Sweet Jayne

by K. Webster

  “Hands on the steering wheel!” I shout as I slowly make my way to the truck.

  Since it’s getting dark, I can’t see through the windshield. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck as I approach. Whoever it is, the fucker is going to pay for making me scratch up my car.

  When I reach the driver’s side window, I peer in. A woman with dark hair is slumped over the steering wheel. My heart thunders in my chest as I tap the glass with my weapon.

  “Ma’am,” I bark out, “put your hands where I can see them.”

  Her body quakes and I wonder if she’s having a goddamned seizure. With eyes on her, I yank on the door handle. The door swings open and all hell breaks loose. She launches herself at me, knocking my gun from my hand but not before a shot fires off into the trees. As soon as my ass hits the grass, she scrambles to her feet and takes off in a sprint. With a grunt, I jump to my feet, scoop up my gun, and begin running after her.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot!” I snarl after her as I charge in her direction.

  She’s short, probably a good six inches shorter than my six-foot frame but she runs like the devil. The headlights shining on her reveal toned legs beneath a floral print dress and cowboy boots. How the fuck she’s running in boots is beyond me.

  I close in on her, my legs eating up the distance easily, and I tackle her to the dirt.

  “Ah!” she cries out the moment her face impacts the ground.

  I shove a knee against the small of her back and wrangle her squirming arms into cuffs. As soon as she’s secured, I roll her over onto her back so I can Mirandize her. “You have the right to remain—”

  She spits in my face, silencing me. “Let me go! I have to go! Now!”

  Her panicked tone sends my heart thudding in my chest. But when I push her hair out of her face and lock eyes with her dark, chocolate-colored orbs, my heart ceases to beat. Familiar rage chases away my moment of shock and I fist my hands at my sides.

  I fucking found her.

  Sweet Nadia Jayne all grown up.

  Anger consumes me and I grab her jaw with my fingers, biting into her flesh hard enough to make her yelp.

  “You’re going to jail you stupid, stupid woman. You stole the police chief’s truck,” I sneer and bare my teeth at her.

  My fingers twitch to grip her neck and choke the fucking life out of her. Fuck serve and protect. More like punish and abuse when it comes to Nadia Jayne.

  “Please,” she begs, hot tears running from her eyes. “You don’t understand. I need to get out of here.”

  I release her jaw and smirk. “You’re not going anywhere except to the station where I’ll fingerprint your ass and your rich little daddy can have fun trying to bail you out.”

  Her eyes widen in horror. “You know Donovan? Please don’t call him. I’m begging you, from one decent human being to another. He can’t know I’m here in Aspen. You don’t understand...”

  A niggling inside of me causes me to take pause. I don’t like the way she pleads with me—the way it works its way inside of me. This dumb bitch has the tongue of a goddamned serpent. She let my sister disappear and I cannot forget that.

  Ignoring her, I pull my phone out and call Logan. “You’ll never believe this,” I say with a laugh. “I’m straddling a woman who stole your truck. Donovan Jayne’s kid. Can you believe it? I’d like to see him buy his way out of—”

  “You have Nadia?” His tone is cool, not at all what I expected.

  “I have her detained on Plantation Road, by The Joint. She tried to fucking flee, Logan,” I snap, my anger returning like a storm thundering in.

  He curses into the phone. “Get her off the ground, goddammit. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  When I hang up and shove my phone back into my pocket, I look down to find her face contorted into one of those ugly-cry expressions chicks sometimes make. It irritates me and I want to really give her something to fucking cry about. If I kicked her in the face like that prick who stole my sister did nine years ago, I wonder if she’d forget this whole scene too.

  Her supposed forgetful nature seems like such a cop-out.

  I would make sure she never forgot the way my boot felt as I crushed her skull.

  “Get up,” I snap as I rise to my feet dragging her up with me.

  She’s a fucking mess—her hair a wild entanglement of leaves and snot running from her nose all over her face.

  “What did you do?” she questions through her hiccupping sobs.

  I frown at her. “I did my job.”

  She hangs her head in defeat and stays that way until Logan’s Tahoe comes barreling down the road toward us. He screeches to a halt and climbs out. Nadia stiffens in my grip but doesn’t lift her gaze to meet his. His glare is hateful when his eyes shift to me, and I stare at him, dumbfounded for a moment. I don’t get a chance to ask him what the hell is going on because after another second, he shoulders past me and pulls her into his arms.

  “Oh, baby,” he coos and strokes her hair. “Are you okay?”

  She breaks down, as in knees collapsing, gut wrenching wails kind of breaking down, and it makes me sick. I don’t know what’s going on but I do know she’s playing him. What she did was illegal and I stand behind chasing her ass. The part about wanting to choke her to death was for my own personal vendetta.

  “Look, Chief,” I mutter to Logan, “she ran a stop sign and was going well over the posted thirty-five miles per hour speed limit. When I finally ran her off the road, she attacked me, ran, and then resisted arrest.”

  He turns and glares at me as if he wasn’t listening to a word I just said. “Un-cuff her.”

  Clenching my jaw, I yank my key out and unlock the cuffs. Her hands are trembling. This bitch is good. Too good. “Now what?”

  “She’s my Dale,” he says, and nods his head over in the direction of The Joint, just down the road. “This is between us, Ghost. Just like it’s between us when I have to deal with your stepfather beating the shit out of your mother. Nadia stays between us. Do you understand?”

  I give him a clipped nod but my gaze falls on her. “You doing a favor for Donovan?”

  His Cheshire cat grin doesn’t escape me, even though it’s quick. He slips his hands into her messy hair and tilts her head back. I watch in shock as he kisses her softly on the lips. Her lip wobbles but she kisses him back, her breathy sigh echoing in the dark. When they finish their weird-ass kiss, he turns to me, a confident smile spread across his face.

  “Lieutenant,” he says with a chuckle, “meet my fiancée. Cat’s officially out of the bag.”

  And things just got a million times more complicated.

  Logan Baldwin is a goddamned liar.

  And an oh-so-good one, too.

  I listened with a mix of awe and horror as he revealed to the man named Ghost that I was his fiancée. On one hand, I should be fist pumping the air. Joyous for such a leap of progress toward my ultimate goal. But I’m not. Instead, I’m terrified of the wrath that will inevitably follow.

  We’ve gone public.

  Going public means all eyes on us.

  Donovan and Mamá back in my life. A vision of Donovan’s pained, steely grey-blue eyes is at the forefront of my mind. Those eyes haunt me but they also remind me—they remind me of my purpose.

  He’ll come for me eventually.

  The thought it is both terrifying and pleasing in one confusing mix of emotions.

  It is absolutely crucial, though, that he stays away. I need for him to stay away.

  “The axel’s broken,” Logan grunts from his position, crouched on his hands and knees as he peers under his truck.

  My heart rate picks up when he stands back up and saunters over to Ghost. The other officer’s eyes haven’t strayed from mine. I hate the way he stares at me—like he can see into my head, the same head that holds the secrets I’m desperate to protect. Having people find out about Logan and I could be a good thing. But something tells me I’ll need to keep my distance from the
man with the jade-colored, knowing eyes and unsmiling face.

  I shiver, the night air chilling my bones as the adrenaline wears off. Ghost frowns at me. And Logan snaps his head over to me, his eyes flickering with that rage he masks so well.

  The sound of Logan clearing his throat breaks the silence that had fallen over us. “Call a tow truck, will you? I need to get Nadia home. She’s freezing to death out here. Just have Bill invoice me.”

  Ghost nods and pulls his cell from his pocket, his gaze never leaving mine. When Logan touches the small of my back to guide me back to the Tahoe, I flinch. His gentle fingers barely brushing against my lower back are more terrifying than his heavy hand.

  I remain quiet as he helps me into the vehicle. He climbs in a few seconds later, and soon we’re weaving down the dark road. Chewing on my lip, I try to formulate the right words. Words I hope will keep him calm.

  The eagle-eyed cop fades in the side mirror as silence fills the Tahoe. The ominous mood surrounding us darkens the night further. “You do realize what you’ve done, don’t you?” he questions in a measured tone, his eyes on the road and both hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

  My heart rate quickens and I let out a small whimper. “Logan, please... I swear on everything I love that I’ll play the part for you. They’ll never know.”

  His eyes dart over to mine for a moment before they’re back on the road again. “Oh, believe me, I have no doubt about that. You’re going to have to convince everyone in this whole goddamned town about your depth of feeling for me. No backing down now.”

  My hands tremble in my lap. I quickly clasp them together so he doesn’t pick up on the overwhelming fear that nearly consumes me. Logan feeds off of fear and I don’t want to strengthen the beast. I need to weaken him. Use the skills I’ve perfected over time and make him feel reassured.

  “I promise I’ll be perfect for you, Logan.”

  He nods and the rest of the drive is silent. I know in that twisted head of his, he’s contemplating my punishment. Beatings. Whippings. Orgasm deprivation. Near suffocation over and over again.

  Those are preferable.

  Always my choice.

  Because when it comes to Logan, he knows my weaknesses. With Logan, his psychological punishments are much worse. He knows my Achilles heel and isn’t afraid to cut me where it hurts the most.

  “Donovan is going to be a problem,” he says as he puts on the blinker to turn into his driveway. “I’m going to have to figure out how to deal with that one.” The moonlight shines down on the large, stunning estate. If it wasn’t the place that housed my worst nightmares, I’d be in love with the architectural beauty of it. It’s a delicate mix of rustic country meets modern elegance, which is a common décor choice here in Aspen among the wealthy.

  And Logan is among the wealthy. He’s practically their leader amid the local Aspen community. Well, he and Donovan are.

  He tells everyone he’s a trust fund kid—because clearly, he couldn’t ever afford a house like this on a police chief’s salary. And just like all of his other lies, they believe it. There was a time when I trusted and believed in him too.

  Until he turned my world upside down.

  He pulls into his three-car garage beside “The Beast,” as he calls that vehicle. The space where his truck once sat remains empty. As soon as the overhead door closes, caging us inside of his fortress, I swallow down the panic flopping around in my belly like a fish on the bank. It’s time to breathe and face the music. And this isn’t the good kind of music. No Led Zeppelin here crooning away in my head. Instead, raging Pantera is what threatens to crush me.

  But the time for crying is over.

  The armor is going up.

  This warrior princess is strapping up for battle.

  “How will you punish me?” I question when I climb out of the Tahoe and slam the door.

  He’s already striding into the house, ignoring my words. I trot after him, hoping to distract him in some way from the inevitable. By the time I make it into his room, he’s yanking off his tie and tossing it on the bed. With practiced finesse, he pops each button on his white dress shirt until it’s completely undone and he peels it from his muscled frame.

  Logan is forty-five years old, the same age as Donovan, and has the body of a thirty-year-old. He’s lean in all the right places but his muscles are more sculpted and defined on his arms, shoulders, and abs. As he stands in his slacks and white sleeveless undershirt, I admire his monstrous beauty. Despite the undershirt covering up most of his body, his sleeve of tattoos on his left arm is visible and my eyes fixate on the words.

  Harmony after annihilation.

  Those words are my focus. When he does his worst, I focus on those words. My constant reminder.

  Just like now.

  His tattoos are a colorful piece of artwork surrounding that profound phrase. The phoenix which takes up most of his arm bears his dark eyes, symbolic of the man before me. Within the flames permanently licking his skin encompassing the hellish bird are names. Reminders. My reasons. I fixate on my favorite one and steel my heart, preparing myself for annihilation.

  “Logan, what are you going to do? You’re too quiet.”

  He peels off the undershirt and once again, my eyes are drawn to his masculine physique. More tattoos cover his chest and abdomen. His chest is mostly free of hair aside from the dark trail centered in the V of his lower abdomen.

  The man is beautiful.

  But on the inside, he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  Wicked darkness cloaked in smiling light.

  And yet, I still have a sick, sliver of love for him.

  It doesn’t make sense, but when his dark, familiar eyes meet mine, it does. I can look past those menacing eyes and see perfection. Beauty. Innocence. It’s pure—untainted and uncorrupted—and I’d do anything for that untarnished part of him.

  “Who says I want to punish you?” he questions, the thick cord of muscle on his neck tightening.

  Dread washes over me and I rush over to him. “Please, Logan. I’m begging you. Hurt me.”

  His gaze meets mine and he smirks. I hate his smirks. When I hear the jingle of his belt, I nearly sob in relief. But when he yanks it from the loops of his pants and wraps it tightly around his fist, panic once again chokes me. He pushes past me, out of his bedroom and down the hallway. I know where he’s going. I can’t let things escalate that far.

  “No!” I cry out and launch myself against his back before he reaches the door to the basement. “Not down there. For the love of God, just fuck me up. Fuck me up on the kitchen floor or your bed or the back porch. I don’t care. Just do it up here.”

  He shakes me off of him and I slip between him and the door. His eyes are darkened with rage and his breathing is so heavy he’s visibly shaking. Desperate to distract him from what I know is coming, I grab his thick cock through his work slacks.

  “Choke me with your cock, Logan,” I beg with fat tears welling in my eyes.

  He laughs, the sound cruel and humorless. “I’m not in a choking mood.”

  I grab on to his fist holding the belt and stand on my toes to try and meet his vacant glare. “Make me bleed,” I implore him firmly, rapidly blinking the tears away. “Make me bleed with this.” I squeeze the leather he’s holding and then lick my lips.

  His anger lessens marginally and his features slightly relax. I pounce, not wasting any time, and wrap my arms around his neck. He dips his head to meet my lips and I kiss him hard. I throw all of my energy into distracting him from breaking my soul a little more than he already has.

  I’m a wolf too, you see.

  The games Logan plays are no longer difficult to understand.

  In fact, sometimes I think I’m starting to win.

  His tongue spears into my mouth and I let out a moan as he kisses me hungrily. And I am pleased for the simple fact he’s reciprocating. When I hop to wrap my short legs around his firm waist, he grabs on to my ass with a punishi
ng grip. I yelp, which only spurs him on because he loves to hear me scream and he strides away from the basement toward his bedroom. My heart leaps into my throat because his bedroom is the safest room in the house. It means he’s feeling softer than usual which surprises me.

  Maybe I’m finally getting to him.

  When we finally reach his bed, he pushes me onto it. I bounce on the mattress and then jerk my gaze to his, waiting for his next move. He starts undressing the rest of the way, baring his large cock to me, but I wait patiently for his next order.

  “Leave the boots on. Everything else goes,” he says, his tone curt, as he takes his cock in his free hand.

  I focus on the way he strokes himself as I go up on my knees to peel off my dress. At one time, his dick had been too big. Too scary. Too much. It’d been enough punishment alone. But over time, I grew used to the way he filled and stretched every hole in my body. I’d learned how to turn myself on so I could accept him more easily. It was the only way. With Logan, you just have to accept that he’s going to destroy you from the inside out. Once I finally made peace with that, it soon became easier to take all of the crooked, brutal parts of him.

  “Now, lie face down across the bottom of the bed.”

  I scramble to heed his instructions and wait for the pain that will inevitably come. But then it doesn’t come. Not right away. Instead, he teases my flesh by dragging the leather of his belt along my spine toward my ass. I focus on the way it tickles my skin and imagine his mouth on my clit, sucking and tasting. Just the idea of him between my legs has me growing wet.

  I absolutely need to be wet.

  “Did you get the shit you needed from the store?” he asks softly.