Page 52 of Jig's Last Dance

“Yes, bambina?”

“I need you.”

Jig’s eyes dim. His mouth curls in a smirk, and he glances down at me rudely before spinning on his heel and walking away.

Blindly, I watch him go, my heart thumping horribly.

Chapter Eight

“No more. You want my help? You do as I say,” Uncle Sal says coolly.

Nodding dumbly, I shuffle on my feet. I’m loopy with exhaustion and heart sore. I need time to regroup. I just jumped into the fire in a childish fit.

Now what the fuck am I going to do?

How stupid am I?

“Good. I expect you to act like a lady, not a whore.”

Flinching, I nod, my eyes glued to the floor.

“You’ll wear the clothes I picked out for you. You’ll attend your class and come home. You understand?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Tell me why you went back to that house,” Sal says, and I swallow, my tongue thick.

His stern tone matches the blaze in his eyes, and I falter. I’m starting to see now more than ever that the Sal I knew was a dream because the reality is turning out to be a nightmare.

He raises a brow, and I rub my hands down my pants.

“Um, when I went the other day, they had a set of keys,” I say, watching him closely.

He merely nods, so I keep going. I don’t know what he knows, but if it’s everything John said, I’d be foolish to lie.

“Uncle Sal?”

“Yes?”

“How did my parents die?”

His eyes flicker, but he says, “In a car accident, you know that.”

“Was it, though? Just an accident?”

“Where is this coming from?” He asks sharply, and I flinch.

“I found his keys over there.”

“Keys?” His brow crinkles.

I nod, clearing my throat. “He had my dad’s keys.”

“What?” he says, and I lean away from his sharp tone.

“The keys, my dad’s.” Inexplicably, I feel tears well. It’s been years now they’ve been gone, but I miss my parents so fucking much right now that it’s a visceral ache in my chest.

“Why would he have your dad’s keys?”

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