Jaspierre's Last Chance (Jaspierre Trilogy Book 3)

by Mixi J Applebottom

  "I don't want to come to the crime scene. I've been tailing these guys for a while. I think they'd probably go to some mountain cabins next. Is there an easy way to get to cabins from here? A main road? The kind of cabins with no electricity in which they could hide out a while?" Edward had a desperate edge grow in his voice. A sharp, desperate edge. The longer he waited, the farther away they would get.

  The cop finally looked Edward in the eye. "A cabin?"

  "I know this guy, I am just gonna take a drive and see if I can catch their trail. Point me to the road with the nearest cabins. That's it, nothing more."

  "How do you know who did this?" Suddenly, the cop's eyes narrowed and suspicion started to build.

  Shit. He was gonna get taken in and questioned for hours if he wasn't careful. That would be the worst thing that could happen. Locked in an interrogation room answering pointless questions while Jaspierre and Lucille were dragged who knew where. "Is there a place like that nearby?"

  Before the cop could answer, an older man gawking nearby suddenly said, "I'd start with St. Elmo's Road. It curls up the mountain to all sorts of desolate places. Hope you catch 'em. Take a left out of here, and just a couple of miles up, it's on the right."

  Edward raced to his car before the cop could find a reason to hold him and question him. He drove fast, and impatiently, skittering on to St. Elmo's. He found himself driving faster instead of slowing down. He wished he could find something, a trickle of blood dripping out the back of their truck. No, not blood. He cringed. Something that would let him find them. Furious tears welled up again as he wound back and forth.

  Nerves took hold and he slowed down. What if he had already passed them? What the fuck was he doing? Frantic driving was no way to catch a criminal. He had no plan, even if he did catch him. He stared back and forth down the road, trying to glimpse cabins between the trees. Why had he gone so far from home? He hoped, ridiculously, that he would see them getting out of their truck, or that Jaspierre would be running along the road with her daughter, both unharmed.

  This was a fool's errand, but he had to try.

  Uncertainty and fear crept closer, hounding his thoughts. Tainting his mind. She could already be dead. Lucille could be dead, Jaspierre could be dead. He might have passed them, they might be far ahead. Face it, they're gone. I've lost them.

  Jaspierre's story would end this way, daughter of a mad scientist, stalked by a madman, killed before she had ever really had a chance. His emotions started to collide within him. He had been frantically driving across the country. What was he doing? Why did he think this would work?

  His goddamned idea that he could ride up on a white horse and save her before it was too late. Saving her crashed his mind into a million pieces. Jaspierre deserved a little bit of hope so she could blossom into the good person he knew she could be.

  He turned the tight corner and saw a truck on the side of the road. Chance, he was just sure it was Chance, was stepping out the driver's door, Jaspierre had just stepped out of the passenger door. Edward, without a second thought, pressed the gas, his bumper aimed straight at the man who was ruining their lives.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Seven

  Her tongue lapping at his cock. Chance's brain couldn't register anything else. He hadn't even pulled off the road yet and his boner was raging in his pants. She would blow him so smooth and so fucking hard that he'd be calm for at least an hour. He doubted she had the masterful hooker skills he was used to, but he didn't need skills; he just needed her open mouth. The road swerved to the right, and he tore into the shoulder with the tires. They were fucking close to falling off this mountain road and down into the deep ravine below. He glanced over at her pretty little mouth. He couldn't wait to grasp handfuls of her hair and really give it to her. The trees were thick around the truck. His cock was stiff in his pants. She was going to blow him. Right here, right now. Couldn't wait another second, could she? Fucking delicious.

  He opened the door and stepped out. The air was crisp and cool and delicious. Fuck yes. He turned to shut the door and a car slammed into his back, throwing him into the woods. The silver car caught the half-opened truck door, and the truck spun, the door crumpling. That was the last he remembered.

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Jaspierre had just opened her door, one foot already touching the ground when she heard the revving squeal. She was too far out of the truck to duck back in. She held on as the truck spun, nearly tossing her out the opened door. The door flipped shut against her, smashing her back and body as she dangled. Lucille screamed from the back seat. Her tiny body flung forward, unbuckled, into the seats, and she slid into the foot well. Her hysterical sobs rang in Jaspierre's ears. It was so hard to think when that child let her lungs fly free. It was so fucking hard to think.

  Jaspierre pressed backwards as the truck rocked. The door opened again and she could breathe. Her ribs were so broken now. They screamed from inside her, grinding broken bits of bone together. She shut her eyes tight, willing her heart to slow enough that she could think. That she could run, or whatever she needed to do next. What had happened?

  The truck had moved somehow; with screaming crunching metal, it had spun. Where was Chance?

  She couldn't see him anywhere. Another man was climbing out of the car. The sleek silver car. He tossed his brown hair back and was staring into the woods. Where was Chance? Chance should be fucking killing this man. She needed to take Lucille and run. Run. Motherfucking run. Her brain was aching with the desperate effort to find a plan.

  Jaspierre ripped open the door and grabbed Lucille. Her tiny screams and violent kicks seemed much stronger than a four year old would be able to do. "Lucille, stop it! We can't stay here. It's not safe. Stop now! Don't make me!" Jaspierre's hand flew into the air, ready for a hard, painful slap. The child gasped with fear but grew quiet. Her entire body trembled.

  She clung to Jaspierre suddenly. Jaspierre closed her eyes and held her daughter in a perfect, delicious hug. The child sobbed softy into her chest. "It's gonna be okay. But we gotta get somewhere safe."

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Edward stepped out of the car, his gun was drawn. He stepped forward, looking down into the woods. Chance had flown into a deep ravine between tree after tree. Edward could no longer see Chance. Was he dead?

  Edward couldn't imagine he would be that lucky. Chance could survive a hell of a lot more than simple smack of a bumper. That said, he didn't hear any screaming, or anything to indicate life down there. So maybe he had gotten lucky? Maybe the monster was dead.

  He turned and looked for Jaspierre, but he didn't see her. The wailing cries of the small child stopped. He heard a car door shut. He turned to see her sitting in his car. She threw it into reverse and the tires squealed. The car lurched backwards. She hadn't checked for traffic, and an oncoming car swerved around her, honking.

  He raised his arms and waved them back and forth. He let out a scream, trying to get her attention, but she threw it into drive and squealed forward. He climbed into the passenger side of the truck since the driver-side door was completely mangled. The keys were missing. If they had gone down into the ravine with Chance, there was no way he could catch her. No way in hell.

  Did she leave me on purpose? That very thought twisted in his gut.

  He tried not to think about it. Surely, she hadn't seen him. If she had seen him, she would've waited. Maybe she just got frightened, trying to escape from Chance alive with her daughter.

  Of course, maybe, not likely, but maybe she had done it on purpose. Maybe she had intended to leave him. Hysteria started to pound in his chest. Maybe it was intentional. She hadn't called him, or left a note, or invited him to help break out her servals.

  What if she felt nothing? Here, he would run across the world for her. Risk his life, his badge. And she would leave him on the side of the road to battle a psychotic killer. Shit, he sure knew how to pick them.

  Chapter

  Twenty
-Eight

  Chance was sliding down rapidly. His fingertips grasped every branch, bush, limb; anything to try to slow his unyielding descent. He stopped suddenly when his feet collided against the trunk of the tree. Pain ricocheted up through his body, through his joints, through his bones. He looked up the long mountainous thing he had slid down.

  At the top, he could see a thin man. The very man who had hit him with the car. It really fucking pissed him off that he was up there with his wife and child. He clawed mercilessly at the dirt in front of him, but he managed to make no progress. In fact, he almost lost his footing on the tree trunk and nearly slid farther down. That was the wrong direction.

  She was just about to blow him too! He was now fighting up a mountainside instead of being suckled. Exasperation bubbled up within his chest and he let out a real deep bellowing rage-scream.

  He could hear the squeal of tires as some sort of angry reply. Fuck. Did that man take his wife? Rage rose up within him even stronger than before. He was frantic and clawed at the dirt, bound and determined to get to the top. To take his vengeance. To get back Jaspierre. He hadn't even gotten to screw her yet! She owed him. She owed him!

  That fucking bitch owed him. He couldn't believe that they had been interrupted after all these years. She was willing, present, and owed him. Would a day like that ever exist again?

  He didn't fucking think so. And whoever that man was fucked this up for him. And he sure as hell was going to pay. Chance found a small branch by his right hand and used it to drive into the dirt. He hoisted himself up a few inches. Grabbing another branch with his left hand, he dug it into the loose dirt. Using the two branches to puncture into the mountainside, he started to crawl upwards, scrambling his feet against the falling dirt. He was making frantic, angry progress. He'd be at the top in less than ten minutes.

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Edward stood at the top of the ravine, looking down nervously. Chance most certainly wasn't dead. The man seemed invincible. Why the fuck had Jaspierre left him behind? Had she seen him?

  The truck didn't have keys in it. They were probably in Chance's pocket. Could there be a worse location? Edward stared down the road. He didn't hear any cars coming. He couldn't flag anyone down and get a ride. Fuck. He drove all this way, just for her. And she left him?

  No. She didn't see him. She just thought there was some lunatic crashing into Chance. She didn't know, because if she did know, she would have stopped. He hoped that was true. He hoped that she would stop for him.

  Of course, what did he really know of her? Maybe he didn't know anything. Here he was running across the country to save Lucille, to impress Jaspierre, to make something right out of this wretched world. He owed her; after all, he was there. He had caught the baby in his very hands. And then she had been stolen.

  It seemed like so many of the hours of his life had been hinged on that very moment. That moment of regret that he couldn't get over, that he couldn't stop thinking about. It haunted him; it haunted his dreams and it haunted his waking hours. He would hear a baby cry and remember that it was his fault. He fucked up that little girl's life. He could never forgive himself for such a huge mistake.

  Here he was, Lucille with her mother, and him with the serial killer. Chance was coming. Edward looked down the ravine and saw the man climbing the steep surface using sticks or something. Holy fuck, he looked scary. Terror swept through Edward's brain. His ability to formulate a plan was inhibited by the unrelenting fear. Chance was climbing the mountain, soaked in his own blood, covered in dirt. As Edward stared down at him, he heard the man's terrifying voice cry out, "You fucking wait for me. I'm gonna get you!" Chance's eyes, despite how tiny and far away they were, glinted with a terrifying sparkle. He was going to get up here; he was going to fucking kill.

  Edward drew his gun and pointed it down the mountain. His hand was visibly shaking. He had fought a hell of a lot of bad guys throughout his career, but he had never been this scared. They never seemed so invincible. His first shot missed by a mile. He took a breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Chance seemed invigorated, faster. He was charging ahead like a bull. Fuck. Didn't he get winded?

  He took his time and shot; this time, he was steady, but somehow, he misjudged Chance's speed. The bullet was nearly an inch from his head. The dirt suddenly leaped right next to his face. Chance looked up, his glittering, terrifying eyes bright and clear. "Just stay put and I'm going to fucking kill you." His teeth seemed white, smiling at Edwards. He seemed so close already, Edward could start making out the gnarled snarls of skin on his face. The scars. The tattooed scars.

  Edward found himself letting out a little shriek of terror as he aimed again. This time, the bullet managed to slice into Chance's flesh. It tore through his thigh in one side and out the other. Chance did a full body shudder in pain, but he didn't hesitate. He kept charging forward up higher and higher; he was getting too close. He'd be at the top in no time. Edward panicked, turned, and started to run.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Nine

  Jaspierre almost stopped the car but resisted. Who was that? She might've stopped if she had known. But the only thing that was really on her mind was getting Lucille to safety and putting as many miles between her and Chance as possible.

  He was going to follow her. He was going to kill her, kill Lucille. It seemed funny that someone she was so grateful for hours, or was it days ago? Someone she had kissed, on purpose, was the greatest enemy she'd ever had. Life was so confusing. What did she know of men, good or bad? The ones that stuck around were not the ones she wished would stick around.

  The little car she was driving seem to be in good condition. The engine wasn't making any awful noises. The tank was three quarters full; that was pretty promising too. Where the hell should she go?

  Home. That was where she wanted to go. Tessa and Ikali were waiting. Or, they'd better be waiting. Fuck, she had all those people in the basement, Dru still needed to be questioned, and Arnold had not yet proven himself to be loyal. Yet, there he was, captain of the ship. This was a dangerous way to live life, allowing such untrustworthy scoundrels to run free in her home. She had new cats to take care of, a lot of life to live, and her daughter to raise. Her eyes flittered to the little one.

  Lucille was cowering in the passenger seat. She was afraid. Jaspierre rolled around in her mind something to say to reassure the little child. Finally, she settled on something her mother used to say. "You are fine."

  Lucille looked up at her with big terrified eyes. They were wet with tears and fear. Lucille said nothing. She curled up and looked outside the passenger window, her little body trembling.

  Jaspierre gripped the steering tightly, staring at out the window. Face it; she had already fucked it up. She'd never be a good mother. It wasn't in her genes. Her eyes welled up with tears. The first moment with her daughter and here she was, screaming at the child, scaring the shit out of her, and making her cry. She even slapped the girl. Just like Mother.

  "Look, it's gonna be fine. You're going to be fine. You are fine," Jaspierre blurted out, struggling to maintain her composure. "You are a Kyller; we are Kyllers. Mother, Severina, was a difficult woman. And she is dead."

  Lucille burst out a sob and shuddered at the word "dead."

  "Wait, no. That's not what I meant. I didn't kill her. She is just dead. I don't know who killed her." Jaspierre had this sinking feeling that she was screwing up even further. There was a long silence and a few miles slipped down the road. "Severina, your grandmother, is dead. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to tell you that she was a strong woman. She was unbelievably strong. One time..." Jaspierre stopped midsentence. She was going to say that her mother had cut off a man's ball during a dinner party. But that was the wrong thing to say. It would scare the shit out of this little girl.

  "Okay, what I mean is, you have her DNA. So you are strong too. I'm strong. You can tell, because even after prison, I still managed to get you b
ack, and Ikali and Tessa, and you and I escaped from Chance. So I'm strong. That's Severina's DNA, and that's your DNA." Jaspierre nervously looked over at the girl. She was still curled in a ball, tears running down her face. She looked terrified.

  "Okay, so I don't know anything about you. Like not right now. Because I was in prison. I was wrongly convicted, okay? Shit, I am saying 'okay' too fucking much." Jaspierre let out an exasperated sigh and ran her fingers through her long hair. "Fuck, I don't know how to talk to you. You're just this kid." The car grew silent as Jaspierre stopped rambling.

  Lucille was silent.

  Another hour passed, and Jaspierre was getting really tired of it. "Do you have questions for me? I'm your mother!"

  Lucille curled up tight like a turtle hiding further in its shell, hoping it would save her from the violent animal trying to tear inside the only protective layer that she had. Jaspierre felt the urge to hit her.

  She shouldn't hit the kid. That was the worst part of her childhood, being smacked around, hit, beat, and punctured. Punctured by those sharp stilettos Mother was wearing. That particular red pair had a heel so tiny and so sharp that it would pop right into her skin with a sickening sound.

  She didn't want to hit Lucille, but how else was she supposed to make the girl talk? She knew lots of torture techniques, but those were for people she didn't like. For people she didn't want to like her back. She should probably read a fucking parenting book.

  "Do you want to eat?" It was supposed to be friendly question, like "Want to grab some milkshakes?" But it came out more like a terrifying command, laced with the dirty threat of starvation and terror. Jaspierre tried again. "Like, chicken nuggets? Or maybe ... I dunno... a burger? Are you a vegetarian?"

  Lucille uncurled slightly and glanced up at her terrifying mother. She made one curt little nod and then curled back into a ball.