Page 34 of Heist in Paradise

I tried to school my expression so he couldn’t read my horror, but he wasn’t looking at me anyway. He had gone completely still, his face soft and eyes faraway in hideous memories.

My voice broke. “And your mom?” I asked tentatively.

His mouth flattened. “Died in childbirth.”

“That’s not your fault.”

He shrugged limply. “Dad certainly thought so. He hated my guts.” The shadows on his face darkened. It made him look older, less like the sunny energy ball that had flounced into the room. “I planned it,” he said abruptly, almost defensively. “It was totally premeditated, so don’t go thinking it was, like, self-defense or anything.”

I had no idea what to think anymore. But there was definitely more to the story.

The room felt stifling suddenly, and my head was too full. I wanted to move on and forget everything he just said; I wanted to hug and squeeze the hell out of him. Both impulses left me conflicted, so I offered a stilted: “My parents are shitty sometimes, too.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide and concerned. I quickly backtracked. “Not like—they’re not abusive or anything. They’re just super toxic.”

“Nate’s family is like that. Is it a rich people thing?”

“Not all rich people are jerks.” Though if I had to throw a rock, I’d be hard-pressed to hit anyone in my life who wasn’t terrible. The only person was Molly. And I didn’t even have her anymore.

The reminder of Molly sent a sharp dagger into my chest. “We should go downstairs,” I said. Face the music.

Ryle nodded, looking relieved. The darkness on his face faded, no longer eclipsing his infectious sunshine. “Race you down the stairs?”

I absolutely did not race him.

Somehow, we made it to the dining room in one piece, where I immediately locked up at the sight of Jax. He was seated at the head of the table, boots kicked up, and ankles crossed, hands linked behind his head like he was soaking up a tan. He didn’t look at me. Not even a glance as I shuffled into the room.

Ryle abandoned me instantly to launch himself at Callum’s back, where he stood staring out the window. The large man barely flinched at the surprise attack, as if it were a common occurrence. Knowing what I now knew about Ryle, it probably was.

Nate sat at the opposite end, face buried in his arms, apparently snoozing. Madoc was staring at him from his post against the wall, twirling my knife like he was considering giving the sleeping man an impromptu haircut. I glared at him just because, and, like Jax, Madoc pretended I didn’t exist.

I wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

And then there was Zola.

She walked over to Jax and leaned far too close to him, practically kissing him as she showed him something on the tablet. Jax grinned up at her, no hint of malice or mistrust. He didn’t look like he wanted to rip her hair out and call her a liar.

Wait. Was I seriously jealous? What was wrong with me?

“Well?” I snapped.

All eyes, barring Nate, swiveled toward me.

“Well, what?” Zola asked with a sneer. With great reluctance, Jax rolled his head toward me and smirked.

“Tell her highness what you found.”

Zola scoffed. “Why should I? I’ve been busting my ass doing her dirty work while she’s been, what? Admiring the silverware?”

“I’m not a magpie,” I said, refusing to cower under her hostility. “Have you actually found something useful or not?”

Zola shoved the tablet into Jax’s chest, hard enough to make him fumble it. “You tell her. This is your deal, not mine. I don’t give a fuck what happened to her whorish sister.”

Acid burned in my mouth. “She’s not a whore.”

“So, no family resemblance then?”

My fists clenched, nails biting into familiar grooves. The room waited for my retaliation. In a physical fight, I knew we would be evenly matched. She might’ve been world-weary and street-hardened, but I was a goddamn varsity cheerleader. It was more than just pom-poms and chants—it was ruthless strength and conditioning, endless flexibility and endurance training.