Page 89 of The Villain
“Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t think your concern is for me. Giving me the phone, getting me out of the crypt, those things weren’t about me. They were for Cassian. To take from him or hell, maybe just to piss him off. I don’t know. Maybe you’re just jealous of him and you want to make trouble for him.”
He tilts his head, and I can’t tell if it’s anger or what I’m reading in his eyes. “Oh, my goodness,” he says more casually than I like. He takes a step toward me and there’s something in his eyes that makes me take one back. His gaze narrows and one corner of his mouth curves upward. “My, my, Little Moth. Are you falling for him?”
“Don’t call me that,” I say, turning away.
“Why? Is that nickname only for him to use?”
“It’s none of your business, is it?”
“Are you though?”
“Am I what?” I ask, feeling flushed and sweaty.
“Falling for my stepbrother?”
I shake my head. “Don’t be stupid. You said yourself I’m collateral. What was that anyway? What happened down there? And why are you here with me?”
“We’re friends, remember?”
“We’re not friends. I’m still trying to figure out why you gave me the phone. Why you’re bribing Cassian’s soldiers. He’ll kill them if he finds out. He’llkill you.”
“I’m not afraid of Cassian. I need a drink.” He pushes a hand through his hair and stalks across the room to pour himself a whiskey. He swallows it down before turning to me. “Want one?”
“Why are you here, Jet?”
“Honestly, I don’t fucking know, Allegra.”
He pours himself another drink, then decides to pour me one too. He carries both over to the couch and sits right in the center of it, legs wide, setting one of the tumblers on the coffee table and pushing it toward the chair facing him.
“There’s a whole table between us. I’ll stay on my side, if that’s what you want. Is it what you want?”
“Just fucking tell me why you’re here,” I demand.
“Sit, Allegra. Sit and I’ll answer your questions.”
I study him and although I don’t trust him, he seems as tired as me. If Cassian finds him in here, I don’t know what he’ll do, especially in the state he’s in, but I decide to sit because I need to get my questions answered and I have a lot of questions.
“Tell me what that was,” I say.
He sits back and brings his glass to his lips, forest eyes on me. His jacket opens. No holster. No gun. He’s not mafia, I remind myself. That’s Cassian. Jet is a legitimate business owner. At least officially.
“What did Cassian tell you about his father?” Jet asks, crossing his ankle over the opposite knee.
“Not much,” I admit. “Nothing, in fact. But I guess what I saw down there, that’s dementia? He’s too young though, isn’t he?”
“Early onset. He’s sixty. It started in his fifties.”
“Jesus.” I pick up the tumbler and bring it to my lips needing the whiskey. “It must be hard for Cassian to have watched his father decline,” I say as casually as I can.
“I wouldn’t know. Cassian doesn’t exactly share what he’s thinking.”
“He thought Cassian was Seth.”
Jet nods gravely and I can see he’s waiting for me to say more.
“Vivi is Seth’s wife,” I say. This part I know.
“His fiancée. They never got married. Seth is…wasCassian’s older brother. She was pregnant when he disappeared.”
