Page 42 of Protect Your Queen

He didn’t close the door into his room. Instead, he changed direction, down the hall, and knocked on another door. It opened, as if the occupant had been waiting for his signal. Jazz had removed the leather dominatrix look and was wearing leggings and a tank top. Both black. Her wardrobe had the variety of Morticia Addams.

“I got a call from Callum. We need a word.” Jareth flicked his thumb in my direction, and she looked past his shoulder at me and lifted a brow.

“Callum’s the Scottish guy from boarding school?”

“Yes. Pretty boy’s boss.” Jareth didn’t even look at me when he made the well-placed jab at my expense… dick.

The pair of them came toward me, and I stood my ground, ready to be read the Riot Act, or be killed where I stood.

“You saw Pesci in the crowd.” I don’t think Jareth knew how to speak with a question mark. Everything he said was a statement, even when he was asking for information.

“Yes, and he definitely had a gun.”

Jazz took in my half-dressed state. The absolutelookof disgust on her face made me want to cover up.

“The man is as slippery as his name implies.” Jareth played with the watch at his wrist, clasping and un-clasping it. It was interesting to finally know that this was school-related. But what kind of fucking school handed out Rolex watches? What the hell?

“Did you tellthat menace of a cop?” Jareth stood at the piano, delicately laying his hand on the closed lid. “DetectiveDelgado?”

He said her title as if it was a curse. Like the very act of being a Detective was a crime - like a mafia boss, or snitch.

Maybe in his world, it was.

“No,” I shook my head.

“Good,” Jareth scowled.

The man was good looking. I could admit that. Hell, all of the siblings were. But Jareth had the mystery of danger written in his movements. I wondered how many bodies he had buried in his garden. How many people had he covered in cement? How many people didn’t cry to be saved from the Devil, but cried to be rescued from Jareth Barkada?

That didn’t make him a bad man, per se. There were two worlds at work on this planet. The one where most people live - where killing and stealing was wrong, and everyone just wanted to go to work, come home, and be decent. Then there was the world that men like Jareth inhabited. The ambitious, social-climbing world of backroom deals that moved money hand over fist. The first was where I wanted my sister to be. The latter was where Caledonia Security made their living.

I knew, without a doubt, that I would keep my sister far, far away from these people.

“I’m curious why Captain America, here, decided to keep something from the cops,” Jazz said, completely talking about me as if I was deaf. “He smells like donuts and bacon.”

To make her point, she sniffed in my direction, and if the circumstances were any different, I would have laughed. But it was a serious accusation, coming from her.

“If someone went after my sister the way that Pesci guy did,” I crossed my arms in front of my bare chest, feeling the tug of the stitches on my arm. “I wouldn’t hand him to the cops so they could take years to prosecute and ruin his life. I’d string him up in a shed, gag his mouth, and beat him until he was as soft as mashed potatoes. I’d grind him until he was nothing but a pile of fertilizer.”

Jareth leaned back, a small smirk coming to his thick lips. “And how would you grab the man in question?”

“Easy,” I said, because this was so second nature to me after my time at JSOC – the Joint Special Operations Command - that I could come up with a plan in my sleep. “I would wait until my backup, Lea and Leo, arrived. Then I’d find where this Pesci guy was staying. The man smells like booze. Hell, he evenlookslike booze. I’d poison his drink and walk him out like a drunk.”

Jareth’s eyes sparkled with understanding as I kept on going.

“I’d get him nice and sauced, maybe even offer to sell her out for a cut of the profits, since I know that’s his motivator, right?” Jareth’s fingers flexed, as if the reminder pissed him off. But I kept going. “Then I’d drive him out to a secure location, gag the fucker, and start working him over to find out if he was acting alone - which I suspect he wasn’t.”

“Why would you say that? What makes you think he wasn’t a lone wolf?” Jazz still looked at me with skepticism.

“Just a hunch. If he was trying to kill her because he was pissed he couldn’t recreate his former glory, he’d be fixated on killing her, even if it cost him his life. But he's not.” Sure, Callum MacLachlan had been the one to assess this, but I said it as if it was my own analysis. “He wants to get away. I bet someone’s offered to pay him, and he needs to escape the authorities and live so that he can collect.”

“Why would you think someone would pay to harm Jestiny?” It was uncanny how similar, and yet different, the two sisters looked. Where Jestiny was soft, and sweet, this woman was all hard angles and barbed edges. Even her voice screamed of danger.

“I’m guessing your climb up the ladder hasn’t been sunshine and rainbows.” I was watching my words again, because I bet Jasmine Barkada would stab me in the neck if I said something that bothered her. “You guys may have ticked off someone powerful enough who could pay this fucker off.”

“That’s a long list, pretty boy.” I wondered why they called her Jazz. Of the two sisters, Jestiny should be the one called Jazz, because she had the soul for it. This one? She had nothing going on behind her dead eyes but chaos and destruction.

“Then we better start narrowing that down.” I turned to Jareth, deciding to address the one that mattered.

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