by S. Ann Cole
As if realizing for the first time that she was naked, and that Tex was in the room, Saskia glanced down at herself and let out a little scream, covering her body as best as she could with her hands as she scurried back into the bedroom.
A minute later she reemerged, tying her robe with a wide-eyed, confused expression. Looking as lost as he felt.
“What in the bloody hell are you doing in here?” she asked the assfuck, who by now had finished setting up God knows what and was grinning his dickface off.
When Tex didn’t answer, she turned to Jahleel. “What’s he doing in my suite, JK?”
She was asking him.
He came into their suite and found her naked, with her ex, and she was fucking asking him.
If Jahleel could’ve gotten his body to function, to shake out of that jarring juncture, he’d be chuckling hard at that question.
“Come, come,” Assface Tex said, moving forward to take Saskia’s hand and lead her to the sofa.
She looked up at him, baffled, as Tex pushed her down to sit and put a bowl of popcorn in her lap.
Saskia turned her head to look at him, her eyebrows drawn together. “What’s happening?”
Jahleel just watched her.
He couldn’t even formulate words, let alone answer an unanswerable question.
Tex took up the bottle of Patrón and started toward him, but whatever he saw on Jahleel’s face or body posture, made him stop and retreated, putting the Patron back on the coffee table.
Tex was afraid of him.
And the fucker had a right to be. Because if there was one thing Jahleel could do better than dancing, it was fight. And he meant fight to kill. The only person who had ever defeated him was Chad, his best friend. And that’s because Chad’s the one who trained him. Chad was a trained-from-childhood expert. At fighting, and at killing. And when they first became friends, Chad had trained him to fight, teaching him all the innocent, inconspicuous little tricks to kill easily in a fist to fist fight.
So if this son-of-bitch wanted it, he’d have it.
Just fucking try me, motherfucker, Jahleel told him with his eyes, since he was incapable of speech at the moment.
Eying Jahleel warily, Tex defiantly sat down beside Saskia and swung one tatted arm around her shoulders.
Saskia shrugged him off disdainfully, hissing out a “What in the world do you think you’re doing?”
But that only served to make Tex lean in and kiss her.
The popcorn bowl flew from her lap as she fought out of the kiss and launched a punch straight to his jaw.
“Jesus Christ,” Tex roared, rubbing his jaw. “I said asskicking comes last!”
“Try anything like that again and I’ll cut your bloody bellend off, you stinking scoundrel!” Saskia screamed at him.
Tex flashed her a smile, but Jahleel saw right through it. The tough rock star was hurt by her reaction, but aimed to hide his hurt with arrogance. Whatever he and Saskia agreed on the night before, Tex was getting a rude awakening now from her scornfulness toward him.
“I just love it when you go all crazy British on me,” Tex said. “And, Raven?”
“What?” Saskia growled.
“We did a fuck of a lot more than kissing last night.”
Throughout all this, Jahleel was still standing there in the room like a spare part or piece of furniture. Any other man would’ve been bashing that asshole’s face in harder than Muhammad Ali, fighting for his woman. But Jahleel’s body wouldn’t let him. And to be honest, he was in agreement with his body’s stubbornness at the moment, because he had no idea what Tex wanted him to see on that TV, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t overcurious.
All he knew was that he’d hopped on a plane to come see his soon-to-be-wife, and next the thing he knew, he was in a hotel suite with her, her ex, and implications that she cheated on him with the tattooed shitface.
And there he was, standing off like a fucking wallflower, watching it all unfurl before his very eyes. Speechless. Mindless. Inert. Confuckingfused.
“Wha-what the hell are you talking about?” Saskia asked Tex, then turned her head to shoot Jahleel a questioning glare as though hoping he could provide the answers for her.
Probably also wondering why the fuck he was just standing there, immobile, like a cardboard cutout of himself.
“Why don’t I just show you?” Tex grinned, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, then hitting a button on the remote. “Act one of ‘Rockstars Always Wins.’”
Jahleel’s curious, narrowed gaze drifted to the television screen. It was dark, with hardly any visuals, but there was audio. Moans. Mostly of a man’s. Tex’s. Moaning a lot of “ohhh” and “God, yes.”
Was this dark, obscure shit supposed to trick Jahleel into thinking it was a sex tape of Tex and Saskia? What a fucking clown.
Just as Jahleel’s shoulders relaxed in relief, and he was about to call out Tex’s bullshit, clear visual came on the television screen. And there was Saskia, on her knees, in what looked to be the back of a limo, sucking off someone’s cock.
Tex’s cock.
Her bright gray eyes stared up into the camera. She knew she was being recorded. And she was doing her best for the fucking camera.
“Oh my God!!” Saskia shrieked, jolting up from the couch, glancing over to Jahleel with a panicked expression.
Jahleel’s limbs went numb.
This could not be happening. This could not be happening. This could not be fucking happening. To him. Of all persons, to him.
“Oh, sit down, Raven,” Tex dragged, stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “This is just Act One. Let’s fast forward to Act Two, shall we?”
Tex fast forwarded from Saskia sucking him off in the back of a car to something much worse. Something that lacerated Jahleel’s insides. Tex fucking Saskia on the same coffee table his feet were tossed up on.
Saskia held the camera this time around, turning it on Tex and then herself. Moaning words Jahleel didn’t want to hear. How good she felt, how good Tex felt inside her, how much she missed him… Obviously they’d agreed on making a sex tape.
A fucking sex tape.
What did he ever do to her that was so bad she felt the need to do all this to get back at him? Why did he continue to let himself get used by the people he loved? Why did he love?
Loving was his fucking downfall.
Tex skipped to Act three: fucking in the kitchen with chocolate slathered all over them. Then Act Four: fucking in the bathroom, on the vanity, under the shower.
Tex skipped to the next. “And we conclude with Act Five. My favorite.”
They were in bed now, under the sheets. Not fucking this time. No. They were making love. Slow and loving.
“Tex?” TV Saskia whispered.
“Yeah?”
“You’re the best fuck I’ve ever had in my entire life. When you’re inside me, I forget everything.”
TV Tex smiled lovingly down at her. “I still love you, Raven. You believe me, don’t you?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Will you keep your promise? Will you keep your promise and leave him for me, Raven?”
“I promised you I would, Tex,” she replied, caressing the side of his face. “Now, make love to me. Make me forget.”
A thin tear escaped at the very corner of Jahleel’s right eye, but he swiftly swept it away before either of them could see. Real men didn’t fucking cry, no matter how badly shit hurts. They tough it out. Embrace the pain. Knock fists and gave high fives to their bad fate. Because it was a war, and in a war, there can be only one winner.
In this war, he lost, bad fate won.
Standing taller, he suddenly found the strength to put on his I-don’t-give-a-fuck face.
The pain he was feeling inside, indescribable. He felt hollow and empty and useless and idiotic. He felt like a fucking loser, a punk, baited, used, chewed up, and spat out. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong in love. He didn’t belong with her.
He was supposed to be who he was meant to be. Jahleel Kingston. The asshole who didn’t give a flying fuck.
But no, he’d let his obsession with this woman bring him to this place. So obsessed and in love with her that he hadn’t seen through her fakeness, her lies.
He should have taken the hint when she went straight to sleeping with his best friend instead of standing up and fighting for him. He should have backed the fuck out of this engagement when he found her in the club all cuddly with Chad again.
Granted, Chad had told him nothing happened. Swore on his dead granddad which was something he only did when he was giving his honest word.
But what if this one time, Chad did lie? What if they did fuck?
His lips curled in disgust as he looked down at Saskia who was a crumpled heap on the floor, her body rocking as she sobbed, her hair hiding her face.
Tex switched off the video. “So, dancer boy, how do you feel about me being the better fuck?”
Jahleel chuckled to himself and took a step forward. Tex took a step back, holding a hand up.
What a pussy. He could mouth-off, but couldn’t stand up to a fight?
“Let’s just skip the asskicking part and get to the point of all this.” Tex watched his reaction for a second, then boldly continued, “I want Saskia back. Call off the engagement. If you do that, the world never sees this video. If you don’t, I’ll expose it. And you’d be too humiliated to marry her, so you’ll end up breaking it off anyway, and I’ll still get her in the end, because, well, you heard her, I make her forget everything. So if you care about her, save her the embarrassment and leave her.”
Was this asswipe seriously trying to blackmail him?
“Or,” Jahleel asserted, taking another step forward, “If I gave a fuck, I could kick your face in until you’re unrecognizable, then destroy that video.”
Tex refused to step back this time, standing tall.
Would you look at that, the sonuvabitch grew a pair. This made Jahleel giddy, vigorous, eager to beat the fucker into the ground. He cracked his knuckles one at a time.
“You could do that. In fact, you can go with the video,” Tex said, swallowing hard, watching Jahleel’s knuckles. “But I already have it uploaded online. All I gotta do is hit publish.”
Slowly, Jahleel moved forward, and with obvious bravado Tex didn’t move. Jahleel was counting on that.
Clenching his fists open and closed, he made sure that’s where Tex’s attention stayed, on his fists, waiting for the first punch so he could duck.
When he balled his fist and faked as if he was going punch him, Tex, predictably, ducked; Jahleel kicked his foot out from right to left, sweeping Tex clean off his feet.
Tex fell on his back with a thud, hitting his head on the edge of the coffee table on his way down.
As he groaned in pain, Jahleel crouched down over him and wrapped his fingers around his throat, squeezing tighter and tighter, watching Tex’s entire face redden, choking sounds leaving him as he tried in vain to pry Jahleel’s fingers from around his throat. “You don’t understand, rock star. You wouldn’t live to hit publish.”
Saskia rushed over, struggling to pull him off her “best fuck of her life.” “JK, stop! My God, you’re going to kill him!! Stop! Please. He’ll die!”
Without even looking in her direction, Jahleel used his free hand to shove her off him. He heard a crash, but he still didn’t look. He didn’t know what happened to her, and right now, in his rage, he didn’t care.
Reasoning with himself that she wasn’t even worth it, he let go of Tex. The mouthy punk immediately began gasping, inhaling large gulps of air, his face red as blood, fearful eyes wide.
“You missed the first part of my sentence,” Jahleel growled. “I said if I gave a fuck. You’re breathing now, aren’t you? So obviously, I don’t. You can have her. She’s just another one.”
As Jahleel stood up, Tex croaked out, “You…fucking asshole…I…I should sue you.”
Jahleel let out a strangled laugh, striding off without a glance backward. “Try, motherfucker. Just fuckin’ try.”
Halfway to the door, Saskia ran up behind him, grabbing onto his arm. “JK, please, I don’t know what happened last night. Maybe I was drugged. I have no memory of it. You have to believe me.”
Jahleel turned to face her.
Her face was soaked in tears, her eyes swollen and pleading, contrite. Even now, she was so fucking unbelievably beautiful, it just got a little bit harder for him to leave her.
But he had to, or she’d be his ruination. He’d either kill to save her, or stay and be hurt for a lifetime. And he chose neither. He chose life, and freedom.
And right now, Saskia Day was neither of those to him. She was a lying, cheating, untrustworthy, deceptive bitch.
“Why do you need memory,” he asked in a voice so misleadingly soft, “when you got a video to remind you of how fuckin’ filthy you are?”
It pained him to shit on her like that, but he just wanted her to feel what he felt inside. He wanted her to fucking hurt. Badly.
Why the fuck would she do this to him? Since his last fuck-up with her, he did everything he could to make it up to her. To prove to her that he loved her and only her and would never in a million years even think about hurting her again. Then she turned and pulled this shit?
Fuck no.
There was no going back from here. This was too much. Even for him.
This was their end.
“You can’t leave, JK,” she cried, still clutching onto him when he tried to walk off. “You can’t. You just can’t. I love you. Stay. We can work this out. You said you’d stay no matter what. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how any of this happened. That’s the truth. That’s the real truth, JK. He did something to me. To put a rift in what we have. You have to believe me. I love you. You can’t leave me. You can’t walk away from me.”
“No?” Jahleel asked with a bitter chuckle, cocking his head to the side.
Forcefully, he jerked his hand away from her and she tumbled back, falling on her ass. The part of him that loved her itched to go pick her up and apologize. But that love was so rapidly being expunged by a nebulous darkness called hate.
So instead, he acerbically bit out, “Watch me walk away from you, Sassy… And don’t even think about pullin’ that stunt again. ‘Cause this time I won’t come runnin’, ‘cause I don’t give a shit. Believe that. A matter of fact, you’re already dead to me. Dead.”
Turning, he picked up his holdall from the ground, and got the fuck out of there.
Chapter Nine
Saskia…
I fucked up.
I fucked up.
I fucked up.
Holy bloody hell, I fucked up.
Through a vision blurred with tears, I watched Jahleel Kingston walk out of my life without a backward glance.
I fucked up.
Worse, I had no memory, none at all, of how I got to fucking up. Last thing I remembered was Tex handing me a bottle of Nuvo and telling me about some mystery girl. Everything after that was…blank.
Nothing.
I could remember nothing at all.
Then to see myself on that video…Oh, God, I couldn’t even think about it without feeling nauseated. I’d stopped watching at “Act Two.” It was too much. To watch the man I love watch me shag someone else. The pain and disbelief in his eyes had been enough to break my heart into a thousand tiny pieces.
The sound of Jahleel’s voice had woken me, my head pounding with the worst frigging curse of a headache. Half-awake, I’d dragged myself out of the bedroom, only to find I was in a bloody nightmare.
I fucked up.
“Christ, where the fuck did you find that lunatic?” Tex groaned from somewhere in the suite, dragging me out of my pitiful reveries.
Eyes opening, I glanced around the room to see him pulling himself up from off the floor, one hand rubbing his tatted and freshly aggravated throat.
&nbs
p; Yep, this was all real. Not a dream.
Tex was really in my hotel suite. He really showed my fiancé a less-than-24hrs-fresh sex tape of us. And Jahleel Kingston really left me.
My life was over. I had no reason. No purpose.
Slowly hauling up off the floor, I stared at Tex, who didn’t seem to have an ounce of compunction.
And I thought, now that my life meant nothing, neither to me or to the one person who mattered to me, shouldn’t it be fucking facile to grab a knife and slice this sonuvabitch to minces?
What did I have to lose, right? He screwed up my whole life, so it was just as fair I returned the favor, right?
What a celebrity tragedy that would be.
Shaking the thought, convincing myself that none of it would solve a damn thing, except to be a tragic disaster this innocent world didn’t need, I dried my tears, and went to ease down on the sofa. Calmly.
I had two options:
Feel piss-sorry for myself and cry from now till death over my great loss, dwelling in a perpetual pity party, becoming weak all over again—which would inevitably lead to the same tragic results as the last time.
Or, be strong throughout this. Accept that I messed up. Accept the current circumstances. Face the consequences for my thoughtless actions. And accept that I might have to live without the only man I’d ever loved.
It wasn’t as if I would be the first person to ever have to live without their true love. Many people, men and women alike, died loving a soul they never got even a silver sliver of chance to be with. Many people, great and small, died choking on a lustful meal of fantasies and dreams. Decayed and buried in dusty gray ashes of “what could have been.”
At least I experienced a taste of being Jahleel’s. A taste I would savor for a lifetime.
If I chose to remain strong, I could brave through this.
So, option two it was.
Why? Because I knew Jahleel. And to him, this wasn’t a minor fuck-up. This was a monumental fuck-up. One that, if the roles were reversed and it were me, I’d never be able to forgive or get over that.
I didn’t consciously cheat, no. I was drugged. But that was beside the point. And Jahleel had all the right to hate me and want nothing more to do with me. I couldn’t beg him to see reason. Because there was no reason in this.