Page 144 of Jig's Last Dance

“Iris?”

Shit. She doesn’t even twitch, and I approach her cautiously. Her eyes are closed, and the foam leaking from her mouth can’t be good.

What the fuck?

Glancing back at Jig, I see his frown as I kneel by her side and grab her wrist. To my relief, she has a pulse, but it’s thready.

“Help me,” I mumble to Jig, looming over us.

“Alice,” he says with a sad lilt, and I flash him a glare.

“She’s not dead.”

“Sunshine, she’s—”

“She’s still a human fucking being.”

He sighs and crouches beside me, lifting Iris’ arm and showing me the crease of her elbow where she’s shot up so many times, the skin is a mass of scar tissue.

“So? Look, I know how it seems, but she’s stuck. I have to help her. We have to help her,” I plead, and he searches my gaze before nodding.

“Okay,” he says simply, and I exhale as he walks away with his phone to his ear.

Hopefully, he’s not including Bastion in his conversation, but I can only control so much.

Turning back to Iris, I brush my fingers through her hair and sigh. Maybe she’s a pain in the ass, but if anyone deserves a little grace, it’s the girl-turned-woman who was ruined by her skeevy stepfather.

“What’s the plan?” I ask when Jig comes back through the door.

“I have somewhere she can go.”

“Not the hospital?”

He shakes his head. “No, at least not the one down the street. She can sober up and get the treatment she needs, but sunshine, what she chooses to do after that . . .”

Hanging my head, I nod and rub my face. I can’t save Iris. Only she can, but maybe if I remove her from John, she can save her damn self. Although maybe she doesn’t care anymore? After all this time, what’s left of her but a shell of who she was?

Does she even remember that girl I saw in the picture with her mom? What a fucking waste.

Jig steps outside to wait for whoever while I sit with Iris, holding her hand. She shows no signs of consciousness until she moans and turns to her side, choking on the foamy vomit spewing from her lips.

With a grimace, I rub her shoulder. When she’s done, she falls to her back, staring at the ceiling.

“Iris?”

Her dark eyes rise to mine and are filled with a finality that makes me shiver as she rasps, “I’m going to die.”

“Not today,” I say firmly, but she stretches her lips into a smile, and the affectation makes my stomach sink. “We’re going to get you help.”

“Can you make John go away? Because nothing else fucking matters,” she mutters, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I think Sal’s gunning for him,” I say, smiling tremulously, but she scoffs. “John doesn’t answer to anyone. He never has. And if Sal thinks to take him out, he’ll just figure out a new way to live. He’s like a fucking cockroach.”

Silently agreeing, I cock my head to the side. “Why haven’t you done it? You’re closest to him. There must have been a moment when his guard was down?”

She stares at me intently before lifting her palm and flashing a piece of paper. “Here, this is what I need. Promise me you’ll find a home for him. Somewhere far away that no one knows about.”

“The boy?” I ask, taking the folded note between my icy fingers.

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