Burn for You (Slow Burn Book 1)(84)

The servants were making googly eyes at one another like this was the greatest performance of theatre they’d seen in their lives.

Apparently Jackson had finally left me twisting in the wind long enough, because he stood, making a great display of noisily shoving back his chair, and announced, “Mother. Father. Please excuse us. I think Bianca and I need to talk.”

“You’re darn tootin’!” I muttered, prompting a hysterical cackle from a servant at the far end of the room, who quickly smothered it with a cough.

Not wanting to let Jackson outdo me, my chair flew back as I leapt to my feet, hitting Droopy Dog in the process. He let out a pained, “Oof!”

I apologized, then looked at Clemmy and Brig. “Thank you for the wonderful meal and your hospitality. I’m sorry if I’m being rude, and you both seem like lovely people, but now I have to go jerk a knot in someone’s tail”—I glared at Jackson—“and depending on how that conversation goes, I may or may not require a bail bondsman. Have yourselves a wonderful evening.”

I left with my chin high, smoke pouring from my ears, the sound of Brig’s startled laughter ringing off the dining room walls.



I managed to make it all the way back to Jackson’s room and get the door closed behind us before I let Jackson have it. I whirled on him and did my best impression of a banshee, while he made a beeline for the coffee table in the corner, which held several crystal decanters of liquor and a set of matching highball glasses.

“Do you have any idea how unfair it is, what you just did to me?” I said. “Leaving me totally clueless, acting like a gold star idiot in front of your parents? This agreement isn’t only about your inheritance, Jackson, it’s about my mother’s situation, too! We’re supposed to be in this deal together! Why aren’t you helping me out at all?”

Jackson filled a glass, tossed it back, raked a hand through his hair, and poured another glass. Staring down at it, he said, “Because you’re doing fine on your own.” He chugged back the second glass of liquor, grimacing as he swallowed.

“Are you blind? Even the servants are laughing at me! What’s the big secret here? What is it that you and everybody else knows that I don’t? Just tell me what on earth is going—”

“I killed my brother,” he said flatly.

My words died in my mouth. I stared at him in cold shock while my stomach made a slow, twisting roll and my heart tried painfully to reboot.

Jackson glanced at me. His face was hard, his eyes were dark, and his hand was white-knuckled around the empty glass. “Or at least they all think I did. They blame me for it.”

All my outrage disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. I whispered, “Oh my God. What happened?”

Jackson went back to staring at his empty glass, like he was searching for answers in it. After a long time, his voice low and halting, he began to speak.

“Lincoln and I were twins. He was older by two minutes. Two minutes,” he repeated bitterly. “You wouldn’t think one hundred and twenty seconds could make such a difference, but it did.”

He fell silent. I crept over to the bed and sat on the edge because I didn’t think my legs could hold me up any longer. Jackson lowered himself to a chair and poured himself another drink. His energy was dark and electric, like thunderclouds before they disgorge their burden of lightning and rain.

“Linc was the golden child from the beginning. The heir and the spare, they jokingly called us, only it wasn’t a joke. He could do no wrong. He was better than me at everything. Sports, school, girls . . . everything came easy for him. And I . . .”

Jackson closed his eyes. His voice a low rasp, he said, “I hated him for it. I hated my own brother. Which made me hate myself.”

I covered my mouth with my hands. His pain was so palpable, his guilt so raw, I wanted to run and put my arms around him, but I stayed where I was and listened in horrified fascination as he continued his story.

“He looked like an angel. Literally, like a Raphael painting of an angel. Blond hair and dimpled cheeks, this smile everyone went crazy for. I was the dark one. The problematic one. The one with a learning disability and a temper so unpredictable they had to put me on medication when I was barely a teenager. I just . . . never . . . fit.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. His face was a grimace, full of anguish and bad memories, ruddy with alcohol, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

“Linc was being groomed to take over the company. It was the logical choice, him being eldest and so nice.”

Jackson said the word nice like an accusation. His dark gaze flashed up to meet mine. “But the thing was, he wasn’t so nice. He was like this perfect, shiny red apple that was riddled with worms and rot on the inside. Only no one could see it. No one could believe that something so pretty could be so corrupt. Except me.”