Devil You Know(72)

Footsteps scuff behind me, and I assume the woman needs to know where Sixth is. I turn to give her directions, and stumble in my haste to get off the tailgate.

“Hi, Jane.”

Fuck. My first trip out alone, and there he is.

“Nice pick-up you’ve got yourself there.” Dylan nods to the car. “Looks quite familiar, you know. Although, I must admit it’s been a while since I’ve seen it.” He snarls the last few words. “Couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you sitting on it over here.”

I keep my sights firmly trained on him, and place a foot behind me. He advances, so I take another step, and get tangled up in the wooden sleeper bolted to the ground to stop people parking on the grass. The yoghurt flies from my hand as I go ass over kite, and try to land with minimal damage.

My wrist smarts, but I quickly recover and find my feet as Dylan comes toe-to-toe with me. “You missed me, Jane?”

I can smell the bourbon from a mile away. Drinking on your lunch break now? Such a winner. “I haven’t thought of you at all, Dylan.”

I know I’m baiting the bear, but I want him to see that I’ve moved on, that I’m stronger without him. He grabs my hand in his—a gesture of adoration from afar—and squeezes the first knuckle on my index finger to the second. The pain is unbearable, and tears well as I whimper. How did I endure this shit on a daily basis for so long?

“I though I got rid of that fucker,” he growls, tipping his chin to Rocco.

The idiot bounds toward danger, ears back, and teeth bared. “No, Rocco!”

“And you’re still trying to save it.” He laughs. “You’re as pathetic as ever, Jane.”

My heart rate increases. The situation is quickly on the brink of being out of control. “Fuck off, Dylan. If I’m not home soon, he’ll look for me.” I’m not entirely sure that’s true, but all I can do is hope my threat is enough to scare him off.

Dylan’s eyebrow shoots up. “Home?” Blood rushes to his face, and the veins in his temples bulge. “Home?” he roars. “Home is with me, woman. You must be one well-oiled whore if he lets you feel at home with him.”

“That’s none of your business.” I pull my hand toward myself, but he tightens the grip. I swear something snaps.

Rocco growls at my feet, tuned in to my distress.

Dylan swings a foot out to catch him, but Rocco dodges. Good boy. Seems I’m not the only one who’s found their strength since leaving that hellhole.

I pick my moment wisely, and while Dylan’s distracted by Rocco, I swing a knee into his groin. He drops my hand with a groan, and clutches at himself. “Fucking bitch,” he screams as I slam the tailgate, and run to the driver’s door.

I wrench it wide, and whistle for Rocco to get in. He leaps to the passenger seat, and I drop in behind him, slamming the lock button before wrenching the keys on. The pick-up starts with a throaty roar, and I scream out of the parking lot, paper flying off the back.

People look at me as I lose traction out of the entrance, and drift into the street. I couldn’t care less. The tires grip with a snap of the tail end, and I punch the gas.

Yeah, I’ll be home inside of three hours.





TIGGER’S MOM points out a double-up in song choice, and the boys set about fixing the funeral playlist for her. His sister, Anna, sits on the couch, staring at nothing. I step away from the others, and sit down beside her.

“What’s going on in there, Anna?” I ask, tapping her temple.

She turns her red-rimmed eyes to me, and shakes her head. “I wonder why he didn’t tell anyone it was that bad. I thought he made enough from his job, you know?”

Knowing she’s as much in the dark about what we do as Jane was, bites. “Everyone has their secrets.”

“Why my brother, though? Why Blair? I mean, he had such a rough patch when he was younger, but I thought we were over that. I thought he changed?”

Hearing her use his birth name sounds so out of place. Are we discussing the same guy? Lies upon lies. The bunch of us lives by a name other than our own—all except for Ty. Surely that’s another way to avoid facing the truth? Another mask to put up against the world?

“I don’t have an answer for that.” What else can I say? I wonder the same thing.

She bursts into tears, and leans her head on my shoulder. I’ve only met the woman twice, and the intimacy feels off. I drape my stiff arm behind her, and she cries into my shirt. If it weren’t such a shit-ass situation I’d push her off, but what kind of asshole does that?

No. I’ll bite the bullet and give the girl some comfort—awkward as it is.