My fingers dug into his shirt as I all but clung to him. I didn’t get the chance to respond, because he was kissing me again, in a way I felt devoured.

“Dinner,” he repeated, and his lips brushed mine. “I made reservations.”

Moving my hands down his chest, I tipped my head back and opened my eyes. “Yeah. Food.”

“Steak.” His arm tightened around me. “Really good steak.”

A grumble came from my stomach, and I broke away as he laughed. “Shut up,” I said again.

“It’s cute.” His hands dropped to my hips, so I didn’t get very far.

I rolled my eyes. “More like it, as in my stomach is hungry. Not cute. So if we don’t get—”

My words were cut off as something heavy hit the front of the house. Swallowing a startled squeak, I jumped and turned around. “What the hell?”

Jax was already starting toward the door when I heard tires peeling out of the driveway. My heart lodged into my throat as I followed Jax.

“Stay back,” he ordered, reaching the door.

I didn’t listen.

The muscles in his shoulders tensed as he unlocked the front door and yanked it open.

Slapping my hands over my mouth, I took a step back out of horror. Jax cursed and turned, shielding what waited for us on the front porch, but it was too late. There was no way to un-see the still, ghastly pale body or the small crimson hole smack dab in the middle of its forehead.

Twenty-two

Dinner at Apollo’s was canceled.

A dead body thrown—literally—at the front of the house would do that. And the body was still out there, right where it landed, while the police did whatever forensics they saw fit.

The body had a name, I learned—a name that sent a jolt of fear and dread straight to my very core.

The body belonged to one Ronald R. Miller, also known by the street name Rooster, and rumored to be my mother’s boyfriend.

This wasn’t good.

Rooster had a bullet in the center of his forehead, and I had heard Reece outside talking to another officer. Rooster’s jeans had grass stains on the knees, and it didn’t take a huge leap of logic to imagine that he’d been on his knees when that trigger was pulled.

Classic execution style.

Where was Mom? That question played over and over again, because everyone said she’d run off with Rooster.

Who now had a bullet in his head.

I shuddered as I focused my gaze on Jax. He was standing by the window, back tense and his jaw a hard line. He hadn’t said much since this all went down. We’d already given our statements, which wasn’t much.

Clyde reached over and squeezed my hand. “You doing okay, baby girl?”

I nodded. He’d shown up about an hour after the police. How he’d found out about what happened, I had no idea, but he arrived in his old-ass truck, shouting and bellowing to be let into the house, to see his “baby girl” through this “traumatic” experience that “ain’t right” and a whole bunch of things that included curse words. They wouldn’t let him come up on the front porch, for obvious reasons, and they hadn’t wanted him coming in, but he yelled until he got his way and he came in through the back door, which was off the kitchen.