Page 92 of Stay with Me

“Um ...”

Jax took my hand, tugging me inside, and the smell—God, the smell was the first thing I noticed as he shut the door behind us. The room, which consisted of a blaring TV and two couches that had seen better days, smelled like a mixture of cat piss and booze.

Please do not let my mom be in here.

I know that I was wrong for thinking that. Finding her would ease my problems quickly, but I didn’t want to think of her in a place like this.

“Not cool, man.” Ritchey backed away, scratching at his throat with dirty nails. The skin of his neck was red. “Pushing the door open like you’re a damn cop or something.”

“You didn’t open the door,” Jax returned.

I had to wonder how much practice he had busting up into houses with um ... questionable residents, because he was completely at ease doing so. I took a step to the side, because I realized there was a hole in the floorboard in front of me, and I could see over the back of a couch.

My chest squeezed.

There was a small child, maybe five or six, curled up on the couch, lying under a thin quilt. A cat was tucked in the little’s boy lap. I stared at the kid, sickened.

“What’s up?” Ritchey asked.

Jax kept his arms loose at his sides. “We’re looking for Mona.”

“Mona Fritz?”

“Like there’s another Mona I’d come here looking for. And this isn’t the first time I’ve come here looking for Mona,” Jax said, surprising me. But then I remembered him saying he and Clyde had done this before. “Don’t pull crap. You know how this works.”

It worked a certain way?

Ritchey kept digging at the skin by his throat, but a certain gleam crept into his eyes. “I ain’t got no part in Mona’s shit.”

Jax took a step forward, dipping his chin. “I’ll only ask you once, Ritchey.”

“Man, I ain’t—”

“One time,” Jax warned.

Ritchey didn’t answer, and then Jax sprang forward, grasping the front of Ritchey’s shirt and lifting him onto the tips of his bare feet.

Holy crap, this was going to get physical.

My mouth dropped and then I moved forward, keeping my voice low as I reached their side. “There’s a kid on the couch sleeping, Jax.”

“Shit,” muttered Jax, but his hands didn’t come off the guy. “You got Shia here, in this rat hole?”

“His damn mother skipped out. I’m doing the best I can.”

His biceps flexed. “Let’s take this into the kitchen and you’re going to play nice. For Shia, okay?”

We took it into the kitchen, or what might have been the kitchen. It didn’t have a sink, just a gaping hole where one should be. Out of the corner of my eyes, I thought I saw something brown and disgustingly large scurry over the wall near the fridge.

“Mona ain’t here,” Ritchey said finally.

“You mind if I check that out?”

“Have at it.” Ritchey stepped to the side and leaned against the counter. “But I’m telling you. She ain’t here and you ain’t the first person to come looking for her.”

I stilled. “We’re not?”

“Who else has been looking for her?” Jax asked, not moving.

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