where Jax is leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed, an uneasy look on his face.
I don’t know why, but the tension in his eyes makes me tense. Maybe because he rarely looks tense, rarely looks anything other than occasionally irritated. And that tension makes me question if admitting I know the nursery rhyme was a royal screwup on my part.
“When did you get here?” Zay asks with a nervous edge in his voice.
“I showed up halfway through you reciting that stupid rhyme,” Jax says in a clipped tone. He glares at Zay, and that glare only deepens as he fixes his attention on me. “Where have you heard it before?”
Lie, the word sears through my mind.
“I don’t know. I think the first time I heard it, I was about five years old. I’ve heard it after that, though,” I reply as vaguely as I can for reasons I can’t even comprehend.
Jax pushes away from the doorframe and stalks the room toward me, his boots scuffing the floor. “From whom?”
“I’m not sure.” Fear swirls through me, my head foggy with memories of running around that damn tree with three boys that I’m almost certain are Zay, Jax, and Hunter.
Mary Lee B.
Mary Lee B.
Mary Lee B.
Kill her.
Kill her.
Kill her.
Jax stops in front of me, and I have to angle my head up to look at him.
“What do you mean, you’re not sure?”
I swallow the lump in my throat, my gaze lowering as I daze off, trying to piece together yet another foggy memory. “I mean, I don’t remember.”
Silence stretches by. A clock is ticking from somewhere, and Zay is breathing sort of loudly.
Jax fixes his finger under my chin and forces me to look up at him. “I don’t believe you.”
And that snaps me out of my trance.
I jerk back. “I don’t give a shit if you believe me or not. I also don’t get why this even matters. And you know what? Screw this. I don’t have to be here.” I move to stand up, but he moves his hands on either side of me, placing them on the back of the sofa and caging me in, forcing me to sit back down.
My heart slams in my chest, but I keep my composure.
“Get out of my way,” I say in an icy tone.
“No,” he replies in an equally, if not more, icy tone.
“Jax …” Zay starts, but quiets when Jax fastens his chilling glare on him.
“Are you defending her?” Jax quirks a brow at him.
Zay shakes his head. “No, not at all. I was just going to say that, if you want answers from her, you might want to try another tactic, because bossing her around doesn’t usually work.”
Jax snaps his gaze back to me, a calculating look on his face. “You’re right. We need to try another way.”
I glare at him, my calm façade fading. “What’re you going to do? Threaten to make me jump off a bridge again?”
“Nah. We already know that isn’t going to work.” The corners of his lips kick up into a smirk. “But everyone has a weakness.”
“True, but even if you find my weakness, it wouldn’t matter,” I stress. “Because I’m telling the truth.”
He stares at me, his eyes searching mine. I can tell he’s trying to read me, to see if I’m telling the truth.
I’m not sure what he sees in my eyes, but eventually, he leans back. “All right,” he says, like that explains everything. Then his gaze burrows into me. “Did you call your aunt and uncle yet and tell them where you are?”
His brief subject change throws me off, and I sit up straighter. “No. But it doesn’t really matter. They won’t care where I am.”
“You still need to call them,” he says, glancing at the time on the grandfather clock. He considers something then looks at Zay. “We need to have a private meeting.”
“About what?” Zay asks, looking totally confused.
Jax gives him a pressing look, and Zay frowns.
Way to be cryptic, guys.
“Are you serious?” he grumbles. “Right now?”
Jax shrugs. “You know how they love using every second of our free time.”
“Who does?” I ask.
“The bosses,” Zay mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have a damn headache.”
“Take some painkillers then.” Hunter appears in the doorway. His gaze sweeps across the three of us as he leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms, uneasiness flowing off of him. “What’s the meeting about?” he asks Jax.
“How would I know? You know my father rarely tells me what they’re about. He