Page 18 of Jayson
“And?”
“That’s unusual. He never sleeps with his door open. I went to check on him.”
He presses a hand to the bars, fingers curling around cold iron.
“I didn’t know you were there,” he says. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“No one’s supposed to see their father get shot to death,” I say softly. “But shit happens.”
Another silence stretches. His knuckles whiten against the bar. He exhales slowly, a sound like something he’s been holding for too long finally leaving his lungs.
“Unfortunateshit,” he corrects.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I say, my voice lower now, steadier, like maybe if I say it gently enough, he’ll believe me.
But Jayson’s eyes only darken. That faint flicker of something human vanishes behind cold steel.
“Everyone says that,” he murmurs. “Right up until the secret starts corroding inside them. Until it gets too heavy, too loud, and they can’t keep it down anymore.”
He leans in just slightly—close enough that I feel the chill in his words.
I meet his eyes. “And you? What were you, Jayson, before you decided you were judge, jury, and executioner?”
He doesn’t answer. The silence drags, stretching taut between us, and still he says nothing. So I keep going. Because someone has to.
“Let me guess,” I murmur. “You only kill the bad guys, right? That’s how you sleep at night?”
His jaw ticks. Just once.Bullseye.
“I didn’t sleep before,” he says flatly. “Killing didn’t change that.”
There’s something final in his voice—dead and buried, like whatever mercy he had left was stripped from him years ago. And yet, he’s still standing here. Still watching me like I’m the one holding the knife.
“You could’ve killed me,” I say. “So why didn’t you?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
It’s not a threat. It’s a confession. Quiet. Fractured. Honest.
That should terrify me. Maybe it does. But all I feel is a strange stillness in my chest. Like whatever fear I had is curled up in the corner, unafraid of him.
“Do you want me dead?” I ask.
His eyes flick over my face, unreadable.
“I could kill you at any point,” he says.
I let out a sharp breath. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Well, I haven’t killed you…yet.”
“That’s supposed to comfort me?”
“No,” he says, and this time his voice is low and lethal. “It’ssupposed to remind you that you're still alivebecause I allow it.Don’t mistake that for safety.”
I feel the words like a collar tightening around my throat. But I don’t look away. If I give him fear, he’ll use it against me. So I give him my fury instead.
“Then stop dancing around it and just fucking do it.”
