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

by Aven Jayce

  “Shit.” Quinn exhales, sitting back with feverish haste.

  Stay calm, I remind myself.

  “We talked about getting you a car when school starts, maybe passing down one of ours. We could start looking at them this weekend if you come home.”

  Stay calm.

  Take a deep breath before you end up calling her a bitch. Don’t use that word. Don’t call your aunt a bitch.

  “I hope you’re listening, Addie.”

  “Told you.” Jack pumps his fist in the air like he just won a prize. “I’m always right. Your aunt cares more about money than people. Wealth is security; she’ll stay in a failing marriage to keep her big house and sports car. Told you the first time I spoke to her that she’s mad you’re fucking with her happy-go-lucky life.”

  “Who said that?” she fumes.

  “She expects the same from you—give in to the money, it’s the solution to all your problems. Ain’t that right, Nadine?”

  “Who the heck had the nerve to say that to me?”

  “Jack Jameson,” he answers. “Did your husband enjoy the video that I sent?”

  “Listen here, you little dung spreader. I’m gonna take a switch to your ass!” she screams. “Delete that awful filth and don’t you dare ever, ever, ever show it to a soul!”

  “A switch to my ass? Cool.” He grins while tapping the wheel. “Abuse like that turns me on. Tell you what, I’ll bend over and let you do whatever you want to my ass, then I’ll stick my dick in your mouth to shut you up.”

  “Oh my God. How dare you!”

  “Stop it!” I take the cell off speaker. “Open your ears and listen to me. I refuse to engage in this childish back and forth, like you and Jack. That never gets us anywhere except into a shouting match. What you said about Quinn was uncalled for. Period. You hear me? You’re making the bad situation we’re in much worse by saying such insensitive bull.”

  “The bad situation he’s in, you mean. Not you, him, him and his brother. Do I have to keep saying it? You’re not in any situation with the law, and if you don’t get yourself back to this house tonight, we’re driving out to drag you home.”

  “I can still hear her,” Quinn says.

  “On second thought, we’re not waiting. We’re coming out immediately, whether you like it or not. And forget about him staying in the garage.”

  “Say goodbye,” Jack says.

  “Your mom would’ve been so ashamed, so ashamed of you. Why we didn’t stop you the moment that lowlife showed up at our door... those boys are the dregs of society, the lowest of the low.”

  “Hang up. Say goodbye and end it,” he insists.

  “Buying prostitutes and killing them? Murderers! You’ve been set up.”

  “I killed her. And it wasn’t murder.”

  “Don’t ever say that! Get it out of your head and tell the police what you saw. You saw them do it. Admit they did it, not you.”

  “She’s brainwashing you, hang up.”

  “Tell her I’m sorry I got you into this,” Quinn says selflessly. “Tell her I’ll—”

  “Goodbye, Nadine.”

  “We’re coming to pick you up so don’t you dare try to go anywhere. We’re coming.”

  “I left the state...”

  “What?”

  “It’s over. Sorry, I... it’ over. I’m going to be fine, I promise, and I promise that to my mom, too. Maybe not today, but I’ll get there. I’ll be the person she wanted me to be.”

  “Adlyn.”

  “Don’t be greedy in life, okay? Learn to love it instead.”

  I hang up, wanting to scream at the top of my lungs, but inhale a controlled, cleansing breath and discharge a loathsome groan instead.

  “Quinn, forget you heard any of that fucking conversation. She shouldn’t have said a damn word about you. Don’t let her get to you.”

  I unbuckle my seatbelt, climbing into the backseat to be closer to him.

  “Come here.” He wraps his arms around me and imparts smoky-lipped pecks on my mouth, his sly tongue breaking inside for a calming kiss, just what I needed. “You’re fearless, you know that? I love the way you stood up for yourself.”

  “Not always fearless... let’s try to forget about her for now, but isn’t the other news just remarkable? I never imagined, not in my wildest dreams that someone would be arrested, someone who might be connected to my mom’s killing. I’m in the sixty percent.”

  Jack gives me a perplexed look then glances at his GPS. He scopes out an exit sign and glances back at the dash. We must be getting close to a city. The traffic’s heavier since we left the restaurant. I think he may have found Emma.

  “What sixty percent?” Quinn asks.

  “Remember when I mentioned forty percent of all murders in the country go unsolved each year? It means I may be among the lucky sixty who get justice. My mom deserves that. The woman who survived deserves that.”

  “But you’re still among the forty percent since you were the one who stabbed Charletta.” Jack smirks.

  “Don’t say that,” I caution him.

  “At any rate,” he continues, “my family makes up the forty percent who get off scot-free. Real criminals are caught, not us. You wanna know why?”

  “We’re not talking about you,” Quinn says.

  “Because we kill men who have earned death, that’s why,” he explains. “Take that dickface, Trent. He tossed all of you in the river and didn’t give a rat’s ass whether you lived or died. No fucking respect. That woman, Charletta, she was a whore, but she did nothing wrong. The ones who hurt the innocent need to be taken out, so bye-bye Trent.”

  “And you think you’re the chosen one to do that?” Quinn asks.

  “Damn straight I am. If I ever saw you or Dylan hit a woman or a kid, you’d meet death head on.”

  “Then why not my dad?”

  “Because he’s just a pathetic old drunk, better off living a lifelong sentence being miserable than being gifted with a quick trip to the grave. I didn’t want to do him any favors.”

  He opens his window a crack and lights a cigarette, flashing an ecstatic grin and appearing pleased with himself.

  We are getting close to a city. I can see the lights and smell the urban air—smoke, tar, maybe even a dog food factory.

  “Anyway, you saved her. Those gunshots scared the attacker off and saved that woman’s life.”

  “Gunshots? Fuck, I would’ve gutted the guy if I had known he was around that morning.”

  “Jack, shut up. Don’t steal this moment from me... Quinn, you saved me, and that woman, and you helped my mom. Talk about good blessings.”

  “That’s pushing it,” Jack says, coming across as jealous.

  “A blessing,” I repeat.

  “A coincidence,” he says.

  Quinn blushes and twists his lips. “It was a stroke of luck. We were in the right place at the right time. Pure luck mixed with good fortune. And you, pisshead up front, it’s meaningful, not just a coincidence.”

  “All depends on what you believe. Could’ve been destiny, fate, how ‘bout karma?”

  “Stop being a shit all the time. This is the best news Addie’s had in a year.”

  “And as painful as it is, it also makes me feel revived,” I add.

  “Revived and garden fresh? Like a douche?” Jack laughs.

  “Guh!” I smack him upside the head, getting another burst of laughter in return. “You’re so immature. Grow up. This is big; we saved a woman’s life, my mom may be able to rest in peace, and I may be able to sleep without getting drunk. So go fuck yourself.”

  “I would if I—”

  “Don’t listen to the prick,” Quinn cuts in. “I think it’s remarkable. A whole new start to your life.”

  “Blah, blah, it’s my job to guard and protect, not Quinn’s.” Jack opens the compartment between the two front seats and takes out a travel bottle of cologne, patting a small amount on
his wrists and neck. He then finger combs his hair and checks his teeth in the mirror, winking at himself before asking, “How do I look?”

  “Did you find your girl?” Quinn asks.

  “I did, now what’s the verdict? Am I handsome or what?” He tilts his head, admiring his reflection.

  “Handsome as a chode. Where is she?”

  “Beaver Meadow Motel.”

  “Beaver Meadow?”

  “Clever, right? Pussy Pasture. Beaver Meadow. She’s a creative one. I remember we were cracking up at the buck-toothed rodent on the sign. It’s another mile ahead. We’re just about there.”

  I lean in to Quinn and whisper, “Let’s talk more about the trail in private, but thank you. Thanks for everything. Being with you has made me value life and love more than ever before.”

  “Me, too.”

  He unloads the food from the McDonald’s bag, setting a napkin, burger, and fries on my lap. I rip open the wrapper and peel the bun away, piling a handful of fries on top of the thin patty before sticking the bun back on top with a good slap.

  “Needed more stuffing,” I say after noticing his curious look.

  He finishes his burger in four large bites, his cheeks packed like a chipmunk’s as he pulls his fries out of the bag.

  “There it is.” I point to a glowing blue fluorescent beaver sign. Jack hits the turn signal to get off at the approaching exit, eyeing himself in the mirror again.

  “Is the beaver riding a tractor... and wearing overalls? Fucking strange,” Quinn says. “Bet you were stoned when you stopped here. Couldn’t pass by an oddity like that.”

  “So?”

  “So it’s a dump. Did you really leave your girl at this place with all the money you have? If you did, your ass is grass.”

  “If my ass is grass, the beaver will mow it for me.”

  We laugh, inhaling through our noses since our mouths are full of fast food.

  And our frame of mind... well, I think we’re all feeling somewhat better for a change. A group of twenty-something-year-olds stopping at a sleazy motel for the night, with cheap food, soda, cigarettes, tunes... uh, weed... a gun... okay, maybe it’s not so normal, but I’m pretty damn happy, and that’s all that matters right now.

  “Do you remember what room you were in?” I ask.

  “Down at the very end.”

  “Wow, people live here. Look, there’re dingy recliners and portable grills in front of some of the rooms... that one has plants hanging in the window.”

  “You can stay for a night or pay a monthly rate,” Jack says.

  He parks in front of the last room and sets the brake, but leaves the car on so he can play his music. He wets his lips and sniffs a couple of times, sucking snot deep into his nose.

  Quinn leans forward, looking at the picture window with a creased forehead. He peers around the lot with a one-sided lip raise then shakes his head at the place. “I’m not one to talk, these people have a hell of a lot more than I do, but seriously? You really left her here?”

  “How many times you gonna fucking ask me that? Emma’s tough, like your woman. She’s taken me down before, knocked me flat on my ass, plus she carries more weapons than I do. Yeah, I fucking left her here. She’s fine.” He grips the back of his shirt and tugs it over his head, flinging it onto the passenger seat. “These two, Addie and Em, they don’t need us, they can take care of themselves. But they want us, and that’s a goddamn beautiful thing.”

  “Doubt she still wants you.”

  “Shut your mouth. I gotta focus on my music so I can do this.”

  He selects a song and the music begins to flow through the car.

  The window’s open, so I’m sure she can hear... I’m sure she and the entire motel can hear.

  “No way, this is your apology song?” I ask.

  “Shh,” he says, rocking his head to the beat while mouthing the words. “Let me get into it.”

  “I don’t recognize this one...” Quinn says with sharp eyes on the motel room window. “Wait, it’s Flo Rida, that ‘Whistle’ song.”

  “Uh-huh, and NOT something you should play for your girlfriend as an apology. Listen, just listen to the lyrics... he wants her to blow his whistle. It’s about giving a blow job.”

  “Think whatever you want with that dirty mind of yours,” Jack says to me.

  “Your girlfriend’s not even coming to the window. Play something else,” Quinn suggests.

  “Fine, I have plenty of songs planned out that I can do this to. Now back off and finish your dinner so I can tuck you two into bed when we get inside.” He scrolls through his music and another song starts to play. “Excellent, this is perfect.”

  He springs out of his seat and slams the door closed, patting the driver’s side windowsill. “Stay put,” he says, dancing toward the motel room. He checks the door to the room to see if it’s unlocked, then moves in front of the window when he can’t get inside.

  The Hellcat’s headlights shine on his tats like artwork displayed in a gallery. He presses his palms to the glass and rocks his butt to the rhythm of a punk song.

  “This is hard to watch,” I say.

  “It’s fucking hilarious. I’m loving it.”

  “He’s making a fool out of himself.”

  “At least he can dance... and sing, too.”

  “True, but he’s terrible at communicating with people.”

  “Holy shit.” Quinn’s jaw drops when a woman appears in the window. “Purple bra and matching lace panties, my God, and she’s sporting a shoulder holster with a gun. That’s a female version of Jack.”

  “Violet, not purple, and don’t tell her she reminds you of Jack, she might find it offensive.”

  “Good point, I’ll keep it to myself... hey, see that tat growing out of her cleavage? Wow... uh, I’m not looking at her body, promise, but you see it? Wings spreading out above her tits with a heart set right in the middle.”

  “Gorgeous.”

  “Yeah, and expensive.”

  She flips her long black hair off her shoulders and lowers her hand to her hip, sliding what looks like a hunting knife from a black garter belt and placing it between her teeth.

  Jack grins and steps back, doing some awkward moshing dance.

  “She looks like she’s ready to annihilate any a-hole who crosses her path,” I say. “Love that ‘fuck off’ expression she’s giving him. My kind of woman.”

  She grabs the cord on the side of the window and closes the curtain, hiding herself behind the dark green cotton fabric.

  “Em, come on. Let me in so we can talk... damn it.” He ambles back to the car with a scowl and says, “Not a word from either of you.”

  “This is fun,” Quinn says.

  “I said not... uh, screw it, go ahead and pick on me all you want. I admit she’s put me in the doghouse.”

  He leans inside, searching for another song to try to please her.

  “You should try a different tactic,” Quinn says. “Or another band, something she likes.”

  “I’ll stick with what I do best, singing along to my favorite music and being charming.”

  I snicker and continue eating my burger, amused by the amateur talent show.

  “She’ll be all over me when she hears this one, just wait and see, it hasn’t failed me yet. The Animals never fail me.”

  Eric Burdon’s voice roars out of the speakers. I’m still dumbfounded by the similarity in his voice and Jack’s, and ironically, the thunderous vocals match the title of the song, “Boom Boom.”

  He knocks on the window and Emma’s pale face and dark, heavy-lidded eyes peer out.

  He acts out the song, hugging himself like he has her in his arms, pointing to her with one hand, and patting his chest with the other to signal that he loves her.

  “Boom Boom,” he sings, flexing his pecs with the words.

  She vanishes behind the curtain, but he remains optimistic and carries on
, performing right along with the lyrics. He pretends to knock himself out, shakes on the ground, and pops back up on his feet, his legs twisting back and forth in a ‘50s style dance.

  “Ya think he was hit over the head as a kid?” Quinn asks.

  “More than once.”

  He pounds on the window and she reappears, opening the curtain a small amount and standing between the two sides of the fabric like she’s on a stage. The green fabric frames her pale body as she unclasps her bra, sliding one side down her forearm. Jack palms the window over her tit and she slides the other strap down, tossing the bra over her shoulder.

  She stands proud with her hands on her hips to display her gorgeous large breasts.

  “Wow, nice boobs... she’s sooo pretty,” I say, with a twinge of envy. “What an attitude. What confidence. And I love her round belly and curvy thighs. I think I’m gonna need someone to pick my jaw up off the floor.”

  He playfully lifts my chin and I clown around in return, doing the same with his, both of us dazed by her beauty.

  “You think she’s our age? Twenty or twenty-one?” he asks.

  “She looks young, like us. I’d say so.”

  Jack continues role-playing, pointing at her, saying he needs her right now, then waving his hands in the air that he’s not referring to tomorrow, and pointing to the ground with a loud “right now.”

  The curtains close in a slow, jagged lurch. Nevertheless, he calls back to us, “Put the next song on.”

  “This isn’t working,” Quinn says.

  “Just do it.”

  “Ugh.” He reaches into the front and selects the next track, then sticks his head out the window and says, “You’re not getting anywhere. Get on your knees and apologize.”

  “I am getting somewhere. This is how I show my feelings. It’s good fucking music and she knows it, she’s used to it, so pipe down.”

  Her hand pokes through the curtain to give him the finger. Yep, he’s right, she sure is enjoying it.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Same thing I did for you when I was waiting for you that night in the barn... finding her favorite music.” He flips through the playlists, trying to help.

  “Good call, but mine was labeled on my cell as one of my favorite love songs. It’s not like it wasn’t obvious.”