I’ll see about that. I cut him with my most scornful glance. “You must be pretty proud of yourself, framing me to make yourself rich.”
Again, a flicker of regret seems to pass over his face. “Get out of town, Catgirl. You can still leave. They’ll never find you. You’re as hack proof as they come. That’s one of the reasons I picked you. You won’t be any worse off than you were before. Hiding and assuming new identities is what you do best.”
I must be crazy because I actually see his logic. “I need to know where my grandmother is.”
“I’m sorry. I really don’t know, but… I wouldn’t wait around.” Again, he looks almost sorry for me. “Get out of town, while you can.”
I eye his gun. It was crazy of me to come here unarmed, but I just had to look him in the face and hear him say for himself what he’s done. He’s telling me my grandmother is dead. My hands start shaking-whether from rage or shock, I’m not sure. Either way, there’s nothing I can do now. Not when Stu has a gun and I’m completely unarmed. Besides, physical violence has never been my way. I’ve always been the cyber attack sort. If he thinks his money will sit quietly in his offshore account, he’s fucking delusional.
I nod, once. “Okay.”
Relief flickers over his face. “Okay? You’ll leave town?”
I shrug. “What choice do I have?”
“Good.” He rolls up his window, and I watch as he puts the car in gear and coasts away. I want to throw Sam’s helmet through his back window, chase after the car and pull him out of it, stand on his throat until he tells me where to find Mémé, but I’m helpless. Just like when I watched my father murdered and couldn’t do a thing to save him. Didn’t do a thing to save him.
I’ve always wondered if things would be different if I’d gone after his partner that night instead of hiding like a terrified child. He’d already stabbed my father, but what if I’d found a way to kill him? Would that have been the honorable thing to do? Instead of hiding and going after him the sneaky way? The shameful way?
Now, I’m doing the same thing. Letting Stu drive away after basically admitting Mémé’s been killed.
The sound of a car door slamming nearby makes me jerk my head up. My throat closes when I see the figure storming toward me, dark and furious.
Jackson.
His huge hand shoots out and grips me by the throat.
“Jackson,” I choke, real fear shooting through me. His eyes are ice-blue, inhuman.
As if he catches the fear, something flickers in his expression. The fury slips away, replaced by something far more raw and broken.
“So.” He brings his face right up to mine. “You’ve been working with Stu all along. Played me for a fool, didn’t you?”
“No,” I gasp. “You have it wrong. I came-”
“Shut up.” He gives me a little shake. With my weight suspended by the column of my neck, he pulls me to my tiptoes. “All I have to do is squeeze to crush your throat.” There’s a sharp menace to his voice I’ve never heard before. It terrifies me. “Or snap to break your neck.” I remember this is the man who lost control of his wolf and killed his stepfather with an ax. Who hunts and runs wild on the mountain. He’s no stranger to violence. “Which would you prefer?”
“No.” It’s hard to speak around the fingers partially cutting off my air, around the crushing panic, because strangulation feels a lot like claustrophobia.
Tears spike, drip out the corners of my eyes.
His nostrils flare, and he releases me abruptly, a look of horror on his face. He shoves his fingers through his hair. “Get out of here. Get out of my sight before I harm you. You aren’t safe with me.”
“I’m not working with Stu,” I rasp, my throat sore from his fingers.
He lunges for me again, covering my mouth with his hand. “No more lies from that pretty little mouth. No more. Just. Leave.
He takes my helmet from my hands and puts it over my head, buckles it even. He tugs the chinstrap forward and stamps his lips over mine.
I moan into his mouth, hope flaring that he is still with me, that he will listen, but he makes a broken sound and, when he pulls away, he doesn’t even look at me.
A goodbye kiss.
Fuck.
That’s what it was. It guts me.
He stalks away without another word.
I open my mouth to call after him, to explain, but tears choke my voice, followed closely by anger designed to protect against the kind of injury I sustained.
Heartbreak.
He should have let me explain. Why would he give me the benefit of the doubt all along and then choose now to believe I’m against him? Now, when I’m already hopelessly in love with him? Now, when I can no sooner walk away from him than I can from Mémé?
Tears streaking my cheeks, I throw a leg over Sam’s motorcycle and take off. I have nowhere to go, no leads to follow. Stu was right. I should get out of town while I still can.
Why, then, would I rather cut off my own arm?
Why, then, would I rather cut off my own arm?
~.~
Jackson
Driving back to the office, it takes me a long time to realize my phone is ringing. I check the screen.
Garrett.
Because the guy doesn’t call me often, and that means it’s wolf business, I take the call. “King speaking.”
“It’s Garrett. Listen, do you know anything about a female called Kylie?”
The distortion in my vision and the roaring in my ears fall away, my attention sharpening to a razor point.
“What about her?” I snap.
“You do know her?”
I wait, my fingers fisting around the steering wheel, ready to rip it off.