landon, but he’s eyes are narrowed in on Marcus, jaw clicking like he’s grinding his teeth to the nub.
Marcus leans in, elbows braced on the table. “We’ve had guys trying to get close to the du Ponts for years. Problem is, no one’s cracked that circle. Everyone we’ve sent in tried to charm her or her brother, but failed. Some even tried to get in her bed. But nobody realized…”
His grin widens.
“She wasn’t into them, because she wasn’t into guys.”
I snort. “I’m sorry, gay never crossed your mind?”
The table goes quiet. Isaiah chokes softly on his beer.
“Nah, sweetheart,” Marcus smirks, leaning into the table. His hands hovering over his empty plate. “Foolish ain’t we.”
I nod, and clear my throat. “So let me get this straight,” I shift in my seat. “You want me to what? Seduce her?”
Marcus shrugs. “Call it what you want. But she likes you. You’ve got her attention. We want her money. Or more specifically…” He steeples his fingers. “Her father’s money.”
“And you think dating me is going to get her to open the family vault?”
“She’s a du Pont,” Asher cuts in, tone flat. “They don’t share bank access over brunch. But if you’re in, you’re in.”
“The du Ponts own seventy percent of Texas real estate.” Xavier looks at me for the first time, a look of corruption on his smiling face.
“They’ve got more influence than the damn governor, and are more beloved given that Howard du Pont is one of the biggest pastors in the state.
If we can get them on our side—or even one of them—we can finally cut ties with the Italians and move with the cartel. ”
My heart hammers in my chest. I stare at Marcus. “You want me to manipulate her.”
“We want you to make her useful, ” Marcus says simply. “And in exchange, we keep Tommy alive.”
I freeze. “What?”
“Oops.” His grin doesn’t falter. “Forgot to mention—we picked him up. Sweet guy. Real loyal. But that kind of loyalty doesn’t mean much unless you play ball.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. Tommy, Willow’s Dad, the only parent I have ever truly known.
“Where is he?” I snap, chest tightening.
Landon shifts beside me, but Marcus lifts a hand, palm out like I’m a child throwing a tantrum. “Don’t. Let’s not turn this into some big rescue mission. Tommy’s not hurt… yet. But if you don’t hold up your end? Well, I’d hate for you to attend another funeral this year.”
My mouth goes dry. The buzzing in my ears gets louder.
First month of college and I’ve already got one foot in a criminal enterprise, a situationship with the most dangerous man I’ve ever met, another with the sweetest girl I don’t deserve—and now I’ve managed to get my semi-adoptive dad kidnapped by a biker gang.
Awesome. Just fucking stellar.
“You just want me to get close to Brooke?” I ask, voice flat, grinding the words out between clenched teeth.
Marcus leans back in his chair and nods, all fake charm and oily calm. “Real close. Close enough that she invites you to the du Pont Ball at the start of winter.”
I blink. “The Ball? That’s?—”
“A political summit in sequins,” he cuts in. “Old money, new money, cartel reps, mafia whispers, and every landowner with power south of Kansas. Her daddy throws it. You get in, we get eyes.”
“And then what?” I ask slowly.
Marcus just grins, tapping his temple. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. You leave the real mess to the professionals, darling.”
Around the table, the guys start laughing—hooting like this is a comedy set and not a criminal setup. Landon’s jaw is tight as he stares at Marcus with pure murder in his eyes.
And I tuck my chin in my chest. Fuck, I’m going to be sick.
About thirty minutes later, Marcus waves us off with a grin and a half-eaten rib, like he didn’t just blackmail me with the one person I love most in this world. I keep my head down, hold my breath, and walk in silence until we reach the edge of the Raiders’ property.
The second we’re past the bikes and off the porch, I turn on Landon like a dragon ready to burn him to a crisp.
“Did you know?” I hiss, shoving him hard in the chest. He barely stumbles, but his hands shoot up, defensive.
“Peach—”
“Did you fucking know?”
“Bloody hell?—”
“Don’t you dare deflect. Did you know they were going to whore me out for a goddamn land deal? Did you know they had Tommy ?”
“No, I didn’t fucking know!” Landon barks back, voice rougher than I’ve ever heard it. “You think I would’ve walked you into that mess if I knew?”
“You brought me here!” I scream. “You brought me into their house. Sat me at their goddamn table like a piece of bait!”
“I brought you here to keep you safe!”
My breath hitches. “ Safe? They’re using me.”
“I know,” he growls, stepping toward me, eyes blazing. “I didn’t know it was gonna be this. I thought Marcus just wanted to scare you. Prove a point. But I never—I would never have let them threaten Tommy, Jasmine.”
He scrubs a hand through his hair, pacing a few feet away like he can’t bear to be still.
“I’m on your side,” he mutters, quieter now. “Even when it’s fucked. Even when I don’t know how to fix it.”
My arms are shaking, adrenaline twisting through every limb. I want to punch something. Scream until my throat rips open.
“You don’t get to say that,” I whisper. “You don’t get to be on my side when you dragged me into a goddamn snake pit.”
He steps in again, slow this time, like he’s approaching something feral. “Peach… I was trying to protect you. I’ve always been trying to protect you, and right now, you need to protect us because this is them being nice. If he brings us in here again you’ll leave in a fucking body bag.”
My body shakes, and I look away before he can see the tears spilling over.
“Then help me get Tommy back,” I whisper. “Help me get out . I can’t do this to Brooke.”
“I will,” he says, wrapping a hand around the back of my neck. “I swear to you, Jasmine. I will fix this, but right now, you have to play the game, until I can find a way out that doesn’t get us killed.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “Okay, but I don’t like this.”
He pulls me in close, placing a kiss on my forehead. “I know, Peach. I know.”