The Lair of Jack: Long Shot Love Duet (Book Two)

by Aven Jayce

  “I think I have it figured out.” He nods at the screen, the dash displaying a set of music titled “Em” with an emoji heart after it. “Not like it isn’t obvious.”

  He scrolls through the songs in the playlist, most of it newer music and not anything he recognizes, but when he passes “Can I Sleep In Your Arms,” I grab his hand and make him scroll back.

  “That one,” I say.

  “Who’s Phosphorescent? Never heard of them.”

  “Don’t know, but the title’s perfect. Better than what’s playing, or the ‘Whistle’ song he started with. Try it.”

  He taps “play” and a man’s gentle voice begins. It’s accompanied with a soft repetition of the lyrics from backup singers, and the guitar and bass are so tender that they fade into the background, overpowered by the voices.

  We lean back to finish our dinner while Jack pretends to gag.

  “Hey, don’t change my shit. I can’t sing or dance to this. How the fuck am I gonna bait her to open the door?”

  “Bait her? She’s not a fish,” I say. “Stop being a little boy.”

  He cracks his knuckles, twists his body left and right with outstretched arms, then steps in front of the door and puts his hands on the doorframe, finally taking the time to talk to her.

  “Sorry I took off. And sorry I keep arguing with my dad. I get it that it drives you nuts. Just let me in, okay?” His hand runs down the front then circles the peephole before he starts to knock. “Open the door... I’ll... I’ll buy you a Chevy or a nice house on whatever hill you’d like to live on. Anywhere. Or anything you want.”

  “Don’t buy her love or sing those Eric Burdon lyrics to her,” I say. “Let her listen to this song instead. It’s pretty.”

  He rubs his chin and presses his forehead to the door, giving in and singing the song we selected. He stops every so often to tell her he’s an ass, and to admit he regrets their fight, as well as other words that are too private for Quinn and I to hear over the music.

  Little by little, the door opens. He steps back, clasping his hands behind his back and bowing his head, submitting himself to her.

  She leans against the doorframe, still topless and not afraid to show it all off, proving she’s just as self-assured as he is.

  Looking past him, she sees the two of us in the backseat, gawking at her sumptuous body. She’s a touch shorter than him, with toned arms and legs that must be from working out. She has the perfect degree of curves in all the right places—tits, hips, belly, and butt.

  He puts his hands in his pockets and rocks on the balls of his feet, waiting patiently for her to let us in... or, I guess he’s not so patient.

  “Can we fuck?” he says. “It’ll make you feel better.”

  He’s given a blank stare as she refuses to respond to such a question.

  “He’s sinking fast,” Quinn says, moving forward and fumbling with the controls, turning off the music and the headlights.

  Jack leans in to give her a kiss, getting a smack across the cheek instead.

  “Uh, that sucks.” Quinn shrinks back.

  She retreats to the room, leaving the door open as a silent invite for us to come inside. Though I’m not entirely sure that invitation includes Jack.

  He’s beaming when he gets to the car, confident his sad performance was a success.

  He motions for us to get our things and tosses me my cell. With the windows closed, gun in his jeans, and doors locked, he takes a black suitcase out of the trunk and sets the alarm for the car, leading us toward the door.

  Exuding confidence, he pats Quinn on the back and says...

  “Never doubt me, buddy. I’ve got a Ph.D. in sex, drugs, and women.”

  “I can’t believe she let you in. You got lucky.”

  “No, I’m about to get lucky. Just you wait and see.”

  Chapter Ten

  EMMA

  “TAKE THE QUEEN BED next to the bathroom, I want the one by the door with my woman.”

  Jack drops his suitcase and sets his gun on the dresser while smiling at Emma. She refuses to give him the time of day, staring at an ashtray on the nightstand, instead of him.

  Reclining against the headboard, she has one arm across her stomach and the other holding a cig in front of her lips.

  “Did you beat the shit out of my man?” she asks.

  “Yep,” Quinn answers.

  “He took me by surprise when I was already down, and, I got shot.” Jack lifts his finger.

  “Did you shoot him, too?” she asks.

  “Yep.”

  “His dad said so, but I didn’t believe it. He’s getting careless. I heard about the whole night. Ditching the body and heading out to that trail was sloppy, his dad called it amateurish.”

  “Next time, tell my dad to keep it to himself. Better yet, tell him to fuck off.”

  “It was good that we were there,” I say.

  We sit on the bed, facing her with our hands in our laps, both of us trying our best not to stare at her tits and the beautiful tat rising between them. I focus on her other tats instead—a small heart on her arm and a flock of tiny birds on the side of her leg, thinking more must be hidden on the backside.

  She’s cute and sexy and also doused in a copious amount of patchouli.

  After taking a long drag, she blows a heavy cloud of smoke at him, flicking the cig on the side of the ashtray, before holding it with a limp wrist at shoulder height.

  “Can I spread your pussy and slip my cock inside so we can forget about all this?”

  He kneels on the foot of the bed, getting down on all fours to crawl closer.

  “Come on baby, let me touch you and make it all better. Your tits are fucking gorgeous tonight, all fat and plump and shit. They look like two beached whales... you must be close to getting your period, either that or pregnant.”

  Her foot surges upward and presses into his face, shoving him off the bed.

  She picks up her cell, looks at him from head to toe, then taps the screen and places a call.

  “Who the hell you calling when I’m trying to apologize? My dad? My stepmom? You gonna rat me out and tell ‘em what I just said about your tits?”

  She flips him off again, waiting for someone to answer her call.

  “He’s here,” she tells the person on the other end. “No, they’re all here. They’re alive and sitting on the other bed... and your son dyed his hair... yeah, he dyed it brown... I said, brown... it’s brown, Mark, brown... I guess he doesn’t want to look like you... no, that’s not rude... it’s not rude, it’s the truth.” She turns to Jack and stares at his head. “I don’t know, medium brown maybe? Chestnut brown? Shit brown? It’s brown, okay? Put your wife on, I hate talking to you when you’re high.”

  “Get off the phone.” Jack paces in front of the muted TV. “Stop talking to him.”

  She holds the cell out over the bed, selects the end call button, and drops it in a melodramatic way.

  “H-hi,” I say. “I’m Addie, this is Quinn.”

  “Emma.” She shakes my hand. “Fair warning, you’re seeing me in total bitch mode. I’m usually easy-going and bubbly, but Dildo over here is—”

  “Lighten up, Em.”

  “Am I talking to you?” She bites back. “Don’t you dare interrupt me.”

  He freezes and skulks with his bottom lip jutting out.

  “Tell Jack his dad wanted me to call when you guys got here,” she says.

  I scrunch my nose. “I don’t want to be the middleman for you two.”

  “Tell him.” She crosses her legs, waiting for me to comply.

  “Your dad wanted—”

  “I heard. I heard. It sucks when she talks to him like that, like I’m not even here. Sucks, Em. It sucks.”

  Ashes fall from her cig as she waves her hand for him to move out of the way of a weather report being broadcast on the TV.

  “A storm’s coming,” she says.
<
br />   I look at the screen, but don’t see any bad weather on the map. “Where?”

  “Somewhere,” she says. “Everywhere at some point... tell me, did he fuck anyone?”

  “Uhhh... I-I don’t...”

  “How many? Two? Three? Were they all women?”

  “Uhhh...” I stumble.

  “Ask me, I’m standing right here,” he says.

  “Did he?” she repeats, refusing to look at him.

  “I tested two girls so they wouldn’t have to screw that beast, Roxanne. Can you imagine her walking toward them with a big strap-on, ready to get it on?”

  She stares at us, her face beet red as he continues being defensive.

  “I made sure they weren’t afraid or gonna lose their cool and screw things up with the guests. You can’t just throw workers into a room without knowing how they’ll behave... turns out they were all too willing to please a stranger. Perfect for Afterglow.”

  “Did you two watch?” she asks.

  “Uhh...”

  “Can you say anything besides uhh?”

  “Y-yeah, I can.”

  “Answer her questions, I don’t care.” He leans into the dresser with his arms crossed. “I did nothing wrong. We’re not exclusive, Em... I... I didn’t mean that... shit.” His lips are now sealed as he lowers his head, looking at the cigarette burns on the worn-out green carpet.

  She removes her shoulder holster and drops it by her side, then does the same with the garter and blade, setting the weapons on top of her cell. With her chin to her chest, she gives him a defiant stare, finger stabbing the items as she speaks. “I’ll keep these by my side tonight in case I get the urge to use ‘em on somebody.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He groans.

  “This little thing that’s happening here.” Her hand moves in a circular motion. “All this... all this arguing still isn’t sinking in, is it? Why don’t you give me the key to your car so I can get the hell outta here.”

  “I knew it. You’re upset that he sleeps with other people.”

  “Keep quiet,” he says. “That’s not it. She knows I’d give the world for her. That’s not it.”

  “The world? For me?” She points to herself. “While you’re fucking people after we just decided we weren’t doing that anymore? Did I miss something? Did I agree and you didn’t? I think you need to whip that brain of yours out of your jeans so I can cut it off. Screw this, why am I even talking to you?”

  He covers his dick with both hands as she scolds him.

  “This ‘I gotta test the workers’ horseshit isn’t happening. If I agree to marry you, it’s your dick and my pussy, no one else gets to play.”

  “Hey, that’s all I want. You’re the one who’s always bringing couples back to our place, not me,” he argues.

  “So what? I can admit that fucking each other in front of our friends was fun. I don’t care about that, but your dick doesn’t slide inside anyone but me. Ever. This is different. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t in that bed, asshole. Never again, you hear me?” Her voice is harsh and firm, putting him in his place. “I’m supposed to be in the room when we’re with people. I’m supposed to be the one that you want to cum inside of, not some skank. And we’re supposed to be together, not you off in some other state taking care of the business without me. What gives? Seriously, what gives?” She studies Quinn and waves her cig in our direction. “This guy sitting on the bed could’ve tested them, another worker could’ve fucked them to see what they were like. It’s all a load of crap just so you get to act dominant in front of people.”

  “We didn’t decide on a starting date for this.”

  “What?”

  “We didn’t. How ‘bout we begin our monogamous relationship right now, or in an hour after we fuck alongside these two. How about later tonight?”

  “Prick.”

  “You never gave a timeframe so it’s not all my fault... I can do it, if that’s what you want. I can... so let’s start in say...” he looks at his watch, “an hour.”

  “Prick.”

  “You can’t sit there with your pretty tits hanging out and call me a prick. It’s criminal. My cock’s stiff from looking at you, and you’re calling me names and pushing me away. Talk about depriving me of basic needs for survival.”

  “Where the fuck’s my apology?!”

  She flings her cigarette pack and hits him smack dab in the middle of the chest then grabs her knife and hurls it like she’s throwing a football. It’s an obvious miss, striking the concrete block wall two feet from his head.

  “You’re vomiting sewage about our relationship!”

  “Calm down already. I won’t fuck anyone but you, okay? I’m fine with that.”

  “This is not good,” Quinn says under his breath.

  “Okay? No, it’s not okay. A moment ago you said we’re not exclusive. Since when do you think that way? High school? That’s the last time I fucked someone other than you, and it should’ve been your last time, too, other than this business bullshit at the retreat. Are you saying that’s not true and I don’t know about it? Were there more?”

  “No, of course not.” His brows snap together, angered by her words.

  “Hope you’re not lying... did you use a condom?”

  “I’m not gonna answer that question.”

  She turns to me for a response. “Did he use a condom? Did you see?”

  “Yeah, he did.”

  “Of course I did, why wouldn’t I? Don’t ask them.”

  “Was there any foreplay? Did he kiss anyone?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Go wash your dick and scrub your pubic hair,” she says.

  “I showered twice since then, and I swam in the pool. I’m clean, promise. And I’m sorry, okay?”

  “Horrible apology,” she gripes, picking up the ashtray from the nightstand and placing it on her upper legs. She flicks her cig and inhales with fury.

  Her long black hair reaches the tips of her nipples, swaying over them, which are way, way, way impossible not to glance at whenever she turns away.

  “What else has he done?” I ask.

  “What hasn’t he done?”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh. Ya hear that, Jack?” She waves the cig in my direction, forming the letter Z with the smoke trails. “She said, oh. She gets it. Do you get it? Can’t you see what you’re doing?” She straightens her back and sits higher on the bed. “You stole a load of your dad’s dope...”

  “He doesn’t care about that.”

  “He sure as hell does, and you didn’t give him a report after our first two Afterglow stops.”

  “The son of a bitch should trust me.”

  “Did you go anywhere else?”

  “Made a quick stop in Philly on the way back, that’s it.”

  “For what?”

  “Stuff.”

  “Forty grand worth of stuff?”

  “Don’t ask if you already know.”

  “So you’re mad at me because I won’t marry your ass, and you left me in this dump because of it, and you went off and spent forty grand? Your dad’s raging about that, too.”

  “Why’d you tell him you won’t marry me? I said we had a big fight about anal.”

  “I’m talking about the money, not about getting married... wait, anal? You told him we’re fighting over anal sex? Why do you say such ridiculous things to him?”

  “Because it’s fun. Are you done?”

  “No, I’m not finished... you killed a guy. You killed a guy in front of these two.” She gestures to us with a flap of her hand. “Was he at least worthy of a new tat on your back? Are you gonna add him to the other significant dates?”

  That’s what those are.

  He reaches over his shoulder, touching one of the small black skulls.

  “Fuck no, my flesh is devoted to you and my mom. These are the days I wish had lasted forever, moments that died o
ut that I’ll never get back. Don’t even joke about such a thing.”

  “Then don’t turn our lives into a joke. This is supposed to be the trip. The trip that shows your dad you’re mature enough to get your money and don’t need a fucking babysitter. Mature enough to live on your own without him watching over us, and instead you’re acting like you’re at a bachelor party.”

  “Nag, nag, nag.” He paces.

  “Now, your dad keeps repeating over and over, ‘Witnesses. Since when does a Jameson leave, or even have witnesses?’” she says in a deep voice. “That’s my asinine son for ya.”

  “Three more months.”

  “Not after this disastrous mess you got yourself into.”

  “It’s not a mess. It’s not.”

  “Your dad’s gonna keep you locked in his horror hotel and control your life until you’re sixty. You wait and see. You’re not getting out. He’s gonna lock you up in your suite or sink you deep into Lake Tahoe.”

  “Our suite. And I’ll burn his hotel down if he tries.”

  “This is serious. He’s gonna lock us in the suite again. I’m not kidding. I just know it.”

  “Whoa,” I interject.

  “He hasn’t done that since we were eighteen.”

  “Do you still have your dress clothes? Better not have left them at that last retreat. Better not have.” She directs her cig at him.

  “Em, stop embarrassing me.”

  “You need to walk in there dressed up and make a good impression, if you don’t, you’re getting a head smack from him. And you’re never getting your mom’s inheritance, or your share of your Uncle Paul’s inheritance either.”

  “I’ll get both this time.” He stands tall, hinting not to say another word.

  “Too bad the wills were written so your share went directly to your dad... he kept the money from you when you were eighteen, and you’re not gonna see a dime when you turn twenty-one this fall like he promised. Wait and see. After this road trip—”

  “Goddammit, Em.” He lowers his head and massages his temples. “Don’t mention my age, okay?”

  “When he turns twenty-one?” Quinn laughs. “Twenty-one? Wait, you said when we first met that you were twenty-two, but you’re only twenty? I swear every other sentence that comes out of your mouth is a lie.”