“Jesus Christ,” Trev said.
“Vin got there and killed them. He shot my Janey in the heart. Her… her little heart. You know? She was a girl. A little girl. She played with dolls. She thought boys were dirty. She would sing into her brush, you know? Listening to this terrible music… but he shot her in the heart. And he shot Meghan…” Blaine tapped his pointer and middle fingers to the middle of his head.
The room was silent.
“Keep going,” Gaige said. He pointed to Blaine’s leather cut on the table. “Leave it all on the table.”
“He was never convicted for the murders. Evidence bullshit. He ended up in prison on a separate corruption charge and recently got out. That’s why Jessa came to see me. I made a call to an old friend and he told me that Vin got killed already.”
“You have any affiliation with your old life?” Nate asked.
“None,” Blaine said. “Not even Jessa. The second I found out Vin was dead, I sent her fine ass packing.”
“After you hit it?” Shay asked.
“I’m guilty… not dead,” Blaine said.
“Fucking aye,” Shay said. He grinned and shook his head.
“That’s why you threw your cut down?” Gaige asked.
“Yeah,” Blaine said. “That’s my secret. I left everything behind and hit the road. I found freedom with a motorcycle between my legs… or a half decent looking woman. I fought for fun to hide the pain. Then fucked anything with a pulse to mask everything. Then I saved Miller’s ass one night and he invited me to meet you sorry assholes. The rest is history.”
“Have you talked to anyone about this club?” Miller asked.
“I would never do that,” Blaine said. “I love my cock as much as I love this club… but if someone was going to cut my cock off if I didn’t give up information on this club… then I’d have to squat to piss.”
“Thanks for that visual,” Trev said.
“Gaige, go ahead,” Miller said.
Gaige walked to Blaine. He stared for a few seconds. “We took our vote. Three times. Each time was unanimous.”
“What’s the verdict?”
Gaige took out a gun. “Turn the fuck around.”
Gaige put the gun to the back of Blaine’s head.
fourteen.
Jessa couldn’t believe it.
Three minutes.
She stood in the kitchen and stared at the tall glass of wine. It was dark, a deep crimson red, like blood. She licked her lips and wanted it. It made her think of Blaine. Big shocker. Everything made her think of him.
It had been far too long to give a damn about him. But something lingered there. There was unfinished conversation. Not business, no. They had no business. Their business was a one time cave into temptation and nothing more. Nothing else mattered either.
Jessa reached for the glass, pinching the skinny bottom with two fingers.
She pulled away.
Behind her, the microwave was on a countdown. When the cheap appliance beeped, her life was going to change. Maybe. Maybe not. Probably not.
“Definitely not,” she whispered.
This was all in her mind.
What she needed to do was drink the wine, refill the glass, finish the bottle, and call it a night. From there, she needed to make plans with Dr. Ashland and confess everything to her. About what really happened that night with Vin and what it led to with Blaine. The guilt was tearing her apart. Yes, Meghan wasn’t alive. Yes, that meant Blaine was single. Yes, Jessa was single. But it still felt wrong. Because the reaction her body had was coming from a place a long time ago, when Blaine wasn’t single.
Jessa shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She wished she could throw up.
No, I can’t right now. It’s not right before lunchtime, remember?
She had convinced herself of everything from stomach cancer to the lesser of an ulcer to the even lesser of acid reflux. She settled on stress and anxiety. That could be fixed with wine though, right?
That was the plan until she looked at the freaking calendar.
Jessa turned and put her back to the wine. The microwave was under a minute. The digital number changing with the seconds counting down. She glanced to the fridge. The calendar. Right there. Hanging from a magnet that looked like a giant, worn out clothespin. And on that calendar was a full month’s schedule of work. But on the second Friday there was a small red dot in the corner. Her mother taught her how to do that.
To keep track.
“Shit,” Jessa whispered.
Just like the pills…
She had only missed a couple. Maybe three. Maybe a week. That was only because…
The microwave beeped.
“Oh, shit,” she said.
She then walked slowly toward the bathroom. Each footstep as though she’d never walk again. The creaks and moans of the floor of the apartment seemed so loud and clear. She pushed the bathroom door open with care, as though there were a chance someone was inside.
Jessa was completely alone in her apartment.
Well, maybe…
Her hand fluttered across her stomach.
She stepped into the bathroom.
Her future waited right there on the edge of the bathroom sink.
One step… two… three…