The Lair of Jack: Long Shot Love Duet (Book Two)

by Aven Jayce

  “He had a fucking noose around my neck!”

  “That sounds like a test.”

  “No... no, it sounds like he’s mentally ill.”

  “He killed my dad this morning. Slit his throat,” Quinn says.

  “And I got set up for it,” Dylan says.

  Jack spits and looks around, then flips through my cell. What’s he doing? God, I hope he doesn’t text Nadine again.

  “If Jack did that, then your dad deserved it.”

  “This is bullshit. It sounds like he’s fucked in the head because of you, asshole,” Quinn yells.

  “Watch your mouth.”

  “What the fuck are we doing? Hang up on this douche and drive,” Dylan says.

  “Drive where?” Quinn asks.

  I throw my hands in the air and pound my forehead against the steering wheel. “This is crazy. We went from running from the death at the river, to lying to my family, to dumping Trent’s body in a ditch, to the murder of your dad, to my mom’s murder site. One mistake, one lie led to all this? We should’ve come clean on day one.” I knock my head harder.

  “Addie, stop before you hurt yourself.” Quinn holds me back.

  “Go get my son. I want him in that car.”

  “No,” the three of us say.

  He covers the phone, speaking to someone in the background. A lighter flicks, he inhales then exhales a long drag moments later. “So, let me get this straight,” he says in a much deeper voice. “There’s a trail of bodies leading to the three of you, my son’s beaten and shot, and you’re in his car. Sounds like you’re all going to prison and he’ll get off scot-free. Should I call the cops now, or you gonna help him?”

  “Help him?”

  “Yes, help him!”

  “He wants us dead,” Quinn says.

  “No. That’s bullshit. Jack’s as shallow as any Jameson; he only needs four things in life—sex, weed, music, and to rule the small world he lives in. As long as he gets a daily dose of each, he’s stable. Killing isn’t part of that unless you’ve hurt a woman or attack someone in our family.”

  “I... I can’t even...”

  “And at this point, I can tell I’m the only one who wants you dead. There’s a reason he hasn’t put you six feet under, and even more of a reason he killed in front of you in the first place. I’ll need to talk to him about that before I take you all down myself.”

  “See, that right there is why he’ll never get in this car,” I say. “Oh, great. Here he comes.”

  He takes slow steps with the rope over his shoulder, hurling his arms, tossing air punches toward Quinn, and sprinkling blood on the windshield.

  “There’re three of us, we can take him,” I whisper.

  “Then what? There’s no point,” Quinn whispers back. “Killing him doesn’t get us out of this. It’ll just make our lives worse.”

  “We should at least tie him up. Give him a taste of his own medicine.”

  “I think he can taste it just fine.”

  He rests his foot on the front bumper and leans forward with his elbow on his knee, taking a hard and steady look at Quinn. A wad of bloody spit lands on the windshield and trickles down to the wipers as he reveals red teeth.

  “Good fight,” Dylan says.

  My ringing cell distracts him from releasing another lob of spit. It rings two, three, four times before he answers.

  “Jack.”

  “What?”

  “Head back to Afterglow. I’ll send someone to meet you there who’ll take care of your finger.”

  “Whatever. I don’t care. I’ll just bleed to death.”

  “You’re not gonna... how did you fuck up, anyway?”

  “I didn’t. The night went as planned, I’m upset about something else.”

  “How the fuck was getting shot in your plans?”

  “As usual, you didn’t ask me what I’m upset about.” He lowers his foot and sets his gaze on me. “Tell my dad what you said... what you said when you thought you were going to die.”

  I swallow and peer down at my wet jeans, remembering that Jack lowered me to the ground after I spoke my final words. Was it only for a moment? Another tease? Or did he stop and decide not to kill me because of what I had said?

  “Tell him,” he demands.

  “Killing...” I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “I said; killing my mom would be the ultimate sin.”

  There’s no response.

  I turn to Quinn and he doesn’t seem to know what’s going on either. His dad ends the call and Jack does the same. He turns his back to us and sits on the hood, tilting his head to let the light rain wash the blood from his face.

  “Nice tats,” Dylan says. “What do you think all those dates mean?”

  “Probably his victims,” I say, seeing Trent’s gun in his waistband.

  “What the hell was that all about? What was the entire night about?” Quinn asks.

  Jack finger combs his hair with his good hand; his fancy black and gold watch sparkling in the sun shower.

  I study his showy car, lavish ink, and expensive clothing. He has everything. Yet unless he’s stoned, his downturned mouth and drooped shoulders imply depression.

  “This is about loneliness,” I answer. “We’ve all been deserted by someone.”

  “No.” He turns, hearing me through the open driver’s side window. “Loyalty.”

  He heads to the passenger side and opens the back door, drops the rope on the floor, and takes a seat next to Dylan. His blade flips open and he reaches in the front for his tee, cutting a small piece to wrap his finger and wipe his bloody nose.

  “I’d never trust you if you had shot your own brother,” he says to Dylan. “I figured I’d come back to the car and see you two here. That’s loyalty. That’s what’s important to me. And if you had shot him, you’d be dead. I wouldn’t keep you around. And Quinn...” He whacks him on the side of the head with the back of his hand, then reaches into the front for his cigarettes and weed. He lays the pot tin in Dylan’s lap and gestures for him to roll a joint. “That was a shitty fight. We’ve got this love-hate relationship thing going on between us. I love you, and you hate me. It sucks. But... you’re one hundred percent devoted to your woman, and I admire that. Loyalty, my friend, you’ve got it. I felt it when we first spoke in the lobby at Afterglow. All you cared about at that moment was Addie.” He lights a cigarette, taking a long drag while examining his finger. “And Addie... Addie, Addie,” he says. “People being tortured will say anything to stay alive, unless their beliefs are so sincere, so deep-seated that they choose to surrender to death over speaking deceitful lies.”

  I set my head on the steering wheel, feeling Quinn’s gentle hand on my back. This was all a sick test of our character? Really?

  “You okay? I mean... I know you’re not okay,” Quinn says.

  “That’s right, I’m not. Jack reached into my brain and attacked my memories. The more he repeated his bullshit, the more I started to question the truth.”

  “But you didn’t crack,” Jack says. “You may be the most loyal one here.”

  “Goddammit.” I pound the steering wheel and leap out of my seat, filled with anger and hatred. I march to Jack’s side of the car, fling his door open, and smack him across the temple. “You fucker!” I smack his cheek, his head, and start hitting his shoulder and chest. “I can’t believe you did that to me!” My swings become faster, harder, until I’m throwing actual punches. “My mom was strangled with a cord. How could you put a rope around my neck? How?”

  He laughs, raising his arm to block the pummeling, while Dylan and Quinn sit back, not minding one bit that I’m going all-out psycho on him.

  “Addie, you’ve been broken since she died. I restored your strength and your faith. I gave you a way out of the darkness and became your Jesus.”

  “How dare you.” I squeeze his injured finger as hard as I can, sending his knees to his chest from the ag
ony.

  “Okay, okay.” He pants and grabs my wrist. “I’m sorry. I was only trying to help.”

  “I don’t need your fucking help.”

  He blocks my punches, but I manage to sneak a few more in, striking his cheek and chin until the assault registers as senseless. The asshole’s still smiling, and I’m still upset. That accomplished nothing.

  I take a step back and strip out of my urine-soaked jeans and underwear, tossing them in his face before getting back in the driver’s seat.

  “That was... umm... so Addie, you’re driving that way?” Quinn asks, wide-eyed.

  “I don’t give a shit anymore.” I turn and point at Jack. “You didn’t help me. You didn’t fucking help me.”

  “Betcha I did.”

  “Shut up. Everyone—shut up!”

  “Whoa,” Dylan says.

  I hear the flick of a lighter and a long inhale, then pot smoke drifts into the front seat and out my window. I place my elbow on the windowsill and lean into my palm, turning away from them to stare at the trees, noticing the wilted leaves, cracked ground, and how lifeless the world seems.

  The front of the car is blinding in the morning light with the glints of metal flake in the paint forcing me to squint. It’s a profound contrast to the unkempt trail. The area with its wildly overgrown bushes and trees will forever remain dark.

  “I love you, Mom,” I whisper, observing the landscape one last time, not knowing if I’ll ever be back.

  “What was the last thing she said to you?” Jack asks.

  “None of your fucking business.”

  I start the car and back up, having no cares about driving pantless, or maybe just no cares at all. I should be elated to be alive, but I only feel dazed, same as after the night at the river, same as when I lost my mom.

  Jack didn’t help at all. He just made everything worse. I thought I was getting better by falling in love, but my love for Quinn can’t replace the pain I feel for the death of my mom. Nothing can.

  “You alright to drive?” Quinn asks.

  “I don’t know. It’s not easy in bare feet.”

  “Well, if I’m driving, I sure as fuck won’t be letting the two of you back here with your hands free,” Jack says.

  “Why the hell not?” Quinn asks.

  “Because you’re still grounded. She drives, since I doubt you have a license, and if you wanna switch and sit in the back, the ropes are coming out.”

  “You sound like Roxanne. I should’ve just put a bullet in your head, you abusive dick.”

  He laughs, taking another hit of the spliff. “I’ll take that as a compliment, rough treatment from a dick can be pretty awesome, you should try it sometime.”

  I seize Quinn’s clenching fist before he has a chance to swing.

  “I’m okay,” I say. “I’d rather drive than be tied up again.”

  I head toward the main road while flipping through Jack’s music, searching for a song that isn’t half a century old, something to divert my thoughts from my mom’s death.

  “Your music’s dated,” I complain.

  “No, it’s timeless. Select the ‘morning playlist,’” he says.

  I continue scrolling until I come across a playlist labeled “last breath.”

  “I said the ‘morning playlist.’”

  I select the one I’m on and the serene beginning of “Wild Horses” starts to play.

  “Why don’t people ever fucking listen?”

  “Oh, believe me, I heard you.”

  I tilt the rear-view mirror, watching him in the back fall into silence, mouthing the words, his split bottom lip trembling until he gives it a soft bite and pulls it behind his top teeth. He taps his leg then moves about to find a comfortable position, behaving restless and agitated.

  “What if I had killed you?” Quinn asks. “If my shot had hit you in the chest?”

  “Wouldn’t have happened.” He shakes his head, passing Dylan the joint. “You missed on purpose. Addie, take this off... put on the ‘morning playlist,’ like I said.”

  I turn it up instead, witnessing an even greater unrest coming from the back seat. I’ve exposed something, I’m just not sure what.

  “I knew you weren’t gonna kill her, just like you knew Quinn wasn’t gonna kill you.” Dylan gloats.

  “I’m sure,” Jack humors the pinhead.

  “Yeah, everyone knew everything, yet no one knows anything,” I say.

  Jack notices me watching him and reaches between the front seats, slamming his fist into the dash.

  “Change the fucking music.”

  “Bad batch of pot, or what?” Dylan laughs.

  “This song’s private. It’s not for your ears.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve heard it before,” I say.

  “Just change it.”

  I give in to his request and select his playlist. Lucky me, it’s The Animals again... at least it’s a different song than “House of the Rising Sun.”

  “Fuck, this is so much better. ‘See See Rider’ is one of the best songs to wake up to.”

  “We haven’t slept yet,” Dylan says.

  “Listen to Eric sing. Fuck, his voice is magnificent.”

  Jack serenades us, his voice matching Eric Burdon’s and his freewheeling, stoner behavior on the rebound. His face relaxes as his head bobs to the beat.

  I glance at Quinn, catching him giving me the once-over. He swipes his fingertip across his lips, looking as innocent and handsome as ever.

  I massage the nape of his neck, noticing that the scratch marks from the prostitute have scabbed over. I continue down to his shoulder and back up to his unshaven, bristly jawline, ending with a tap on the tip of his nose. He rubs his cheek into my palm before turning to kiss my wrist.

  “Just because you’re in love, bro, doesn’t mean you have to act like a pussy.”

  “Dylan, stop being such a douche.” He blushes, then turns and extends his hand for a truce. “And thanks. I still hate you, but at least you did one thing right.”

  Quinn’s pulled closer for a shoulder-to-shoulder hug and a rub of his crew cut.

  “Flea-flicker, bro. Told you not to worry. We know that play like the veins on our dicks. I hand you the ball, or a gun in this case, you run while I fall back... it was a good con to fire the gun first though. He thought you were dead.”

  “Am I driving to Afterglow?” I ask while Dylan describes the play, again, and Jack sings, again.

  No one heard me.

  “Bet you never expected me to save the day. See, I can be smart sometimes. I fooled you all.”

  “I think you’re a fool to all,” Jack says. “You may have proved your loyalty, just not to me. That time will come.”

  “Yo, I’ve got your back, but don’t ask me to take down my own brother, that shit don’t fly with me. Even on the days when Quinn and I hate each other’s guts, I ain’t gonna kill him.”

  “Ahh, a recurring theme that keeps fucking with my head. How amusing.” His voice goes cold.

  “What does that mean?” Quinn asks.

  Jack ignores him and starts to sing, picking at the stitching on the seat.

  “Ahem...” I look in the mirror, wondering what we’re doing. I think our only option once again is Afterglow, where else are we gonna go? We’re locked into this world. “Where to? What are we doing?”

  Jack stops singing and leans forward, his mighty hand squeezes my shoulder and his cold breath dusts the back of my ear as he says...

  “I think we all need to get laid.”

  Chapter Four

  TWO GIRLS, ONE FUCK

  JACK INSTRUCTED US to shower and get some sleep while he’s getting his finger “repaired” by some old guy who drove all the way up from Philly, which happens to be where Jack’s dad is originally from. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the guy passed us along the way into the mountains, considering we made a stop in Albany so Jack could sc
an the park for homeless women who might be interested in working for him.

  I was shocked to see two teen girls eager to jump at the offer. They squeezed into the Hellcat, unbelievably excited, and repeating the same questions over and over...

  “So we just have to fuck and you’ll give us whatever we want? Like free stuff. Like food and beer. Some new clothes even? And it’ll be a secret. Like, our parents won’t be able to find us, right? And all we have to do is fuck rich people in a super nice place? No scumbags? And it’s not some craphole? And we can get drunk for free and you’ve got cake and pie and stuff, too? For real?”

  I think it helped that a woman was already in the car, although if I wasn’t asked to put my jeans on before we drove into the city, maybe not. And I guess if it were just Jack, or Jack and Dylan, the girls might’ve been more hesitant... at least I’d hope so. Still, I can’t believe how easy it is for people to get caught up in stuff like this. I get it that Jack has the face and build of a model, and I’m sure women are turned on by his tats, but how can they not run from his bloody finger and split lip, not to mention the prostitution?

  Then again, what the hell am I doing?

  “I thought about driving the car off the road, either into a pole or a tree, then wanted to slap myself for considering such a ridiculous idea,” I admit to Quinn as we slide under the top sheet of one of the two king beds in Jack’s suite at Afterglow.

  “Fuck that.”

  “I knew you’d say that.” I remove my towel and his, tossing them to the foot of the bed, bringing his nude body closer to mine.

  “You didn’t live through the horror in the woods with Jack only to take your own life,” he says. “And ours.”

  “I get that now, but I was flipping out for a while. I was able to relax because you were by my side, reminding me of the one thing I do have.”

  “Thanks, I needed to hear that.” He rolls on his back and places his forearm over his eyes. “I can’t believe my dad’s dead and I’m not even crying. I just don’t care. Does that make me as detached and coldhearted as Jack?”

  “No, you probably said goodbye to your dad and that relationship years ago.”