by Ann, Jewel E
Chapter Five
Darkness.
Finally. The lights were off or Jillian had died. The latter being her preference. The desert heat pulling every ounce of moisture from her body intensified as she came to. The question of Heaven or Hell for the duality of Jessica and Jillian seemed to be answered.
“Welcome back. Hungry?”
Of course, the psycho daughter of Edgar Brighton would be in Hell too. Or maybe she was the Devil. It all began to make sense until the wretched smell of animal carcass infiltrated Jillian’s nose.
“Sorry. The chef doesn’t accommodate vegetarians.”
Jillian opened her eyes, taking a slow survey of the room. “Oh my God,” she whispered.
“So you remember this place? I thought you might. I had two places in mind when I planned this years ago, but this one felt like the best fit to give you closure. The other place would have given me closure, but I’ll make this work for both of us.”
The odds of leaving that room alive for a second time felt stacked against her. Jillian’s captor was one sick bitch.
“I can’t tell you how disappointed I was that they painted the floor. The thirteen-year-old blood stains would have added to the effect I’m going for, but I bought it anyway.”
They were in San Diego, in the same basement where Claire died. The red glow of heating elements from at least a dozen space heaters gave the dungeon a dim light like a piece of meat under the broiler. Jillian preferred the bright lights and icy water that left her blind to her surroundings and the memories they evoked.
Psycho Bitch perched on a stool in the corner, holding a personal fan up to her face.
“You knew Four.”
“Four.” She laughed. “I heard that’s what you called him. Monsters don’t deserve human names and all that crap, right?”
Correct assumption by Psycho Bitch. The bow and arrow on the floor next to the stool caught Jillian’s eye. She tipped her chin to see the wound on her shoulder minus the arrow.
“No. I didn’t know Edwin Harvey until he cut your BFF forty-four times.”
Jillian bared her clenched teeth like a rabid animal.
Psycho Bitch shrugged. “What? Is that not how it happened?” She rolled her eyes. “I’m kidding. As I told you earlier, I know more about you than you do. Now, Matthew Green? I did get the chance to make his acquaintance, but just via phone conversations. It took me a little while to track down that slimy little worm, but when I found him he couldn’t resist a hundred grand to kill you.”
“I killed him.”
Psycho Bitch shrugged. “I thought you might. It was a win-win for me either way. If he killed you, I wouldn’t have had all the fun I’m having now, but the end result would have been the same. And if you killed him, which you did, then I didn’t have to dish out a hundred grand and you—Jillian Knight—officially had blood on your hands, and it opened the door to fuck with your brain when I decided to send you all those messages.”
“It’s all about the mind-fuck.”
“I spent five long years in a mental institution so yes … I get a high from manipulating everyone else’s brains.”
She sighed. “Anyway … as I was saying, Edgar took pity on me after I graduated college. My exemplary grades in school earned me a job with G.A.I.L., working in intelligence and logistics. A behind-the-scenes position. Before Jude Day was allowed to snap anyone’s neck, I made sure the intelligence we had was accurate. Very few people saw or knew me. I had a small cubicle and a computer with security access that rivaled the Pentagon. Edgar gave me a code name, and that’s all anyone knew.”
The heat. Jillian’s brain lagged several steps behind the long explanation. Hunger and dehydration vied for her attention more than the story behind Edgars’s stepdaughter and her road to insanity. The bowl of brown sludge on the floor brought bile inching up her throat.
Dog food. Psycho Bitch didn’t miss a thing, including Four feeding Claire dog food.
“G.A.I.L. did a psychological evaluation on you afterward. The report said you refused to eat. Are you still a vegetarian? I bet I’ll break you of that. I bet you’ll be licking the contents of that bowl before you die.”
Jillian had a lot of bets going on too. She bet Four’s murder would look like child’s play compared to what she had planned for Psycho Bitch. Jessica Day had been young, still valued her life and possessed a few give-a-fucks in her conscience. Not Jillian Knight. She would blow up the whole city of San Diego to seek revenge on one person.
Jessica had two parents, Luke, and a brother that loved her. Jillian had the memories of a dead lover, a brother that had lost the last breath of his humanity, and a feeling of certainty that Luke hated her. How could he possibly not?
*
Day
A small horse disguised as a black and white Great Dane sat next to the bed like a statue—a drooling statue. Jessica peeked open one eye, puckering her lips to blow Jones a kiss as she reached for the birthday boy.
Naughty intentions curled the corners of her lips—lips that she wanted to wrap around the world’s most beautiful cock. She never imagined thinking of a penis as beautiful, until Luke. Everything about him screamed beautiful, perfect, and slightly anal-retentive … in a sexy way. She loved early-morning-mussed-hair Luke, but during their nearly two years together, she’d also come to crave the stunning, polished man in a suit. He bled authority, control, and an overall fuck-me vibe.
Her hand found smooth, folded sheets and a fluffed pillow. Jackknifing to sitting, she frowned at his side of the bed with its military-style order: sheets pulled tight and tucked under his side, the top folded down a perfect six inches with no sign of wrinkles.
“Luke?”
Swinging her feet to the side, she landed nose to nose with Jones. She loved the beast of a dog, but he had a knack for always being in the way.
“You have got to control that drooling problem of yours.” Her face wrinkled as her foot landed in a pool of drool on the wood floor.
No Luke in the bathroom. Her beastly shadow followed her to the kitchen. No Luke in the kitchen.
“Luke.” A soft sigh floated past her lips, being pushed out by the swelling of her heart.
She grabbed the card on the counter next to a gardenia bonsai with three perfect white blooms.
Did you know I wake up early just to watch you sleep? It’s how I start each day with purpose. You remind my eyes to see, my lungs to breathe, my heart to beat. Then again … sometimes I feel blinded by your beauty, breathless to your touch, paralyzed by your love.
I know what I want for my birthday, but I had to go into the office to deal with a sticky situation. Meet me for lunch at my office at one. (Yes, I’m lifting the office ban for one day.) ~Luke
“Lunch at Daddy’s office. What do you think of that, Jonesy?”
Jones tilted his head.
Jessica bent down and kissed him. “Don’t worry. You’re invited too.”
After a shower and breakfast with Jones, Jessica sent off a text to Luke.
Jessica: On R way. We’re walking. Gardenia bonsai *sigh* UR my whole <3
Jones: C U soon. Just finishing a few notes.
Grinning like a fool in love, Jessica made the six-block journey through the hills to Luke’s office with her gallant K9 steed by her side. On the elevator ride to the twenty-seventh floor, she realized her heart could no longer remember what it felt like to not love Luke. What if her heart loved him with its very first beat? Her heart bore the scars of war and near death … all to find its way home. Home to Luke.
Since they ended their professional relationship two years earlier, Jessica made a grand total of three trips to his office. Once to surprise him with lunch, which earned both of them a raised brow from his secretary, Eve. It also earned Jessica a long lecture about never coming to his office. The whole us-being-together-is-extremely-unethical thing really made him paranoid.
The second visit was a year earlier on his birthday. The argyle thigh-high so
cks and stilettos earned her a double brow raise from Eve, who insisted on taking Jessica’s trench coat from her. Not really believing Eve could be so naive and trusting her to not end Luke’s career, Jessica relinquished her coat, revealing a pleated miniskirt and white button-down blouse exposing ample cleavage. Eve showed no reaction, probably because the pigtails left little to the imagination of what was under the coat.
Jones plopped down in the lobby. He had been there more than Jessica, but Luke had a strict no-dog-in-his-office rule that Jones seemed content with obeying. Eve wasn’t at her desk since Luke was supposed to have the day off.
The door handle resisted Jessica’s effort to turn it. “It’s rude to invite me to lunch then lock me out, even if it is your day.”
“Just making one last note, babe.”
“If you’re screwing some bimbo on your desk, I’m going to take a sledge hammer to your car.”
Jessica grinned at the sound of Luke chuckling on the other side of the door.
“No, you won’t. I think you love that car more than I do. You might even love it more than you love me.”
“I do love your GTO, baby. But I adore you.”
Luke’s voice grew nearer. “You adore me?”
“Yes. This guy I once knew, told me adoration is better. It means to love and admire.” She tried to turn the handle again, knowing he was right on the other side of the door. “Let me in.” She laughed.
“How long?”
“How long what?”
Luke waited a few long seconds to answer. The lock clicked.
“How long will you adore me?”
The birthday boy had some crazy questions. How could he not know that answer?
“Forever, you know tha—” She opened the door. Shock paralyzed her entire body.
A glorious technicolor of sticky notes covered every surface of his office, floor to ceiling. Her favorite Staples aisle exploded in Luke’s office. There must have been thousands of sticky notes. In the middle of the paper sea: Luke on two knees. He held a small box with a neon pink sticky note on it that read “Marry me?”
“This is where it all began. This is where you ruined me for every other woman. I think I loved you before I ever knew you because it’s never felt like a choice for me. It’s just something as certain as the change of the seasons, the tilt of the earth, the dawn welcoming a new day.”
He looked around the room. “I know flower petals would have been the normal thing to do, but my girl has a Staples obsession—”
“It’s not an obsess—”
“It is.” He grinned.
She did too.
“Jessica Mauve Day, I want you to marry me more than I want my heart to beat. This love I have for you is beyond any kind of insanity I’ve ever encountered. Every second we’re apart it feels like I’m holding my breath, and the moment you walk through the door I gasp for air. You fill my lungs and flow through my veins, giving me life. I know all you see is your past, but all I see is our future. I don’t want a wall of pillows between us. I don’t want to talk about your past anymore. I want you to let go. I want you to free fall into my arms and know I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”
Loving Luke became the most beautiful redemption for a life filled with stolen innocence. Giving herself to him in body, mind, soul, and name would close the door to her past and open the door to life. A real life.
“I’m messy.” She bit back her grin.
“You’re the worst.” Luke refused to hide his smile. It looked truly stunning on his handsome face.
“I’m stubborn.”
“Contumacious.”
She giggled. “I can’t cook.”
“I’d rather starve than eat what you make.”
She pinched her lips together and nodded. “I think this could work.”
He flipped open the box. Her brow furrowed at its contents.
“I thought the future Mrs. Luke Jones needed her own key to my GTO.”
“Oh … well this is …” she grimaced.
Luke rolled his eyes to the ceiling with a sigh and head shake. “You made your own key already, didn’t you?”
Jessica nodded slowly. Luke chucked the box over his shoulder.
“Luke Thomas Jones?” Dropping her purse, she inched closer.
He rested his hands on her hips while she pressed her palms to his cheeks, relishing the feel of his soft stubble, the blue depths of his eyes gazing at her with pure, unequivocal love.
“Hmm?”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “If there were only one path to you, I’d take the heartache, the deaths, the loss, the pain … the insanity. I’d spend an eternity in Hell for one single breath with you.” Taking his hand, she pressed it against her chest. “Do you feel that? That’s you, Luke. You’re my heart.”
He turned his face to kiss her palm. “Please tell me that’s a yes.”
She blinked, releasing a laugh and fat tears filled with a lifetime of relief. “Yes!”
He reached into his pocket and retrieved a brilliant solitaire diamond set atop a platinum band. Then he slipped it onto her finger.
“Best. Birthday. Ever.” He looked up at her with complete nothing-could-ever-compare adoration.
Chapter Six
Knight
Hating Jackson came easy to Ryn after he rode off on Jillian’s Harley. His words tore through her heart with the brutality of a serrated knife.
Rip. Rip. Rip.
She didn’t want to think about him fucking other women. She didn’t want to be the victim anymore. And she definitely didn’t want to clean his house. Just the opposite. Starting in his bathroom, she squeezed all the shampoo and shower gel onto the floor and TP’d the rest of it. Then she proceeded to his bedroom, stripping the bed and dumping all the contents of his dresser drawers onto the floor. Saving the kitchen for last.
Eggs.
Chocolate syrup.
Beer.
Red Bull.
Ketchup and mustard.
It all painted the floor. She prayed Jillian didn’t return until Jackson had a chance to clean up everything, but something told her—woman to woman—Jillian would understand.
No man had brought out the crazy side of her. She despised Preston, never wanting to draw his attention to her because it always came in the form of a fist to her face or foot to her ribs.
Jackson’s attention? She wanted it. All of it. And that’s exactly what she would get.
Before she managed to make her escape, Greta hollered to her. “Wait up!”
Ryn swallowed back the nervous lump in her throat. Greta had no idea Ryn just left the Knight’s house looking like ground zero.
“Hi, Greta.” She lifted her shoulders and flipped up the collar to her red wool coat, protecting her ears from the biting wind.
“Just checking to see if you received your uh … toys from my party.” Greta’s black, full-length down coat with a faux-fur trimmed hood covered nearly every inch of exposed skin. Ryn dressed for the low forties, Greta dressed for the arctic.
Ryn smiled. “I did. UPS delivered it last week.”
“Swell, just swell.” Greta looked around before meeting Ryn’s eyes again. “Have you tried any of them out?”
The lump inched back up her throat as the rumble of a motorcycle drew near. “Uh, not yet.”
Greta winked. “Clearly you don’t need them when you have him.”
They watched Jackson speed into the garage. He climbed off the Harley and shut the garage door without a single glance back, leaving a dust cloud of anger suffocating Ryn.
“I’d better go.” Ryn squeezed her car key to steady her shaking hands. She needed out of there before Jackson’s anger blew the roof off the joint.
“Do you want to come over and warm up with a cup of coffee or—”
“No. Sorry, I don’t have time.” She slipped into the driver’s seat, just as Jackson stormed back outside.
“There’s my handsome neighbor,” Greta said. “How’s Ji
llian? We sure have been thinking of her.”
Ryn cowered under his narrow-eyed glare fixed solely on her.
“She’s fine. Taking some time for herself,” Jackson answered calmly, never shifting his eyes from Ryn’s.
“That’s good. She needs it. Well, nice to see you again, sweetie. I’ve got to get my caboose inside before it freezes right off.”
Ryn shot Greta a pleading look. Silently begging her not to leave. She needed a distraction to get away. No such luck.
“Okay … bye.” Ryn’s voice wavered.
“Too-da-loo,” Greta sang crossing the street.
“Get out,” Jackson growled. The chilly afternoon felt like a tropical island compared to the icy intonation of his voice.
Ryn’s heart stopped in self-preservation like an animal waiting for its predator to pass by. The impulsiveness of her destructive behavior began to lose its justification the longer Jackson towered over her, his anger multiplying with each passing second.
“If you touch me, I’ll scream.”
Jackson recoiled. His anger replaced with a look of shock, maybe even pain. The resentment hung between them as thick as the cloud of condensation from their breaths.
Ryn would always be the skittish dog, no matter how hard she tried to put on a brave front. At some point, Preston’s physical abuse ingrained that reaction into her.
“I’m sorry—”
He shook his head as he turned, retreating back toward the house. “Go home, Ryn.”
A mishmash of emotions warred in her mind and her heart. Sliding out of her car, she slammed the door and pounded ten steps on the driveway toward Jackson’s front door. Then she spun around and retraced those same steps back down to her car, repeating it two more times until her nerves gained enough momentum to make it all the way to his door.
In the middle of her incessant knocks, Jackson opened the door, holding an amber bottle of beer. He said nothing and neither did his expression.
“I trashed your place.” She hugged herself. The heat of her anger enveloped the onset of shivering nerves.
