by Nicole Snow
Mom had a terrible nightmare and woke up screaming. She wouldn't stop until they let him see her. They've agreed to let him spend the night in her room and he's asked me to check on things at home – but in the morning, after he's spoken to Jace.
I tell him I'll find somewhere else to stay for the night. I lie through my teeth.
Pretend I'm his ever trustworthy peanut, who'd do anything for her family. Okay, so the second half is true, but the fact that I'm stuck in this car, instead of at the hospital with him, consoling mom...
This can't be happening again. I close my eyes, fighting back the bitter tears.
No.
Hell no.
I can't just sit on my hands while the people I love are in crisis. Nothing and nobody – not even this damn determined driver – will stop me.
There's too much at stake to have a nervous breakdown now. I shove my phone in my pocket, staring at my weary reflection in the limo's privacy visor.
What did Trent mean? Those two words in his message?
Not good? NOT GOOD.
He'd said it twice. Without elaborating. Making me wonder if he found Jace disemboweled in the dining room.
My mind runs rampant, a thousand hellish scenarios exploding in my psyche. I see them both up close and bloodied, throwing punches, kicking, biting, dragging each other to death's doorstep. I see my sadistic brother cornering the man I love, pulling a gun. He turns it on Trent once and fires. Then he turns it on himself.
I gnaw my lip, more anxious than ever. Glance at my phone.
Another fifteen minutes. Seventeen, to be precise. Jesus Christ.
I can't wait any longer.
Stabbing at the button for the visor, I angrily lower it, waiting for the driver's dark eyes to look back in the mirror. “Tell me how much Robbie's program costs. I bet I can cough up all four years and tell my bank to wire it over right now if you'll just let me out of here.”
I hear a sharp intake of breath. Jason's eyes go wide. If I could see his hands, I'm sure they'd have a steely grip on the wheel. “Miss, that's incredibly gracious, but –”
“No buts. How much is he paying you? I'll double it. Triple it. You see that place out there? It belongs to my parents. They left me pretty well off, I'm happy to say, and your boy deserves a fighting chance. Let's get ourselves a deal.”
His eyes turn over a few times in the mirror, staring at the house, then back at me. He's considering my crazy offer.
Come the hell on, Jason, I think to myself. Let me give you money.
Figure it out.
If you don't, two men I love are as good as dead.
16
The Zen of Gasoline (Trent)
I try my damnedest to stare into the boathouse from several feet away. It's too dark, too dim to see anything inside, and I'm far too short on time.
Clock's ticking.
Maxwell could be rolling through the gate any minute. It's almost been an hour. Presh has to be getting restless, too, especially after I told Jason to hold her.
Hopefully she's not throwing herself at the door, making him restrain her. The very notion makes me see red. Mostly at myself for giving the order.
This is majorly fucked up and down.
Every sweet second I'm wasting isn't doing us any favors. I have to find out what the hell he's up to.
I dig in my pocket, searching for a weapon that isn't there. My jaw clenches.
Fuck. I'd been in such a rush to get Amy Kay home I hadn't given a second thought to my nine millimeter, safely locked away in my Portland mansion. Hadn't given a third thought to Jace showing up in the hospital tonight, making me wish I had a backup weapon like never before.
Whatever, it can't hold me back. I creep forward, panther-like through the rain, grateful the wet tears pouring from the sky silence my footsteps squelching the mud.
He's in there. Waiting. Scheming something awful.
All five senses tell me it's true.
I stop when I get next to the door, take a deep breath, and look inside. I see the usual mess of boating equipment sitting on the shelves. A few blunt objects I can grab if I'm quick, and things get ugly, or even if they don't. Here we fucking go.
Rushing into the boathouse, I reach for the first object I see. It's a steel pole almost as big as a baseball bat. I manage to grip it a split second before something punches me in the face.
Not physically.
It's the smell, a familiar strong scent racing up my nostrils, dark and strong and dirty.
Gasoline. Fuck!
My heart starts slamming my ribs. I see the shape shifting around in the corner, the dark spot closest to the Wilkie, which sits perched in its dock and ready to sail through the open hanger door.
There's no time to think. I drop the makeshift weapon and start running, quick as I can toward him, eyeing the glint of something metal in Jace's hand. “Don't fucking do it, asshole! You're not this crazy and I'm here. The one you really want.”
He looks up, an ugly light in his eyes. We share an understanding. Both know how fucked up and precarious this situation is.
One wrong move. That's what he's waiting for.
One flick of his finger could ignite the lighter. A single toss of fire, a lick of flame on gas, and then the boathouse goes up in an inferno. Hell, maybe more than just the building, considering the reeking trail he's left toward the back of the house, through the gardens. It's even soaked into him.
I know because the closer we get, the worse he stinks. This insane bastard might be suicidal.
“Jace,” I try again, wishing I hadn't tossed aside my club after all. “Don't. You're better than this.”
“'Bout time you showed up, Usher. I waited half the fucking night for you, Amy Kay, dad...somebody who actually gives a shit. I was almost ready to let my thirsty little friend here drink her fill.” Smiling, he flicks the lighter on, lifting a bright red gas can in his other hand.
I've lost my pulse. I have to get this crap away from him somehow. No fucking choice.
He sees my eyes darting around, desperate and searching, and staggers to his feet. “Whatever you're thinking, don't fucking bother. You're too late. Won't walk out of here without watching this place burn to the ground. Shit, since you always loved it so much, there's plenty of fire to go around. Maybe you can go down with the ship.”
“Ship's not going anywhere,” I growl, banging the Wilkie's hull with my fist. The noise reverberates like God's fist, a distraction I hope will do something.
Jace staggers toward it, clumsy as ever. He's drunk, no surprise.
His eyes have trouble following me for more than a few seconds. But shit, that lighter in his hand...I don't know if I can overpower him, fish it away, before he does something incredibly stupid.
“Don't fucking do this,” I warn him again. “Just put it down. Hand it over. We'll talk this out. There has to be a way to make this right, end the hell you've put yourself in. Damn it, Jace, if you'll just get help...” I can't go on. I'm suddenly a twenty-one year old kid again, staring at my drug dealing friend in disbelief, wondering how something so deranged can hide in a human skin.
“Blame on, Usher. Shout it to the sky. I don't give a piss anymore about your holy-poly act. You've wrecked my life. Even after I convinced them for years you were the one who landed them in hell, just look how quick they come crawling back. Look!” He ignites the lighter again, holds it under his face. It'd be a bad parody of a Halloween scare, except there's a real monster behind the flame.
“I'm looking,” I whisper.
It's hard to only look and not send my fists crashing through his psycho face.
“Yeah? Then you see how fucked I am? You see the reason: you, you, always, you.”
I shake my head. If there's a logic somewhere in there, it's just as twisted as the rest of him. Still, I have to reason with this prick, as long as he's holding that burning Ace in his hand.
“Damn it, Jace, it's not like that. This isn't a pissing contest. Never
should've been. We were friends. We –”
“Shut up. You were the perfect son mom and dad always wanted. You're too fucking right for Amy Kay, and I fucking knew it, the second I found out you were after her pussy all those years ago.” He holds up his flame again, urging me back.
“It pissed me the hell off, knowing you'd be part of this family. Always better than me. I spent years trying to give dad what he wanted, you know? Years. I married that bitch, Lindsey, knowing she never wanted shit beyond my money. Cleaned up my act. Got myself nice and neat and ready to act like a fucking adult, for once. One who could've done amazing things for the family business. Sure, I took some kickbacks I shouldn't have, but isn't that what always happens at these multimillion firms? Dad sure as shit wasn't shy, funneling money from his business into his goddamn campaign. I saw the books!”
“Jace, look –”
“No, Usher! Not this time. Not ever. You do the fucking looking!” He stumbles forward, flashing flame in my face, almost close enough to scorch my chin. I crane my head back slowly, wait for him to give me space, looking for an opportunity to end this. “This is how it ends. Tonight. You're the fuck who brought us here, coming back and sticking your shit-rubbed nose in places where it doesn't belong. And never will. You burned me, Usher. Ruined my marriage. Broke my family. I've fucking had it. You keep burning, then I'll burn you and burn them and burn everything right to the motherfucking ground.”
“Jace!” I scream his name again.
It's not enough.
We're way beyond talk. Beyond reason. Beyond ending this peacefully.
He flicks the flame, stoops over, tries to plant it in the thick gas puddle reflecting on the wooden dock. I ram my shoulder into him as hard as I can, send him falling backward.
The lighter bounces out of his hand.
I'm quick, chasing after it. He's faster and luckier, even in his drunken bloodlust.
I crash down on top of him, slam his wrist to the floor. Trying to pry the lighter out of his hand.
Trying and failing. The angle is all wrong.
His grip is a vice. He won't let go. His thumb flicks the button for the flame again, pushes it to my fingers. I rip my hand back with a roar, but I don't drop his wrist. “Asshole, let go!”
“Hurts, doesn't it?” Jace's voice is ice.
“That's what this is about?” I growl into his face, my heart beating a dull roar in my temples. “Making us feel your pain? One last big 'fuck you' to the world because you couldn't hack it? Shit, man. The Jace I grew up with would've at least been original.”
My words cut deep. Snarling, his smirk disappears, and he swings at my head.
Swings and misses.
I crawl up his chest, smash myself into him, trying to knock the wind from his lungs. Jace struggles underneath me, losing the battle by the second. Still, I can't give up, knowing what's at stake.
“Fuck. You.” He grunts each syllable, my weight a boulder on top of him. “Go ahead, prick. Rub your superiority in the black sheep's face one last time. Where'd I go wrong, Usher? Enlighten me.”
I blink, unsure why his eyes are suddenly so sad in the darkness. “You can't see your ego? How much it's cost you?”
“I see it! Crystal fucking clear. Not what I'm asking,” he snarls, rolls under me again, trying to throw me off in vain. Then he just goes limp, holding the lighter over his head, barely out of my reach.
Shit. If I can just –
“Tell me, Usher. Tell me when my entire life went down in shit?” His words slur.
I narrow my eyes. Maybe the booze, the drugs, whatever he's on is soaking deeper in his brain. Giving me a chance to end this.
“When you abandoned your friends, asshole. When you went lone wolf. When you stabbed me in the back and ripped the only woman I ever gave a damn about away.”
His face scrunches, as if he's in pain. An act I'd be a fool to believe. Or is it?
Something hot and unexpected hits my hand. The one that isn't trying to crawl up his arm and fish the lighter away, trying to pin him against the ground by his ear. Tears. Rolling off his cheek, splashing my skin, hot and thick and vile. “Christ. I fucked up real bad, didn't I? Then. Now. Tonight.”
More bleary, scalding tears. He can't be serious. This can't be happening.
I gaze through his bewildered pain, watching his wrist tremble. Just a little more, and he'll either drop that thing, or push it close enough so I can grab it. Don't let up. Talk him down. Save Presh. Save her family.
“You did, asshole. But you're never out for good. Not unless you bury yourself. Took me years to claw my way back from the damage you did. I managed. I fixed my life. I did amazing things.” I watch him scowling through the darkness, defeated but still so dangerous. Drawing in a huge breath, I decide to let the hammer fall. “It's not too late, Jace. Let go. If you're willing to calm the fuck down and hand the lighter over, then you've still got a friend.”
“Bullshit!” he snaps, his thumb struggling for the switch, trying to light the flame. “Nice trick. We both know the second I hand this thing over, you'll knock me on my ass. You'll call the cops. I'll be put away for good. It's too fucking late.”
I cock my head, smiling, shaking my head. “Amazing. You still don't know shit.”
There's a brutal pause. Anger bleeds confusion in his soiled eyes. “You're fucking with me. You're –”
“I'm the only chance you've got at a normal life. No joke. No trick. No bull. Give me your hand. Let me help.”
He can't believe it as I lift off him, pulling at his fingers.
Hell, neither can I.
The asshole stands, sniffing through his tears, trying to comprehend this lunatic mercy. It doesn't make sense to me either, but it's the only way I'm able to peel him off the floor.
My one chance at preventing this from ending in two scorched bodies.
I can't tell who's acting anymore. Who's leading who. Or where.
I take the biggest risk of my life slapping his back, throwing an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into me. “I'm a man of my word, Jace. Always was.”
“Right...that's why this kills me, I guess.” His eyes fall to the lighter in his hand.
I stiffen, horror rampaging through my brains.
Don't fucking do this. Not after we've made so much progress.
Goddamn it, Jace!
I try taking a step forward. If he's about to bring a world of fire, then I delay him a few seconds, dragging him toward the boathouse door. Then another minute.
Then he's leaning against me, fighting more sobs, his whole screwed up body wracked with poison. I reach for his hand, holding my breath. “Let me. Please, Jace. We're almost there. Just a few more steps and –”
“Fuck this!” he screams. “You win.”
Warm metal slides into my palm. His hand falls from mine. I'm holding a fucking miracle.
We're outside and I shove the lighter in my pocket, staring at this beaten, worn out man I still want to kill.
Cold logic says I should seize my chance, throw him to the ground, knock him out.
Just to be sure.
I wish I could be a monster just once in my life. But fuck, it's just not in my makeup.
I can't punch out a defenseless man I've just offered a second chance to. No matter how many times over he deserves it.
Plans clash together like lightning in my mind. It's not over until he's somewhere he can't do more damage.
I see it so clearly I don't dwell on the danger. I have to get him in his car, the passenger seat, drive him to the nearest mental health facility.
Then I'll call Presh, brief her on the damages, her brother's condition. She'll tell Maxwell.
And holy shit, this whole nightmare might finally have a happy ending.
A strange euphoria fills my blood. I feel like I can fly, even though I'm very much grounded, stumbling through the rain with this drugged, crying brute against my shoulder. I'm slow to realize when he falls a few steps behind me, unm
oving, rooted to the ground.
Shit. What now? We were just a few steps from the service door, where the gas trail begins.
Tearing my eyes off him, I look dead ahead.
I see a ghost, the teary face of a woman I love, who shouldn't fucking be here.
Precious.
She's holding her phone. I think the death grip is where the tremor begins, the one that's shaking her entire body as she holds it up, presses it to her ear, someone else already on the line. Her mouth opens, almost in slow motion. My ears don't want to believe what they're hearing.
“Emergency in Mount Sutton, gated community, Chenocott residence. Please hurry. Please come now. My brother's gone insane and he's trying to hurt us.”
My heart jumps into my throat and starts crashing, so hard and fast and ruthless I can hardly speak. Somehow, I scream two words. “Precious, no!”
Her eyes go huge. I don't know whether she finally smells the gas, or if she still doesn't understand.
She can't know what happened out here. She can't know it was almost – fucking almost – under control.
Not anymore. The second I feel a rough, furious hand in my pocket, ripping out the lighter before I can react, I know how screwed we are.
By the time I've turned around, Jace is on the ground, his lips peeled back in a chaotic smile.
He's past pain, past betrayal, and way past sanity.
The look on his face is almost calm, in an evil way, like he knew somehow this was coming.
I start screaming again, “Presh, phone down! You have to put the fucking phone –”
Too late.
Jace touches the flame to his gas-soaked arm. Orange ignites his body in the blink of an eye.
In a matter of seconds, I'm rushing to Presh, lost in a hellscape of lashing fire blistering up the mansion's backside, streaking toward the boathouse.
Rings and rings of fire, surrounding us, just like a scalding noose. It's weirdly silent for the first thirty seconds, like Jace is too drunk or drugged or numb to feel the devastation he's unleashed.
I open my mouth to speak again, to holler, to tell her we have to get our asses out of here.
