Sweet Jayne

by K. Webster

  Frowning, I turn from her and leave the room. But as soon as I hear the bed squeaking, I peek my head back inside.

  Big mistake.

  She bares her big round ass to me on the way to the bathroom. Long, dark hair hangs in disheveled waves about halfway down her back. When my eyes decide to leave her ass, I notice the marks all over her backside.

  Tons of them.

  Small cuts have been sliced into her flesh all over. I’m still gaping when she shuts the bathroom door, effectively cutting off my view. With a huff, I run my fingers through my hair and pace the hallway for a minute to compose myself.

  What the fuck does he do to her?

  Why in the hell does she endure it?

  I stalk back toward the living room and let the rage flood me. Once I’ve turned on some Aerosmith and laid out some protective sheeting on the floor, I begin my demo and let the screams of the lyrics fuel me on. Picking up my hammer, I start smashing the already ruined Sheetrock and yanking it from the studs. It feels good to take my anger out on the wall but it would feel fucking satisfying as hell to take it out on Logan’s face instead. I’m lost in my haze of fury, so when she passes by in a nervous rush, I don’t even glance up. It isn’t until the heavenly scent of something fucking delicious fills the air, that I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand and set down my hammer.

  Dust fills the living room and broken pieces of Sheetrock are all over the plastic sheet. My heart still thumps angrily but I’m calming down. I’m about to go demand answers from Nadia when something beyond the studs has me halting.

  “What the fuck?” I mutter as I reach inside the wall and touch a huge-ass pipe.

  I’ve been remodeling houses ever since college, despite having joined the force. I have brought them down to the studs and then worked my magic, recreating something better. Not once have I seen something like this.

  I run my fingers over the dark grey pipe. It’s icy cold to the touch. Biggest fucking pipe I’ve ever seen. Instead of the typical PVC pipes in every home I’ve ever worked in, this thing is thick, corrugated galvanized steel. They don’t even sell this shit in the hardware stores. It has to be twenty inches in diameter.

  Who the hell needs a pipe that fucking big?

  And for what?

  I wipe the dust from my fingers on my jeans and follow my nose into the kitchen. Nadia looks normal and composed in a fitted pair of jeans and T-shirt. She’s always dressed nicely but today she seems comfortable. She’s piled her hair up on top of her head in one of those messy buns and her ass jiggles every time she stirs the pot on the stove. Her head bobs to the music that’s playing in the living room and I can’t help but smile. One of her only redeeming qualities is she shares a love for seventies rock like me. Looks like Donovan did something right in raising her. Forced his music on her like he used to force on me all those years ago. But with thoughts of Donovan, other depressing memories press at me. I shake my head and focus on why I’m here, chasing away sadness that eats at my black heart.

  “What happened to your back?” I question, leaning my hip against the counter beside the stove where she’s cooking.

  Her eyes briefly flit to mine and they’re almost black. She flips her wrist to check the time and continues stirring. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  I raise an eyebrow at her and close the distance between us. Her attention is still on the cooking meal, and I gently run my fingers down her spine. When she winces, I pull my fingers away. “This is what I mean,” I tell her with a grumble. “Tell me.”

  She shudders for a moment. But then, she squares her shoulders and turns to face me. Her dark brows furrow and she frowns.

  “No te metas en lo que no te importa,” she snaps.

  My eyes fall to her lips. “Huh?”

  She rolls her eyes and starts to turn away, but I grab her by the wrist and don’t let go.

  “Tell me, sweet Jayne.”

  “Stop calling me that.” The anger in her eyes fades and she bites on her lower lip. “What, you need me to spell it out for you? He’s kinky. What can I say?”

  I slide my hand around the side of her throat and draw her to me. She’s snared in my heated gaze as I bring my lips close to hers. The intensity in her eyes has alerted my cock and I’m craving more than breakfast right now.

  “He’s beyond kinky. Logan is abusive,” I remind her, my hot breath tickling her lips. “Is he ever not an asshole to you?”

  She starts to speak, probably in his defense, but I silence her by sliding my tongue in her mouth. Her fingers are fisted in my T-shirt and I can’t tell if she is about to push me away or pull me closer. Quite frankly, I don’t care which it is. Our kiss is brought to an abrupt halt, though, when my phone rings. With a groan, I pull away from her and take the call.

  “What are you doing?” Logan’s voice demands.

  I roll my eyes and grab a Coke from the refrigerator. “Getting a drink and trying to figure out what the fuck Nadia is cooking,” I say truthfully as I peer over her shoulder. It smells awesome but it doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever tasted before. “Why?” I purposefully walk slowly out of the kitchen and back over to where I was tearing out the wall.

  “No reason.”

  “Do you need to speak to her?”

  “No,” he clips out. “I’ll be there in less than ten minutes. See you soon.”

  I shrug my shoulders as if I’m confused by his call, for his camera viewing benefit, but seethe with rage. He’s all-out unleashed when it comes to Nadia, unabashedly so. I’ve never seen Chief act this way before. Back when Taylor and I used to hang out at his house as teens, I’d sometimes see Logan there with Donovan. His behavior had always seemed a little erratic, even back then, before he was well off. He was good looking, cocky, and confident. All things that I was not, so I just chalked it up to that and the sense of superiority that it surely brought with it. Taylor liked him, so I put up with him for my best friend’s benefit. Then, after I began working at the precinct, I’d actually been impressed with his police skills. He runs the police department like a well-oiled machine. It’s admirable and I’d looked up to him.

  But now that I have an inside peek into his life as an adult, I know the superior exterior is just that—a cover. The monster who’s marrying Nadia has been putting on a pretty damn good show for everyone. He’s not just an incredibly jealous motherfucker. He’s more.

  “Nadia,” I call out, my back to the camera as I pretend to measure the space. “Logan’s a fucking lunatic. I’ll figure out what the fuck’s going on around here.”

  Something clatters in the kitchen and she curses up a storm in Spanish. She doesn’t respond but instead hurries to finish breakfast. I narrow my eyes at the thick pipe once more and scratch the scruff growing in on my jawline with the end of my tape measurer.

  I will find out what the fuck is going around here.

  With her help or not.

  “She must really feel bad about that haircut,” Rhodes snickers as he sips on the shitty draft beer at The Joint. “My wife hardly ever lets me get a beer with the guys.”

  And by guys, he means me. Ashley has Jason Rhodes’ balls in an iron vise. Sometimes she plays the nice wife and releases her clutch on him. Other times, guilt motivates her. Based on the shitty haircut she gave me earlier at their place, I’d say she’s feeling really fucking guilty. Looks like I’ll have to let Regina suck my cock after all just so she’ll make me look halfway decent again.

  “You’re pussy-whipped, Rhodes.”

  He chuckles and clinks his glass to mine. “I’ve been called worse. Speaking of worse, did you hear that Chief canned Stokes today? Lena said it got ugly as hell. She texted Ashley and said Stokes was pissed. Said everyone thought he was going to get himself arrested by the way he raged around the precinct like a bull.”

  I frown and let my gaze flit past him to my mother dancing beside the jukebox. Dale, grinds against her from behind, causing my stomach to roil with disgust. Jer
king my gaze from the horror show, I meet Rhodes’s twinkling stare. The man truly is happy to leave his pregnant wife for a few hours.

  “Lena is a shit stirrer. She probably exaggerated.”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “She said someone told him he’d been checking out his fiancée. Of course Chief fired him for some shit that would actually stick—like the countless cases he’s fucked up on lately—but I can’t help but wonder if there wasn’t truth to her words. Logan acted like”—a psychotic, possessive lunatic—“a jealous teenager when he showed off his best friend’s daughter. How do you think that’s going anyway?”

  I roll my neck along my shoulders as I try to work out the kink from working all afternoon. Logan had shown up not long after his call and hovered around Nadia like she might poof into thin air. It irritated me but it left me alone to work. I’d chosen not to ask about the thick pipe but instead took a discreet photo while he was in the kitchen, bitching about the color of the toast, to investigate later when I was back home.

  “Knowing Donovan, he’s probably pissed. You know he thinks everything he touches turns to gold and suddenly becomes his,” I say with a growl and bring the cheap beer to my lips. My eyes flit back over to Mom. Her once pretty blonde hair is now dulled and frizzy. Jade-colored eyes that matched mine at one time are now a sickly green that only flicker to life when Dale brings her another overfilled tumbler of Jack and Coke. Alcohol and Dale have turned her into a fucking animated corpse.

  “It’s hard to believe Taylor and him were bro—”

  “Stop,” I snap and slam my glass down, letting the warm liquid slosh over my knuckles. “I don’t want to talk about Taylor.”

  Rhodes’s eyes flicker with sympathy and he nods. “Okay, man. Shit, you’re on edge today.”

  Shrugging my shoulders, I dive my hand into my jeans and find some coins. I leave my chatty friend to stalk over to the jukebox. When Dale’s gaze meets mine, his eyes flicker with hate but he wisely breaks free of my mother and heads to the bar, surely to order them another drink. I push the coins into machine and flip through the endless pages until I find what I’m looking for. Soon, “Sweet Jane” by Cowboy Junkies fills the bar and several old men complain for having changed it from their stupid country shit music. I ignore them and then stalk over to my mom.

  “Hey, baby boy,” she purrs, the slur in her voice ever present as she sets her glass down on a table.

  Her thin arms wrap around my middle and she lays her cheek on my chest. My mom, who at one time when Kase and I were kids smelled like sweet florals and home baked cookies, now reeks of stale smoke and Dale’s body odor that lingers like a cloying fog. I sigh but wrap my arms around her. Together, my mom and I slow dance to a song that reminds me of the real sweet Jayne.

  Dark, wide eyes full of mystery and intrigue.

  A brave woman with ulterior motives.

  An ass that could make a Kardashian jealous.

  “How’s my son?” Mom questions, lifting her head to look up at me. “How you been, sugar?”

  I clench my teeth but force a smile. “Fine. Working long hours. Is Dale being good to you?”

  Shame makes her look away and she once again rests her head against my chest. “Oh,” she says with a tired sigh, “you know how Dale is. Dale’s Dale. A little rough around the edges for everyone else but he always shows me his sweet side.”

  I glare over her head at Dale who’s flirting with some hag at least a decade older than my mom and with twice as many wrinkles. Her cackles fill the air but thankfully the song drowns them out.

  Bet she won’t cackle that first time Dale cracks his knuckles across her cheekbone. My mother certainly doesn’t laugh anymore and that’s been the case since well before Kasey was stolen from us. Dale stole my mother’s light long before that. And though I can find nothing to confirm my lingering thoughts, I still feel like Dale has some hand in what happened to Kasey. The dumb fuck, though, if he were really guilty, would have already slipped up. Dale’s an idiot who can’t keep his mouth shut. If he had anything to do with it, I’m sure I would have figured it out. Besides, I’d already been through their shitty trailer with a fine-tooth comb one day and got annoyed as fuck having to dig through their piles of clutter. There was no way he’d have the foresight to keep records of his past, much less to hide them effectively. There was nothing to be found where Dale was concerned.

  The song ends and I let out a sigh. Mom and I will always have a strained relationship but it doesn’t mean I don’t stop trying. She’s all I have left after losing Kase. I won’t let her slip through my fingers too. I may be an asshole but my heart is still linked to my flesh and blood.

  When a country song starts screeching on the jukebox, I cringe and step away from Mom. I frown as she smiles at me.

  “You’re so handsome, Kasper. One of these days, you’ll find you a good girl and make me a grandma.”

  I smirk at her. “Maybe I don’t want a good girl.”

  You’re certainly fucking obsessed with a bad girl, Kasper Grant.

  She laughs and it’s musical. My heart aches in my chest to hear the sweet sound that reminds me of my younger sister. “A good girl is going to want you. Trust me, sugar. A momma knows these things.”

  “My turn for a dance, Karla,” Dale snaps as he thrusts a glass full of amber liquid in her face. It sloshes out and splashes her shirt but she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she takes the glass from him and averts her gaze.

  I’m about to leave them when he grabs on to her bicep hard enough to make her yelp. I have self-control when it comes to a lot of things. But when Dale is involved, I lose my shit every goddamned time.

  “You think knocking around a woman makes you a badass?” I bellow and fist my hand. Truly, the loser isn’t even worth bloodying up my knuckles. But tonight…tonight I need to blow off some steam.

  “Mind your own business,” Dale sneers. “Officer, I’ve got this handled.”

  Before I change my mind, I charge for him and seize his throat in my brutal grip. He hisses when I back him against the wall easily with one hand. His dulled eyes have sparked to life—fear dwells in them. Good, he should be afraid. My mother wears the same look every goddamned time he raises his hand at her. Hell, Nadia’s isn’t much different when she’s fretting over Logan.

  “Why don’t you try your fists on a man?” I grit out as I squeeze his neck. His eyes bulge out and he claws at my wrists as his face becomes eggplant purple. “Only pussies hurt small, defenseless women.” If only I could say that to my boss as well.

  The country song drones on and Mom’s sobs fit right in with it. I’d love nothing more than to bash Dale’s head into the wall for every time he’s laid a hand on her and made her cry. But when he grows limp and stops struggling, I blink away the furious haze that has wrapped its red claws around my head. Releasing him, I snatch my hand away as if he’s diseased. For Mom’s sake, I hope to hell not. The stupid fuck wobbles for a minute before collapsing. I watch with sick satisfaction as he crashes to the dirty-ass bar floor.

  “Okay, buddy,” Rhodes grunts from behind me and pulls me by the back of my jacket toward the door. “Time to go home.”

  I cast one last glare of disgust Dale’s way and a quick apologetic glance at my mom before striding away.

  I’m tired of standing by while all the dickheads around me hurt the women in my life. Dale better watch his ass. Hell, Logan better watch his too.

  Aches.

  And darkness.

  I moan and try to make sense of where I’m at. The chill that snakes its way around my ribs and up my spine tells me what I loathe to know. I keep my eyes pressed shut because opening them would confirm my fears.

  I’m in the fucking basement.

  I failed.

  With the realization of failure, comes the urge to cry. Bottling up all of my emotions is exhausting. Tears of defeat slide from the corners of my eyes.

  God, everything hurts. The moment Kasper left after a long afternoon of repair
ing the walls, Logan let me have it.

  There was no consoling him or explaining to him that I hadn’t spoken about us to Kasper. He doesn’t believe that I was simply being hospitable. But I couldn’t bring myself to admit that his employee knows he beats the shit out of me. Instead, I clung to my lies like a sinking raft in a stormy sea. It wasn’t working but it was all I had.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur, my voice a hoarse whisper.

  Fingertips brush my hair from my eyes and soft lips kiss my forehead. Even when Logan punishes me, I still find solace. I find peace.

  Another form of peace threatens to rip my chest open as unconsciousness threatens to steal me from the concrete hell. In my mind, I search out grey-blue eyes. Always there for me—always saving me.

  “Shhhh.”

  I let the soft, murmured assurances wash over me as I flee into the darkness of my mind. With open arms, I run back to Donovan.

  Always Donovan.

  “Where’s Mamá?”

  Donovan swivels in his office chair and gapes at me. His dark hair is slicked back and styled in its usual perfection while his suit is unwrinkled and smooth. It’s been months since I last saw him. Our Skype conversations had been few and far between around final exam time, and my last visit had been at Christmas. He’d wanted me home for spring break but my job—a job Donovan fought tooth and nail for me not to have at the police dispatch call center—hadn’t allowed me to leave until now. After eight months of working there for barely over minimum wage, I’d been granted a few days off for the summer.

  He launches from his seat and strides over to me, his long legs bringing him in front of me within seconds. I let out a relieved breath when he scoops me into his arms. A squeal echoes around us when he lifts me off my feet and spins with me in his arms.

  “Jesus Christ, I’ve missed that laugh.”

  His words warm me to my core and I shake away the fact that five minutes ago I’d been texting my boyfriend and now, if you were to ask me, I couldn’t even recall his name.

  That’s what Donovan does to me.