by Joy Eileen
Kill took her from D and kissed her. “Did you miss your daddy?” he asked, coming to my side.
“It’s time to move out,” Lissa called from the roadies’ bus. “We have one more show, and we’re on a tight schedule.”
“No shit,” Jet mumbled next to me.
I tried to turn my laugh into a cough, not wanting to hurt Van’s feelings. With Scarlett as the new addition on the bus, Lissa was an even bigger bitch.
“Let’s get on the bus, baby girl. Are you hungry?”
More spit bubbles for daddy. I was about to climb the stairs of the bus when the sound of screeching tires caught my attention.
A yellow taxi drove like it had demons behind it, only stopping when it reached the buses, squealing to a stop. Kill jumped in front of me.
I looked around his shoulder in curiosity. The back door popped open. A massive amount of white tulle pushed out until a person appeared.
“Wait for me. I’m coming with you.”
“Jessie.”
FROM THE AUTHOR:
I hope you enjoyed the second part of the JackholeS Series. I would love to hear from you. You can follow me on,
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Also by Joy Eileen
TRANSPARENT
Amazon
Also free on KU
Morley Rivers lived a quiet life until she brought home a portrait of a hottie from the 19th century.
Alexander Brynes had been cursed when his plea to a gypsy went horribly wrong. He was tethered to his portrait, unable to communicate with the people around him, until Morley came along.
Alexander is positive Morley is the key to break his curse. He wasn't expecting her to break into his heart.
As the curse starts to crack Alexander sheds his invisible state while making his true feelings known.
If they succeed in breaking the spell, Alexander will be sent back to his time on Halloween allowing him to repair the damage his disappearance caused, but at the same time leaving a broken heart in his wake
Chapter One
"Morley! Morley Rivers! Wait for me!"
Shit, I was stuck. Escape was futile. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Mrs. Crabington march toward me. One of her pudgy arms stuck out, showing her intended destination, all the while tugging her flowered muumuu tightly to her ginormous breasts. The bottom part of her arm swung wildly with every step. Her ample body was on a mission to make it to me before I disappeared into my home.
I straightened up from the trunk of my Mustang, trapped with no means of escape. I contemplated throwing myself on the ground and faking a seizure, but that seemed a little extreme. Mrs. Crabington finally reached me. Her brown eyes pinched together as she inhaled deeply trying to catch her breath.
"Hi, Mrs. Crabington. What can I help you with?"
I already knew what her answer was going to be. She had been harassing me for months now. I'd become an expert in avoiding her most of the time. I would have been free from her wrath for another day, if it wasn't for the sexy man residing in my trunk slowing me down. My stomach fluttered as I envisioned the gray eyes of one of the hottest men I've ever seen. I shook off the visual and focused instead on the bead of sweat trickling down Mrs. Crabington's nose.
"Morley, we have talked about that abomination of a door. You need to paint it. The home owners association specifically states...blah, blah, blah."
My ears shut off as soon as she started to recite the HOA handbook. She had been hounding me about the color of my door as soon as the red paint dried. Her face when she banged on my freshly coated door was close to matching the offending color.
Thankfully, my sunglasses hid my eyes as they completed a full eye-roll. My realtor was on my shitlist and with every word leaving Mrs. Crabington's spittle-filled mouth, she rose higher in its ranking. At no point did she disclose I was moving in next to the neighborhood busy-body who was so bored out of her mind she would nitpick the neighborhood just for something to do.
As my eyes attempted to roll all the way back in my head I noticed Mrs. Crabington's mouth was now shut in a firm frown, complete with white foam at each corner. She seemed to be waiting for me to respond.
"I understand the guidelines, Mrs. Crabington. You have been very generous in your knowledge on the subject. As I have told you, I've put in a request with the association and until I hear from them, I will not be painting my door."
"I do not like your attitude. No wonder you haven't got a man. I'll be calling the association tonight." She swung her body around and stormed off.
My eyes were glued to her back as her rolls undulated, making the flowers on her dress look like they were swaying in the wind. Pulling my eyes away from the spectacle that was Mrs. Crabington's back fat, I set my sights on the hunk in my trunk. Well if he wasn't wrapped in bubble wrap and parchment I would be viewing the hottie from 19th century London, but I have a good memory and his face will forever be seared into my brain.
I procured my old world hotness from Art. A prestigious gallery in New York city and my second home. I started working there before the ink was dry on my art history diploma. Mr. Dagman, my boss, took a liking to me when my class visited his gallery. He said I had the eye for the spectacular and called me the night before I graduated and offered me a job.
Mr. Dagman's was the closest thing to a parent I had and I loved him dearly. His flare for jeweled colored scarves offset his graying hair and he was known in the community as a silver fox. Even in his sixties he was in better shape than I was and he used it to have a different boy toy on his arm at every gallery show.
The gallery just received a generous donation from an estate in London. After unwrapping Art's new treasures I locked eyes on a portrait of a 19th century lord. It felt otherworldly as I knelt down to study him. He wore a dark suit and sat with a haughty air of self-importance. His confidence was alluring but it was his face that drew me to him. I experienced an odd connection to him, almost as if I had met him before. His gray eyes made me feel like he could see into my soul. His square jaw was cut to perfection while his dark brown hair was combed with a look of quickness.
Mr. Dagman noticed me studying the painting and told me to take it home. The portrait wasn't valuable like the rest of the shipment and he said he would just put it in a storage unit if he kept it. He wouldn't let me argue with him as I refused to take the painting. A shiver ran up my spine when Mr. Dagman handed me the neatly wrapped package dubbing him my new boyfriend and sent me home.
Carefully, I pulled the portrait out of my car ensuring it didn't bang against anything. I made a mental note to call the dealership noticing the trunk was ice cold and figured there must be something wrong with my air conditioning.
My legs burned as I carried the package into my house and set it gently against my couch. The frame came up to my waist and I'm certain it weighed as much as I did, which isn't saying much since I weigh-in at a whopping 102 pounds.
In college the girls in my dorm would complain as I scarfed down a whole pizza and didn't gain an ounce. They always told me how lucky I was to have such a petite figure, but like everyone I wanted to graze the pasture on the other side. I was jealous of their boobs, ones that could fit in bras larger than training size, or they could lift things without having to ask for help and be the helpless female. Oh well, you use what you got.
I kicked off my red stilettos as I made my way upstairs. My house was my pride and joy, well besides my Mustang of course. It was my oasis, every detail was handpicked by me. From the red accent walls to the snuggly black suede couch in the living room. I loved
every square inch of it. The only downfall was it got lonely some nights living by myself.
In the shower, I sagged against the marble wall as the water hit my stiff shoulders. It took all my energy to wash up and wrap my fluffy pink robe around me.
After brushing my long brown hair and putting it up in a bun on my head I fell head first into the pillows on my bed. My blue eyes stung when I removed my contacts. A clear indication they were overworked. I let out a satisfied sigh delighted I could close my tired eyes and not have to open them until tomorrow afternoon.
The next two days were mine to sleep in and do nothing but get reacquainted with my Kindle.
The exhibit Art hosted this weekend was a roaring success. The artist had a red sold ticket over every piece within two hours. After cleaning up all day and unwrapping our newest shipment, I was now the proud owner of this Monday and Tuesday and I planned to get full use out of them.
Chapter two
As my body liquefied into dreamland my ears were assaulted by someone murmuring downstairs. My eyelids dragged over my sand covered eyeballs as I concentrated on the voice, which sounded like it was coming from my living room. My ears strained to catch what was being said, but I couldn't grasp any of the words.
My thoughts retraced my steps from my encounter with Mrs. Crabington all the way until I plopped into my bed. I didn't remember turning the TV on. Maybe the cat accidentally stepped on the remote. That would have been a very plausible explanation, if I owned a cat.
My heart hammered in my chest as I held my breath trying to hear more. There were no footsteps or shuffling around, just the faint noise of somebody mumbling. When my chest felt like it was going to explode from lack of oxygen I sucked in a sharp breath, wincing from the sound.
My purse was downstairs happily housing my cell phone which I hadn't planned on using the next two days except to order pizza and Chinese food. Silently cursing myself I grabbed the sterling silver candle stick off of the mantle above the fireplace in my room.
I tiptoed down the stairs clutching the candlestick in my sweaty palms. My mind went over every batting lesson my dad taught me. Damn me for not paying more attention. If I was found bludgeoned on the bottom of my stairs I was going back in time, and kicking my nine year old ass. I didn't keep my cream tiled floor in pristine condition just to have the grout stained with my blood.
In the living room the light coming from the pre-programmed battery operated candles above the fireplace gave off a faint glow. I crouched down against the banister and held my breath as I listened, trying to find out where my intruder was.
My genius plan was to run to the front door, grab my purse, and book it outside so I could call the police.
The murmuring sounded as if it was coming from somewhere near my couch. My eyes raked across my living room. The fake flickering candles cast shadows around the room but none of them seemed to be the form of a troublemaking human destine for prison.
With a deep breath I dashed toward the door in a full sprint. The door was only a couple feet away. I was going to make it. Or at least I would have if my foot hadn't caught on the edge of that stupid portrait I forgot I left leaning against the couch.
My body flew to the floor, skidding the last few feet I had to my safety on my stomach. I couldn't get my hands out in front of me in time, allowing my head to stop my momentum.
Deep masculine laughter boomed through out my house echoing off the walls and slamming into my stomach. Goosebumps sprouted all over my body as I quickly flipped over to scan my living room again.
Nothing. I couldn't see anyone. The programmed candles decided to extinguish at that moment blanketing my house in darkness.
My hand slid up the wall desperately reaching for the door handle. The disembodied laughter seemed to be moving closer to me. Just as I wrapped my hand around the doorknob a blast of cold wind coasted over my face.
"For such a graceful looking woman, she sure is clumsy."
"Who's there?" I cried out as I pulled up on the handle so I was standing ready to launch out of my house.
"You can hear me?" A husky male voice asked as another blast of cold brushed my cheek.
"Of course I can hear you. I'm going to call the police. Stay away from me." I reached out and hit the light switch next to my door illumining the room. Surprisingly, I was able to keep a hold of the candle stick during my fall. I cocked my hand back ready to bludgeon the hell out of someone.
Also by Joy Eileen
Ghost of Christmas Past
Free on Kindle
Esmerelda Tussaud was born with the ability to talk to spirits.
Jake Delassixe loved her the moment he saw her sipping chocolate milk through a straw at his grandma's bar.
Jake didn't think anything could tear them apart, especially after they endured the cruelty of high school. Esmeralda proved him wrong when she left him, on the night of their graduation after his proposal. With nothing tethering him to New Orleans, Jake moved to New York to revamp an old bar his grandma gifted to him.
Now things are starting to happen in his bar. Things that only Esmeralda can help him with. As Esmeralda helps Jake rid his bar of unwanted specters, she also raises the love that Jake thought was dead.
Can Jake forgive her?
Will she be banished from his heart like the ghosts in his bar?
This book contains humor, paranormal nuisance. romance, humor, and Christmas magic.
Chapter 1
"Jake Nathaniel Delassixe get down here, baby."
I put my book down careful to mark my spot and barreled downstairs. At the age of fifteen, I was smart enough to listen when my grandmother, Mama Cleo, bellowed.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, Mama Cleo waited for me. Her hair was pulled up in a green turban, showing off whiskey colored eyes. Her large body was regal in a purple dress making her brown skin shimmer.
She stood next to a beautiful woman about the same age as my mother. The woman wore a flowing hot pink dress with a mass of black curls tied back with an orange ribbon. Her blue eyes sparkled showing her amusement from watching me run down the stairs at the fastest speed my gangly legs allowed.
My whole world stopped when I noticed a beautiful creature sitting on one of the bar stools drinking chocolate milk through a straw, and swinging her legs without a care. I couldn't move my gaze from her. She was mesmerizing. Her curly black hair cascaded down her back lightly swaying every time her legs pumped back.
"Jake, honey. I want you to say hello to Mrs. Tussaud, and her daughter Esmerelda. Mrs. Tussaud will be managing the bar for me." Mama Cleo moved her voluptuous arm around to point out Esmerelda, unnecessarily, as my eyes were still glued to her.
Esmerelda turned her face toward mine and I held my breath. Her big blue eyes rivaled the picture of the Caribbean Sea I once saw in a book. Her mouth turned up into a smile showing off her straight white teeth. I was riveted as Esmerelda jumped off the stool and walked toward me. She wore pink sparkly shorts and a black tank top with a picture of a ghost on it.
"Jake, you can call me, Libby," Mrs. Tussaud said. "This is my daughter Ezzie."
"I'm going to marry you," Ezzie said.
Mama Cleo let out a belly laugh, and Ezzie's olive colored skin tinged pink. She slapped her hand over her mouth as her eyes roamed the bar, refusing to settle back on me.
"Ezzie, let the boy breathe. You're going to scare the poor thing," her mother scolded.
"Sorry," Ezzie replied when her eyes finally locked on mine. "Did I scare you?" Her face scrunched up with worry.
"Nah, I have a feeling you might be right."
Ezzie's face flamed red, and I smiled even bigger, feeling more confident than I ever had in my life.
"Well you two aren't getting married today. Why don't you go on and show Ezzie around the apartment while I give Ms. Libby a tour of the bar where she'll be working." Mama Cleo shooed us away when we continued to stare at each other.
"Come on Jake," Ezzie called out
as she sprinted toward the stairs out of Mama Cleo's bar, Voodoo, and up to the apartment above.
"Be careful Ezzie. I don't want you to fall," I shouted, running up the stairs behind her.
Ezzie was sprawled out on the red rug in front of Mama Cleo's black suede couch, laughing hysterically when I reached her. The corner of her eyes sparkled with tears, and the sight of her carefree attitude did something to my chest. I was too young to realize it, but I had found my soulmate at that very moment.
"You're crazy," I told her, plopping down on the couch, giving her time to get her giggles out.
"I'm not crazy," she cried out, pushing herself into a sitting position. Her eyes were slits as she glared at me. "Don't ever call me crazy," she stated, getting up and heading toward the stairs.
"Wait. I'm sorry I wasn't saying it as a bad thing." I caught up with her before her neon blue shoes could reach the first step.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Once again, to acknowledge everyone who has helped me would be a book in itself. I want to thank everyone who waited patiently for the JackholeS to return.
Thanks to....
My Johnboy Thank you Thank you. You have supported me in everything I’ve done. I can’t tell you how much you standing beside me means. You keep me calm on my freak outs and I wouldn’t want to take on this crazy life without you.
My Mom. You are my first cheerleader and my soul-mate. I was meant to live this life with you beside me.
My Dad. I really want you to know how much I love you. You are the greatest grandpa I could ask for. Thank you.
Kristen Hope Mazzola. Thank you. Thank you, for the beautiful cover. This is my favourite out of the three you sent me. Without you this story wouldn't have been published.
