Killing Mary Jane: A Dark Romantic Thriller

by Amarie Avant

  He sighed. “We’ll feed her to the wolf?”

  Her eyes trained onto his. This was not the time for religion or morals to clash with the truth. “It must be done.”

  30

  Wulf tossed back a few salted peanuts, seated at the edge of the bar. He fisted his cell phone in one hand and chased the nuts with a double-shot of tequila.

  “Crazy broad,” Wulf mumbled through tense lips.

  “Yeah,” Jones repeated. “Dylan, are you still with that crazy broad?”

  “Man, don’t fucking do that.”

  “Do what? D, you’ve always been the one with a good head on your shoulders. Despite your childhood, you were a big brother to thugs and gangbangers and even in our department. Remember Hesler?”

  Wulf recalled how Hesler had attended the academy with them. He’d chosen the narcotics unit when it was time to get off the road and move up the ranks. The bottom of the totem pole, in that regard, involved an undercover role which left his friend Hesler hooked on the very thing he was ridding the streets of—heroine. “I did nothing for Hesler.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you love pushing that self-motivation crap. Regardless of it being his ultimate choice, you encouraged that fool to go into rehab when Cap was threatening his pension. Wulf, did you forget about that half a million-dollar home you own in Claremont? It’s just sitting there.”

  How could he forget? When Gracie’s social worker had offered him a chance at placement, Wulf had been too busy. A few months prior, he’d purchased a house on a whim in a new housing tract. The homes didn’t seem so cookie cutter, and he’d had the good intention of commuting to work once he’d settled down with a family. “How about you bring the kids down. We’ll barbecue.”

  Quincy changed the subject. “Look, your father may have had you stealing shit as a kid, but that became your motivation to become a better man. You save people, Dylan. Man, I commend you for this one. Your friend is just a beautiful face. Let her ass roam around Mexico. Come home.”

  Wulf glanced at a man and woman a few barstools down. Their arms were all over each other. They were whispering and smiling their asses off. Though Wulf hadn’t said the words to Mary Jane and doubted she’d utter them back, he loved her. There was no way in hell he’d let Mary Jane out of his sight for too long. She was his. Muddled mind and all, he loved her.

  A foster kid like him knew you didn’t abandon someone you love. Shit, you could be treated the worst, but love kept you from leaving. He believed Mary Jane had feelings for him. “Is this you talking or Shelly?”

  “Hell, it’s me talking. It’s Shelly, your mother, Brenda, who mind you has had so many foster kids in the past—she’s had enough worrying about you, Shelly and the others. So take that into consideration. Everybody is looking out for you, but you.”

  Wulf scoffed. “Bro, you’re getting on my case. We’ll come back soon. Besides, I’m sure Juarez and Robertson have come searching for us. It’s only a matter of time before they find us. Better us to go to them first, right?”

  “That’s right, D. And you damn right they came by. They sent an L.A. based Fed. He left his number and everything.”

  “Well, thanks for calling me on a burner phone.”

  His deep chuckle rasped through the phone. “Speaking of thanking me. While that selfish girl has you running around doing nothing, I found her sister.”

  “You found Megan?” Wulf eyed the bartender and gestured toward his empty shot glass.

  “Yup, you’re welcome. You asked, and I found her. You’ll be surprised just how crazy she is compared to Mallory. You want a breakdown on Ms. Megan Portman?”

  “Not yet.” His teeth gritted. His so-called best friend was overstepping. A year ago, Grienke manipulated Mary Jane into believing that he’d killed one of the twins. Wulf’s intuition rang out like fireworks; it wasn’t quite the best time to meet Megan Portman.

  “Thought you would say so,” Quincy scoffed. “There’s more.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll hold off on that for now. You take baby steps, I take baby steps.”

  “Quincy, dude, last year I was a fucking mess. I asked you to keep my mom and kid sister safe, right?”

  “You did.”

  “I thank you for that. That’s all the fuck I’m going to thank you for, Quincy. Aside from always keeping bullets out of my ass. Mary Jane is going through some shit right now, and I’m not leaving her.”

  “I’m just trying to get you to see the light.”

  “Oh, I see the fucking light. Nevertheless, I have a hunch when you just said, ‘there’s more.’ Whatever you set in motion, kill it.” Wulf ended the call.

  When Wulf returned home in the evening, he had a letter in his back pocket from Glenn Tsoosie. Glenn had placed his life in jeopardy to save Mary Jane’s a year back, and the two still exchanged letters like they were bonded by blood in a different era.

  He held a brown paper bag of street tacos in his hand for dinner. They weren’t fans of cooking. But once a week they’d built a tradition around making a new dish. Their tiny home would be filled with laughter and the story always ended with food in their hair—purposefully or otherwise. Food, sex, happiness.

  The bedroom door was opened as he entered the living room, and Wulf’s gaze went straight to Mary Jane’s ass. She was donning a black dress that clung to her curves, leaning down to pick up a pair of stilettos. Without taking his eyes off the stunning vision, Wulf whistled and set down the bag on the end table of the couch.

  She turned around, contentment twinkling in her brown eyes.

  Thank God, she’s happy. Somewhere deep down, Wulf knew that Mary Jane hadn’t come to terms with her past yet. But with her, living in the moment was always perfect.

  He went to her, pulling her body into him, and pressed his mouth against hers. “You look beautiful.”

  “I know.” She took the letter from Glenn that he handed over. Mary Jane cradled it to her heart for a second. “Don’t be jealous. I’m Glenn’s shero. She-hero, you get—”

  “I get it. Please don’t tell me he still thinks you’re a super hero.”

  “He does.” She rose to her tippy toes. Their mouths met and instead of kissing, they chuckled softly. “You’re my hero, Dylan.”

  His hand pawed her ass.

  “Get ready,” she said, the resolve in her voice beginning to break again. She was damn good at pretending, but this evening the sadness just seemed to wash over her as she elaborated, “I have to get out of this house. I had the dream again…so I have to get out of the house.”

  At that, Wulf placed his hand at the center of her shoulders, rubbed his thumb along the nape of her neck, and kissed the top of her head. She was like a caged animal. Like a glorious firecracker, sparks flying though not quite exploding yet. Due to his childhood, he didn’t know the first thing about mending her heart. His father only voiced his love when a young Dylan had manipulated his way into the extravagant homes of their planned invasions. There wasn’t even a fraction of a memory of Wulf’s mom. Sure his adoptive mother, Brenda, taught him that he could be loved, but he didn’t have the strong foundation for helping Mary Jane.

  Wulf pinched the bridge of his nose in thought. Shit, how do I help you become comfortable knowing that you’re Mallory?

  “Wulf, stop pawing at me. Get dressed.” She pushed him away, smiling weakly.

  “Just tell me about the dream, already,” he tried.

  “I can’t.”

  After a few beats, Wulf asked, “Is it because you’re Mallory or the dreams?”

  “Which is worse?” She gave a wry chuckle, yet the longing in her eyes spoke volumes.

  Wulf bit his bottom lip in contemplation. Much of the time, all he had while trying to get through to Mary Jane was her body language. She could live with being Mallory; she had to. But those damn dreams made him want to break into the supermax facility Grienke currently resided in and finish him off.

  It was the dreams again. These days, s
hit piled on top of more shit. Peter controlling her through night terrors was just the cherry on the top. The dreams had started a few months ago. Each one ended with her crying in the middle of the night. He’d hold her as tightly as he could without crushing her. He’d have to grip her shoulders and rattle her like a rag doll to wake her from her nightmarish stupor. He’d have to remind her that Peter had made threats to their happily ever after in her dreams.

  His thumb skimmed along her jaw. “Peter’s not taking you from me, I promise you that.”

  Mary Jane’s eyes connected with his. “Ha! Wulf, you’d have to get rid of me instead.”

  He cracked a half smile.

  Though worry clouded her gaze, Mary Jane winked. “I’m too selfish to let you go. Get dressed, Wulf. I need to get out of this house for a while.”

  As she headed toward the living room, Wulf gripped her wrist. The movement was fluid, perfect. She spun around on her heels. His mouth went to her earlobe, lips brushing ever so softly against her skin, he said, “Or we could stay in and I’ll have you screaming my name until that crazy brain of yours replaces you and your worries with all of me.”

  “Oh, Dylan,” she sighed.

  He nibbled at the pulse of her neck, pressing his hardness against her body.

  “So, I’m consulting with the bad you. Dylan, stop it. Now! You need to shower.” Though she reprimanded him, her eyes glittered with laughter.

  “I thought you liked me dirty?” he inquired, peppering her cheeks and throat with kisses. Before she could argue, his mouth descended on hers. Recently, she’d been even hornier than usual, which was saying a lot because their sex life was still so fresh, new, and crazy. Wulf’s fingers gripped her collar. He tugged until the material tore against her skin. He wanted to purge every last seed of hopelessness that she felt Peter instilled in her during dreams.

  A gasp squeezed through her lips. “I’m going to kill—”

  He spun her once more. His heavy cock slammed against her ass as he held her close. Wulf nuzzled the back of her neck.

  “Oh, you’re really playing dirty,” she groaned with palms pressed against the wall. He dropped to his knees, then sank his teeth into the flesh of her ass while he tugged down her thong.

  “You smell so good.” He bit her once more for good measure.

  “Still gonna kill you.” Her voice was light and airy.

  He stood, his toe swiping at the inside of her heels. Although grinning, Mary Jane glared at him over her shoulders, keeping her stance wide. Wulf unzipped his pants and pushed them down along with his boxers. His swollen manhood sprung free.

  She arched her back, pressing her hips back.

  Wulf glided into her from behind. “You want it soft or rough?”

  “Rough.” She bit her bottom lip. Like a lioness, she clawed at the wall as his cock slammed in and out of her.

  Wulf skimmed his hand over her hips and along her flat abdomen before kneading her breasts. He could feel the tension fusing within her body.

  “Oh, Wulf,” Mary Jane purred, relinquishing her animalistic rage. No longer attempting to clasp and claw the wall, she leaned back against his hard chest and frame. Rising onto the balls of her feet, she moaned as the position offered a deeper penetration. With her head on his shoulder, she reached up to caress his neck while Wulf nibbled at her earlobe.

  His tongue twined into her ear. Sweet words of adoration were at the tip of his lips, but Wulf stopped himself as Mary Jane always held a bit of herself at bay. The way her body molded to his, he knew that this was just enough. Instead of telling her he loved her, he decided to drive her to madness. Shit, she seemed to prefer it.

  While maintaining a cocky grin, he clasped her wrists.

  “Wulf.” Her ragged voice was hesitant with curiosity until Wulf pressed a hand against the small of her back. Her upper body folded until her hair draped over her toes. The force of his cock drove away her tension with each thrust. Knowing her body so well, Wulf released just as she shattered into ecstasy.

  An hour later, they both showered, ridding themselves of the sweet fragrance of sex and sweat. Mary Jane wore another gorgeous dress that he hadn’t recalled her wearing before. He donned his nicest pair of slacks and a short-sleeved coal button up that strained against his biceps. After a quiet drive to the neighboring tourist city Puerto Vallarta, they ended up at one of the most expensive hotels along the shore. Wulf couldn’t take his eyes off her alluring gaze as he helped her out of the car. Her skin was beautiful and soft. Her thick, wavy hair gracefully kissed the side of her neck in the wind.

  He placed the keys to their ‘87 Honda in his linen pants and swept a hand around her waist, pulling her closer. He breathed in her flowery scent as they walked up the veranda.

  The other day, she’d stood in a new bikini at a beach shop, trying them on for him. He’d picked out more. She’d hand the inexpensive, sexy little numbers to the clerk. He’d found an olive green bikini that he knew would look perfect on her. He’d gulped back, wanting her all the more when she stepped out of the changing room. She twirled around, her breath caught as she snagged on her own reflection.

  Damn, how could he have forgotten? On their last day in Santo Cruces City, Mary Jane told the story of how Mallory had been bitten by Vin’s dog when she’d disobeyed his advances. Wulf had already known who she was the first time she’d told him about that motherfucker, Vin. Something compelled Wulf to ask Mary Jane which twin she’d rather be. The light that died in her eyes while talking of Vin blossomed the instant she murmured her desire to ‘just be Mary Jane.’ And for a year, their lives had been perfect.

  Dylan Wulf and his Mary Jane.

  Until the days she’d viewed the gash on the back of her calf. One minute, Mary Jane was beautiful as ever, twirling around in a tourist shop, the next, she ran out of the store in his favorite bikini. She’d finally noticed the gash on the back of her calf leg. Wulf had hastily paid the attendant. He eventually found her crying at home.

  Why wouldn’t she want to be Mallory instead of the drug addicted twin?

  He held the gold-framed door of the five-star hotel. Again, he raved at her beauty. “Nobody can keep their eyes off of you,” Wulf whispered in her ear as she passed by.

  “Aww.” She welcomed his kiss as he took her hand and strolled alongside her.

  Wulf breathed a little easier. Mary Jane had this ability to alienate herself. She did it for a while after telling him the stories of Mallory and Megan. She’d take long strolls on the shore. Last winter, he’d find her sitting in wet sand, rain soaking her to the core. Wulf would hold her until she’d stop shaking from the chill.

  It took everything in him not to have his old contact at the LAPD find her stepfather, Vin.

  “Wulf, for two,” he said to the maître d’ as Mary Jane stood toward the entrance and viewed a three-story high aquarium with bright-colored exotic fish.

  The man skimmed the list then looked back up at him. “You don’t have reservations?”

  “No,” Wulf started with a sigh. “Please, my woman is having a bad day. I wanted to make it up to her.” He pulled out his wallet.

  The attendant rolled his eyes, thoroughly insulted.

  “Hey, you can share a table with us,” a woman with a short blonde bob told Wulf, and then quickly mentioned her last name to the maître d’. She had a bubbly aura, which was enhanced by a pink polka dot pantsuit.

  “Ah...no, thanks.” Happy-go-lucky tourists were the brunt of many of Mary Jane’s jokes these days.

  “Just a few moments, Miss Blackwood.” The maître d’ gave her a curt smile.

  “Thank you,” the blonde replied.

  “What’s going on?” Mary Jane walked up.

  “I think my wife is inviting you all to our table.” a man muttered. He carried a glass and neatly cut dark blond hair, who’d been viewing the fish also stepped over. “C’mon, buddy, this place is never not booked, so excuse me for the double negative. Ha! We reserved a table when planning f
or the trip.”

  “All right.” Mary Jane nodded.

  Wulf’s eyebrows rose. From what he’d observed, they embodied all that Mary Jane didn’t believe in. People could not be genuinely happy this way. Instead of asking if she was sure, they were escorted through the packed restaurant. It was draped in white linen from the tables to the windows. A single candle decorated each table, adding to the ridiculousness of the place. He knew upscale, and this shit wasn’t it.

  The man shook Wulf’s hand, stating, “They call me Tom. This is my lovely wife, Amy. Amy Blackwood. How nice is it to say that? My wife, Amy Blackwood.”

  Amy’s smile held the same pride as her husband’s.

  “How long have you been married?” Mary Jane asked.

  “Two weeks, one day and five hours,” Amy replied.

  They finished the introductions and soon were chatting and laughing the night away as gourmet plates of artistic cuisine was put before them. Wulf knew he should’ve eaten those tacos first, but he was content watching Mary Jane acclimate to society.

  “Oh, no, Tom, enough with the jokes already,” Amy chided her husband as she and Mary Jane giggled.

  “No, he’s right,” Mary Jane said. “This food was cooked in real butter, oodles of it.”

  Wulf watched the way her eyelids slightly kissed and she moaned while eating black tiger shrimp. The women he’d dated in the past hardly ate around him, but he could just watch his woman as she devoured every bit of the food.

  “You love it?” His lips kissed her ear.

  “The best thing I’ve ever had,” she replied. “Almost.”

  31

  The fog was damp and felt too cool while washing down Ariel’s empty lungs. She gasped and gasped, attempting to catch her breath. Her muscles twitched with the rush of adrenaline flowing through them. She’d run until her lungs were scorching. Now she bent over, dropping her head between her calves. Breathe, breathe, breathe, she told herself. But running until her body felt like sagging down onto the reddish-orange track sand.