Page 109 of Jig's Last Dance

With a sigh, he gets out, and I follow, entering the beat-up trailer behind him. It’s nothing to write home about, but it’s clean and surprisingly bare.

I don’t know what I expected, but I guess it’s not this. The living area combines the kitchen and quasi dining area with a couch at the end.

My leg hurts, so I plop down on the couch and watch warily as Bastion disappears to the back. After a minute, he emerges with a set of blankets and a pillow.

“My bed’s covered in shit,” he grunts.

What kind of shit? Ugh, never mind.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, studying him carefully.

This crew is tight. They’re family. For him to offer me a place to stay seems like a betrayal, which is confirmed when he grimaces. “I know what it’s like to be forced into a corner. I don’t agree with you keeping shit from us, but I think you’re doing it for reasons that make sense.”

I avert my gaze and bite my lip to stem the tide. For Bastion, who’s the grumpiest bastard I’ve ever met, to say what he did is a big fucking deal.

I hope, in the end, he doesn’t hate me too.

“I didn’t have anywhere to go,” I say, clearing my throat. “So, I went to Iris’ house.”

Bastion tenses, and I rush ahead, hoping to stave off any acidic comments. I’m full up on the censure today. “I haven’t spoken to her. I just didn’t know where else to go. But John came and a,” I hesitate and trip over the lie, “big ass, scary dude.”

I’m still not sure what to reveal, and despite Bastion’s kindness, he’s one of them. For all I know, this is his way of keeping an eye on me.

The events of the day come rushing in, though, and I swallow past the tears clogging my throat. I can’t break down, even if I want to.

“Fuck,” Bastion grunts.

“Yeah, well, after the dude left, I watched John dig up shit in the backyard. When he left, I dug in the same hole and found money. I took it.”

He stares at me blankly before standing. “You did what?”

“I thought it would be leverage, you know? I have nothing else, and I’m in the dark.”

He slams his hand against the wall. “He’s going to be gunning for you now.”

“That’s just it. I think he’s already gunning for me. Why am I here? Why me?”

He bows his head, scratching his neck. “I don’t know.”

“Me either. But something else is happening, and I’m at the center of it. My dad is . . . if this is about revenge, why not just kill me? If it’s about Castinetti, why would he send me into John’s hands? No, something is missing. But what?”

Bastion shakes his head before rubbing his hands down his shaved skull. He has tattoos on his fingers, but I can’t make them out in the growing darkness.

“Bastion? Do they know about your dad?”

Bastion slouches against the wall, his eyes contemplative. “Sort of. They know he went to prison. I guess it never mattered enough to tell them about him, and then it was too late.”

“Too late?”

“Yeah. I could hardly tell my best friends that my dad worked for Castinetti.”

Wow. That’s major shit. What would McCafferty do if he knew?

“Why do you think my dad had something to do with yours going to prison?”

His brows slam over his eyes. “Because I was there, Alice. I watched your dad threaten mine. A day later, he was dragged off in cuffs. Your dad framed him.”

“Why?” I ask, searching his gaze.

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