He’s sitting at the same table he always sits at. Drinking the same drink he always drinks.
It’s almost like no time has passed.
Yet . . .
Years have passed. Things have changed.
Jax met a girl. Fell in love. Got married.
And me . . . ?
I basically got married to the mob. Now my entire life is based in the underworld.
A series of unfortunate events led me down this path.
At first, I hated the cards they dealt me.
Pun intended as it all stemmed from a terrible game of poker. But now, after all these years, I’m content.
Or at least I was content.
Sure, before that fateful day, I would have taken over a family dynasty. I would have followed in my father’s footsteps.
But then it all shattered.
Everything was a lie.
Like glass, all that was left were sharp, jagged pieces. Pieces that cut your finger to the bone if you didn’t play your hand right.
The past forced me to become the man I am today.
And now I will have to change again. Because that’s the shit I do. I fucking adapt.
That option or die.
I choose the former.
“I ordered you a scotch, neat,” Jax says.
“Rather presumptuous of you.” I move to take a seat. “It might be too strong for a Tuesday.”
“And here I was, thinking even that isn’t strong enough. Should we skip right to drinking straight rubbing alcohol?”
“With the way I’m feeling, that’s a good idea.”
Jaxson chuckles. “Spit it out. What’s going on, man? This is obviously more than Cyrus getting on your ass over his returns.”
“Cyrus’s issues seem like child’s play right now.”
Jaxson leans in, placing his elbows on the small wooden table. “What’s up?”
“It seems I have a stepsister.”
That statement has his eyes widening. “What? Really? Are you shitting me?”
“Fuck yes, I am. Jeez. No, I don’t have a stepsister. Thank fuck. My father didn’t even have the decency to make her legit, but I have a thorn in my side.”
“That sounds more like something I’d believe. Start from the beginning.”
And I do. With a drink in my hand, a large gulp, and a desire to unburden myself, I tell Jaxson all about the wonderful benefactor that my father was to people who weren’t even his family.
A family he supported without us knowing.
How he lived a double life for years and how every word out of his deceitful mouth was a complete fucking lie.
After Jax leaves and I’m left at the bar alone, I pour a single drop on the floor.
“Hope you enjoy watching her suffer, Dad. After all, fair is fair. You were the one who taught me that.”
6
Payton
Two Months Later . . .
* * *
Where did the day go?
My stomach chooses that second to growl. Not only did I sit in a cold and drab library all day, my eyes basically bleeding from looking at the books I had to read, but it dawns on me that I also didn’t eat.
I’ll make something and crash for the night.
I need my energy to finish the research on my paper due at the end of the week.
I can’t wait to be done with school.
I can’t wait to be far away from all of this.
As I walk back into my house, after grabbing something from my car, there’s a crunch under my shoe. Little shards of glass litter the floor.
Slowly, I take another step, careful not to crush any more.
I bend over and pick up one of the pieces. It’s blue. It reminds me of the Moreno glass trinket holder I have in the living room.
Turning on the hall light, I head toward the table next to the couch where I usually keep it. That’s when I notice a few things.
One: It’s missing.
Two: And this part makes my back go straight. The window is open.
Did I leave it open?
No. That doesn’t make any sense. Even if I left it open, it wouldn’t explain the glass all over the foyer.
Maybe I left it open, and a gust of wind blew it over.
That is the dumbest thing I have ever thought. There’s no way. But if it didn’t, if it wasn’t my fault, that would mean . . .
A chill runs up my spine.
Someone was here.
Someone broke into my house.
But I was only gone for fifteen minutes.
All the nerve endings in my body become hyperaware. I tilt my head, straining to hear. It’s silent, but I can’t shake the possibility that someone might still be in my house.
Am I being robbed?
Goose bumps break out across my arms.
My phone’s vibrations echo through the house.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
“Hello? Is there anyone there?”
No sound.
I hang up, fully on edge now.
A phone call. A break-in.
I need to call the police.
This sounds far-fetched even to me.
Plus, I might have left the window open myself.
Which reminds me, I need to close it. Then I need to make sure it’s locked. Or maybe I’m just being paranoid. Either way, I can’t seem to control the heavy beats of my heart.