Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
*** Twenty Years Earlier ***
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
*** Four Years Earlier ***
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Book list
Jaspierre's Descent Excerpt
Jaspierre
Mixi J Applebottom
Copyright © 2015 by Mixi J Applebottom
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2015
ISBN 978-0-692-29572-4
www.MixiJApplebottom.com
Life is crazy.
Chapter 1
Something was wrong with the car. It was obvious as she lifted her foot from the gas pedal. Nothing happened, nothing slowed down. The Lexus kept flying forward, faster and faster. Fifty-five mph. Fifty-eight mph. The engine whirred and spun. She cringed, her heart pounding. The woman slammed her foot onto the brake pedal. Nothing happened.
“Are these pedals even attached to anything?” Her mind exploded with irritation, as she grabbed the black emergency brake handle and pulled up. Nothing happened. Sixty-three mph. She glanced around, she had just flown through a quiet town and was now at it’s outskirts. She needed to get farther away from everyone while she sorted out what to do with her Lexus. Her car skidded and slid as she turned, following the road, and almost smacking into a telephone pole.
She glanced at the gas tank. Full, of course. She hated an empty gas tank; she rarely allowed it to get below three-quarters of a tank. At least now she was on a long, straight country road. Farm after farm flew past her windows. Seventy mph. Her back tensed as she swerved around a slow-moving tractor. No other cars on the road. How was she going to stop?
She would have tried turning the key and shutting everything off, but she had a key-less car, with a push start. She pressed the button, but nothing happened. The dealer’s voice rang into her ears. To turn the automobile off, shift into park and the car would automatically shut down the engine. No key, no problem.
She braced herself and tried to shift. It wouldn’t budge, preventing accidental shifting into park, or worse, reverse while going highway speeds. She ran her frustrated fingers through her long tangled brown hair.
Lights flickered far behind her, and she heard a faint siren. “Shit. That farmer must have called the cops.” She cursed her fate and then did the only thing she could think of to do.
“Call 911.” Her dashboard responded to her after a brief ring.
“This is 911. Please state your emergency.”
“My car is accelerating uncontrollably. I am on a small country road, going eighty-five mph. I tried to brake, but it won’t stop. Also, there is a cop behind me now, so please tell him not to shoot me.” The lights and siren were gaining on her, but he was still far enough away that he probably couldn’t shoot her tires yet.
“Okay, hold on.” The 911 operator sounded nice. A strong male voice. She frowned as she saw a truck up ahead. Far ahead, but at this speed, it would be all too soon. She moved to the left lane, trying not to swerve. Her black shiny car swayed at the lurching movements.
“Are you still there? What is your name?” Mr. 911 was back.
“Uh, yes. My name is… Jen.” It was the first name she thought of that started with J. “I don’t know what I should do. I am now going ninety-five mph.”
He paused. “Okay, I spoke with the cop; he won’t shoot you. Please try the brake.” She pressed it hard with both feet; nothing.
“Nope, no response.”
“Okay, do you have an emergency brake? Try that.”
She pulled up again, even though the lever was still raised where she had left it. The sirens were closer now.
“Not working.”
“Well, the next thing to do is to put the vehicle into neutral. I have to warn you, the power steering may or may not turn off. So try to stay straight on the road. It might take more strength than normal to turn the car.”
She pulled the shifter and it did not budge.
“I don’t know why it won’t work. I can’t seem to move the shifter.” Her heart pounded harder and harder.
Mr. 911 was so calm, and reassuring. “Okay, the next option is to use the key to turn the vehicle off. Don’t bother taking it out of the ignition; just twist the key, turn the car off. Keep your hands on the wheel and apply the brake.”
Jen snapped, “It is a key-less car! I don’t have a key.” Her voice sounded angry and rattled against the black interior.
“Take a deep breath Jen. I am here to help you.” Mr. 911’s voice poured over her anxious body like sweet chocolate on ice cream. “Press the start button and hold it in for one minute. I’ll time it.”
She hesitated as she saw what was ahead. “The road is closed,” she whimpered. One hundred ten mph and the road was closed. The barriers were across the road like orange beacons of doom. She scanned for a way to turn, a place to go. And she saw it. A sparkle up ahead: A lake. She was going in the lake. Stay buckled, airbag, then get out and swim. Wait for it. Wait for the airbag. Then get out and swim. Trees flew past her windows as she zoomed faster and the sparkle drew close.
“Jen, calm down and press the start button. It’s okay, you are gonna be fine.” Mr. 911’s voice seemed far away as she looked for a decent spot to drive in. She cut right, and her car tipped up to two wheels and then smashed back to the spinning squealing tires. Her engine was roaring with the effort. The tires skidded on the sand as she plunged into the water.
The crash was painful, like charging headfirst into a brick wall. She had imagined the liquid would be soft, and gentle, and her automobile would sink down like a leaf through the air. It was not like that at all. Her whole body cried out with pain, and the airbag pummeled her. Her nose bled. What was happening?
The ringing in her ears was loud. She looked around and saw lake creeping in the floorboards. Get out and swim. Her brain was screaming with pain and she tried to open the door, but the water pushing on it stopped her. The water was already at the windows. She tried to move to the other door, and realized her seatbelt held her. Water had crept inside up to her ankles. She turned back and struggled to unbuckle, panic rising inside her. As soon as she was free she tried to open the window to get out. The electronics clicked once, and then nothing. The window failed like every part of the luxury vehicle so far had failed her.
She tore into the glove box as the car sank further, submerging her knees. She found the window breaking device. Water now covered the windows outside. The stupid little pointed hammer was pathetically light in her hands. She slammed it into the window, and a satisfying crack of glass starred across. Again, and again, and water poured inside. She paused, terror washing over her. Think. Spotting her backpack and purse, she grabbed both with her left hand, and took deep breaths as the seat fil
led up with liquid. As soon as the flooding slowed, she shoved herself out the window and into the lake, struggling toward the shore. The cop stood there on the beach, slow clapping with a hideous smile. She turned back to look. The front half of her car was submerged, but the back was dry. If she had moved to the back seat and not shattered the window she would have been fine.
He did not come closer. Or offer her a towel. Or ask her if she was okay. She heard other sirens far, far in the distance, coming closer. He aimed his gun at her. “So, Jaspierre. Are you going to resist?”
Her head was ringing and her heart pounded. She wiped blood and dripping water from her face with her left hand. “What?”
He fired a shot into the lake near her foot. Jen froze, her wet, cold body trembling. She raised her hands above her head. Her black leather pants hugged tight against her ass, and her black leather vest had come open. Her big breasts felt exposed with the wet green shirt pulling snugly against them. “Walk.”
She walked closer, her backpack and purse hanging across her back on her left arm in the most uncomfortable way. Her nose bled, dripping into the lake. He grinned, and his eyes burned into her nipples. As her torso shivered, she realized her right hand still had the tiny hammer in it. Even with her aching, pounding head, she knew this would be fun. She stumbled and her breasts bounced. As he stared laughing nastily the hammer flew from her fingers and slammed into his arm. His gun fell out of his hand and he screamed and curled into a ball. His stocky body shuddered, pain ricocheting through it. Jen walked over and picked up his gun. He rolled to look at her and gave her the finger. She laughed and pressed her foot into his arm, crushing it into his chest, and grabbed the little window hammer yanking it hard out of his bone. He screamed. “You bitch!”
“I’d stick around and play, but I have a headache. Chance, you bastard, I’ll be back for you later.” The sirens sounded closer. She straightened her wig and climbed into his still-running cop car and drove off in the other direction. If she had her head screwed on straight she would have killed him.
***Two Weeks Earlier***
Russell Holmes was having an average day. His father had been begging him to come back and work at his mechanic shop. But Russell didn’t care to do more oil changes. A boring, average day, he stuffed groceries into a bag over and over in an endless cycle. Bread last, milk first, blah, blah, blah. A trained monkey could do this job. Though, he had his favorite customers, not that he knew any of their names. Purple Sweater & Wrinkles always slipped him a five when he carried her bags out while she pushed her walker. He shouldn’t take tips, but he didn’t care. Mommy with Infant, always gave him hope the baby would cry and she would spring a leak. The teens who wore little clothing were always a favorite.
He did, in fact, have least favorites; Anyone who smelled, good or bad, it didn’t even matter. Scents were obnoxious cocktails running past his nose as frequently as the groceries. No perfume, fart, urine, hair spray or deodorant went past him without disgusting his precious nose.
As he listened to the beep, beep of random piles of food being scanned and slid toward him, his eye caught someone special. She was a little bit heavy, and not too tall. Not too bad; along with her rounder belly came a nice round ass and large, pretty titties. Her hair was short and dark red. She looked close to his age, twenty-six or so. But she didn’t wear a band. Maybe she’d be a good pick for a sweet lay.
Her groceries slid toward him and the beep, beep continued. He checked out her food. It looked like food for one; a half gallon of milk, one small loaf of bread, chips, and lunchmeat. But then, a long stream of canned cat food; not a good sign. “So, cats?” He smiled his prizewinning smile.
She turned and looked at him. “Yes, I have two. But, they aren’t cats. They are servals; big, eat a ton.”
Two. He rolled it around in his head. She didn’t look like a crazy cat lady. He had no idea what a serval was, though. “Can I carry these to the car for you?”
She looked startled, but then grinned. Her teeth were straight and her smile looked tasty. No horrible odors poured out of her. A good start. “I am sure I can carry them…”
Russell flashed back his own pearly whites, trying to clue her in. “Oh, no doubts you can, but why would you when I will do it for you?” She blushed then. A stir of excitement fluttered through him. Would she say yes? He seemed to always strike out.
“Well, when you put it like that…” She coyly waved him along, tossing her red locks, and he loaded up her cart and pushed it out with her.
“I haven’t noticed you in the store before. Do you live around here?” He asked.
Her dark eyes looked so intense. “I recently moved into town.” She lied.
“Well, let me give you my number in case you need someone to show you around.” He grinned.
She paused and turned to him. Her body looked fabulously soft. She didn’t look like she would say yes.
“Do you like Chinese? We could meet up for dinner…” He hesitated. This wasn’t working. It didn’t often work. He stared at her black Lexus and whistled, “Wow, that is a nice car. I thought you’d be driving a beater.” Regret struck him. He was a jackass.
“A beater? Do you think I am a broke-ass high schooler? Pssh.” She tossed her short red hair with annoyance. “Fine, Chinese food would work, I guess. But I will pay because you have a lame-ass job and drive a beater.” She bit her lip in this expression of annoyance and pleasure all at once.
“Heh, okay. The place is right over there.” He pointed across the street to a blinking sign of a panda bear. The restaurant was a rundown, dingy place. The paint that might have once been blue was flaking off. There were two neon signs; one said Open and the other was a panda. There was no name of the store posted anywhere outside.
“That place?” She hesitated.
“Er, it’s better than it looks. I swear! Meet you there around six?”
“Okay.”
Russell set her final bag into her black, over-sized trunk. She closed it and he stepped back taking the cart with him. “See you later!” He flashed his bright smile and waved. She smiled and nodded and got in her car. As the Lexus backed out of the parking spot, he trudged the cart back. Crap, I didn’t get her name, he thought.
Chapter 2
Jaspierre pressed the gas and zipped down the road at a nice clip. Mother would likely approve of a boy toy, but not a grocery bagger. After all, the CEO of Kyller and Co should only date someone of her level. Men were too hard to figure out, though, so she wasn’t much for dating. Mother had mastered emotionless affairs, and Jaspierre hadn’t even mastered dating. An hour along the highway, she took a turn onto a small, abandoned, looking street. After a while, she came upon a rock fence, tattered and weed covered. She slowed as she pulled up to a large, metal gate. As soon as it saw her, it glided open and her Lexus slipped through.
The tattered and unappealing outside had never met the inside where a manicured lawn awaited. The perfect, extra-wide driveway held not a single crack or pothole. Along the hill behind a large, tall row of trees, the road led to a perfect garden complete with marble cat statues. Two large feline bushes stood mirroring each other right at the foot of the marble staircase. The house was gorgeous, expensive, and dripped with luxury. Marble pillars, sky-high windows; the whole kit and caboodle. Everything drug money could buy. The legal kinds, diabetes medications, antibiotics, boner pills, she ran the largest distribution center for hundreds of miles. The car pulled to a stop right in front of the stairs, and she stepped out of it, her heels clicking on the smooth pavement. She popped the trunk open, and picked up the four bags of groceries. She walked inside onto the smooth, polished, glistening floors.
“Tessa!” Jaspierre called and a furry, soft head poked itself over a high ledge. Yawning and stretching, the large, spotted serval leapt down six feet from its perch. Purring, she swished around her legs rubbing up against her. “Ikali!” Her voice rang out, and her big male serval descended the large staircase. She kissed and pet
ted them both, then carried the bags into the mammoth kitchen. It was a professional kitchen, designed for a live-in chef. She had no chef. It never was pleasant having strangers walk around your home, spying on you.
After she set the groceries in the organized cupboards, she grabbed two plates, and pulled two cokes from the fridge. She made two turkey sandwiches, shooing the magnificent cats away as she worked. Carrot sticks and a handful of chips. She folded two white linen napkins into little swans, and set them atop the sandwiches. The plates sat on her crisp white serving tray.
She glanced at the clock. 1:30 pm; plenty of time for experiments before her date. Carrying the tray, she walked into the massive library with a huge fireplace. The carved, white, glistening marble had two servals carved into each side. She walked up and playfully petted one, tugging on the right ear until she felt a soft click. It might be rather predictable to have a room underneath the fireplace, but it was too much fun to skip. The fireplace slid back, revealing the dungeon-like stairs. The two servals came running at the sound of the door opening. “Let’s go play, my dears.” Down the stairs they went; a girl and her tray of food, and two excited felines into a dark, dark room.
Clicking on the lights revealed a large wall of computer screens and a massive observatory. Past the computers was a long glass window on the left, and on the right three large windows. Jaspierre walked around gazing through the long window. Inside was a massive maze, both vertical and horizontal, easily as big as a football field. It was stark white. The house was a mansion but compared to the basement seemed small . The maze was built entirely underground and snaked under the perfect driveway. A black rabbit hopped through the maze. The smooth walls and platforms were crisp and clean. She turned to check the other rooms. Behind her were three windows. She looked down into the rooms and two were empty, other than a set of black metal rings trailing up one of the crisp white walls in pairs. She walked past them to the room that held an occupant. He seemed a bit depressed.
Jaspierre (Jaspierre Trilogy Book 1) Page 1