“Sorry, a little bird told me you didn’t like apples. So, tomorrow I will find something else for you to eat.”
Russell let out an exasperated scream,.“You bitch!” He sounded like he was ready to punch her.
“Can you move your left arm?” she asked.
He looked at the dangling limb. “No.”
“How very interesting,” She said. She heard the screaming of a terrorized infant, and turned back to her cats. The fox in the maze with them had the rabbit. Ikali still had the ferret. Tessa was following the gerbil. The two cats froze at the cry of the rabbit. Almost like magic they turned to the sound, teeth bared and pursued. The fox bit the rabbit harder, listening to the squeaky screams. The cats were not amused to see the fox with their rabbit. Ikali leapt on top of the fox, biting behind it’s neck, running claws deep into the fox. The fox dropped the rabbit and turned to bite Ikali, and Tessa tore into the fox’s throat. They both tore him to pieces.
“Excellent teamwork my dears.” Jaspierre couldn’t be prouder. The rabbit hopped away and hid, forgotten by everyone.
She turned to look at Russell, and saw his left, injured arm was limp and broken. It was still bleeding. His feet were red and raw. She sent a full box of antibiotics, three bottles of water, and a small timer down the dumbwaiter. Not a clock though; a timer. She didn’t need to make it easy for him to count the hours and thus the days. No, not at all. But him dying of a pointlessly stupid infection was wasting everyone’s time. She left the box for him so he’d read it and decide for himself. She didn’t bother telling him he had a bathroom. Only if he was likable.
*** Ten Years Earlier ***
Jaspierre went to check on Lucas. She always snuck his food in to him while he was sleeping. No easy feat. Sometimes, he slept while she was at school or work, and that made it difficult to get him fed. He was growing thin, and she felt bad. He had been in there about a month, and she couldn’t seem to figure out when to kill him. She snuggled the soft little kitten as she bottle-fed it. His pale skin was on her mind. She fed the kitten while they sat observing the boy.
He was awake and sitting. He looked so hungry. The kitten finished its bottle and was snoozing. She had fashioned a little kitten-carrying sling out of a scarf she had. The kitten slept curled up in it, and she set the bottle down. Lucas stood and swung his arms around and stretched. Then he touched his toes and rubbed his shoulders.
He looked thin and achy. Jasp stared at him, and realized if she wasn’t going to kill him, then something had to change. She couldn’t let him starve to death. A better way to knock him out would help immensely. Then she could go in his room when she wanted.
She went down to Chef and announced her need for a midnight snack. He smiled at her and warmed her up leftover lasagna, complete with a side salad, and a delicious slice of triple chocolate cake. She grabbed two forks and said she would eat it in her room. “Two forks?”
“Dinner and dessert. What do you think I am, a heathen?” The chef smiled. “Also,” Jaspierre continued, “let’s have an extra bottle made up for the kitten from now on. He’s been getting so hungry.”
The chef replied, “Are you going to name him yet?”
“No, not yet. I want to wait until his eyes are open.”
“Okay.” The chef smiled and peeked at the little kitten in her scarf. “He looks like he is gonna make it. He is so improved from when you first had him.”
Jaspierre preferred not to think about all of that.
“I noticed you have been going in your mother’s room. Are you ready to go through her things?”
Jaspierre nodded. “I am seventeen and almost her size. Her clothes fit me. I… I don’t know if I will ever wear them, but I have been looking through them.”
“Did you want me to send someone to wash them all and tidy up?”
“No. Stay away from her room.” Jaspierre’s eyes flashed with hot anger, and he did not push the issue further. Jaspierre and the kitten went upstairs with the tray full of tasty food. She took the food down the hall to Mother’s room, unlocked the door, and went inside. She set the food on the bed, and then turned around and peeked out the hall. Nobody was out there as far as she could tell. She locked the door and snuck down to the janitorial supply. The supply room had everything lined up in neat rows. Sheets, towels, blankets; her home was as well stocked as a hotel, despite the fact that she never had large groups stay over. She opened the closet in the back, and there they were. Small, portable beds designed to pop up for those rare times when the luxurious beds in the rooms weren’t enough. She carried the bed under one arm, grabbing sheets, a blanket, and a pillow with the other. Her arms were full, but the kitten curled up safe in its sling. She carried the pile; nobody saw her or asked her what she was up to.
Once she was at the top of the spiral staircase, she took three trips, carrying the bed, then the bedding, then the food all down to the lower level, right outside Lucas’s room. She hesitated. He was awake. It would be smarter to do this when he was sleeping. She should knock him out with the chloroform again.
But she kept her original plan. She went back up to her mother’s room and took the sword out of the closet. Then she checked once more that the door was locked, stepped down the first step of the spiral staircase and shut and locked the door. Then she walked down to Lucas’s room.
She knocked.
Lucas was startled and shouted, “Hello? Is anybody out there? I am locked down here!”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s me.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Why did you knock? I can’t let you in.”
“I didn’t want to scare you. Don’t do anything crazy.” She unlocked the single lock on his door, and realized she should add a few more locks, in case. Mother always kept them chained, so she didn’t need as many door locks.
The door creaked open, and a moderately hairy Lucas stood there. One month’s growth of blond fuzz didn’t seem to amount to much yet. She stood with the long, thin sword in hand. “If you try to run, I’ll kill you.”
“Okay,” he said because he didn’t know what else to say. It was their first conversation since he had been locked up.
“I brought you a present. Don’t make me regret it.” He stood uncertain what to do. “Come; you have to carry it in. It’s not heavy.”
He stepped gingerly into the hall. There was nowhere to run to. It was a tiny hall with a few doors, and a spiral staircase up to another door. He didn’t even know where he would go if he escaped.
Probably the staircase. But the staircase did not look inviting either. This might be a massive prison. He turned to see what she had brought. A bed. His stay was going to be extended. Maybe he could talk her out of it.
He took it into the room and came back and got the pillows and sheets and blankets. Then he took the tray of food inside. He rarely got to eat anything fresh and hot much less dessert. He set the tray down on the floor and set up the bed.
“This thing is great, thank you.” He smiled at her. She stood there, big pretty eyes staring. It was a strange thing to be imprisoned by her. She didn’t look terrifying most of the time. “I… I wanted to talk to you.”
“Yes?” she answered curiously. She adjusted the kitten in the scarf as it let out a loud meow.
His eyes lingered on the kitten as he continued, “I know what happened with Katie; that… that was a terrible accident. I will not tell anyone. It wasn’t your fault.” He clicked the bed legs to a nice height. “If you let me go, you’ll be safe, you know? I’m not gonna tell. I’m just gonna go to college and just …forget this whole thing.” The bed was complete and he put the sheets on. “I… I would like to, if it’s not too much trouble, be on my way. You’ve really been a great host.”
The sword tip press into his back. “You are kidding me. You think I would let a murderer like you go?”
He stood and raised his hand. “I am sorry.” He turned around so he could face her. “I am so sorry. It was an accident. Just like Katie.”<
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She laughed. “Katie was not an accident. She killed my kitten. I killed her.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Yes.” Jaspierre lowered the blade. “Yes. I have to. It’s only fair.”
Lucas lunged at Jaspierre, grabbing her in a bear hug. The sword dropped to the floor while he tried to hold her still. She squirmed and kicked him, and they broke apart. She grabbed the blade and spun. Before it hit him, he held up something as he tried to block. As soon as she saw it she knew it was wrong.
But it was too late.
The blade went straight through the neck of the kitten Lucas had stolen. The tiny little head fell to the ground and Lucas screamed.
Jaspierre stood there, horrified. She dropped the blade. Her scream echoed through the room. Then she picked it back up and charged at Lucas. He tried to run, but she was so fast, and so angry. The blade hit his leg, slicing it. He knew he couldn’t outrun her. His plan had been to hold the kitten hostage and get her to let him go. But now he was a dead man.
Jaspierre kept screaming. In blind grief and hatred, she swung again. Lucas easily ducked and charged at her, knocking her backwards onto his new bed. He lay there on top of her, wrestling the sword away. She howled with screaming sobs, punching at him. He held her soft seventeen-year-old self down with his slender nineteen-year-old frame and waited for her to settle down. After a few minutes, her angry fighting body softened below him, and he held her while she cried. In one hand he held the sword, the other he held her wrist, keeping her from beating him.
Try as he might, he couldn’t hate this beautiful, soft girl he was lying on.
In a fit of foolishness, he almost kissed her. This sobbing, angry, miserable, beautiful, terrifying woman pressed tight against him. He wanted her to feel better. He had ruined her life. Her sobs turned back into anger and he stopped himself. He remembered. She would kill him.
“Stop, please, stop. Please,” he whispered into her ear like a lover would. “Please let me go. I don’t want to fight you. Let’s not hurt each other. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. Please. Don’t fight with me. Please. Please let me go.”
He let go of her wrist, he kissed her cheek, and he dropped the sword. Then he stood and backed out of his room. He raced up the spiral staircase, and it was locked. He checked the other doors. They were locked.
He stood at the end of the hall, tears falling down his face. Trapped. It all hit him; this was all his fault. He killed the cat, and that killed Katie, and then he killed this kitten. He deserved anything he got. Despair was winning.
The sword tip pressed into his back. “I will never let you go.” He raised his hands and turned to her. His sad, miserable, sorry self walked back to his room with the tip of the sword prodding him the whole way. He turned to look at her before he stepped backwards into his room.
“I…” he stuttered. What did one say to a person in a time like this? “Thank you for letting me live.” And he stepped backwards into his room, the door clicked shut, and he heard the lock.
Chapter 11
Lucas being sick was a huge pain for Jaspierre. She spent a day checking on him and stealing meds. And she had played with the cats and Russell. Now it was another day and he was still sick, and she was kind of bored.
She wanted to talk with him. Well, she wanted to tear his clothes off and make him squeal. But, he was not up for it. He was still feverish, and he cried a lot. Crying men weren’t much fun. It was pleasant to wrap herself around him and kiss him until he stopped. But, frankly, she was still bored. She spent an hour sword fighting with her training dummy. Then she tossed little throwing knives at targets for a bit. Still bored, and it was evening.
Time for fun.
She put on a bright blue short wig and party clothes. The fishnet stockings were nearly fully covered with her thigh-high boots. Her skirt was short and blue. Her black top was low cut, but loose, so her stomach wasn’t too obvious. She put on bright blue earrings and grabbed a pair of hot pink glasses on her way out the door.
Time for fun.
She got on her little three-wheeled motorcycle and rode into town. Jaspierre drove to a tiny bar she liked to visit. Despite its weary look, it had plenty of prey to choose from. She parked and walked in. She walked up to the bar and winked at the bartender. He sauntered over and poured her a sweet tasty drink he liked to call party punch. She grinned and slipped him a ten. He knew she didn’t drink booze and automatically made it a virgin. She’d bought the bar a while back and paid him extra to make her nights more fun.
“Anybody fun here tonight?”
“You mean besides you, sweetheart?” He smiled at her while another customer tried to flag him down.
She grinned and leaned forward, showing off her sweet rack. “Anybody?” She took a sip.
“I think you should be going for that guy in the suit or the youngster with the earring. Depends on your mood tonight. Good luck babe.” He turned and spun bottles, pouring the next set of drinks.
Jaspierre turned around and stared at the crowd. The youngster with the earring looked like a dumb child. She glanced over, and this man sat there with a nice suit. He was drinking a clear liquid on the rocks, and he was sitting, bored. This bartender had a keen eye for targets; so if suit guy got boring she was gonna work the young one.
She sat down at the booth with the man in the suit. He looked up rather confused. “So, what are you doing here? You waiting for someone?”
The man shook his head, staring at this bouncy-breasted woman who was talking to him. Her look was not his style. But… it did look like fun. And he was out for fun, he supposed.“I’m trying to burn time. I’m on a business trip, so I’m here for the weekend.”
Sounded good to her. She laughed, and then invited him to play darts. “Wanna play for cash?”
He knew, as they got started, she was out for his money. But he didn’t care. He bet her. His throws were okay, but hers were better. He swore she could make a bullseye every time if she wanted. She played darts three times a week, often at home by herself. It was one of the things she did to keep her skills strong.
Jaspierre never bothered to take all of someone’s money. After all, she had plenty of her own. But she liked the competition. It was boring to play darts alone.
After the first two games, he had an idea. “Make a bullseye, take a shot of vodka. I’ll pay you a hundred bucks per bullseye.”
She grinned. She never, ever drank, but she loved his idea of a game. “How much money did you bring?” The man laughed. “I’m serious. I wanna see the cash or no deal.”
She realized the only flaw with this plan was that she would have to leave her bike and taxi home. Not her favorite decision. Who cared, though! She was out for fun. Fun, she would have.
She threw a bullseye, and he said, “That’s one.” And she drank a shot of vodka. She had forgotten what a terrible taste it would have. The burning down her throat stung her eyes. She felt the effects of the booze almost immediately. Such a lightweight, and well, she should have had dinner. She mentioned she had to pee, and went back and winked at the bartender on her way. He understood, and from then on, he gave her water poured from a vodka bottle.
“Two.”
Drink.
She spun in a circle and shot another dart. “Three.”
Drink.
“Four.”
Drink.
She grinned; this was so easy. “Five.”
Drink.
“Six.”
She was drawing a small crowd now and the group was getting bigger.
“Seven.”
Drink.
She winked playfully at the man who would be broke in a few more throws. “Eight.”
Drink.
“Nine.”
She slammed the shot on the table. “Last one boys!”
She tossed the dart and it hit smack in the middle.
The cheers were incredible, and she couldn’t help but smile. The businessman pulled
out his wallet and counted out ten hundred-dollar bills and handed them to her. Everyone was laughing and cheering. Except one man.
He was slowly clapping.
Long after everyone stopped, he kept clapping.
The bartender had cleverly cleared all the shot glasses and bottles already. So as far as Jasp could tell, nothing was in dispute. She turned to look at the man clapping, and recognized him.
There stood Chance Mickey Despoil. How could she ever forget him? In fact, she would pay to forget him. His brown hair was combed over where it had been falling out. He was still a little chunky, but she bet he was still quite strong. Her cheeks grew warm with anger.
“Slumming it, I see?”
It seemed unbelievable, but he was standing there in a cop uniform.
She wondered to herself who the hell would have made him a cop. She considered picking up a dart and slamming it into his eye. She said nothing; she didn’t have to.
The men surrounding her, turned with venom.
“What the fuck, dude?”
“Leave her alone, she got ten bull’s eyes in a row!”
“Hey now, what the hell is your problem?”
One by one they noticed he was a cop and grew silent. Chance stood there, ignoring them all, staring at the blue hair, and the short skirt. “You look damn nice.”
She turned to the bartender. “I’m out; here’s for my tab.” And she pressed three hundred dollar bills into his hand. He nodded, and she turned, her long boots clicking on the floor.
Chance stood there, standing back, leering at her. He put his hand to his mouth, spreading two fingers across it, and stuck his tongue out, wiggling it up and down.
Jaspierre gagged. She walked out quickly. It didn’t work, Chance followed close.
She walked toward her bike, and Chance pulled out his nightstick and shoved her with it. “You seem a little too drunk to drive. You look like you might fall over and get a little bruised up any minute now. I should give you a ride home.” He thrusted his hips when he said ride, and Jaspierre knew she was in serious shit. He shoved her harder with the end of his club, and she stumbled backwards. Her ass hit the dirt and fear rose within her.
Jaspierre (Jaspierre Trilogy Book 1) Page 8