His wounds are slowly healing, and he’s moving a little easier than he was. Although he still hasn’t seen a doctor, Ben brought him some Steri-Strips and managed to persuade him to stick them over the cut above his eyebrow, and it’s slowly closing up day by day.
I’ve had about eight hours of sleep over three days, and I’m mentally and physically exhausted. I planned to catch up on Sunday morning with a later alarm, but the prospect of the lunch I’m required to go to has me super agitated.
I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror in my room, wearing the skirt, blouse, and jacket that Jones bought for me.
I have to admit I look pretty good, but I definitely don’t look like myself. Everything about the outfit makes me think of the girls who bullied me in high school, and I long for my blackfigure-hugging dresses and heels. The flats he bought me are ugly, and I hate them off my feet as much as I do on.
When I go downstairs, ready to leave, Ben, Seb, and Scott are lounging on the couches in the living room, playing video games. They all stop to stare at me.
“What the fuck?” Seb says. “Who are you meeting, the Queen of England?”
“I hope not, she’s dead,” I mutter.
“What the hell, Jax?” Scott says, laughing good-naturedly. “When did you join a sorority?”
“Fuck you. I’ll be back later this afternoon. Clean the kitchen while I’m gone.”
“Seriously, where are you going?” Scott asks, rising with a wince and following me to the door.
Before I can stop him, he grabs the neck of my jacket and pulls it down.
“Where did you get a Ralph Lauren jacket?” he asks incredulously.
“I didn’t pay for it,” I mutter, then see the glint in his eye as I fall right into his trap.
“What’s going on, Jax? You found yourself a sugar daddy or something?” At my furious glare, he raises his hands defensively. “No judgment. You’re saving my ass, but who is this guy?”
“Look, this has nothing to do with you. Clean the house, get the money together, and I’ll meet you at the club tonight.”
He grabs my hand as I’m about to leave. “Are you okay? You look… weird. Is he making you dress like that? Because it doesn’t suit you at all.”
“I’m fine, Scott. This is just temporary for today, and then I’ll be back to normal.”
“Thank fuck,” interjects Ben, who is lying on the couch and looking hungover as hell. “You look stupid in that outfit. Like a soccer mom at a charity event.”
“Clean the?—”
“The kitchen. Yeah, we heard you,” Scott says, but his eyes are worried as I head out the door.
As I make my way down the steps, I consider going back and explaining my job to him.
I can count on one hand the number of secrets I’ve kept from my twin brother throughout our lives, and it makes me uneasy not to be honest with him.
I don’t know what he would think about my arrangement with Gray, or the existence of companies like Sterling House. I’d like to think he’d be open-minded, that he wouldn’t care, but it’s hard to believe any brother would be happy that his sister is selling her body to the highest bidder.
Besides, it’s not like I can quit. Not until Monroe is dealt with.
I head to the bus stop and make the twenty-minute trip to where Jones’s mother lives. It’s a seriously nice neighborhood, and I catch myself staring out at the houses in awe.
Everything is so clean around here. It’s nothing like my neighborhood.
I get off at the stop, pulling out my phone to check the GPS. It’s only a twenty-minute walk to her house, and although the leather jacket isn’t exactly warm, the thick scarf Gray bought me when I wasn’t looking helps, and I find myself snuggling into it as I start walking.
What I hadn’t accounted for was the shoes.
How can flats be so excruciatingly painful? Even my six-inch heels hurt less than this; the backs of my ankles red and raw and screaming in pain after only ten minutes.
I have four blisters by the time I approach the right street, and I’m cursing Gray and everything he has made me do today as I head toward the house.
