Page 49 of Jig's Last Dance

He’s positively feral right now, a condition I’ve never seen, and it’s throwing me off, big time.

The guys chat around me, but Jig is silent, and he’s so tense I can feel the vibrations beside me. I shift uncomfortably, afraid to touch him, and he widens his legs until he’s touching mine. Frozen, I breathe quietly, my pulse jumping at the contact. Just the touch of his leg, and I’m on fire. This is so fucking ridiculous.

I’m in a suspended state of arousal the entire way, especially when he casually rests his hand on his leg and his fingers brush my skin. Goosebumps rise everywhere, and I grit my teeth to suppress the moan on my lips, hoping the fucker can’t see my reaction.

But he shifts again, brushing me ever so carefully, and I know. He’s fucking messing with me. Well, two can play this game. Leaning back, I stretch, my tits straining against the thin white shirt. He sucks in a breath, and I smile, dropping my head once more when he pulls away as though singed, and although I regret the loss, I know it’s for the best.

We’re liable to start the car on fire if this goes on any longer. Finally, we pull up to the warehouse where the underground fights take place. I’ve only been here once before because Shawn’s brothers forbade us from coming. I’m sure if they see me, they’ll be all too willing to snitch on me.

This is why, when we enter, I hide behind the hulking forms of my new crew, hoping for a miracle which is shot down before I’ve made it three feet inside the damn door.

“Ali?”

Shit. Fuck. Damn. Freezing, I glance to my left wildly, searching for an escape that’s gone because Kieran impedes my vision by pulling me around.

Kieran is closest in age to Shawn. He’s gorgeous with thick dark hair and her same blazing blue eyes. Once upon a time, I thought I had a crush on him, but time around them eased that feeling, and now it’s more of a brotherly relationship. In many ways, Kieran and the others were able to be the sibling Ben couldn’t.

This included an endless amount of teasing, but I soaked it up because when I’m around them, I can pretend my life is somewhat normal, which is stupid. Shawn’s family isn’t any more normal than mine. The difference is her father wasn’t a fucking hit man, apparently.

“Kier,” I say hesitantly, noting Jig stiffer than a board at my back.

“What are you doing here?” Kieran asks, glancing down my body with a gleam that’s banked by the time he reaches my eyes.

Shifting in surprise, I squeak when Jig’s warm large hand spans my waist, poking between the folds of fabric at my side. The skin-to-skin contact sends a zing straight to my core, and I gasp, covering it with a cough.

Kieran cocks his head, his blue eyes dark as Jig says gruffly, “O’Reilly.”

“Blackstone,” Kieran says, without breaking our stare-off.

Smiling weakly, I pinch Jig’s arm with my nails, but he doesn’t so much as flinch. With a silent sigh, I fake a chuckle and say, “Um, hanging out.”

“Your brother know you’re here?” Kieran says, finally turning his fierce frown to Jig.

Jig’s chest rumbles against my back, and I drop my gaze. My body is pulsing in places that shouldn’t be fucking excited byhim, especially in public.

“She’s with me, yo,” Jig says, his hand smoothing up my skin and ending just below my aching breast.

Kieran speaks, but I’ve lost track of the conversation—that is, until Jig abruptly lets me loose. I sway before shaking my head. Get a fucking grip.

Kieran is no longer in front of me, and I watch him stalk off with regret. I hope he’s not another person I can write off in my stupidity because I can’t exactly afford to lose any more supposed friends than I already have.

When I turn, Jig is plowing through the crowd, pushing people away left and right. Rain glances at me sideways before following, and soon we’re at a makeshift bar consisting of cinder blocks and plywood. No one offers me a drink, and with a roll of my eyes, I step up to the bartender and smile.

His eyes brighten, and he leans in to hear what I have to say over the din, but we’re interrupted when Jig barks, “Beer.”

The bartender leans back warily, grabs a beer, and hands it to Jig. Jig plunks it into my hands and pays, waiting for me to turn away. I stare at his chest for a moment, stretching his T-shirt wide, before approaching Rain standing by a wall.

Jig stops beside the guys, and I take a sip of my drink, my mind whirling over his caveman antics, the venue where two dudes go at it in the ring, and my life in fucking general.

“Why are we here?” I ask when I’m tired of my thoughts.

Rain shakes her head but says, “Cyn’s cousin should be here soon. He may have some info.”

“Oh. Like what?”

She turns my way, staring at me with her dark eyes before she seems to reach a conclusion. “Hate has more contacts. We’re hoping he’s heard about your dad’s, um, death.”

She glances away uncomfortably, and I silently sigh. Talking about death brings out the awkwardness in all of us, I suppose.

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