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Jackson’s teeth clench as he lowers the gun and slowly walks toward me.

I try to scoot back, but there’s nowhere to go. “I already told you I didn’t know what Zander was up to. We aren’t engaged anymore.”

“That’s not why you’re here.” Jackson’s head tilts, pausing as he looks me over. “Everyone has sins to repent tonight.”

“What are you talking about?” An icy feeling slides through my gut.

Sins to repent.

Debts to pay.

I’ve been trying to figure out why someone would light the bar on fire with me inside. Or why they’d leave that message on the side of a truck at the farmers market. But I’ve come up empty.

As Jackson squats in front of me, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes, I guess that maybe I’m about to get that answer.

He brushes my cheek with the back of his hand, and I pull away, making him chuckle. “Such an innocent face to mask a killer.”

“I haven’t killed anyone.” My teeth clench.

Jackson’s eyes turn stone-cold, and I realize that was the wrong thing to say.

“You destroyed my family, you fucking bitch.” He rears back, hitting me across the cheek so hard my vision spots. “You killed my brother.”

My head continues to spin, but I’m at a loss. I can’t form words or process what he’s saying. I’ve never killed anyone.

Jackson stands again and begins to pace, dragging his hand through his hair. “Why do you think I chose this job in this crappy small town? It wasn’t for the view. But when I heard the Twisted Kings were setting down roots in the town that got Dex killed, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to figure out what went wrong.”

“Dex?” I don’t realize I said it out loud until Jackson pauses.

“My brother.” His head tilts. “Dex and his crew came through here once. They had an issue with one of their engines, so they stayed for a few days before continuing out West. But this place is a pit, and he got antsy. That was always when Dex would get in the most trouble.”

I glance over at Zander. His cheeks are pale, and his eyelids flutter as he barely holds consciousness from the blood loss. I want to ask him if he knows what Jackson is talking about, but nothing seems to trigger in his gaze.

Jackson continues to pace. “Dex was bored, looking for company. The guys said he got a little too flirty with the local bartender. My brother always had a thing for older women. He said they were a challenge, and he liked that about them. But she wasn’t a challenge. She was a bitch, and she embarrassed him in front of this whole worthless town.”

Bartender.

Older woman.

My stomach sinks. “When was this?”

“A decade ago,” Jackson growls, and an icy chill runs down my spine. A decade ago, there was only one female bartender in Lanceleaf—my mother. “She kicked him and his buddies out for being a little too handsy. He didn’t appreciate that, so he called me and told me he was going to make her pay for it.”

“No.” A tear slips down my cheek, the heaviest weight settling on my chest.

Jackson grins. “Yes. You remember the rest, don’t you? You remember finding them. You remember what you did?”

I remember my mom screaming, and then someone hit her so hard she wasn’t making any noise at all. I remember picking up the gun and⁠—

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“You shot Dex,” Jackson grits out.

“Yes, but then he left. He drove away. He was alive.”

Jackson storms forward, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him. “He bled out. Long and slow and painful. All because some bitch intervened when she shouldn’t have.”

He releases my head, and it snaps back against the wood. I lose my breath as all the pieces click together.