27. Jax
Jax
When I get home, still seething from the exchange with Gray, I find the house empty. Panic moves through me in a relentless wave as I check upstairs for my brothers, wondering where they could be.
Are they doing something stupid? Should I call them?
But I’m so exhausted I can barely arrange my thoughts enough to form a plan to find them.
I rub at my eyes, noting the disgusting state of the kitchen. It looks as if Seb and Ben were up late playing games again, pizza boxes and beer cans strewn everywhere.
I’m so sick of this fucking dump.
I go upstairs, kick off my shoes, and collapse into bed with a long, drawn-out groan. I can’t remember the last time I took a nap, but my body is telling me I have no choice.
By the time I wake up, four hours have passed.
I frown, wondering what time it is and what woke me, until I smell something burning.
Sitting bolt upright in bed, I leap off the mattress and run to the bedroom door, hurtling down the stairs only to come to a stop in the living room at the sight of Scott in the kitchen.
He’s wearing an apron I haven’t seen since our mom was alive.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, walking into the kitchen. The surfaces are spotless, and all the mess that was here when I got home has been cleared away.
The smell of burning is coming from the pan on the stove, where he is frying corn. Now that I’m downstairs, it smells like he’s making chicken stew.
Is Scott cooking my favorite food?
“Hey Jax,” he says brightly.
He can just about manage a smile now, without his wounds splitting open again. The bruise on his eye is turning yellow around the edges, and he’s standing straighter than he has in days.
“I thought it might be nice to make you some food. I wasn’t sure if you were home, and I went up to check on you. You were completely passed out.”
I must look as confused as I feel because he chuckles, flipping the corn in the pan as he scrapes it out onto a plate.
“I just thought I’d cook dinner for once.”
I narrow my eyes at him. He’s never done that in the twenty-four years we’ve been alive.
“What are you in such a good mood about?” I ask.
“I just feel bad,” he says, his eyes darting around the kitchen and not meeting my gaze. “I’m sorry for causing you all this grief.”
I lower slowly onto one of the plastic stools beside the kitchen island and continue frowning at him as he continues to put the stew together. He’s microwaved some rice, and he pulls it out, grabbing two plates and handing one to me.
“It’s Mom’s recipe.”
Little shit always knows how to get me.
“Thanks,” I say finally. “Smells great.”
I check my watch, but it’s Monday night. Jensons isn’t open today, so neither of us has anywhere to be.
As I watch my brother move about the kitchen, I struggle to remember the last time we sat down together for a meal. More often than not, one of us is working or helping Flynn with something. It’s rare that we have a home-cooked meal, and even rarer that it isn’t me making it.
He carries the pot to the tiny table in the living room, giving me the same bright smile. Something about this isn’t quite right, but I can’t figure out what it is.
“Want jalapenos?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say as he grabs the jar from the refrigerator. “Have you heard any more from Monroe?”
Scott shakes his head. “No work talk tonight. Well, not about that. I haven’t heard from him, and we’ve got time.”
“Scott.”
He holds up a hand. “I’ll deal, Jax. I promise. I just want to have dinner with my baby sister, okay?”
I glower at him. “You are two minutes older than me, jackass.”
He dumps a ladle-full of stew on my plate, and my stomach growls loudly. I am suddenly ravenous, and we both dig into our food as I sprinkle charred corn over the top of mine.
Scott connects his phone to Seb’s beat-up Bluetooth speaker, and gentle music starts playing in the background.
Every few minutes, the ads cut in because he’s too cheap to pay for a subscription, but other than that, this is so nice.
I glance up at him several times throughout the meal. He looks calm and relaxed for the first time in weeks, but instead of reassuring me, it sets my teeth on edge.
By the time I lean back in my chair, I’m so full I could burst, but Scott has barely eaten anything.
“I made dessert, too,” he says, as he rises, taking my plate. I stay still, watching him go into the kitchen, moving about gingerly as he places the plates in the sink. Eventually, he comes back from the fridge with a small but perfectly formed key lime pie.
I stare at it as he slices it up.
“Scott, what’s going on?” I ask, and his eyes harden as he looks at me.
“You’re so suspicious, Jax. Nothing is going on. I just wanted to make things up to you. Are you going to tell me where you got all that money from now?”
“Only if you tell me why you’re acting like we have nothing to worry about, when we’re deeper in the shit than ever.”
He scrapes his teeth over his lip, his eyes fluttering as he takes a bite of the pie and shrugs. His whole demeanor is off, and it has me on high alert.
We continue with generic small talk throughout dessert. He asks me again what I’ve been doing during the day and why I was wearing weird clothes for lunch yesterday, but I keep my answers evasive.
When he tells me to go and ‘relax’ and ‘put my feet up’ while he deals with the plates, I’m practically vibrating with the need to know what he’s up to.
The great thing about having a twin is that I can read him like a book, and I know he’s hiding something from me. While he’s busy in the kitchen, I mumble something about going to the bathroom and head up to his bedroom.
It’s a mess as usual, his clothes thrown haphazardly across every surface. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but Scott is terrible at hiding things from me.
A short search in his closet reveals nothing until I turn and notice something red sticking out from beneath the bed.
Dropping to my knees, I pull out a duffel bag that clinks ominously as I wrench it open.
My heart jumps into my throat at the contents, and I rise, marching back to the living room and throwing it onto the table with a loud thud.
The guns inside, along with the knives at the bottom, clatter loudly as Scott spins around, soap suds dripping across the floor, as he pulls his hands from the sink.
“What in the actual fuck, Scott Jenson?” I demand, gesturing at the armory of weapons he’s collected.
He grabs a towel, stalking toward me. “You went through my fucking room? I’m twenty-four years old, Jax!”
“Then act like it. Where the fuck did you get this shit?”
“From a guy I know,” he remarks, without even attempting to deny it. If I’ve ever been this furious, I don’t remember when.
Is my brother planning to murder people? Is that where we are with this shit?
“What were you going to do with this?” I demand.
“It’s just a scare tactic,” he says, sounding as stupid as his statement suggests. “Nick Monroe is a piece of shit, and he deserves to be taught a lesson. We both know we can’t get that amount of money every week; he’ll crucify us. We have to strike first.”
“Str—” I stutter, staring at him as if he were a complete stranger. “Strike first? Why, because you have so much fucking experience with that? Nick Monroe is practically a mob boss. And you’re going after him with three rusty guns and a couple of machetes? You’ll be shot on sight.”
He scoffs like I’m an idiotic little girl, and I advance on him, shoving him hard in the chest. His eyes grow wide, and he cries out in pain as his back hits the wall.
“Let me say this once and once only,” I snarl, barely recognizing my own voice.
“You got yourself into this situation, Scott. You. No one else. You got our family, me, your little brothers, and Flynn into a shitstorm because of your terrible choices. This,” I say, gesturing at the bag, “is the nail in a coffin you built yourself, is that clear?”
I step closer to him. I must have a pretty vicious look on my face because he’s cowering now.
“You will not do this. Understood? You will throw everything in that bag into the fucking river, and we will find a way to get Nick the money you owe him.”
As the last word leaves my mouth, Seb and Ben walk through the front door. I don’t move away from Scott, turning my head to stare at them as they stand frozen in the doorway, their eyes moving to the bag, to me, and then finally to Scott.
“Did one of you idiots come up with this bright idea?” I ask them, finally stepping back as I hear Scott let out a long breath.
My cell vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it.
“Listen to me,” I say as the door swings shut behind Ben and Seb.
“Nothing about this plan is going to end well. Nothing. You can’t take on someone like Nick Monroe; don’t even try.
I’ve heard some terrible things about him.
You want to get yourself shot, break Flynn’s heart, and destroy our lives?
Then go ahead, storm his warehouse like you’re playing one of your video games. You won’t last three fucking seconds.”
The ringing silence that follows my words is absolute. Seb and Ben have the good sense to look embarrassed as I grab the bag and pull it from the table.
“If any of you try to look for this, I will kill you myself. This stops. Now.”
Scott is a crumpled heap against the wall, his arms around his bruised ribs.
“So what’s the plan then, Jax?” he asks, and his voice is quivering now, tears welling in his eyes. “We can’t come up with another thirty grand by Sunday.”
“We’ll think of something.”
“What?” he asks desperately, and I wish I had a good answer for him.
“Just leave it to me, I’ll deal with it. And no more gambling, guns, or knives. Is that clear?”
Seb and Ben step hurriedly out of my way as I go upstairs. I’m so angry I want to punch them.
How has it come to this?
Stomping up to my room, I slam the door behind me, grab each item from the bag one by one, and hide them around my room in separate places.
My phone vibrates continually as I go, and despite my rage, I can’t help but be intrigued at why someone is sending me six messages in the space of thirty seconds.
I drag it out of my pocket.
GRAY: SOS
Then there is a dropped pin at the location of a fancy Manhattan restaurant.
GRAY: Emergency.
GRAY: $5,000
GRAY: $10,000
GRAY: $20,000. Come here and make a scene. Get me out of this nightmare date.
GRAY: PLEASE.
I’ve just had one of the shittiest nights of my life, learned that my brothers have officially lost their damned minds, and discovered guns inside my own house.
I should tell him to get fucked and go back to bed, but I find my lips twitching as the texts get more unhinged the longer he goes without a reply.
Something in me knows I should stay here and babysit my Looney Tunes family, but a larger part just wants to throw off the shackles of my own life and go and save Mr. Asshole from his.
Not to mention, that’s a lot of money, and god knows we need it.