what his sons had done to me, and yet now, after working for him to try to protect Jaz, after seeing him almost daily, I’d grown to respect him.
Oliver Fitzpatrick was only a man trying to do what he thought was right. He’d tried to do right by his sons, but they were too psychotic to appreciate it. He’d tried to do right with Astrid and her daughter, Celeste, and now they were gone. Same thing with Jaz and her mother—Piper was dead. It was like every single time Oliver had tried to help someone, it ended up exploding and blowing up in his face.
He said nothing, pushing past me to get into the house. Heaving a sigh to myself, I followed him, able to see him freeze when he spotted Piper’s body, able to witness the crestfallen look in his eyes.
“No,” Oliver whispered, glancing to Jaz and Archer. Though it was difficult for him to speak, he managed to say, “Is Jaz all right?” Archer gave him a nod, and he muttered, “Well, at least there’s that.” The man sauntered over to his liquor cabinet and pulled out a glass jar of whiskey, judging from the hue that sloshed around inside. He went into a cabinet, carefully stepping over the bodies on the floor.
I couldn’t believe that man was pouring himself a drink right now, but I supposed now was as good of a time as any.
“I should call Wilde, tell him…” Oliver trailed off, downing everything he’d poured into the glass.
How would you tell a man that his daughter was dead? That she had been the one terrorizing the town? Jaz hadn’t told us the story, but I could put two and two together. My cop days weren’t that far behind me.
“Markus is on his way,” Vaughn spoke, causing Oliver to suddenly realize he was there. “I wouldn’t call anyone else until he gets here.”
Oliver’s only response to that was sagging shoulders—and taking the empty glass and throwing it on the floor, causing everyone to jump a little at the sudden sound of shattering glass. After a moment, he called Frank at the gate and informed him that someone else would be arriving.
No one said anything more, silence overtaking the place.
The next person that showed up wasn’t Markus; it was Dante. Wearing the same leather jacket he always did, he strolled into the house without knocking, as if he belonged here. As if he’d been here before, which he hadn’t.
When he saw Jaz and Archer, when he saw that I was covered in blood, Dante asked, “What the fuck happened here?” To Oliver, who he’d never officially met before, he said, “Hey, my man. I’m Dante.” Such a flippant way to introduce himself, given the circumstances.
And then, fortunately for him, he read the room.
That, or he spotted a body on the floor.
Dante went to inspect, frowning at Bobbi’s corpse before finding Piper’s. “Shit.” He strode to Jaz’s side, pulling her away from Archer’s arms and hugging her to his chest instead. “I’m guessing by all the blood, you took care of that bitch.”
Jaz nodded.
What Dante said next surprised me, mostly because he seemed like the type who never had a care in the world, let alone a sincere bone in his body: “I’m sorry you had to do that.” Was he sorry she had to get her hands dirty or sorry he wasn’t here to kill Bobbi himself?
Or, maybe, he really did care about Jaz. Maybe I wasn’t the only one she affected.
I stared at Vaughn, Archer, and Dante, how they were all here, all of them near Jaz, focusing on her. For the first time since she’d introduced the idea to me, I thought maybe this could work.
“We should get you cleaned up,” Dante said. “Out of those clothes—”
“My brother is on his way,” Vaughn stated, glancing between them. “He’ll want to talk to her, first.”
Dante was ready to argue. “Fuck your brother—”
A new presence spoke from the front of the house, having almost supernatural hearing, “You’re not my type, I’m afraid.” Markus walked into the kitchen, adjusting his black suit as he surveyed us, a frown on his face. His eyes seemed to be darker than Vaughn’s, soulless and cold.
Even Dante knew enough to keep quiet.
He saw the bodies, and he hardly blinked. The Scotts must be into some deep shit if something like this didn’t bother him in the slightest. “You,” Markus spoke, glancing at Jaz. She was slow to untangle herself from Dante, and