Scandal:The Complete Series(33)

“One last thing,” Borland says as he walks to the door. “That girl. You are not to see her again. What was her name? Miss Wade.”

“Ella Wade,” I whisper under my breath.

My throat runs dry. My vision warms and blurs. Anger swirls into a hurricane force that wells in my clenching right fist. I will burn down their fucking world and piss on the ashes. No one tells me who the fuck I can see or not see. No fucking one. Not Lucius. Not fucking God himself.

“Ella Wade?” I say again. “Yeah. Whatever. She served her purpose.”

Elaine puts a hand on my chest to stop me from going after my own lawyer as he knocks on the door to be let out.

“Jax,” Elaine says when we’re alone. “I know you like the girl. Be careful. There are things in motion that won’t be stopped. Play your part.”

“I’m tired of having my life planned out by evil bastards.”

“Does that include me?”

I shake my head, not in the mood for her calculating games. Elaine Parker has been an ally for the most part but she can also be highly manipulative and ambiguous, saying one thing and meaning another, which makes her a perfect subordinate for Uncle Lucius.

“This is a mind game this time, not a game of courage and might,” she says as if reciting a magical chant. Clandestine sorcery bullshit.

“Lucius can take all his games and choke on them.”

“Jaxson,” she says, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh. “It’s me you’re talking to. Let’s be honest for a moment.”

This life is pure exhaustion. “Did you have a moment in mind?”

She bends her face at me, some attempt at motherly concern. “All I am saying is run the probabilities through your mind before you make choices that could lead to harm.”

“Harm? That threat is not even veiled, EP,” I tell her.

“Don’t play that adolescent rebellion bullshit with me,” she says. “I’m here as a friend. There’s a reason your uncle struggles to trust you. Jax, if not for yourself, think of the girl. We need you to stay real regular on this. No hero ball. Understand? Let’s keep the collateral damage in a ring box this time. We need to play this neat. All cleaned up and whistling.”

Despite the concern on her face, there’s not much feeling in her eyes. Not much of anything. Emotion is a nostalgia she has long abandoned.

“Noted,” I say as cold as frozen beef.

“Well, then, it’s simple,” Elaine says, taking my face in her hands. “Let’s get you out of here for now, Jaxson. Take a breath and then show up at HQ. You need a table talk with Lucius. He’s been waiting on you for months. Most importantly, you have to let Miss Wade go. At least until the dust lands.”

Dust is what dead people are made of. I get it. Stand in line or nap in a hole. I’ve had better options. I have to give up something to gain something. This is Lucius math. Get it wrong and pay with your life. My uncle has all the charm of a hand grenade.

“Heard you the first time,” I say.

“And easy on Mister Borland. He’s the best attorney money can buy. One not slowed down by legalities. Leave this in our hands. Rest that big brain of yours.”

“Scary as hell, but you have left me no options,” I say. “Bang your drums and I’ll dance a nice little jig.” My words come out slowly and deliberately to hide the fact I feel like killing someone for real.

Elaine is not stupid—she senses my fevered disdain instantly. “Without laughter, what is a joke?” she says in a benevolent manner that pisses me off way more than anything else. “You knew this would happen. You knew you’d have to give her up sooner or later. You can’t play with civilians.”

She pats my cheek before the guard arrives to escort her out.

I feel a chill. Everything she said was true. I knew the end game. I always know. It’s like a curse. Lucius has his math and I have mine. And they’re related. Pun intended. I hate math. I love Ella. That’s a problem.

When I’m back behind bars and they lock the door, I wait for the footsteps to fade into the prison. My only answer is to pound my head against the cell wall until a little blood trickles down my nose.

Pain shoots through my temples, a brutal reminder that I’m still alive.





—two—


Ella




Sitting in the cozy space of my mother’s living room helps calm my uneven breathing. I’ve been verging on hyperventilation since I got in the car to drive to Santa Barbara. Being inside the familiar walls of the house where I spent most of my childhood works better than any anxiety medication.

“Here we are,” Mom says, appearing suddenly with two cups of herbal tea and sliced lemon cake on a tray. “Let’s eat out tonight, we need a break. You pick the place,” she says with a smile as she sets down the tray.