And I can’t blame her for not coming forward. Olivia may be immune to everyone else in town, but no one’s immune to the Eastons. You don’t go against Trent and his father and expect to come out unscathed.
But unlike Olivia, who’s done her best to detach herself from the Untouchables, Jase can’t say the same.
And that right there is why my recent meal threatens to make its way back up.
“So you knew this whole time what Trent and Sienna did to me, and yet you’ve been schmoozing and trying to be all buddy-buddy with my attackers the second you come back into town?” It sounds like an accusation, and only after it’s out of my mouth do I realize that’s precisely what it is.
Because nothing about Jase Rivers adds up.
His public persona is still that of the bad boy who couldn’t give any less of a fuck about anything except patching up his relationship with the Untouchables. Yet, everything I’ve witnessed behind closed doors paints a very different version. The device in my hand is proof enough. And there’s four years of evidence. Jase regrets what happened; he still misses me, and he had wanted tokillTrent for what he did. These may only be words I’m looking at, but despite his outward appearance of trying to get back into Trent’s good graces, Jase nearly strangled Patrick just for entering my house without permission.
“Birdie—” Jase reaches for me, and when I recoil the second his fingers brush my arm, his face falls. “Trust me, the last thing I want is to be their friend. Just having to be near either of them makes my skin crawl.”
“That’s the thing. I believe you,” I say. “But that begs a far scarier question. Why did you stay in town after the engagement party? And don’t give me some bullshit about wanting to spend time with your sister. Lauren even said the other day that she’s barely seen you since you came back.”
He scrubs a hand over his face, equal parts frustrated and crestfallen. “It’s…complicated.”
I may not know the specifics, but I know the gist. And it doesn’t spell anything good. Not for him. “Jase, whatever you have planned,don’t.”
I wait for him—prayfor him—to comply, but he doesn’t.
“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” I plea.
He just stands there, his head downcast and his hands fidgety. “I can’t do that.”
“You have no idea who you’re messing with. Not really. The things the Eastons can do—”
“I’m very well aware.” His demeanor shifts into something…cold. Not apathetic or detached. Resolute. “That’s the beauty of it. I don’t give a fuck what happens to me.”
“Ido!” Any chance I have of clearing the lump in my throat evaporates. “Jesus Christ, Jase! They’re called the Untouchables for a reason. You go up against them, you lose; you try to take them out, theyburyyou. This isn’t playing with fire. It’s playing with goddamn lava. I, of all people, know better, and I never did anything to provoke them.”
“And I’ve had to live with the guilt of putting you in their line of fire for the past four years!” Despite his best efforts to keep his composure, Jase finally breaks. “You were the only good person in that entire fucking school, and I let you get dragged into the lion’s den because I was a coward! Whether you saw my messages or not, there’s no reason you should have forgiven me, because I didn’t deserve it. If there’s a chance I can repay you even a fraction of that debt, I’ll do it.”
I’m so distracted that when the phone in my hand vibrates to notify me of an incoming text, I instinctively look.
And immediately regret it.
Thankfully, it’s only a notification, so I’m not subjected to the photos attached, but the caption of the text message still comes up at the top of the screen.
Natasha:
It’s showtime. ;)
I can only imagine those photos are shots of her wearing skimpy lingerie…or nothing at all, and the mental images that come to mind are enough to twist my stomach like a damp dish rag.
I shove the device back into Jase’s hand. “It’s for you.”
Yeah, nice save. It’shisphone, dipshit. Who else would the message be for?
Jase taps away at his phone and curses, only to get a call. He excuses himself and takes a few steps back to get some privacy as more people pass us on the sidewalk.
I may not be able to hear what the person on the other end of the call is saying, but the tone makes it clear she isn’t happy. The feminine voice, which I assume belongs to Natasha, yells something that makes Jase grimace.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, his shoulders slumping. “All right, I’ll be there.”
Letting out another curse, Jase hangs up and heads back to me…or rather to his bike parked along the curb. He doesn’t look particularly enthused, and he’s apologizing, but our conversation isn’t enough to stop him. “I’ve gotta get going, but I can drop you back off at the house.”
“You mean the one we’re both still locked out of?” I ask, deadpanned.
