I laughed. I could have given three fucks.
“I’ll send you a bill.”
“You realize her dad was the only family she had, don’t you? She told Hartley a little about both parents being dead.” My gaze shot up. I’d done normal background research on the Richardson case. I knew Layla had no siblings and her mother died early on, but I guess I really didn’t pay much attention to the fact she had no extended family. At least an uncle or aunt.
I really had taken everything from her. But fuck, it was my job. Her dad was clearly guilty. Truth be known, I guess I could understand a little where she’d come from. I’d lost a parent before. It hurt like a bitch. And even though my relationship with my mother was strained, when it all came down to it, I knew I could call her if I needed or wanted to. She was still a part of my life.
I’d never allowed myself to ponder extended family or circumstances surrounding any case. I couldn’t allow anything personal to interfere. With Layla, everything was personal. It had been since day one.
“No. Actually, I didn’t realize that,” I answered, tension streaming through my neck. “Her best friend is Joslyn Myers, my last sub.”
Justin’s eyes shot up. “Are you shitting me, Jackson? You’re not only fucking the daughter of the man you sent to prison, but your past sub’s best friend?”
I nodded. “Pretty fucked up, isn’t it?”
“Just a goddamn little.” Justin took a long pull off his beer.
“I’m gonna get out of here. Thanks for the beer. And give those two hooligans a hug for me.”
****
I left my sister’s home, dialing Seth. I’d missed his last two calls.
There was something I needed to do that involved a piece of paper tucked away in my briefcase. Maybe I’d been the man who had taken Layla’s last known relative and ultimately deserved having my heart ripped from my chest, given the circumstances. The least I could do was give her the confession that seemed so important.
Fuck, what was I thinking? Jackson Shipman didn’t have a heart. The minute my life was forced into one of criminal injustice with Carlos Agli, I knew once and for all I could never bring anyone in too close. So I’d stuck to my lifestyle, taking on a sub when it was convenient, and spending a fair amount of time in the Mystery Room. It wasn’t like it was a bad way to live. I had all the sex I wanted. All the beautiful women I could muster. But it was also a life that sometimes, in a very distant place in my mind, I wondered if I’d like to change eventually. My sister and her family made my imagination crawl all over the map with unthinkable what ifs, which were all they were.
“Hey, Jackson. Feel like a late dinner? I thought we could catch a meal and maybe a little something else afterward. Maybe get that anxiety of yours eased up a notch or two between the legs of a nice, wet pussy.”
“Jesus, Seth. It sounds like you’re the one in need of a good lay.”
“Always,” he answered.
Seth was a good-looking guy and knew it. Cocky bastard that he was, I could just feel his self-pride beaming through the phone.
“I can’t tonight. I’m actually about to make a stop.” I took a right onto Beltline, only a couple of blocks from Layla’s street.
“Well, well. Do tell,” he snickered.
Ten minutes later, I was pulling into Layla’s complex after ’fessing up to my best friend.
“So, let me get this right. You’re fucking Mark Richardson’s daughter? Jesus Christ, man. And I thought my ethics were messed up. The press would have a goddamn field day with this.”
“You’re right. They would,” I answered. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I ended the call, parking beside Layla’s Chevy Equinox, ignoring the crippling hunger to see her face. I needed to do this one last thing—give her Mark Richardson’s last words. Maybe she could move on then. Maybe we both could.
The light on her front porch was off. Fuck, I didn’t like where she lived. Maybe now that she had a little money, she’d consider moving. And if luck had it my way, maybe we could end some of the disconcert between us.
She answered the door seconds after I knocked, hitting me hard at how much I needed to see her. How much I’d missed her and hated the way we’d parted ways. Winded, I wondered what she’d been doing and wanted to ask. I didn’t. I no longer had the right.
“Why are you here, Jackson?” Her question blunt and head-on, she gave me a scathing look. “I haven’t touched your money if that’s what this visit is about.” Her eyes were distant and hurt-filled, but since she didn’t slam the door in my face, I assumed I could come in.
“No, goddammit.” I grabbed her by the hip, turning her around. “I don’t give a fucking shit about money. I care about this.” I pulled her lips against mine.
Strangely, she didn’t fight me, her silky tongue sliding against mine as I fought the uncontrollable stiffening rubbing my zipper at the sound of her sensual groan. My dick was ridiculously hard as my hands fell down her back and grasped her ass. I didn’t want her to think I was here for sex. I wasn’t. But Christ, I was still the same red-blooded man. Still the same Jackson who wanted to bend her over my knee and spank her ass for what she’d done until it was a nice shiny pink, before making her drop to her knees and suck me until I lost myself deep in her throat.
I couldn’t do either.
I kissed her and kissed her some more, her body slowly easing up and letting go of the tension that was there only sixty seconds before. The anger, the safeguarding I planned on, wasn’t there. Again, she was giving me everything I’d never wanted from a woman. Something that had feeling. Something that had absolutely nothing to do with control and utter hard fucking.
“I’ve missed you. It feels so good, Jackson. You feel so good.” I took her hands between mine, lifting them to my hammering chest.
“Jackson,” she whimpered, clearly wanting what I couldn’t give.
“Why do you keep doing this to me, Lay? I’m not good for you. I need you to understand that.” Her hands were soft against my ribcage. Certain she wasn’t missing my hammering pulse, her eyes burned into mine as she sighed against my body. I fucking loved it when she did that.
“What? What am I doing, Jackson?” Her neck, smooth and silky, screamed for my lips. So achingly hard, I was blindsided by her beautiful emerald greens.
“Telling me how good I feel. Looking at me with everything in your eyes that shouldn’t be there.”
“Why can’t you love someone, Jackson? Why are you only satisfied dominating?” she asked, her gaze pleading. “Don’t you ever wish for something deeper? Don’t you ever consider letting down those walls you insist on keeping?”
“Don’t, Lay. Don’t make this any harder,” I countered, taking a step back and putting distance between us. Layla Richardson had brought on conflicting tendencies I didn’t know how to handle. Unworthy of an actual relationship with the constant threat I lived with, how could I protect her? Hire twenty-four-hour surveillance the way I’d done years ago for my sister? Keep her locked up, afraid every minute of the dire circumstances? Carlos Agli wasn’t going away. Not unless a small miracle from the bowels of Hell crawled up and ended his pathetic life. Then again, miracles were merely bullshit. Only a figment of the most ridiculous realms of imagination. I’d learned that the hard way.
Nothing in my power could turn this into a positive outcome. The more I considered it, the worse I felt. My need for this woman was growing profoundly deeper every single waking minute. I had to save her. That meant letting her go. But I couldn’t stand the tears in her pretty eyes. I backed away before it was too late and couldn’t, every muscle in my body swarming with unease. Layla didn’t understand the uncertainties, the risk of being close to me. The fact that I couldn’t do anything to change it.
“I brought you something.” I reached in my jacket pocket, pulling out the folded note I’d taken from my briefcase. “I hope this gives you the closure you’re looking for, sweetheart.” I turned and left her apartment as she star
ed down at her father’s confession, walking away without another word.
Chapter Twenty-One
Layla
Bills. Bills. More damn bills. Ripping open envelopes, they just kept on coming. Electricity. Water. Cellphone.
“All due within five days of each other,” I whispered. “Fucking outstanding.” I threw down the stack of pending debt, knowing I’d be short on money this month. I needed the oil changed in my SUV. And I needed a new dress of some sort to wear to the bank dinner. My first time to attend one of the gatherings, I suddenly wished I’d brought more than just one of the seven dresses I’d left hanging in Jackson’s closet. The blue one I’d worn on our first date had sentimental value so I’d kept it, leaving the others for him to return.
Or burn.
Or offer his next victim.
I hadn’t succeeded with my plan. And now, I was mentally worn out. Completely exasperated with myself, knowing plain and simple that I needed to accept the reality. One minute I was playing Jackson, using him strictly for selfish purposes. The next, the feelings were shifting and controlling way too much of my heart, knowing in my gut they’d go nowhere.
And nowhere was exactly where Jackson and I had gone.
More tears squeezed from my eyes. Ultimately, I lost him before I ever had a chance to really know him and I deserved every bit of the misery I felt. I’d hit an all-time low trying to play with someone’s feelings. Especially a man like Jackson. Now, I needed to stop jumping like an adolescent girl every time my phone dinged, hoping it might be him. Accept the fact that karma was getting me back.
Just as I’d thought once before, I was the one that ended up broken. Not Jackson. He was probably already with a new sub. Ten to one, he’d probably erased me from his mind like a simple misspelled word.
But my heart hurt. Every minute of every day. And I had nobody to blame but myself. I needed to find a way to stop this. Mourn my real loss—my daddy. Forget my short-lived affair with a man I knew could never have true feelings for me. The man I knew I’d give anything to have back in my life. The man whose words, eyes, hands, all possessed me every minute of the day and night.
So tired I could barely hold my head up, I found myself going through old photos. A small family portrait in an aged album that we once had a larger version of hanging in our hallway, I was three or maybe four years old. There was a stain on the front of my frilly dress. I choked back a sob, wondering how I’d never noticed that spot before. I’d looked at that picture a hundred times.
I slid the photo back into the album, turning through more pages, looking at shots primarily of me as a baby and toddler. Toward the end of the photos, an envelope rested on a page beside a picture of my mother with me on her lap reading Dr. Seuss’s The Cat in The Hat. I still had that book. Knew every word. The yellowed envelope was addressed to me. Unfolding the piece of stationary, I smiled at the yellow roses across the bottom of the paper.
My Dearest Beautiful Layla,
One day when you read this, I’ll be long gone from this world and you will be well on your way to what I hope and pray is a long, beautiful life full of love and joy. This silly disease has taken its toll on me and there’s nothing else to do now but wait. My biggest regret is leaving my beautiful little girl. Missing your teenage years. Helping you get dressed for prom. Your wedding day. But my life has been a good full one. I love your daddy so much. He’s been the love of my life and I know he’ll do everything in his power to make yours good the way he did mine. I hope that one day you find a man to love and worship you the way your daddy did me. Never settle my sweetest Layla. Know what you want. Expect big. Accept nothing else. And most importantly, never shy away from your dreams or your gut feelings. Chase them. Respect them. And live big, sweet girl. Live the dream you deserve. I’ll be with you forever in spirit.
Mom
“Mama,” I whispered, rubbing my fingertip around the edge of faded yellow flowers, my swollen eyes stinging with tears again. “I need you so badly right now. Why did you have to leave me?” I tossed the photo album and the letter to the floor, letting everything inside me go. Tugging at my hair, I screamed at the top of my lungs, my throat instantly burning. “Fuck you to Mars and back Jackson Shipman … and everyone who’s left me. Just … fuck you all for leaving me here alone.”
Tomorrow, I’d return my portion of the money to Jackson. Every shameful dollar. My bank account would be back to where it belonged in twenty-four hours, and I would be done with this entire heart-wrenching experience. It was the right thing to do. The unnerving conclusion was loud and clear.
Jackson didn’t care for me.
He warned me upfront, yet I pushed. And I pushed some more. Stretching for the inevitable.
And the reality behind that hurt.
Awaking to a windy rainy day, I’d called in sick. Sitting. Wallowing in memories. Having a Layla Richardson pity party for one. In front of my television, The Bachelor had just come on, one of my embarrassing obsessions. Cramming huge spoons of Chunky Monkey ice cream in my mouth, watching a sex scene about two minutes from happening between the hot ER doctor and his second date of the day, ‘Special Bulletin’ streamed across the screen.
“Crap! No! Not during the best damn part,” I yelled at the television, licking banana-flavored ice cream and sinful chunks of chocolate from my spoon.
“We’re live, talking to Dallas District Attorney Jackson Shipman about the rising crime rate in Dallas County.”
The young twenty-something reporter smiled a way too perky grin at a very unsmiling, pissed-off appearing Jackson.
“Please tell the viewers your opinion on the growing crime in our county.”
Jackson’s jaw tweaked slightly as he answered the reporter.
“My commitment has always been entirely focused on dealing with lowering crime in our city. Getting scum off our streets and far away from our children is my sole priority.”
Jackson looked tired. His eyes were heavy with dark circles.
“What can you tell us about the sudden release of known criminal Andre Nasufi? He murdered his pregnant wife and unborn child.”
Jackson was short with the reporter. Standing outside what looked like the Courthouse, he looked stressed. Probably being unexpectedly approached by the pushy media, my body shivered at thoughts of touching him. Soothing away the frustrations of his day.
I wanted him so badly I couldn’t stand it.
“After serving five brutal years in a maximum-security prison, Mr. Nasufi was released after unseen blood analysis matching the sample of newly arrested Kevin Reynolds was discovered. This new evidence proved the Defendant’s innocence.”
“Thank you for that bit of clarification, Mr. Shipman. One more question. You were involved in the discovery of this new evidence for Andre Nasufi. That seems a little unusual. Could you give us a brief explanation?”
“Certainly, Ms. Holt. You have to understand. Our job is never easy.” His eyes blinked away for seconds before turning back toward the young lady. “Sometimes as a Prosecutor, we have to make difficult decisions…”
I turned the TV off. Where had the air in the room gone? More than anything, I wanted Jackson and I just knew he felt something for me. Exactly what, I didn’t know. But I needed to find my inner peace. Accept the fact my daddy wasn’t coming back. And that Jackson was a Dominant man. A member of a BDSM club. He wasn’t interested in anything permanent. He’d clearly made that known in the beginning, even though the look I’d seen in his eyes more than once, seemed like maybe he wanted something more.
I wanted Jackson in my life, even if it only meant having him for the remainder of the contract. A few short weeks were better than none at all.
Swiping at my eyes, I jumped at the louder than normal ring of my phone.
“Hey, Jos.”
“Jesus Christ!” she panted. “Are you watching Jackson on television?”
“I was,” I answered. “I couldn’t watch any longer. I turned it off.”
“Holy hell, Layla. That dude he got released was a freaking murdering mobster. He slit his pregnant wife’s throat and watched her bleed out, knowing he was also killing his unborn child. That’s some crazy shit.” Her words were barely perceptible through all the thoughts filling my head.
“You okay?” Joslyn asked.
“Yeah, I am… No. I’m not really okay. I need your help.”
We ended the call a good hour later with my heart racing. I needed rest, but I knew sleep was the last thing I’d be doing tonight. I’d seen the way Jackson winced when I told him he felt nice. The gesture was barely noticeable, but it was there. What did that mean?
Questions filled my head. Could this plan really work, or would it end up another idiot move? Would he at least give me a part of him as his submissive for the weeks we agreed on? Did he at least feel that much for me? Aware that the odds of me ending up crushed and broken-hearted were more likely than not, I still couldn’t walk away.
Not without trying one last time.
“Please let this work,” I whispered. I reached for the note I’d waited to read for far too long, unfolding what I knew was the last thing my daddy ever touched. It was ironic that in the last hour, I’d read what was probably my mother’s last thing to ever write and now I was doing the exact same thing with my dad. This thing I felt for Jackson was something powerful. My mother’s words ‘chase your dreams’ ran through my head over and over. I could hear her voice speak them, even though I didn’t remember what it sounded like.
Jackson was my dream. My gut feeling.
What I felt for him right now was deeper than ever. My mother’s words playing through my mind again, I felt an outpouring of hope. He was worth fighting for, even if I ended up losing yet another battle.
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