Page 82 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

For a second, I saw the kid he used to be. The one who’d looked up to me, who’d followed me everywhere, who’d trusted me to fix everything.

Then his shoulders slumped. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll take the deal.”

Relief twisted sharp in my chest. It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t some grand moment of understanding. But it was a start.

Seth shifted in his seat, the cuffs clinking softly against the table. He looked smaller than I’d ever seen him, like the orange jumpsuit was swallowing him whole. His eyes darted around the room, never settling for long. I could tell he hated every second of this. I didn’t blame him. My skin was crawling just being in here. Despite the many near misses, he’d never actually gone to jail. I wasn’t a saint either, but I had never gone beyond the drunk tank. Neither of us had been in the orange jumpsuit.

This was a new low for both of us. It was killing me to see him like this. Every instinct was screaming at me to slap down ten grand and buy his way out of this hellhole.

“You holding up?” I asked, keeping my voice low. I hated how awkward it sounded. We weren’t the kind of brothers who talked about feelings or checked in on each other. But damn, if I didn’t want to know how he was really doing.

Seth shrugged again, his gaze dropping to the table. “It’s jail, Dean. Not exactly a vacation.”

I wanted to shake him. Wanted to grab him by the shoulders and ask him what the hell he was thinking when he got himself into this mess. But I couldn’t. Not here. Not now. Instead, I clenched my fists under the table and forced myself to breathe.

“You look like hell,” I said instead, nodding at his face.

He touched the bruise gingerly, wincing. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly a spa in here.”

My jaw tightened so hard it felt like my teeth might crack. Whoever did that to him—I wanted them to feel it ten times worse. But that wasn’t an option right now. Not if I wanted him to make it out of here in one piece. I forced my voice to stay even, though every word felt like pulling teeth. “They’re coming after you, huh?”

Seth snorted, a bitter sound that didn’t suit him. “What gave it away? The shiner or the attitude?”

“Cut the crap,” I snapped, leaning in closer. “You think I’m here to joke around? You think I’ve got nothing better to do than sit in this hellhole and listen to your smartass remarks?”

He flinched, and for a second, I regretted the harshness. But then his jaw tightened, and that stubborn defiance I knew too well flared in his eyes. “You don’t have to be here, Dean. No one’s forcing you.”

“The hell I don’t,” I shot back. “You’re my brother. Whether you like it or not—whether I like it or not—that means something.”

Seth looked at me, giving me a glimpse of something raw and unspoken passing between us before he looked away again. He didn’t say anything, but I could see the anger, shame, maybe even a flicker of hurt in that one look.

“Look,” I said, trying to rein in my frustration. “Take the deal. Do the time. Keep your head down. And when you get out, we’ll figure it out. I’m not going to abandon you, Seth. I know that’s what you think I’m doing, but I’m not. I’m trying to help you get your shit together. You don’t want to end up like him, do you?”

We both knew who I was talking about. Our father. The loser. Thief. Addict. If there was a derogatory term, it applied. And yet we both still missed the asshole. Neither of us would ever admit it, but it was true. First Mom died and then Dad followed a year later. Despite all the bullshit and fighting and declarations they hated each other, they couldn’t live without each other.

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. The shadow that crossed his face said enough. We both carried that man’s legacy like a curse, and neither of us wanted to admit how much it still shaped us.

I leaned back in the chair, the cold metal digging into my spine. “You’re better than this, Seth. You always have been. But you keep making choices that prove otherwise.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, sure. Because you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you? Perfect Dean Jackson, never puts a foot wrong.”

“I’m not perfect,” I said through gritted teeth. “But at least I’m not sitting here in an orange jumpsuit trying to make jokes about it.”

It was harsh, but it felt like the only way to get him to pay attention. “What do you want from me, Dean? To beg for forgiveness? To promise I’ll be a saint from now on?”

“No,” I said, my voice softer now. “I just want you to stop screwing up your life.”

“Dude, it was a fucking joke,” he hissed.

“You keep saying that and you better get used to having your ass handed to you on the daily while you’re forced to share a cell with two other guys.”

The deputy knocked on the door, signaling time was up. Seth stood, his cuffs clinking as he adjusted his stance.

Our time together went too fast. “The lawyer will be here. Please, for the love of God, just shut up and listen for once.”

He said nothing. The deputy led him away. I was left staring at the empty chair.

I’d gotten him a lawyer. I’d gotten him to agree to the deal. That was all I could do. His choices, his consequences. I didn’t want to lose my brother, but I also couldn’t keep letting him drag me down.