JAGGER
“You sure this is a good idea?” Ford murmurs. “With everything else going on?—”
“He hurt her,” I growl as the gravel road crunches beneath my truck’s tires. After Violet fell asleep, I slipped out of bed and told my brothers to jump in the car so we could pay someone a visit. To everyone’s credit, no one batted an eye until we crossed into Drift territory for the second time tonight. Technically, it’s the next day from a literal sense. It’s almost five in the morning, and I still haven’t slept. None of us have. I doubt any of us will, but it isn’t the first all-nighter we’ve ever pulled, and it won’t be the last.
“I get that he hurt her,” Ford returns. “You know I do. I’m just saying, after our conversation at the haunted house?—”
“Do you think I invited her to our place?” I squeeze the steering wheel, fighting the urge to rip it off entirely. “That I bribed her dad to beat the shit out of her?”
“I’m just saying it’s convenient.”
Hawke knocks Ford upside the head.
“Okay, that was a poor choice of words,” Ford concedes. “But you know what I mean.”
“And what do you mean?” Roman challenges from the front seat.
Ford sighs. “Is she like a cat now? You know, you feed them once, then they keep popping up?”
I stay quiet, unsure what to say. I’m tired. Pissed off. Anxious Violet will wake up and realize I’m not beside her. Confused, because why should I care if Violet wakes up and realizes I’m not beside her? Fuck, I’m every emotion in the book, which is the last thing I need.
“Do you…care about her?” Ford prods as if he has a death wish.
It’s an excellent question. One I’m not ready to answer for more reasons than I care to analyze at the moment. I already risked enough for her during the haunted house. This…I don’t even know what it is. Attachment? Interest? Whatever it is, it could affect our business, and our financial independence from our father, even if we all do wind up on Mercer Consulting’s payroll after graduation. And yet, for some reason I don’t understand, I can’t help it. I can’t fathom the idea of letting this go. Letting Violet’s asshole of a father get away with his bullshit. Twice. Add in the way she asked me to stay with her tonight, and the entire thing is messing with my head in a way I can’t even fully comprehend, especially on zero sleep. Holding onto my twisted reasoning, I check my rearview mirror and point out, “If someone did that to our little sister, I’d react the same way.”
“Yeah, but she’s not Cobie.”
I’m not surprised Ford isn’t backing down. I’m also not surprised it’s pissing me off. “What’s your point, Ford?” I grumble.
“Only trying to figure out a game plan.” He hesitates. “Let’s say you decide you like her, which, why wouldn’t you? She’s kind of hot. Kind of funny. Seems like a nice girl in an, I might stab you while you’re sleeping kind of way, but to each their own?—”
“What’s your point, Ford?” Roman demands, using my same words.
“Can you at least keep shit quiet for a week or two or…three?” Ford pushes. “You know, let shit settle down?—”
“We’ve already had this conversation,” Roman reminds him.
“Yeah, and that was before she showed up on our doorstep and played to Jagger’s bleeding heart.” Ford leans forward, slapping my shoulder. “Which, all things considered, is kind of ironic. Thought that was Hawke’s weakness, not yours.” His low chuckle grates on me. “Didn’t know you had a heart, let alone a bleeding one, big brother.”
I didn’t know I had a heart, either. Not really. I don’t care about people. None of us do. Even Hawke tries to keep his compassion in check and sticks to the shadows more often than not. Each of us learned our lesson in one way or another. Our dad made sure of it. Whether it was my dad forcing Hawke to pull the trigger when deer hunting, or experiencing our mom’s death and the fallout afterward, or my dad ripping away our baby sister and sending her to boarding school despite our protests. When I close my eyes, I can still hear her screams. Begging and pleading us to save her. To stop him from tearing apart our family when we’d already lost so much. We learned all too quickly that emotional connections are one thing. A weakness. One our enemies, and sometimes even our greatest allies, can andwilluse against us.
But Violet? Seeing her struggling in the haunted house, then showing up on my porch battered and broken? I’m afraid it’s too late. She’s already wiggled past my defenses, and I’m tired of fighting it. At least for the short term. “So, what?” I announce. “Let’s say I am interested in her, and I want to see where shit goes. So, what?” I look in my rearview mirror, daring Ford to disagree with me or give me some bullshit excuse I don’t already know. “Even if someone does decide they think they saw me rigthe haunted house in Violet’s favor, there’s no proof. Not beyond what’s on our servers, which no one outside of this truck has access to, and no one’s stupid enough to challenge a Harden without proof. So…what?” I demand.
Ford exchanges a glance with Hawke. “So…nothin’,” Ford mutters.
Good.
We drive the rest of the way in silence, though it’s more charged than I’d like it to be. Maybe it’s from lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the culmination of everything that’s happened tonight. Maybe it’s from my declaration and how much it made me sound like a dick. I’m not sure, but even if it is the latter, I can’t make myself apologize for it. Maybe I really am just like my dad. A selfish bastard who doesn’t care about anyone but himself. And right now? Right now, I’m selfish enough to want to see where things with Violet go. Whether it’s a day, a week, a month. It doesn’t matter. I want to see where it goes. And if I’m careful, it won’t affect our business.
I won’t let it.
Roman points toward a house ahead of us. “That’s hers.”
With a nod, I drive closer, park outside the front, then climb out of my cherry-red Raptor.
My brothers follow from the back as Roman unfolds from the passenger door. The jarring sound of the doors closing cuts through the otherwise quiet of the street. If you can even call it that. Violet’s house is nothing but a run-down mobile home in the middle of a field. The treads of the occasional vehicle passing through creating a dirt road.
Tilting my head, I assess the house Violet was raised in. Gray and white siding. Blue shutters framing the matching windows on each side. The right one is cracked, while the ripped screen flutters in the breeze on the front door. It could be nice. Maybe with a fresh coat of paint, a few new panes of glass, and a boxof nails or something, but what do I know? I’m not a contractor. I wonder what it was like for her. To grow up here. Living off peanut butter and saltines. A small patch of dirt lies beneath the windows. Inside of it sits a dead rosebush surrounded by weeds. Did her mom used to garden like mine? I shake my head, refusing to go there. Tearing my attention from the pathetic greenery, I walk up the short set of stairs toward the entrance.
