But when does she get to take a break if she couldn’t even spare one after being in the hospital? Even I take a few days to myself after each job, and my line of work never sleeps. But you have to, or you’ll fall apart.Kirahas to. Clearly, she never has, or she wouldn’t be saddled with a heart issue at twenty-six. If she doesn’t relax now… I’d hate to think what’s going to happen to her.
And I hate that I’m thinking about what might happen to her.
“I fucked up, Jax. I can’t do this,” Caleb starts to panic as I cut the engine under the rounded awning. “He’s going to see it on my face, and he’s going to start digging, and he’s going to send you to kill Nix and her sister, and it’s—”
“Stop. The only thing he’s going to see is fear,” I cut him off.
“Exactly! And then—”
“No.” I turn to find his wide eyes. “He’s going toseefear, not know what it’s for. You have to make him think it’s because you wrecked your car. Nothing else. You hear me? Nothing else.”
This is going to be Caleb’s biggest test. If James finds out we moved a body and didn’t clean up the loose ends, he’ll clean them up for us. And I don’t want to know what kind of fucked-up Caleb will be if that happens. Your father killing your high school girlfriend? I’m pretty sure that would end up in a psych file.
I’d like to think that there would be no skin off my nose—what’s a little more blood on my hands, anyway? But the infuriating reality is that if Caleb fucks this up, this isn’t just any blood. This is Kira Noland’s blood. A piece of my past. The last shred of a life where things weren’t bleak. When I saw her in the headlights of my Hellcat last night, I knew. I knew that I hadto put a bullet in her head as fast as I could, or else this would happen. This fuckingfeeling. It has no place in the life I live. And yet, here we are—my mind more concerned with a stubborn girl than the death sentence James can hand down.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Caleb swallows.
“You and me both,” I mutter and get out of the car.
Inside, the house is cold and lifeless. But that’s to be expected and doesn’t mean that James isn’t here. If anything, the icy atmosphere is even more of an indicator of his presence. He sucks up warmth and light with the snap of a finger. It was always our mother who kept this stone box a home, and I cringe that I’ve left Caleb here for so long without her. This isn’t the type of place that’s kind to the mind.
The house is a testament to James, with his presence that feels bigger than the space he occupies. His hair is cut sharp, graying at the temples, and his expression is permanently settled somewhere between amusement and disdain. The man is built like a politician but carries himself like an executioner—one who enjoys his job too much.
White marble sprawls throughout, meeting slate gray walls devoid of mercy. Light fixtures and doorknobs are uniform steel, and the furniture is a collection of black minimalism. It’s a monochromatic nightmare reminiscent of a deprivation tank. Sure, it costs a fortune, but price doesn’t mean comfort. James calls it an architectural masterpiece, but what’s so masterful about sharp angles and cold stone?
I wonder if Caleb remembers our mother’s eclectic rugs that used to line the hallways, or the bushels of plants that thrived like ivy before they died without her. I can almost see her prized monstera on the round table in the foyer as we pass it, and a pang of regret for not taking care of it when she passed hits me in the gut.
She doted on those plants. They were one of the only things that kept this coffin alive. And I let them die.
Clenching my jaw, I train my eyes on the floor as we pass through the living room and into the kitchen, where the only light in the house is on.
With his back to us, James stands at the island, a tumbler of whiskey in hand, the ice melted from too many pours. A single paper sits on the counter beside him, but I don’t need to look at it to know it’s probably the report on Caleb’s so-called accident.
“I thought you two were dead,” he says without turning, his voice cold and even. His senses are sharp and honed, as if he has eyes in the back of his head.
“You sound disappointed,” I reply, an unwanted edge in my voice.
Caleb stiffens at my retort.
It’s a risk, this antagonism—but if I don’t keep up my hatred, James will know something is up. I take my hands out of my pockets and raise my chin.
He turns slowly, his eyes narrowing before he shouts, “You think this is funny?”
I don’t flinch. I stopped flinching for him a long time ago. But Caleb—Caleb takes a step back, just a subtle shift of his weight, but it’s enough to make my blood boil.
I know that step.
It’s the step of someone who’s felt the sting of a backhand one too many times.
Gritting my teeth against this new knowledge, I take a deliberate step forward. I may have fucked up by staying away, but I’m here now, and I’m going to make damn sure Caleb sees how to stand up for himself.
James’s gaze snaps to the motion, eyes flicking between us and narrowing in realization. He quickly picks up what it means for me to stand between him and Caleb.
And he doesn’t like it.
I can’t help the smirk that curls my lips, satisfaction flooding through me as I watch his jaw tighten.Yeah, that shit is over.
He straightens, a sharp breath escaping his nose as he realizes his mistake. He broke his own rule—never show emotion. It’s a rule that serves him well in his world of dirty deals and legal facades. But it’s also the reason he has two sons who despise him.
