by Aven Jayce
“I’m a troll... foldy roll,” I sing softly.
When you sing about trolls you have to remember to pronounce each word slowly, using only your deepest voice.
“I’m a troll, foldy roll... and I’ll eat... you up... for supper.”
Hell, that afternoon didn’t go as planned.
EVENING ARRIVALS
I can’t believe Julia’s still here after I forced her up against the wall. It can’t be because she loves this job. I’d say she either can’t afford to quit or she might, even after a shitty afternoon, have feelings for me.
She looks radiant in her Jameson Hotel sport jacket under the shimmering lights. When the guests move away from the desk, she checks her cleavage then adjusts her tits while I grin and mimic her actions with my dick.
I haven’t apologized yet. I’ve been in my windowless office; a room off my private suite, viewing security cams, thinking, waiting, and watching for the big man to arrive. Dayne Rosen.
I know him well. He and his twin, Doron, were my dad’s bodyguards for years. After my father was killed, the two of them found themselves serving a decade in prison, for a good many reasons.
That fucker. He’s here.
He approaches Julia and shakes her hand. Her warm smile and his eyes falling to her tits slice my gut open. She waves in the direction of the lobby seating area that’s in front of the stone fireplace and he settles in.
The piece of shit looks like an ox wearing a cheap suit.
He studies the room, the staff, the front desk, my doormen, and then detects the cameras. One... two... three... and number four... he looks directly at me and winks.
What a bastard. This is exactly what he’s trained to do, and I hate it that he’s so fucking good.
I place my gun in the back of my pants and take a deep breath before walking downstairs. I’m not a fool. Dayne’s here because he wants me dead or because he’s looking to take down my sister and her husband. This is about revenge, not a job, and as far as I’m concerned, I’m tired of the Jamesons and Rosens acting like the Hatfields and the McCoys. My father’s dead, his father’s dead, and even though they both deserved what they got, it’s time for the rest of us to move on.
Yeah, right. All I can think about on the way down is killing the dumb fuck.
The business office behind the front desk has a back door that I use so I don’t have to walk through the lobby. I’m not going to be caught off guard by this guy.
I call the front desk so I can get this over with as quickly as possible. “Julia, tell Mr. Rosen I’m ready for him. Use those exact words.”
“Not a problem.”
She hangs up and a minute later his figure fills the office doorway.
“Mark.” He nods, not in the least bit surprised when I remove the gun from behind my back and point it at his head. I motion with it for him to take a seat, which he does after closing the door.
“Tell me why the fuck you’re in my hotel. Make it quick.”
His laughter pisses me off so I send the slide of the gun forward to put an end to that shit.
“Alright.” He raises his hands. “Chill the fuck out, man. You need a new security guy, right?”
“Not a Rosen.”
“We’re the finest around... I’m the finest around and you know it.”
“I’m not looking for a Rosen,” I repeat. “And I don’t need a bodyguard, which is what you really are. The job’s to watch over the grounds, inside and out, and to give my guests a feeling of security, nothing more. You’d be better off in Vegas.”
He lowers his hands and leans back in the chair with a straight face. I notice how dirty he looks, which is unusual for him. His short graying hair is greasy and the stubble on his face is nicked off in places like he used a dull razor. And the scent he brought into this office, Jesus, it’s a combination of sweat and steamed broccoli. In other words, the man’s a walking sewer.
“I got out of prison last month,” he says in a deep voice. “Things haven’t been easy. People in Vegas, the ones that matter, those guys won’t hire me. They know I worked for Paul.”
“Yeah, well Paul is dead. So you didn’t do a very good job protecting him, now did you? Why would I hire a guy who couldn’t keep my father safe?”
“Listen, douchebag...”
I stand with the gun still pointed at his head. “No, you listen. I know my father deserved a bullet in his head, but it’s high time someone put one in yours. When the detectives came in to investigate his death and found the footage that showed what you did to people, including my sister, I didn’t feel one bit sorry that you got arrested and I sure as fuck don’t feel sorry for your whiny ass now! You drugged my sister and tattooed her flesh with my father’s porn company name. What a piece of shit you are. You probably would’ve killed my dad too, but someone beat you to it.”
“Fuck that, everyone wanted him dead, Mark. He was a brute with no regrets for mistreating his porn stars, including the young teenagers he fucked. He only cared about himself. I was loyal to the sick bastard until the day he died,” his face remains expressionless while his mouth spews hatred. “You’re right, I wanted him dead and I could’ve killed him, but I didn’t.”
I laugh at his pokerfaced confession. “Those words aren’t going to get you this job.”
“Mark, you know everything about me. I need this.” He takes a deep breath. “My brother got out of prison before I did and he went back to his wife, and my sister won’t give me the time of day. Neither will speak to me. I’ve been run out of Vegas... fuck, just give me a chance. Your dad would’ve taken me back.”
“Don’t play those games.” I shake my head and sit. “He wasn’t stable in the end and he would’ve hired a fucking flamingo if it walked through the door.”
Dayne scratches his head and looks around the room; eyeing the camera I have above the desk and then checking the time on a non-existent watch. Must be a habit for him to look at his bare wrist.
“No one will hire an aging a-hole who just got out of prison,” he says with a direct stare into my eyes. “I’m sorry about your sister. Is she doing okay these days?”
“Haven’t a clue. I think we’re finished here, Dayne.”
“She still living in St. Louis with her douchebag husband?”
I stand and point to the door, but he doesn’t move. His nostrils flare and I sense the real Dayne Rosen emerging, the animal I remember from when I was just a twenty-something-year-old kid. The guy who would use me as a punching bag and then call me a pussy if I ever complained to my father.
He lounges forward and grips my hand as the tip of my gun presses into his chest.
“You can be dead in two seconds,” I whisper.
“You too, dickface. I can turn this gun around in no time.”
“Why are you really here, Dayne?”
“I want to know what happened to my father, you little prick.”
I knew this was coming.
“A suicide, right? That’s what I was told when I was in the big house. Bull-fucking-shit!” He raises his voice and spit flies from his mouth.
“Mr. Jameson?” Julia knocks on the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have an emergency.”
“Nice.” Dayne smirks. “You’ve got that little pussy trained well. Does she also wipe your ass for you after you take a shit?”
“Get out,” I fume. “Get the fuck out of here.”
He steps back and releases my hand, but leaves me with the eeriest grin.
“Call your baby sister and tell her I’m coming for her and her family. That tattoo I inked on her shoulder cost ten years of my life, and I’m gonna cut it off and keep her flesh in my pocket until the day I die. And if her husband had anything to do with my father’s death, his balls are coming off and getting shoved in his mouth.”
“Mr. Jameson?” This time Julia opens the door and pokes her head inside. “I need help, please.” She enters the room as Dayne steps out.
“Motherfucker,” I say
under my breath, still holding my gun. She knows I carry it whenever I leave my suite, but she’s never seen it out and ready for use.
“You okay? The new arrivals kept looking back this way when they heard the arguing and cursing. It’s not like you to act like this in public.”
“Shit,” I exhale, rubbing my chin with my gun.
“Mark, don’t point that thing at your face. Is it loaded?”
“Don’t boss me around, alright? Now what’s your emergency?”
She looks at me like I’m crazy and goes back to work without saying a word.
“Julia,” I call out, with no response. No woman’s ever put me in my place like she has. “Jules, come back, I need to talk to you.”
She leans against the doorframe with a hand on her hip and says, “Thanks for calling me Jules. It’s about time.”
“I told you it’s whatever feels right at the moment. Did he leave?”
“Yeah, he walked right out.”
“You said you met him. Where? Was he here?”
“No, at Kick’s Bar, downtown.”
“What the fuck were you...” I stop before I come across as being jealous, but by her satisfied expression I can tell she got the picture. “Stay away from him. He’s dangerous.”
“Is that an order, Mr. Jameson?” Her hand stays on her hip like she rules the room.
“Close the door,” I whisper.
She steps inside and closes the solid oak door then places two hands on my desk and leans forward. Her tits fall out of her jacket in a hanging tease.
“I apologize for being a dick earlier,” I say softly, forcing myself to look away from her chest and into her eyes. “I just don’t want anything to happen to the people I care about. You understand?”
She gives me a quick nod.
“I’m frustrated that he’s in town,” I continue, “but that’s not an excuse to take it out on you.”
“You’re passive aggressive,” she whispers back. “Or maybe even bipolar or worse.”
I shake my head. “No, don’t say that shit about me.”
“Someone should. You can be sugary sweet one second and then bite my head off the next. It’s kind of scary, you know?”
“Then why the fuck are you here? Why did you come in early today to see me if you feel this way?”
“Shh.” She places a finger over my mouth and I look back to her bouncy tits. “You know, Mark, someone needs to help you.”
“And you think you’re the one?” I grin and guide her to my chair. She straddles my waist as I reach under her jacket, unable to get enough of her young tits.
Fuck, I’m hard again.
“Chloe’s working the front with you tonight, right?”
“Yeah, but I’m not going to fool around back here when she’s ten feet away.”
I caress her cheek and bring her lips to mine. Our tongues play and she sighs when I bite her bottom lip on the way out. “You’re having dinner with me when your shift’s over. Let me apologize again, the right way. Nine o’clock.”
Her honey colored eyes gleam from my unexpected kiss, which are few and far between.
“And promise me you’ll never speak to Dayne Rosen again. Okay?”
She nods. “You think your other two interviews will be the same as the last?”
“Doubt it. I plan on hiring them both.”
“Will you tell me more about Dayne tonight?”
“He’s not the best subject to bring up during dinner, besides, I’d rather discuss getting you back in my bed.” I slap her ass as she stands.
“I’ll send the next guy in when he arrives.”
“Give me about five minutes. I need to do something first,” I say, pulling my dress shirt out of my pants to cover my erection.
She looks down and smiles, thinking I need to jerk off, which isn’t what I’m about to do.
“Save it for later,” she whispers on her way out.
I leave the office quickly and take the elevator to the second floor. My hotel has two sets of living quarters on opposite ends. Both are two thousand square feet, two bedroom, two bath, and two-story units. I have a thing for two’s, being born on February second, owning two black Toyota Tacomas, two boats, and two guns, having nephews who are twins, and a collection of twenty-two switchblades. It’s all been good luck. All except my encounters with the Rosen twins, the only two’s in this world that appear to be vile, at least in my opinion.
The private suites are similar to living in a penthouse in that they’re safe from assholes like Dayne. They each have a steel door that’s equipped with an electronic keypad. One has no other way in or out except through a sliding glass door off the master bedroom, which leads to a large deck with a view of the mountains, but also includes a forty-foot drop to the ground below. The door opens to a view of paradise and nothing else. I made sure these two suites were private enough to let a person live in seclusion, even during the height of tourist season.
A slight difference is that my suite has a set of stairs leading to a private underground four-car parking garage, two spaces for my trucks and two that are currently empty - used for winter boat storage. The private garage allows me to come and go without being seen. To hell if I’m going to park my vehicles in the guest or staff parking lots...
I see the door.
It’s been a week since I’ve approached this suite. My staff thinks I use it for storage, which was true up until about three weeks ago. Now it’s occupied with something I find most precious.
I could call, but I need to see someone’s face instead of having a discussion through our cell phone watches.
I knock once, a hard pound, and wait.
There’s one knock in return, then silence.
Placing my head against the door, I whisper my first warning...
“He’s here.”
***
Nights are my mornings…
I don’t sleep more than a few hours each night because of troubling thoughts and an overactive cock. I have two unstable heads dominating my life and both get a thrill from suffocating my softer side. I want to tame them for Julia, but at the same time I’d rather come across as her alpha, than as a pussy with a heart.
Damn, look at her applying a fresh coat of dark lipstick for my dick and me. I can’t wait for that precious mouth to open wide later. And there’s something about seeing my name embroidered over the chest of my staff, especially hers, the name Jameson bouncing with each movement makes me feel all-powerful.
She sees me and I let out a faint laugh. It’s not for her, but because I just realized those embroidered names remind me of the tattoos my father forced his porn stars to get on their shoulders, labeling them as Jameson Industries whores. I even have one of the company tats on my shoulder. And according to Jules, I’m an egotistical bastard to have my last name inked on my body.
I’m fine with that assumption. She doesn’t need to know the truth as to why it’s there.
“Hey, where’re we going?”
I raise my hand in the direction of the back hall and she lowers her purse in disappointment.
“Really, Mark? Taking me to your own restaurant isn’t taking me out for dinner.”
“Of course it is,” I grin, “you joining me or not?”
Her eyes roll as we walk side-by-side on the red and gold carpet to the dark wooden doors, reminiscent of a castle entrance. She’s always in heels, even when she’s in my bed. Without them, I’d guess she’s about three inches shorter than me.
“After you,” I say, letting her enter first.
“Why so nice all of a sudden?” she asks with a look of suspicion and disbelief.
My main hostess leads the way to my usual table and pours two glasses of wine. It’s a quiet spot, just off the main room, with floor to ceiling windows that are perfect for viewing the lake.
“Stunning,” she whispers with her first sip of wine. “My parents own a boat, but I haven’t been out on the water in over a year. Do you have one?”
“Two.”
“Two boats, why?”
“Just in case one breaks down.” I snap my fingers for a basket of bread and pour a second glass of wine after chugging the first in under a minute.
“Are you getting wasted tonight or are you hoping I will, so I’ll be less protective of my foxhole?” she jokes.
I pull her chair closer and devote my hand to her athletic thigh. Julia’s different from most of the women I’ve been with. Besides the fact that her skin is never cold or dry and she seems at ease with her clothing and makeup, in such a way that those things come naturally to her, she also says what’s on her mind. And when she can’t answer, she keeps silent, which is a hell of a lot better than telling lies.
“Your other two interviews seemed to go well, at least I think they did since there wasn’t anymore yelling after that guy Dayne left. Did you find someone?”
“Yeah, two. Both experienced with open schedules. They’ll start immediately.”
She nods. “Are you worried about your staff talking about us?”
“Obviously not if I brought you here. Does it bother you?”
“No, if anything it makes me feel special, like I’m here for something other than to give you head.”
She chews a piece of bread and smiles at the decor, admiring the lush carpet, fine linens, and the Mariposa lily next to our wine glasses, then her heel inches under my pants. “It’s working, Mark Jameson,” she whispers.
“What is?” I ask innocently, knowing full well I brought her someplace romantic to get laid.
I’m given a second sign when she slides my hand under her skirt. Fuck, women my age never get this wet. I can feel how slick she is through her underwear. It is working.
“So you’ve been holding out for this? Dinner with a lakeside view?” I ask.
“No, but it helps.”
I nod. “Why don’t tell me what’s on your mind then? I’m curious as to what I’m doing wrong. You said it helps, but something’s still missing.”