Page 115 of Jig's Last Dance

Enough. I need out. And that’s what I’m going to do.

But before I do that, I have one last thing I need to accomplish. I have to tell Jig. He deserves to know, and then I can move on, hopefully. Assuming I can figure out how to get Sal to let me go.

I’m halfway to the bus stop that will take me close to Sal’s when I slow and look behind me. A dark sedan with tinted windows approaches, and I search the depths before turning away.

As casually as possible, I walk down an alternate street in the opposite direction I want to go, my heart sinking when the vehicle follows. Fuck, great.

With my pulse in my throat, I increase my pace, glancing around. I don’t know anything about this damn neighborhood. I have few options unless I want to walk up to a random house and knock on the door, which I’m not above.

Especially when the sedan accelerates.

I start to run. Fuck. My heart thumps painfully, and I sob, aiming for a tree just a few feet away. But the car brushes my side, and I veer to the right, diving into the grass by the tree as the car swerves in the opposite direction and slams on its brakes.

With no time to waste, I jump to my feet and run to the front door of some poor fucker who’s about to meet my nightmare. But when I stumble up the two steps and raise my hand to slam my fist against the door, the car takes off with squealing tires.

“Fuck,” I wheeze, hunching over and grabbing my knees.

Helplessly, I suck air into my constricted lungs and watch it go with wide eyes. Was that a warning or a promise?

Are they truly gone?

With shaking hands, I pull out my phone and dial Uncle Sal, ignoring the pinch in my sternum telling me I’ll never be free of Sal with the specter of whoever that was hanging over my head. I’m fucked.

Later, I’m sitting in my room, gazing at the ceiling, when Sal appears. His stern stare rakes over me before he sighs. “The time for lies is over.”

“Which lies?” I ask, rolling over and sitting up.

“You’ve been with that boy from the start. Let’s start with that.”

Rubbing my mouth, I mutter, “What about your lies?”

“My lies? Careful, bambina,” he warns, and I raise dead eyes to him.

“Was it you who ordered their deaths?” The whole McCafferty excuse, while convenient, doesn’t add up. Sal knew my dad was a snitch. He’s been making shady conversations about him this whole time.

Clearly, he meant for them to die, and when he found out my dad was alive, he set out to find him. Has he been using me to do it?

Sal’s mouth quirks at the corner. “You know more than you’ve let on. Did that boy tell you?”

“Tell me what?” I rasp, clenching my hands.

Suspecting he killed or tried to kill my parents is different from knowing by way of a casual fucking smile. He ended our world, and he’s discussing it like it’s a nice glass of wine. The fucker.

I have the insane urge to rip into his face, but I’m sure that would be a fatal mistake.

“That your father has been a very bad boy,” he tsks.

“Did you kill my mother?” I ask through clenched teeth.

Sal raises a brow, but I don’t fucking care about his damn warnings.

“Your mother was an unfortunate side effect,” he waves his hand.

“Do you even care?” I shout, rushing toward him, but he strikes my face, and I stumble back.

Stunned, I stare at him, clutching my cheek. He grimaces, dropping his hand. “You think I won’t punish you? You’re wrong. You work for me, not the other way around.”

“I don’t want to work for you. I’m done. I’m going home.”

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