Jay shifted on his feet as if he needed to catch his balance. “Not until someone tells me why I got tossed into the back of a Crown Vic by that thug and driven to this”—he waved his hand around— “dump.”
“Watch your tone,” Trick said.
“Like hell. I should call the police.”
“You do that.”
“Listen, asshole—”
“Fuck you.”
Rachel darted to standing. “Stop, both of you. Jay, you are going to talk to me, starting with the truth about where you’ve been. And about our trust fund. Tell me where the money is. I need to hear it from you.”
Jay shook his head. “You need. That's rich.”
Who was this man standing in front of her? He was nothing like she remembered. She glanced at Trick, his face reddening, his hands twitching by his sides. Of course, they would. The man who landed him in prison stood before him, clearly high on something.
“Tell me you didn't set up Trick—”
“Rachel, you're tilting at windmills here,” Trick ground out.
She glared at him, but his eyes didn't leave Jay, his shoulders and legs tense as if ready to pounce the second Jay moved.
“Okay, I'll tell you I didn't.” Jay stumbled over to the antique bar cart in the corner. He lifted a bottle of Oban scotch. “Fancy.”
She strode to Trick's desk and perched her butt on the edge. “I mean, is that the truth?” She might as well give him one last shot to declare innocence. Funny how all her anger had quieted at seeing him. Guess she wasn’t as good at being a bitch as she’d thought.
He poured a full glass, the clink of glass and the splash of liquid the only sound in the room for a long minute.
“Why don't you talk to your boyfriend over there.” He pointed his finger at Trick and then took a swig of the amber liquid. “He ever tell you how he borrowed money from our fund?”
What? Her forehead pinched.
“Oh, I see by your face, our man Trick here hasn't told you everything.”
Trick's mouth screwed into a frown. “No, I didn't tell her that her brother was a fuck-up. Yes, Rachel, I withdrew funds twice to help pay for Jay's gambling. He begged me not to tell you.” Trick eyed Jay with disgust. “I see you've graduated to drugs now. Not a wise move, but then I wasn't wise withdrawing the money to cover for you.”
He took two steps forward and Jay tensed, his chin lifting in his old bravado. That was part of him she’d remembered. She hadn’t remembered how much taller Trick was than Jay, but then Jay’s spine seemed to bend and sway as if he had no energy to hold himself up. He took another long lazy swig of the Scotch.
Trick crossed his arms. “So, tell her the whole story. How I made you pay it back. How you didn't like that very much. How you stole it all eventually.”
“Was my fucking money.” Jay's breath fogged the glass as he gulped down the last of the Scotch. “Jesus, man …” He waggled his index finger. “You made it so fucking easy. It was as if you were inviting me to take it. Made transfers in front of me. Same password all the time. Rachel with an 'at' sign and a three for the 'e.' Pussy. You probably still haven't changed it. You deserved to go down for stupidity if nothing else.”
Who was this strange man, dirty fingers wrapped around a crystal tumbler, head tilted, eyes bloodshot and lined as if he'd been up all night? He reached behind him, lifted the bottle, and refilled his glass. Everyone in the room just stood there as if he hadn’t just admitted he’d done exactly what Trick had been trying to convince her of for weeks.
Any sympathy she might have called up died, and she couldn’t take another minute of this standoff between them. “Do you have any idea, Jay? Any sense of what I—”
“You, you, you. Such a princess.” Then he did it. He chuffed, a tsking sound reverberating against the glass.
Her palm cracked the side of his face before she could even think. The tumbler flew from his hand, and scotch splashed in an arc, staining the oriental carpet under their feet. Her blow wasn't hard enough. She wanted to pummel the shit out of him.
Jay pitched sideways and then straightened, putting his hand where she'd slapped him. “What the hell?”
“You bastard. I have news for you. That money wasn't just yours.”
“I was going to cut you in when things turned around.”
Trick grabbed her arm before she could punch him. “Whoa, whoa.” He pulled her backward and behind him.
“I'm going to hate you for the rest of my life.” She whispered the words to the carpeting, but she meant them.
“You always were a bit of an emotional wreck, Rachel,” he slurred.
Trick threw his arm in front of her to stop her lurch toward Jay. She stepped backward and took a long hard look at him. The prep school privilege of his life had faded, but that cocky tilt to his chin and those haunted, dark eyes clung to an obviously alive-and-well ego.
“Fuck, man, it was like taking candy from a baby. Candy. Baby.” Jay leaned forward and waggled his chin at Trick.
She made herself stare at him until his gaze lifted to her. She saw an admission of guilt, but not an ounce of regret or remorse. How could Trick just stand there and not punch the guy? She wanted to claw at him, tear skin, reach inside to something—anything—that would cause pain. Unable to stand it any longer, she moved away from him, moved to Trick’s desk. She placed her hands on the surface, needing to feel the solid weight of something, to take a second to just center herself.
“We're done here. Thanks for all that info, bro.” Trick pointed to the corner of the room. “Security cameras. They're everywhere.”
“Not admissible in court.”
“You think? You have no idea what’s in store for you.”
“Oh, yeah? You and Rachel riding off into the sunset now? With what? Money’s all gone.”
“Of course, it is. But all I care about now is Rachel.”
Jay dismissed her with a wave of his hand and reached for the Oban again. “Take her.”
Cold hate filled her chest. She took a long deep breath, and a raw but pure wave of power—of just knowing how it was all to be—settled inside her as she took in Jay, her once sweet, charming brother, barely on his feet in a stained and ripped T-shirt. She was better than him, and Trick was better than all of them.
“You know what, Jay?” She stood and strode up to him. “Prison is too good for you. You deserve to lose everything. I will never see you again. I will never speak to you again. You are no longer my brother.”
24
For three years, Trick had dreamed of the day he could confront the man who stole everything from him. He'd played out in his mind the scenario so often, he knew every footfall, every word spoken, every conceivable option of retorts based on what Jay might say. None of it happened that way. The largest surprise was the swell of pity he felt for the man. Any hate dissolved as Jay, handcuffed and trembling, was lowered into the back of a car by the local sheriff. The idiot was sure to do time for the baggies of heroin found tucked into his jeans. The drug discovery would at least get Jay held in jail while they sorted out the rest of the mess.