by Demi Vice
I opened my exhausted eyes and linked them with Jack’s.
“I’ll do anything to make you happy because you’re it for me. There isn’t anyone else in the universe that can make me feel the way you do. You’re my crazy other half, the one that drives me insane when you’re not around. The one I can’t live without, nor would I ever want to. You’re worth fighting, dying, and killing for. Understood?” Jack cupped my cheeks as I nodded.
Jack kissed my forehead and smiled, filling me with butterflies. But they weren’t black butterflies this time, because nothing felt wrong. Nothing felt off. Jack meant every word of what he’s said and more.
“I know it’s going to take a while for you to forgive me, to trust me, but you can do that while you stay here. I meant it when I said you’re going to stay with me forever. Whether you like it or not. You’re mine, permanently mine, and I need you. If I have to lock you up in my tower, I will. Remember? I’m an unbelievably selfish man, Ahrianna.” Jack smiled shyly. “I’m going to marry you, put babies in you, raise those little spawns of ours in this very penthouse, and I’m going to die with you and for you. Love doesn't compare to what I feel for you. I am devoted, intoxicated and completely consumed by you, Ahri.”
Jack kissed my trembling lips.
“Our story isn’t written in stone but carved into my heart, my bones, my soul. You’re my everything and anything. My perfect, broken half I can’t live without, Ahrianna Lore. You’re my Goddess, and I’m merely a king with the right playing cards. And I promise I’ll never lie to you again. I swear on my grave. I’ll never lie to you again.”
My eyes shook between Jack’s amber soul as he held me prisoner. This wasn’t a trick. Jack’s eyes weren’t a fantasy, a dream, or an illusion. They were reality, consumed with honest intentions and promises.
One happy tear dripped down my cheek.
Jack was my savior, but he was no Prince Charming or the knight or the moat surrounding the castle. He was the dragon that burned anything that got near the forbidden, sacred ground.
He was a killer. I know that. It was written in his attitude, his life, his first crime and more. But so was I.
We were both killers.
Sinners with the hearts of Saints.
JACK
I waited in the one too many private lounges The Bayne Hotel had. It’d been cleared out by Emilio when I texted him, ‘Let’s talk.’ A meeting in which I’ll have to turn into a little bitch and ask Big Daddy for permission.
I bit my knuckle and looked at my phone. Minutes were moving too fast for my speed. I needed more time. I needed time to fucking stop so that I could get everything set. I bit my knuckle harder, leaving an imprint of my teeth in my skin.
Growling loudly, I raked my hair back, my elbows digging into my thighs. I pulled on my hair, a small jolt of pain shocking my body. I haven't slept in over a day. Shit, I don’t know my many hours I’m running on. Twenty-eight? Thirty-seven?
Who the fuck knew and who the fuck cared.
All I was worried about was Ahri.
Knowing that Ahri was upstairs sleeping in my bed was the only thing letting my soul relax. I’d even borrowed a few of Emilio’s many eyes to watch the floor to make sure Ahri didn't leave. I didn’t think she would. But, there was a lot to take in. You know, with me lying my ass off. Lucky for her, when she wakes up, she’ll discover the little scavenger hunt I’d left that will clear up some things. I didn’t lie about everything like she thought I did. I had proof.
So much fucking proof.
It didn’t take Ahri more than two seconds to fall asleep. She exhausted herself from crying her eyes out and needed her rest. I couldn't fall asleep even if I wanted to. I was restless, antsy, and uneasy. My heart still felt as if someone was playing with it like a stress ball. The sound of her pain, the black tears, and her heart-wrenching confessions still had me in a fragile state.
What happened to Aurora was worse than what I’d expected.
And what happened to Fidget.
I took a deep breath, replaying the image of Ahri in my bed to cool myself down.
Ahri gripped Fidget's letter like a teddy bear, adjusting herself into a fetal position as she let out small breaths. She barely moved, like usual, but when I wrapped her in the covers and kissed her forehead, she’d muttered my name under her breath. That’s when I knew my decision was final. I’ll be the devil dressed in black ready to steal my last Black Kiss.
By the time Ahri would wake up, I won’t be there. I had too much shit to do, and I wasn't one for procrastinating. Never had been. Especially not when my brain was rotting. I needed to get him out of my head, my life, and Ahri and Fidget’s life. There was only one way to do that. And the sooner, the better.
I just needed Emilio.
I looked at my phone again.
10:35. 10:36.
I let out a grunt, standing up and pacing around the fancy dark themed lounge. Emilio was six minutes late. I get that he’s a busy man, canceling a meeting for me (Thanks, Emmy), but six minutes, was six fucking minutes I didn’t have to waste.
I ended up waiting another ten minutes before Emilio barged through the door, his entourage of men dressed in black suits behind him. His Knights. They stayed outside where they belonged to leave this conversation between Emilio and me.
Emilio wore an all navy suit, perfectly tailored, very business-like.
“I was betting it would be a month or two before you got bored, Jack. What happened?” Emilio laughed.
He happened.
We shook hands, then sat across from each other with a glass coffee table in between us.
“You told me I needed your permission to pull jobs. So, here I am. Asking for one job to pull. One. Fucking. Job. As much as I hate asking, I would rather not risk going behind your back. I rather not risk giving up everything I’ve spent my whole damn life getting. I’ve got some big plans that involve me not leaving The Bayne. Ever.”
Emilio’s eyebrows shot up as he gripped the chair and pulled himself up. He nodded his head sharply. I could practically hear him say: Go on, what else.
“On top of your permission. I need a lawyer. A damn good one, fuck, the best one you got. I don't care how much he costs.”
Emilio inhaled and exhaled deeply, rubbing his chin. “Is this about the girl? The one you brought in early this morning?”
No surprise. The old geezer knew who came in and out of his hotel. Wouldn't be surprised if he knew who was taking a shit or who was fucking in his hotel.
“Yea,” I gritted.
“You made it very clear you didn’t want to come out of retirement, Jack.” He paused. “Is she worth it?”
I chuckled, “She is it.”
Emilio smirked and took another deep breath. “Alright. Give me the five ‘W’s.”
“Who is he? A nobody. No name. Only a face. What happened? Personal. Where? I’m going to assume Scorch Side area. When? Today. Tonight. As soon as I find him. And why? An expired job that should have been dealt with years ago.”
Emilio leaned back in his chair, taking in the information and crossed his legs. He looked at the chair handle, scratching at the white leather.
“And the lawyer? You think you’re that rusty that you need one?”
“No, that’s for my ex-cellmates case.”
“Luke Parker Lore,” Emilio said. “The arsonist and attempted murderer?”
“Alleged,” I spoke clearly. “I need the best lawyers you’ve got.”
Emilio’s wrinkled skin creased deeper as he smiled. “I’ll give you my permission. Better yet, I’ll give you my best lawyers, and I have some connections with a few judges. You said you don’t trust me, well, you’re about to, Jack. I’ll do it all for free.” Emilio’s voice stirred up a deal I knew he was going to win.
“What’s the catch, Emmy?” I asked, but I knew what he wanted.
A glorified babysitter.
“Emmy, cute. My wife calls me that.” He laughed. “I think you know
what I want Jack. Ten years of your time with no pay,” Emilio said in a dry voice.
I figured this was going to happen. The second I texted Emilio, I was delaying my retirement plan. But for Ahri? I’ll suck it up. But that didn’t mean I’m going to let my silver tongue go to waste.
“I’m not giving you more time than I did in prison. One year.”
“Four years.”
“One year.”
“Six years. Rent free.” Emilio grinned.
“One year. And I’ll pay my own damn rent,” I growled, shaking my head.
We went back and forth for a while until we finally made a deal.
Was I happy with the years? Fuck no, but the benefits were okay.
I would work for five years.
Five. Fucking. Years!
I’d be getting paid in shares and stocks, on top of having no rent or expenses. Anything associated with The Bayne Hotel was free to the Baron name.
I won’t work more than forty hours a week, and I’d get the whole month of April off as I did in the past.
Emilio wanted me that bad.
He loathed the idea of people he didn’t trust near his family just like I hated the idea of a maid cleaning my penthouse. And why wouldn’t Emilio hate this idea? He and his wife were worth billions. His son and his wife were worth billions, and so were his grandkids.
Our contract was verbal. The highest form of respect and loyalty that went both ways. Emilio was trying to see if I’ll do my job and I was going to see if I got what he promised me.
“This kill…how will it be done?” Emilio grinned.
He was thinking about my past. Not to toot my own horn, but I had some excellent stories. Some vanilla with poison and others painfully slow and gruesome, unable to identify the body type of crimes. I usually did whatever the description told me to do, but sometimes I got the people who wanted to get the shitbags out of their lives, and they didn’t give two shits how it got done. That’s when I had my fun.
Knives and fists.
“Slow and painful. Silver steel painted in red, knuckles happily sore, and fire. A big one.”
Emilio tilted his head. “Fire? Going out of your comfort zone I see.”
“Call it…poetic justice.” I smirked.
JACK
I had many rules I followed before a hit. Paranoia and caution at its finest.
Number one: Never use a gun.
Abso-fucking-lutely NEVER. Even if the gun was untraceable and the serial number was scratched out. Never. It’s too noisy, too fast, too pain-free, and too much evidence if you lose a shell. Also…I couldn’t shoot for shit. I’ll admit it. I’m not about to lie to gain some invisible man points. I’m a horrible shot, and I refuse to get better.
I tried to learn once, but I couldn’t aim for shit. I’ll aim for the heart and shoot the motherfucker in the cock (true story, one of my early jobs and not my best). It was supposed to be a ‘pain-free’ job, but turning a man into a eunuch was not the definition of ‘pain-free.’
My bad.
Not really.
That’s why I loved my blades. If you gave me a knife, I promise, I’ll give you a show to remember. I could play the Knife Game and sing the little jingle, all while I’m blindfolded and using my non-dominant hand, never getting a scratch. I could even juggle, throw knives at targets, or swallow them. I had some cuts from years of practice, but nothing major. Even when I shaved, which I did twice a day, I rarely cut myself. I could probably count the times I had on one hand.
I had other methods of bringing pain. Brass knuckles to the face, rope around the neck, pliers to the teeth, and soccer kicks to the gut. But for today, I’ll stick with my good old-fashioned knife and fists.
I played with my double-edged butterfly knife as I waited. Twirling it around my hand and fingers, closing and opening it. The blade at its sharpest and the quality at its finest. By far the best knife I had ever bought.
I should start a knife collection again.
Wait, no.
That’s what kitchen knives are for, Jack.
Number two: Never wear your own clothes.
I went to Walmart and did some shopping. I’d picked up a pair of shitty black jeans without rips in them to hide my tattoos, a turtleneck to hide my neck, an oversized black hoodie to hide my build, and a black baseball cap to make sure no hair fell and could be traced back to me. Even though the fire was going to take care of that.
Although my clothes were off-brand, my Docs were a must. They were my babies; however, I did alter them. I’d added duct tape to the sole to make my footprints a solid print, no grooves. Once I was safe, I removed the tape. I could get new shoes, sure, but my boots were my trademarks, my lucky charms, and I had a unique tradition I loved to keep.
I looked down at my Docs, ready to be worshiped.
Number three: Always get a motel and pay in cash (a must if you’re going to do anything illegal).
I’d rented a motel room a mile or two away from the crime scene, and I always walked. I walked down the shady streets, melting into the darkness, and avoiding any interaction with people. Before the crime, I prepped my room. I had bleach, a spare change of clothes (this time my clothes—Levi’s not my Italian), a burner phone, and cash.
I cleaned up the motel, bleached the evidence where blood might have touched—the shower, knife, and my boots—and used my photographic memory to inspect the rest of the room. I cleaned the room better than when I arrived, triple checking everything and making sure nothing could be traced back to me.
Then I’d walk maybe another few miles. Maybe five this time. The further away I am, the better. I’ll get to a gas station, toss my clothes and bleach into the dumpster and call a taxi. But I don't go home just yet.
I’d go to the Chicago River a few miles away from The Bayne. Then I’ll smash the burner phone, take out the sim card, bite it down to the chip, and toss it out in the river along with the knife. I’d walk a little further, a mile, then take the tape off my boot and toss it out. After that, I’d enjoy my walk, practically skipping my way home.
All told, the job would take, three, maybe four hours. A ten-mile walk and a ten-minute car ride.
Number four: Never bring anything personal.
No ID, no wallet, no phone—nothing. Nothing that could be traced back to me. I left my life where it belonged, at home, or in my case, with Emilio. I didn’t want to go back upstairs to put my things away. I didn't want to wake up Ahri and lie to her again. If I told her the truth, that girl would’ve tried to talk me out of it, and I knew she was never going to ask for help. So, I took it upon myself to bring the help she wouldn’t ask for. My mind was already made up, and my bloodhound was hungry for my final job.
My most selfish and satisfying job.
Number five: Never smoke before or on the job.
I liked to stay pure and sober. My head in the right place with no distractions, even if it was just nicotine. I loved to make my trail as invisible as could be, and that meant, no cigarette ashes or filters with my spit on them. I wouldn’t be that fucking stupid to leave it at the crime scene, but better safe than sorry then to have my ass back at Tavernville.
To be honest, I was taking more precaution then I should. He had no family, no friends, or anyone to care about him but I didn’t want to go back to prison, not while I had something worth staying out here for.
My Ahrianna.
My baby girl who trapped herself in her own prison, worked herself to the bone and pushed herself to the limit. My precious fallen angel who didn’t deserve the short straw she’d been handed but did the best she could with it. And now it was my turn to finish what she’d started.
It was time for Jack to fix all of it. Ahri’s life, Fidget's sentence, Aurora’s vengeance—fucking everything.
I told her I was going to be the best fucking thing that ever happened to her. And I meant it.
I let out a heavy sigh, swirling the knife around my hand. I was bored as fuck. I’d left The B
ayne over eight hours ago so that I could prep everything. I thought finding him would be the hard part. Nope. It had taken less than an hour. The dumbass was even dumber than I expected him to be. Not sure if he even had a brain cell left.
He still lived in the same house where he took Aurora’s innocence and filled her with nothing but a dark void she couldn't get out of.
He still lived in the house that turned Ahri into a fighter who fought back with all she had. She needed her revenge on her mother and aunt. I don't blame her. Shit, I would’ve helped. After Ahri’s half was ripped out of her hands by his actions. Ahri needed vengeance. She needed a small source of control and sanity in her life which meant he had to pay with his.
He still lived in the same house where Ahri’s plan had backfired and sent Fidget to me. One of the best damn things to have ever happened to me aside from Wallace. Not to mention, I’d finally connected the last piece of the puzzle. Not only was I doing this for Ahri and Aurora, but for Fidget.
The Lore family’s chaos had brought me my happily ever after. I’m a selfish bastard for thinking this, but I think we established that I loved myself and my life. I loved the chaos. I loved the outcome. I wished it didn’t involve the death of someone that could have been my sister-in-law, but I loved the butterfly effect her death caused. If Fidget was never framed for Ahri’s crime, he would’ve never came to Tavernville and met me, and I would’ve never met Ahrianna.
Call me a sucker or a loser, but I believed in fate. If I didn't, the tattoo above my heart would’ve meant shit to me, but it didn’t. Everything happens for a reason, and I believe Fidget being assigned to me, out of all the fucking inmates in Travenville, was fate.
A smile appeared on my face. My final job felt like exactly that.
Final.
The grand fucking finale.
I looked around the place one more time. The smell of bonfire still intoxicating my nostrils even though I’d been inside the house for what I could assume was three hours. I thought I would get used to it, but the stench was too potent. Sitting at the bottom of the half-burnt stairs, I snapped my head behind. There was no way upstairs. The fire had started on the second floor and each step I took, the wood bent and cracked under my weight. I wasn't going to take the chance and collapse with the house, so my ass stayed on the first floor.