Page 48 of Pawn

My elbow on the window, my fist sits under my jaw. My dad never let Mom in on his business but I’m an idiot for trying to do this without her.

I need Jo.

With Jo by my side, I can handle the pressures of the King’s name on my shoulders. And she’ll make me feel better about not shoving my Oxfords through Shay’s face.

Even through bombing that meeting, Jo’s all I could think about. Hell, she’s the reason I made that meeting in the first place.

That’s why I can’t give up.

After convincing Shay and his wife to come over for dinner, that gives me a few hours to get everything in place. It’s a trick I took from my dad. Wine and dine them until “no” isn’t an answer.

Until then, Jo is my appetizer.

When I pull through the gate, my eyes narrow at Johnson’s Range in the driveway.

The fuck is he still doing here?

Knowing I’d be late, I told him to grab Jo and bring her home. I still don’t trust leaving her on her own after the shit we’ve been through. But that was hours ago.

Once I’m out of the car, crisp air on my face, I’m at the front door in a flash.

“Jo?”

Trap music thumps through the speakers in the ceiling, the place stinking of weed. Jo’s laugh hits my ears, sending that knotting feeling to my stomach again. My eyes drop to her leather jacket on the marble foyer floor next to a few bottles of beer and bits of weed.

“The fuck is going on?” I mutter.

This isn’t good.

Isobel’s gone for the evening and if the Shays see the place in this state they’ll assume what they always do. That I’m some party-crazed kid. Not anymore. I’m trying to build a life for us.

Where the fuck is she?

“Rowland!”

“Damien?”

I follow her voice to the living room where she sits up from the floor, pushing her hair from her face.

“The fuck is this?” Looking around, it looks like a party for two.

More bottles lay around them along with bags of snacks, a cloud of dense smoke around me.

“Damien!” Pressing off the white sofa, Jo stumbles when she stands, the smell of weed strong as fuck. She looks all cute and dazed, a small smirk on her face as she eyes my frame in one of my t-shirts. “Damien’s here!”

A laugh comes from Isaac, sprawled a few feet from her and my heartbeat starts to settle. His uniform is still on, tie loosened to his chest, buttons still done.

Jo’s hair is a beautiful mess, the Medusa she is but if the Shays see her like this, there’s no way this won’t get out. She stumbles towards me, her arms out. I want to laugh at how adorable she looks, but this shit isn’t gonna work for me today.

“Where the fuck are your pants?” When she turns around her ass peeks out and while my abs clench I’m not having that. No way. Not around Johnson. Shrugging my jacket off, I toss it at her. “Put your pants on, this isn’t a strip club.”

“Geez! Okay!” She staggers when the ball of leather hits her chest before she wraps it around her waist with a cocked brow.

Isaac sputters a laugh, staring at the ceiling like he’s looking at the stars. “Dude, chill out.” He raises his hand, a lit joint between his fingers. “Have a hit. We’re having a Marion memorial.”

Marion? She’s better off dead after what she did. Taking the joint from Isaac, I pull him up by his shirt. “Get out.”

“Why?” he laughs as I let him go. High as fuck.

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