Page 60 of Jig's Last Dance

“Iris told you this when? Because it sure as shit better be before I told you to stay the fuck away,” Jig roars.

“Seriously?” I huff. “I went back, okay.”

“No, it’s not fucking okay. He’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, well, so is my fucking uncle. I need answers, Jig.”

“Then you should have stayed away from that fucker too!”

“Enough!” Bastion says, “Can we focus?”

He glares at Jig, who turns away with a frustrated scowl, grabbing the back of his neck.

“What did Iris say?” Bastion asks.

Staring at Jig with a frown, I say, “She said my dad came around, and if I wanted more answers, they might be at the house.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Bastion mutters.

“Why?” I turn back to him.

“Because Iris doesn’t do shit unless it’s for her own gain,” Jig spits.

I have no loyalty to Iris, but I also have none for these dicks. Besides, at this point, grabbing a box is the least insidious thing I could do in exchange for information. This is why I shrug and say, “You know her better than I do.”

Bastion scowls, and Jig looks me over with a question in his eyes that I’m not prepared to answer. Turning away, I rub my brow and say, “I have to get back to school.”

“School? You just found pictures of your dad,” he sneers, his jaw ticking, “with his victims, and you want to go to school?”

“Yes, Jig. My dad’s dead. There’s nothing I can do.” But if I don’t get back to the house, I’ll be in deep fucking shit. None of which Jig understands, but I’m too tired to explain, not that he deserves it anyway.

“No, we’re not done here.” Jig’s nostrils flare, and I tip my chin to my chest, fatigue melting my bones.

“Why is everything a fucking fight with you?” I grumble.

“Because something’s up, and you’re not telling the fucking truth,” he grinds between his teeth.

“I gave you the pictures! What more do you want?” I’m shouting now, but I don’t care.

Bastion looks between us and sighs before pulling out his phone and stepping from the room. Great, he’s calling in reinforcements.

“I have to go, Jig.”

“No.”

“Yes.” I step toward him.

“I said fucking no.” He steps toward me.

“Get it through your freak—”

He sweeps me up in his arms, and I wrap my legs around his torso. My back hits the wall with an oof, but I pay it no mind because my tongue is wrapped around his.

We kiss like we’re starved, all teeth and mashed lips, before he pulls away, his chest heaving. Leaning into the crook of his neck, I clench his shoulders and whisper, “If I don’t go back, I’m in trouble.”

He stiffens, his hands spasming on my back before he drops me to my feet and steps back, sneering, “Uncle Sal?”

Flinching, I turn away. “Yes.”

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