“What the fuck are you doing here?” Joel asks. He finally allows himself to look at Jack. His eyes widen as he studies Jack’s muscles. “And what happened to you? You’re massive.”
“It was a nice vacation, but I got sick of it,” Jack says, cockily. Here in the city, with his old friend, he’s feeling more like himself, not the brooding monster frozen in White Oak.
“You have to go back. Now,” Joel says.
“That’s not going to happen,” Jack says. “Sit down, Joel.”
They sit at the table in the sunny breakfast nook. Joel’s face is pale, his shoulders are stiff. He resembles frail glass that threatens to shatter to pieces at any moment.
“You’re risking your life,” Joel says.
“You don’t have to remind me.”
Joel leans forward, cocking his head at him. “Then answer my question, what the fuck are you doing here?”
“I want the truth. Do you have any more details about the investigation?”
“No.” Joel sighs into his hands. “They’re spending all of their resources looking for you. And you came right to their doorstep.”
“I think I was set up.”
“Is that what you think? Come on, Jack, all that time in the wilderness, and you didn’t do any introspection?”
Jack slams his fist on the table between them. “What the fuck are you trying to say?”
Joel fans his arms out. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so blunt. Why do you think I told you to run? Innocent people don’t run.”
Jack sits back, processing this. He cocks his head, studying Joel, who fidgets under his gaze.
“All this time, you thought I was guilty.”
Joel shrugs. “What can I say, man? Look, you need to go back to White Oak, or somewhere else far off. Start a new life. Be a new person.”
“But I’m not a new person. I’m Jack Larsen. My place is at the head of Larsen International.”
“I’m trying to be a friend, to help you.”
Jack grinds his back teeth, a result of the anger twisting him into knots. He imagines grabbing the back of Joel’s head, and smashing his face into the table. Before he’s able to do that, the bedroom door creaks open.
“Can I come out now?”
Amber appears in the doorframe. She’s nervously playing with the hem of her shirt. Joel jumps from his chair in surprise. He turns to Jack.
“Who is that?”
Jack raises his arm, gesturing for Amber to come closer. When she does, he pulls her into his lap. He enjoys the look of utter confusion on Joel’s face.
“Joel, this is Amber,” Jack says, sweeping her hair away from her neck. He glares at Joel over her shoulder. “I kidnapped her in a diner, held her hostage in the cabin.”
Joel smirks. “Cute story,” he says, then, under his breath, “Fucking idiot.” He opens his legs, and doubles over, putting his head between his knees. “I tried to help you, Jack, but you’re bent on self-destruction.” He stands up slowly, not looking at the two of them. “I can’t help you anymore.”
Joel turns towards the door, but Amber speaks up.
“It was your contact who told you about the cell phone video, correct?” Amber asks.
Joel straightens his back, then turns towards her with a cold stare. “You discussed this with her?” he asks Jack. “How much does she know?”
“It was in the papers,” Amber answers for herself. “Who shot the video?”
Joel stares at her numbly.
“Answer her,” Jack says sternly, even though he’s kissing her upper arm.
Joel exhales, harshly. “The data was scrubbed. It was from an anonymous source.”
“And you’re sure it’s not fake?” Amber presses.
“The police are sure,” Joel says. “Listen, sweetheart, what’s your deal? This guy kidnaps you? You let him fuck you, and what, you think you’re getting a payday out of it? That you’re going to get married and live happily ever after? I’ve known this guy longer than you have, and let me tell you, he’s fucked everything on two legs that’s crossed his path for the past decade. You’re not special.”
“Easy,” Jack warns, his voice rising up behind Amber’s neck.
Amber keeps her face pleasant and easy. Joel doesn’t trust her, but Amber doesn’t trust him either, so there is some common ground here.
“There are ways that data can be uncovered,” Amber says. “Nothing digital is ever lost forever. Ask your contact if they can find out.”
Joel narrows his eyes at her. “What do you want?”
“To help Jack,” Amber shoots back. “Just like you, right? So if you want to help your friend, you’ll do whatever you can to find the real killer.”
Joel’s dark gaze lands on Jack. Mentally, Jack dares him to say it, to say that he knows who the killer is, that he’s looking at him right now. But Joel doesn’t say that, and avoids being punched in the face. Instead, Joel rakes his fingers through his hair, and humbles himself.
“I didn’t mean that, about you being the killer,” Joel says.
“You didn’t?” Jack asks.
“I was just being an asshole.” Joel paces the room, his hands on his hips. “I’m scared for you, man. I almost had a heart attack when you called.”
Jack nods to Amber, signaling her to stand from his lap. She stands near the kitchen counter, studying Joel. Jack leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together.
“I’m not going back to White Oak.” Jack’s voice is heavy, final. “I’m staying here. I’m finding the truth, and I’ll face it, no matter what it is.”
Amber slips her arms around Jack’s shoulder, and stands strong next to her man. Joel, seeing the united front before him, concedes.
“If you want to do this, it’s your decision,” Joel says.
“Will you help us?” Jack asks.
After a pause, Joel reluctantly nods. “I’ll do whatever I can. But you have to promise me something. You can’t tell anyone else you’re here. No one, okay?”
As if on cue, there’s a quick knock on the door before it swings open. Amber has to bite her lip to keep from laughing at Joel’s reaction. The slight lawyer jumps nearly a foot in the air, and his face turns bright red. She’s watched Joel’s every move, trying to get a read on him. She decides he’s either steadfastly loyal, or steadfastly slimy. There’s no in between, and she hasn’t decided yet.
Joel glares at Jack with ghoulish exasperation when Henry walks in. Amber knows who he is before being introduced. He’s the person that advised Jack to kill her. But she tries not to hold it against him. She has to admit his advice made sense, and she refuses to let it affect her objectivity. She watches Henry glide into the room. He exudes calm charm, and is incredibly handsome, just like Jack. It’s obvious the two are family.
“Is this the housewarming party?” Henry says, cockily. He beams at Jack, then step towards him. The two exchange hearty handshakes and a quick hug. “I’m glad you’re back, Jack. It’s good to see you.” He gives Joel a quick nod, then turns to Amber. “So this is the little lady.” He steps commandingly towards her, his hand outstretched. Amber shakes it without flinching. Henry eyes her, sizing her up, then nods his approval to Jack.
So, we’re just not going to mention you wanted Jack to kill me, Amber thinks. Fine, I can do that.
Henry turns to Joel with laughing eyes. “Did you hear about how these two got together?”
“I got the Cliff Notes,” Joel grumbles.
“Only Jack could pull that off,” Henry says. One side of his mouth is turned up, and his eyes are gleaming.
Amber assesses her first impression of Henry. He’s blithe and arrogant on first glance, but there has to be more to him than that. She can picture him in backroom meetings, surrounded by men and cigar smoke, discussing his plans for world domination. But at the moment, she could picture Jack doing the same thing. It hits her that these men are from another world, one afforded with enormous amounts of money
, a league well above her own. She’d have to fight hard to hold her own around them. Jack trusts them completely, but to Amber, everyone’s a suspect.
Henry makes his way to the kitchen, opens the cabinets, and finds four glasses. He produces a flask from his pocket, and fills each glass with brown liquor. After passing them around, he holds his glass up.
“To Jack Larsen, CEO of Larsen International,” Henry says.
But isn’t your father CEO? Amber thinks as she drinks the whiskey down.
Henry reaches into his jacket pocket, then slips a small package into Jack’s hand. “A welcome home present.”
Amber sees the white powder wrapped in plastic wrap before Jack closes his palm around it. She doesn’t dwell on it. Jack’s told her a little about his past, the nights of constant partying, consuming every drug he could get his hands on. But in White Oak, he’d been cleansed. She didn’t think he’d go back to his old ways, not with so much on the line.
Joel drains his drink, then holds his glass out to Henry to pour him another. “The clock is ticking,” Joel says. “If they find you, it’s over. And they will find you. They have a taste for your blood. Do you know how much you embarrassed them by running?”
Amber steps up to address the room. “We need evidence. Something that exonerates Jack, and points to another suspect. We need that before they find him.”
Henry shoots a glance at Amber, then speaks to Jack. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”
Joel downs his second drink, gasping as it flows down his throat. “Me too, I guess. Just don’t do anything else stupid. Don’t fuck yourself.”
*
Eva doesn’t know what time it is. In this windowless, basement apartment, she never knows what time it is. She sits up slowly from the futon, trying not to move her head too much. The television is on. The flashing lights hurt her sore eyes. She stumbles to the bathroom and wets a rag under the faucet.
I have two states of being, high and hungover, Eva thinks, applying the compress to her forehead.
Eva takes two steps from the bathroom and is already in the kitchen. The apartment is tiny, but in Manhattan, it’s worth a premium. She’d never be able to afford a place like this on her own. Shit, if she was on her own, she doesn’t know where she’d be.
He keeps me locked up in this closet, and only takes me out when he needs me, she thinks. I’m his doll. His toy.
She opens the cabinets and sees they’re fully stocked, though she can’t remember the last time she was at a grocery store.
He’s been here.
The thought sends a jolt down her spine. He was in here while she was passed out on the futon. She takes inventory of her body, checking between her legs. Her underwear is still in place. She doesn’t think he used her last night.
But he hasn’t been by in a while. The rent gets paid, the money appears in her bank account so she stays flush with the drugs of her choice, but she hasn’t seen him for weeks.
Eva hurriedly pours two fingers of vodka and adds a splash of tomato juice. She drinks it down, feeling her hangover subside.
If he’s coming around again, it only means one thing. He’ll need her again, and soon.
Chapter Eight
Detective Simon performs a mental inventory of his fridge at home as he prepares to leave the office. He can vividly picture the sad scene; an ancient box of baking soda, a flat half liter of soda, and a half dozen eggs, bearing a sell by date that’s the only thing he can’t picture. He turns off his computer, weighing his options. He’d have to go somewhere for dinner, which means he’d blow at least fifty bucks. He doesn’t know what this city is coming too. Every restaurant and shop is too expensive for working class people to afford, the very people that keep these streets clean and running.
He’s almost talked himself into trying the kebab place again (last time it gave him diarrhea) where he can get a large portion for a cheap price, when his phone rings. The sound of it makes his knees hurt. He’s ready to get home, to get out of these shoes.
“They don’t fucking pay me enough,” he grumbles, picking up the phone. “Detective Simon.”
“This is Detective Simon?” It’s a woman’s voice, one he doesn’t recognize. He can tell she’s trying to disguise it, making it lighter and higher.
“I just said that. Can I help you?”
“I know where you can find Jack Larsen.”
The woman is curt, and sounds sure of herself, much different from the raving lunatics he usually hears from, who claim Jack Larsen is a voice in their head.
“What’s your name?” Simon asks.
“Write this down.”
Simon doesn’t take kindly to being bossed around. But the woman starts rattling off an address. He grapples for a pen and paper and writes it down.
“Jack Larsen is in Queens? Has he always been there?”
But the woman has already hung up. Simon listens to the dial tone while clutching the address in his hand. This is the first call about Jack Larsen he’s gotten in a while. When the case was dominating the news cycle, he got a dozen calls an hour, from people having Jack Larsen sightings like he’s Elvis. Every one of them was a dead end.
And this one probably is too. Simon crumples the address and tosses it in the trash bin. He shuts off the light, and closes the door behind him. In the hallway, he finally acknowledges how desperate he is. He bursts back into the office and shoves his hand in the trash bin.
Detective Simon can’t risk another embarrassment with the department, so he sets out to Queens himself. All he needs to do is glimpse Jack Larsen, and he’ll send for backup. Then, the day will be saved.
Why would you ever think your luck would turn around, he thinks, sailing over the bridge, the skyscrapers of Manhattan retreating in his rearview mirror. It’s been over sixty years, and you’re still waiting.
Simon ignores his grumbling stomach as he parks on the block of the building Jack Larsen allegedly occupies. He can’t help but think this is a huge waste of time. He could be parked in front of his television enjoying kebab and rice. He thinks back to the last time he had that meal, and starts to feel a little green. Maybe it’s for the best his dinner plans fell through.
One of the lenses of his binoculars is cracked. He’s been hesitant to ask the department for a new pair, since he’s already broken three this year. The spiderweb crack obscures his vision, but they work, more or less. He trains them on the balcony of the apartment, and waits.
He’s still for about twenty minutes. There are two people at this residence, a male and a female. Simon is sure Jack changed his appearance, but the male looks nothing like him. His physique is different. He’s much bigger and more muscular. The lighting is dim in the apartment, preventing Simon from getting a good look at the man’s face.
“Chasing unicorns,” Simon scolds himself.
If he leaves now, he can make it to the kebab place before it closes. But he can’t quite tear himself away from this building in Queens. Forced to choose between food that makes him queasy, and a dead lead, Simon chooses the dead lead. He puts his chair back, making himself comfortable, and settles in.
*
“So what’s our story?” Amber says. She’s massaging Jack’s head. His hair is thick between her fingers. Jack looks up at her, groaning softly. Amber swats him teasingly. “We have to know it inside and out.”
Jack fiddles with the button of her pants. “I’d like to know you inside and out.” He unzips her jeans, then slips his fingers inside to stroke her panties.
Amber leans her head back, trying to concentrate through Jack’s distraction. “Your name is Pete Shepherd. You’re in finance,” she recites. “Since you work with foreign markets, you work in the middle of the night. During the day, you’re sleeping. That’s why you’re never seen.”
“Very good.” Jack taps against her clit, rewarding her. “And what about you?”
Amber feels her panties moistening between her legs. She hears the jingle of Jack’s pants as he
takes them off. Jack hooks his finger in her mouth. Amber sucks it softly, tasting the salt of his skin.
“I’m Amber Parker, your fiancee. I’m an aspiring writer. You’re supporting me.”
Jack grasps her hips, pulling her down so she’s lying on her back. He climbs on top of her, straddling her shoulders. His thick thighs pin her arms to her side. The head of his cock probes heavily at her lips.
“And you suck my dick whenever I tell you too, isn’t that right?” He grabs her hair, pulling her head back. Her mouth falls open.
“That’s right,” Amber says, his lips grazing against his hardened flesh as she speaks. “I’m yours to use whenever you wish. I’ll be a good little wife.” She circles the tip with her tongue, tasting his pre-cum.
Jack’s balls tighten. He loves when she talks like this. He pushes himself inside of her mouth.
“That’s right. I own you. I own your mouth, your ass, your pussy.”
Amber makes a tight seal around his shaft with her lips. Jack’s knees nearly buckle. Her warm wet mouth is the perfect antidote to his raging hot erection. He pulses his hips softly.
“Touch yourself,” Jack commands. “Get yourself ready for me.”
Amber’s hands move between her legs. She rubs herself. When she moans, her voice vibrates around Jack’s cock. He strokes her hair back, looking at her face.
“That’s good,” he says. “I need you soaking wet. I don’t want to hurt you.” He pushes himself further into her mouth. “You’re going to take all of this, deep inside of you.”
Amber says something, but her voice is muffled. Jack pulls out of her mouth and tells her to say it again.
“I want you now,” she says, massaging her own tits. “Please, I need you inside of me.”
Holding his cock, Jack climbs off of her, and inspects between her legs. She’s very wet. His fingers slip easily inside of her, but not wet enough. Jack strokes up and down her slit, and reaches up to twist her nipples, just how she likes. It seems Amber likes her pleasure tinged with a little pain, and Jack is happy to oblige. He spanks her ass, hard enough to leave a red mark.
WANTED: A Bad Boy Crime Romance Page 7