“Scott, what’s going on?” I ask, and his eyes harden as he looks at me.
“You’re so suspicious, Jax. Nothing is going on. I just wanted to make things up to you. Are you going to tell me where you got all that money from now?”
“Only if you tell me why you’re acting like we have nothing to worry about, when we’re deeper in the shit than ever.”
He scrapes his teeth over his lip, his eyes fluttering as he takes a bite of the pie and shrugs. His whole demeanor is off, and it has me on high alert.
We continue with generic small talk throughout dessert. He asks me again what I’ve been doing during the day and why I was wearing weird clothes for lunch yesterday, but I keep my answers evasive.
When he tells me to go and ‘relax’ and ‘put my feet up’ while he deals with the plates, I’m practically vibrating with the need to know what he’s up to.
The great thing about having a twin is that I can read him like a book, and I know he’s hiding something from me. While he’s busy in the kitchen, I mumble something about going to the bathroom and head up to his bedroom.
It’s a mess as usual, his clothes thrown haphazardly across every surface. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but Scott is terrible at hiding things from me.
A short search in his closet reveals nothing until I turn and notice something red sticking out from beneath the bed.
Dropping to my knees, I pull out a duffel bag that clinks ominously as I wrench it open. My heart jumps into my throat at the contents, and I rise, marching back to the living room and throwing it onto the table with a loud thud. The guns inside, along with the knives at the bottom, clatter loudly as Scott spins around, soap suds dripping across the floor, as he pulls his hands from the sink.
“What in the actual fuck, Scott Jenson?” I demand, gesturing at the armory of weapons he’s collected.
He grabs a towel, stalking toward me. “You went through my fucking room? I’m twenty-four years old, Jax!”
“Then act like it. Where the fuck did you get this shit?”
“From a guy I know,” he remarks, without even attempting to deny it. If I’ve ever been this furious, I don’t remember when.
Is my brother planning to murder people? Is that where we are with this shit?
“What were you going to do with this?” I demand.
“It’s just a scare tactic,” he says, sounding as stupid as his statement suggests. “Nick Monroe is a piece of shit, and he deserves to be taught a lesson. We both know we can’t get that amount of money every week; he’ll crucify us. We have to strike first.”
“Str—” I stutter, staring at him as if he were a complete stranger. “Strike first?Why, because you have so much fucking experience with that? Nick Monroe is practically a mob boss. And you’re going after him with three rusty guns and a couple of machetes? You’ll be shot on sight.”
He scoffs like I’m an idiotic little girl, and I advance on him, shoving him hard in the chest. His eyes grow wide, and he cries out in pain as his back hits the wall.
“Let me say this once and once only,” I snarl, barely recognizing my own voice. “You got yourself into this situation, Scott. You. No one else. You got our family, me, your littlebrothers, and Flynn into a shitstorm because of your terrible choices. This,” I say, gesturing at the bag, “is the nail in a coffin you built yourself, is that clear?”
I step closer to him. I must have a pretty vicious look on my face because he’s cowering now.
“You will not do this. Understood? You will throw everything in that bag into the fucking river, and we will find a way to get Nick the money you owe him.”
As the last word leaves my mouth, Seb and Ben walk through the front door. I don’t move away from Scott, turning my head to stare at them as they stand frozen in the doorway, their eyes moving to the bag, to me, and then finally to Scott.
“Did one of you idiots come up with this bright idea?” I ask them, finally stepping back as I hear Scott let out a long breath.
My cell vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it.
“Listen to me,” I say as the door swings shut behind Ben and Seb. “Nothing about this plan is going to end well. Nothing. You can’t take on someone like Nick Monroe; don’t even try. I’ve heard some terrible things about him. You want to get yourself shot, break Flynn’s heart, and destroy our lives? Then go ahead, storm his warehouse like you’re playing one of your video games. You won’t last three fucking seconds.”
The ringing silence that follows my words is absolute. Seb and Ben have the good sense to look embarrassed as I grab the bag and pull it from the table.
“If any of you try to look for this, I will kill you myself. This stops. Now.”
Scott is a crumpled heap against the wall, his arms around his bruised ribs.
“So what’s the plan then, Jax?” he asks, and his voice is quivering now, tears welling in his eyes. “We can’t come up with another thirty grand by Sunday.”
