Rogue | outer banks

034 - Cat's Ass

The day had dragged long and slow, painfully slow after JJ left. The rest of us had come back to The Château to discuss the details for tomorrow — extraction, equipment, strategy, how to get all the gold, how to carry it, how to transport, liquidate, and sell. Well, everyone else did. I was not in the mood to talk about the gold or anything related to it.

"Lia?"

I heard my name being called, dragging me from the haze of my brain. I lifted my gaze, Pope watching me now, his brows furrowed with concern.

"Are you— are you still mad at John B?" Pope asked quietly. "You were pissed when JJ left, and then when we were talking about the plan for tomorrow, you didn't really say much."

"I don't know," I sighed. "I guess I'm just more disappointed. I didn't want JJ to think this was us versus him. I know he fucked up, keeps fucking up, but I just hate when we're at each other's throats."

Pope just nodded his head softly, getting out of his truck. I did the same, walking towards the back of the truck.

"Maybe you can stop stressing now," Pope said softly, grabbing the case of beers. "We're here, checking on him," he turned towards me. "And we got this with us," he smiled, making me crack a smile too. "What can go wrong?"

"Thank you, Pope," I said quietly. "For stranding me with Sarah. Helping us make up."

"What makes you think that was my idea?" Pope asked.

Before I could answer, my face scrunches in confusion as the sound of something, like an incessant buzz, hits my ears. I almost flinch when a flurry of dozens and dozens of lights blink to life around us, glowing with an amber hue.

"What the hell?" Pope mutters, his eyes widening, the two of us spinning on our heels as we look around at the lights and vines hanging from the trees and house.

"Who the hell is that?" I scowl.

The lights get bigger and brighter, and more appear as we ascend — neon colors, different shapes, and sizes. Only when we reach the big oak tree do we see what that noise is. I gape at JJ, sitting inside a huge hot tub, shirtless, sipping from a bottle of champagne with an excited smirk lining his lips. I can't see his eyes, not through the shades he wears, but I know he is not in any better state than this morning. I gape at the huge four-by-four hot tub, at the water lapping and buzzing with high-fi jet pressure and the animal floaties and bottles of champagne littered across the yard.

"What did you do, JJ?" Pope asks, his voice exasperated.

When my wide eyes glance at Pope, I see the disbelief and astonishment across his face, highlighted by the effervescent lights. JJ lowers his glasses, his eyes hazed as he looks at the two of us, and I know that this is his rock bottom.

"I got a jet going straight in my butt, right now," he snorts, his lips tilting in amusement as he disregards Pope's question. "Y'all should get in immediately — ya hear me? Salud!" He pours a healthy amount into a glass, immediately emptying it and moving to chug straight from the bottle's mouth instead.

I couldn't move, couldn't speak, unable to fathom what the hell was going through JJ's head.

"How much did this cost?" Pope demands.

"Uh— well, with the generator, petrol, and oh, hey, express delivery," JJ says, smiling as he proudly points out all the functions, "pretty much... all of it."

"All of it?!" Pope repeats, his eyes widening. "You spent all the money in one day?!" Pope continued.

"Yeah, all of it," JJ shrugged, moving his hands with every word. "Burned a hole right through my pocket! I mean, come on, look at this! Finest in jet-based massage therapy, that's what they told me."