Jameson Hotel: The Complete Series Box Set (Parts 1-6)

by Aven Jayce

  “What the hell... what’s wrong with you?” he gasps, finally abandoning his superiority complex.

  “And if the cops, for some odd reason, don’t believe me, then lucky you, you’ll either get sent to your granddad’s farm where he’ll drag you out of bed at four each morning to shovel shit, or child services will come and haul you away. Who knows where the fuck you’ll end up then. Maybe a nice religious family will take you in and buy you a bible then enroll you in Catholic school... an all-boys Catholic school.”

  That got him. My alpha boy is getting a taste of my world, breaking down with tears forming and about to pour out.

  “So go ahead, Jack, either cut my throat or call the cops, your choice.”

  He insists on turning away, humiliated that he might cry from my words. Fuck, I hope he does. I grip his jaw, dig my nails into his flesh, and force his glossy eyes to mine. He’s me, twenty years ago, finally getting a taste of who I am and what his future holds. I had no power when he was miles away in Philly and our arguments happened over the phone. Now, I’m not backing down. It’s all or nothing at this moment.

  My blade sinks into the leather chair next to his chest, nicking his flesh and causing him to jump in fear. He panics with quivering lips and a trembling voice, pleading for freedom.

  “I’m not finished asking you questions. I want the story behind that skull and roses tat on your back and if you’ve gotten yourself into something you may not be able to get out of.”

  Damn, my fucking cell. It distracts him from coughing up an answer. No need to look, it’ll be Jules.

  “Mark, please don’t hang up,” she says. “I get it, you don’t want to discuss my first kill until you’re ready—that’s fine. I was just wondering if you want me to wait, or if I should cut up the thing in the garage and burn the parts myself? Would that be a good enough punishment?”

  What the hell is she talking about? “Not on my cell. You know better... fuck, just meet me in my son’s suite and bring an empty box along.” I end the call and repeat my question about the tat.

  “It’s...it’s just something I... it’s my life and I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  He’s stuttering and still refuses to look me in the eye. “Don’t make me ask twenty questions. Just speak.”

  After a minute of silence, he says the tat represents his future and he wants to join a club. “My dream is to get a bike and just ride. No rules, no fucking school or people telling me what to do, like you. Your lifestyle sucks and I don’t want it, but I have a feeling if I stay here long enough that you’ll get me what I need.”

  “Like a bike and my money?” I hold his neck and lean closer to his face. The kid watches way too much television and I think he’s confusing the Hollywood glorification of those motorcycle clubs with reality. He has no idea what he’s saying.

  “Yeah, Dad, I want a decent bike and my freedom, not all of this!” he yells, raising a hand to motion at the contents in the room. “Some cash and a tight cunt to pop would be nice too, but I don’t need much else. And I can predict what you’re going to say... a kid like me won’t last a day on the road, let alone in some biker gang... well fuck you! And my ear is killing me! You had no right to hurt me!”

  I squeeze tighter until he turns red and can no longer get a word out.

  “Son, I’ve tried giving you my love since the day you were born, but that hasn’t seemed to work. You appear to be incapable of any emotional response other than hatred. Well, let me tell you something, little one, I’ve also had days where I hated you to the point that you’re lucky you’re still on this earth, only that hatred hasn’t taken our relationship anywhere but into a deep hole.” I release my hold so he can catch a breath before clutching again. “I’ve tried my best to support your so-called dreams to this point, from baseball and karate, to that damn ninja association. I’ve gifted you a quality education and trips with your class to Europe, and all you ever do is spend your time bitching at me to buy you every new hot commodity that comes on the market. Now, you’re saying you don’t need any of that shit? Just the open road? No job? No security?”

  He’s allowed another breath, only this time my wrists are gripped while he pleads for me to stop.

  “I don’t believe I can do that,” I shake my head, “you think you’ve had enough?”

  His body’s motionless and there’s no response. Blood continues to drip down his neck in slow trickles as his expression deadens, finally indicating defeat.

  I slide off the table and walk behind him to massage his shoulders. The kid hasn’t looked this magnificent since the day he was born—all bloody and teary-eyed, weak, and unable to speak.

  He remains silent. His body’s tense and I imagine his nose is scrunched in revulsion. I lean over and confirm that I’m correct, not feeling an ounce of guilt for my actions. For once, my shitty parenting skills have paid off. When in doubt, when nothing’s getting through to your teen, just slice ‘em and dice ‘em.

  He touches his ear, jerks from the pain, and stares at the blood on his thumb and forefinger, rubbing it between the two.

  “As I was saying,” I assert in a slow and direct tone while clutching his jaw. “You’re about to be thrown into the deep blue sea, and since you’re my son, I know you’ll swim and hunt like a shark. You’ll make the right choices from here on out.” I take hold of his other lobe and twirl my blade.

  “Don’t,” he says nervously.

  “And before you try to worm your way into some fucking biker club, you’ll need to learn how to survive in mine.”

  “Dad,” he shudders, “please don’t.”

  “I can teach you to be street smart, top dog, and pass along the survival skills you’ll need to stay alive on the treacherous road you’re headed down, then when you’re older, finished with school, and have worked your ass off to save some money, you can live in your fantasy world. But trust me, tough guy; you’ve got a lot to learn about respect, brotherhood, and family. Especially if you don’t want to end up in a ditch with a bullet through your head.” The tip of my blade punctures his other lobe and blood drips to his shoulder. Finally, he apologizes like he genuinely means it, and a powerless young man in tears emerges. “That’s a pussy wound, Jack. If you can’t handle it, you won’t be able to handle a fist in the face or someone sticking a blade in your gut.”

  I walk next to him and un-tuck my shirt to flash my stitches, then turn and show off a few other scars from my past. “No hard feelings, right?” I smirk. “It’s good to have scars, but best to have the ones that are seen, not the ones that damage your soul. Either way, wear them with pride, son.” I lower my shirt and close my blade as Jules enters the suite.

  “I’ll never forgive you.” He wipes his eyes before looking up into mine.

  I pat his shoulder and laugh. “Lesson one. Never expose your neck to a man with a blade.”

  He slowly lowers his head, keeping quiet when Jules walks into the room with the cardboard box I requested.

  “Jesus. Now what? Are you piercing his ears?”

  “We’re just having a friendly discussion about his birthright.” I take her by the arm and lead her to the living room. “You see anything wrong in here?” I ask, while looking back at my son. “Get dressed.” I gesture to him then turn back to Jules for an answer.

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah, shit. Nice job leaving him a cabinet full of liquor.”

  “Stabbing him for drinking isn’t the best form of discipline.”

  Jack sets his luggage on the sofa and drops his towel. I’m about to cover Jules’ eyes when she turns away and ignores the scene on her own.

  I lean into her so he can’t hear our conversation.

  “Take him with you to clean up the garage.”

  “What?” She raises a brow. “I agree he needs to know more about you, but throwing him into a job like that seems a bit much on his first day. You think he’s ready?”

  I nod and loo
k back at his bloody ears. He pulls on a black shirt and slips into a pair of baggy jeans before slumping onto the sofa, blowing a strand of hair from his temple.

  “My ears hurt,” he grumbles.

  “Yep, my side too, but we’ll live. Jules will bandage them for you, after you do a job for me.”

  “I’m not cleaning your pool in the dead of winter, at this time of the night, with bloody ears. Besides, you said I needed a work permit before I could start.”

  “Jack, stand up.”

  Nervous and keeping his guard, he stands slowly and waits. “I’m not disrespecting you,” he says softly.

  He watches my every move as I’m whispering to Jules about being peeved because of the booze, but that we’ll discuss it later.

  “And don’t cut the body into pieces,” I say to her. “It’s messy and you’ve never done it before.”

  “Yeah, but the bears are hibernating and the ground’s too hard to dig a grave. Plus, your boats are in the garage for the winter. What’s the plan if it’s not a cut and burn? Cement? Barrel storage until the spring?”

  “The septic system.”

  “Oh, please no,” she groans. “That’s gross, Mark.”

  “The piss and shit will overpower the scent of rotting flesh.”

  “What rotting flesh? Are you talking about my ears?” he calls out.

  It’s good to see a worried look on his face as I walk toward him. Calm men are dead men. That’s lesson two. Always be on guard.

  I grasp the back of his neck and our foreheads meet. He swallows hard and inhales deeply as I tender a warm smile. I’d still do anything for him.

  “I didn’t hurt you because I hate you or because I no longer love you. It was to bring us closer together. One day you’ll understand that and thank me for this night. Now, we’ll discuss the rest of your evening with Jules over breakfast. Don’t act out, follow her lead, respect her, and make me proud.”

  I kiss his head and swagger out, more positive about our future together than ever before.

  But... I’m still confused about all that shit with Jules.

  Not her first kill?

  SLY

  SIX HOURS.

  It’s five in the morning, my restaurant will soon be open for the breakfast buffet, and I’ve just finished a pleasant six-hour shift. Being away from my business is like leaving my rabbit hole then returning to find a snake suffocating my offspring. My hotel is my baby, and the piles of paperwork, orders, employee issues, and customer complaints are the smothering snake. It’s a relief to have it skinned and simmering in a pot, giving me time to sleep the morning away and check on things again in the afternoon. My hotel managers are first-rate, but no one can run a business like me.

  I check the corridors before heading to my suite, inhaling the smells of my hotel along the way. During the holiday season, my staff adds fresh cut pine branches, vanilla candles, and cinnamon sticks to the side-tables outside every room. And each morning, my guests will find a newspaper, a miniature simmering pot of coffee (serves two), and an invitation to breakfast resting next to the fresh scents and festive displays. Yeah, I’m a pussy when it comes to pleasing my guests, but I also make a fortune because of it.

  I’m surprised when I enter my suite to see my son’s asleep on the floor in front of the fireplace, wearing fleece pajamas and smelling of bath soap and cologne. He looks peaceful lying on his side with his hands between his legs, drool on the corner of his mouth, and his body curled into the fetal position. Small bandages cover his earlobes and a bottle of water is next to his head. I’m unsure why he’s here, but delighted nonetheless. I guess his first job went well.

  I take a blanket from my entryway closet and cover him from neck to toe, realizing I haven’t physically cared for him since he was a toddler. He stirs, but doesn’t wake, turning slightly to display a hint of whiskers on his face. Hell, he looks so grown-up, especially now that he shaves.

  His face has thinned out and his jaw and cheekbones are more distinct, giving him the look of a high-class, New York model, yet his clothing tastes are still immature. He wears torn-up jeans, graphic tees, and black hooded sweatshirts. I suppose that’s the look I should expect from a kid who now dreams of becoming a biker, or maybe it’s just typical teenage boy clothing, who knows.

  His blonde hair is often tucked behind his ears or slicked back and is in need of a trim, although he wears it well. The longer look is decent when he covers it with one of his baseball caps and it hangs out the back. He’s already tall and I can tell he’ll end up around my height with a similar build—a definite heartbreaker in a few years, if he isn’t already.

  “He looks so much like you,” Jules unwittingly concurs from the top of the stairs. She’s draped in a white robe and motions for me to join her in our bedroom. I take one last look at my son, sound asleep, before following her into the room.

  Her robe’s on the foot of the bed and her nude body is hidden under our comforter. I’d fuck her straightaway if she weren’t due to be spanked, and my need to discipline her this morning has nothing to do with sexual play. She drove home last night drunk, gave my son a suite with enough liquor in it to fill my pool, and she killed Mera Calloway.

  That’s the kicker.

  Mera was her first kill, and she’s kept it a secret for an entire year.

  “Get the fuck up, stick out your ass, and present yourself to me.”

  I throw my sport coat on the chair by the bed and place my gun and shoulder harness on the dresser. My back’s turned as I unbutton my shirt, but I can see her reflection in the mirror as she follows orders.

  “Don’t move a muscle. Keep your head down and your ass up.” She obeys while I lock the bedroom door, maintaining a low voice so my son doesn’t hear.

  I stand next to the bed wearing only boxers, my hands on my hips and my head shaking in disbelief that such an outspoken woman could keep secrets from her man.

  “I’m going to ask you a few questions.” I rub my hands together. She knows I’m not looking for answers and she’ll keep her mouth shut when I speak. This is merely my way of gaining control over the situation. It’s how I work through a problem in our relationship without becoming too much of a prick. The alternative is having a fight—a shouting match that always puts me in a foul mood, but this form of domestic discipline will bring us closer together.

  I steal the sash from her robe and tie her hands behind her back with the soft, silk fabric. Her hair is gently moved to the side while I remind her to relax and remain silent.

  “I brought you into my life because you’re the first person I’ve ever trusted.” I massage her ass and she tenses. “Don’t worry,” I say tenderly. “Stay calm.”

  My hand gives her a light pat before a quick, second swing makes a smacking noise in the room. She holds steady and places her face into the pillow to muffle any emerging cries.

  “Very good.” I nibble along the side of her neck. “I’ve been trying to figure out all night why you kept Mera Calloway a secret. We’re supposed to be one, remember? What happened? How will I ever trust you again?”

  Smack.

  “Oomph.”

  Smack.

  “Uh!”

  I caress her warm ass cheeks while watching the mark from my hand slowly disappear in the dim, morning light. She takes deep breaths, just like I taught her, and spreads her legs for better stability, signaling she can handle more. I step back and pace, trying to process what happened.

  “That night... together we walked in the cold with that bitch over my shoulder... I thought I had killed her in my own way. Why did you take that away from me? When the hell did you do it? Did you go back that night after we fucked?” I let up for a second, getting a bag of weed out of my dresser drawer. I pack the glass bowl she bought me for Valentine’s Day, and take a nice, long drag, then open my back door to disperse the smoke. A good buzz will help me through this.

  “When I left you waiting with the
flashlight and headed back to the tree on my own, my father’s voice was in my head. He said he’d finally love me if I killed her. Then Sophia’s voice was there, telling me to stop and let her go. I listened, walked, tried to block them out, then looked down at Mera and studied her face. I thought her eyes would give me the answer I needed.” I speak slowly, making sure she can hear the disappointment in my voice. “I was looking for regret, remorse, anything, but her expression was only one of disgust. Then I remembered how much my sister had once loved her, although Daxton was also on my mind.”

  I set the bowl down after a second hit and shut the outside door, noticing Jules is shivering from the frigid air. Her arms are covered in goosebumps and her tied hands are in fists. I kneel and set both hands on her back, rubbing tenderly to warm her flesh. She stays quietly obedient, something I haven’t experienced in the past. It tells me she knows she was in the wrong. Her silence is her apology.

  “I trailed the length of Mera’s legs with my eyes, ending on the knife I had left by her feet. I considered using it to slice her torso—straight down from her neck to her pussy. And when I picked it up, she turned away, expecting death to come at that moment.”

  My arm swings and my palm makes perfect contact with her ass. A loud slap fills the room, then a second, and a third. She turns with tightened lips, holding her cries inside. I offer nothing in return except a fourth smack.

  Her head rests on the pillow as she waits patiently for me to finish. A reward might be in order after I’m through.

  “I left her in the same position she was in when we first walked away. Mera Calloway would’ve died that night, either from the bears or the freezing temperature. I wanted her to suffer for hours, not minutes. And, I was happy. It was the right decision. My father’s voice was pleased that I left her for dead, and Sophia’s voice tapered off, content that I hadn’t killed her with my own hands. I allowed nature to take its course. I got what I wanted, and so did they... so what the fuck were you thinking going back there to finish the job on your own? Tell me.”