The Kane Series Boxset

by Stylo Fantome

  “You know what, I'm going to call him. Right now,” she managed to say.

  That piece of shit mother fucker. He knew better.

  “Thank you, thank you so much. I mean, I don't want to seem clingy. Am I being clingy? It's only been a week, I guess. A whole week,” Rus' voice began to falter at the end, and the insecurity that she was obviously trying to hide broke through – she sounded close to tears.

  “No, you're not clingy. I gotta go, chickee, I'll call you later,” Tate assured her. Rus managed a small laugh, then the line went dead.

  Tate let out a long shriek. Startled, Jameson leapt to his feet. As she called Ang's phone number, Sanders came running into the room. Both asked her what was wrong, but she ignored them. She pressed the phone to her ear and paced down the room.

  “Hey, honey pot, I was just thinking about -,” Ang answered.

  “YOU MOTHER FUCKER!” she screamed into the phone.

  “Whoa! Nice greeting! What the fuck is your problem!?” he demanded.

  “You! You are my problem! How could you do that!? And not say anything to me!? I've talked to you EVERY DAY THIS WEEK!” Tate shouted at him. Jameson was now pacing along side her, demanding to know what was wrong. There was a sigh on the other end of the phone.

  “It wasn't any of your business, Tate. And it wasn't a big deal,” Ang told her.

  “Not a big deal!? She's practically picking out her fucking wedding dress! You piece of shit! Why!? I specifically told you that she was off limits! Why!?” Tate demanded.

  “You don't make all the rules, Tate! You're not in charge of everyone! We're adults, we can fuck if we want to!” he yelled back.

  “Sure you can! But hey, here's a thought – if you wanna casually fuck one of my closest friends, maybe not tell her that you have a fucking goddamn special connection! Why would you say that!?” she shrieked.

  “Hey! You're fucking Satan, right? What, I'm not allowed to be the devil sometimes!?” Ang demanded. She gasped.

  “Are you fucking serious!? This is because of me!? You're blaming this on me!?” she shouted.

  “You're goddamn right I am! You fucking threw me over for some asshole because he's a good fuck, which is a really shitty move! Fuck you, Tate, I fucking hope you -,”

  It all went downhill from there. She began screaming obscenities into the phone. He shouted them right back at her. When she was red in the face and gasping for air between rants, Jameson ripped the phone out of her hand. He handed it over to Sanders, who put it to his ear and walked out of the room. Tate let out another shriek, slapping her hands against Jameson's chest before falling against him, pressing her face into his shoulder.

  “What the fuck is going on!?” he demanded.

  “Ang. Slept with. Rus,” she managed to pant out. Jameson went very still.

  “You're this upset over him sleeping with someone else?” he asked. She gave him a violent shove.

  “Jesus christ, none of you want to actually be with me, but all of you are jealous of every single fucking move I make!” she snapped. He put his hands on either side of her face, forced her to look straight at him.

  “You wanna take your anger out on me, fine. Let's do this,” he offered. She glared at him for a second longer, then her bottom lip began to tremble. Her eyes filled up with tears.

  “I'm upset because he promised he wouldn't. Rus isn't like us, she really is a nice, normal girl. She's always had a crush on Ang. He doesn't care about her. He made her all these promises, said all these sweet things to her, and then he just walked out. Dined and dashed. She thinks they're soulmates. He just did it to get back at me,” Tate explained.

  “Get back at you for what?” Jameson asked. Her eyes slid away from him. He shook her gently. “Talk to me. Get back at you for what?”

  She sighed and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his middle. She could feel his surprise – while a very sexual person, Tate wasn't the most affectionate person. She wasn't prone to hugs; except with Sanders. But she squeezed Jameson tightly and decided it was now or never.

  I just don't care anymore.

  “He's getting back at me ... for falling for you instead of him,” she whispered.

  ~14~

  The tension between them grew to be almost unbearable. Tatum hadn't thought that Jameson would take her confession so hard. She hadn't said she was in love with him. She hadn't asked for marriage or babies or anything – she knew what was going on between them, knew it was mostly one sided. She was okay with that, or at least that's what she told herself. And she told him, too, right after he had let go of her and stepped away, his face hard and pale.

  She spent the whole next week telling him it was okay, but it didn't seem to matter. Conversation didn't flow between them the way it used to. He became prone to sitting in silence behind his desk, and when she would look up, it was often to find him staring at her. Frowning.

  Not a good sign.

  She asked Sanders if anything had been said to him, but nothing had – Jameson was keeping silent on his thoughts. She began counting the days, waiting for him to tell her it was over. She would wait till he said something, she wouldn't throw in the towel. She would finally win one of their games.

  Strangely, though, it didn't effect their sex life. If anything, he went harder. The day after her little confession, Tate was coming down the stairs when suddenly he was behind her, a hand in her hair, forcing her against a wall and her shorts down around her ankles. A day later, she was held down on the couch in the library. The nights were the same – sex, sex, and just when she was about to fall asleep, a little more sex.

  His mouth was filthy and his hand heavy. It was like she had opened a flood gate. She couldn't tell whether she was being punished for her confession, or rewarded. She certainly wasn't complaining. She encouraged him, pushed him to – and over – the edge as often as she could; wanted to make it all as good for him as possible.

  I want him to remember me. I want every woman after me to be compared, and found lacking. He will remember me.

  At the end of the week, as she was bent over his desk, trying to catch her breath, he let the hammer drop. Her panties were in a ball on the floor, her skirt a bunched up mess around her waist. Her scalp was stinging, as well as her ass. She was on cloud nine when he backed away, sat in a chair, and sighed.

  “I'm leaving,” Jameson said in a low voice. She held her breath for a second.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, still laying flat against the desk.

  “I have to go to Berlin,” he replied.

  “How long will you be gone?” she pressed. A long pause.

  “I don't know.”

  Tate took a deep breath. Licked her lips. Stood up and put her clothing to rights. She didn't think it was fair. If she had known that would be the last time they were going to have sex, she would've been more assertive. Insisted on facing him, looking into his eyes. He had such amazing eyes. She walked over to the other chair and sat down as well. The fire was roaring, like always, but she didn't mind the heat. Welcomed the sizzle against her skin. Wondered if Sanders had anymore xanax.

  “Is this it?” Tate whispered. Neither of them looked at each other.

  “Do you want it to be?” Jameson asked.

  “Obviously not. But if you do, it's fine. I'll go pack my stuff, and when you come home, you won't even know I was ever here,” she tried to joke.

  “Tate.”

  “We'll have to work out a custody schedule for Sandy, though,” she laughed. “He's half mine now. I want to -,”

  “Tatum.”

  “What?” she asked, finally looking at him. The wing of the chair hid his face.

  “This isn't a joke,” he told her. She nodded.

  “I know that, I'm just trying to make you comfortable. It's okay, Jameson. I promise. I'm okay,” she assured him. He sighed.

  “Why are you so good to me?” he whispered.

  “Because you were so bad to me,” she teased.

&
nbsp; “Do you want to stay?” he asked, and she could see him turn his head towards her. The bottom of his face became visible. His strong jaw, stern mouth. She shivered.

  “I don't want to stay where I'm not welcome,” she answered his question sideways.

  “You're always welcome, Tate. Just ... you have to know, I'm not ready for what you want,” he told her. She nodded.

  “I know that. I'm not asking for one single thing. I never did. Maybe we should just end this, go our separate ways. It's kinda sick, right?” she tried to laugh, but choked on the sound. He suddenly stood up, walked over to her chair, and pulled her up as well.

  “I don't think it's sick,” Jameson breathed, pulling her into a hug. “I care about you, Tate. I hate you, and you ruined things a little, but I care about you so fucking much. How did you do that to me?”

  “I'm special that way,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek.

  “This was all supposed to be a game. What happened?” he asked. She shook her head.

  “I have no idea. Maybe you weren't mean enough,” she managed a laugh.

  “Maybe I was too mean. You are a freak like that,” Jameson replied, and she really laughed.

  “Shut up.”

  “I don't know what to do with you. I don't know what I want. But I don't want you to go. Wait for me?” he asked in a soft voice, his lips brushing the top of her head. She took a deep breath.

  “I waited for you for seven years. I can wait a little longer,” she answered. He chuckled.

  “I hope I don't take as long this time. Will you be here when I get back?”

  “If you want me to be.”

  “I do.”

  “Then I'll be here.”

  “Why can't you be this compliant in bed?” he asked.

  Satan's on a roll tonight.

  “It wouldn't be as fun,” she replied.

  “You have ruined me, Tatum O'Shea,” he told her. “Completely wrecked me.”

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  “It's only fair, you ruined me first,” she whispered. He finally pulled away from her, held her at arms lengths. His eyes traveled over her form, and she wondered what he saw. What he really saw in her.

  “I leave early tomorrow morning. You're welcome to stay here at the house, otherwise I'm going to have Sanders close it up,” he said, his voice all business as he let her go.

  Close it up?

  “Sandy isn't going with you?” she asked. He shook his head.

  “No. He hates long flights, hates Germany. He'll stay here with you, or at a place in Boston,” Jameson explained. She sank into her chair.

  “And you have no idea how long you'll be?” she asked. He shrugged.

  “Two weeks. Maybe a month,” he told her.

  Tate let out a sigh of relief. That wasn't so bad. She had been expecting him to say something like six months. She didn't know if she could handle that, but a month wasn't so bad. She could do that, go that long without him.

  “I'll stay in my apartment. Or hey, if I get lonely for you I'll just go shack up with Sandy, 'mini-you',” she teased. He glared down at her.

  “Better not. He tells me everything, you know, and I will be coming back at some point,” he warned. She took a deep breath.

  “So. What are the rules?” she asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “Rules. We have rules for everything, if you haven't noticed. Do the same rules apply?” she asked. He nodded.

  “Sure. You can fuck your way through Boston,” he said. She snorted.

  “One guy. I've slept with one other guy this whole time. You've fucked half the country,” Tate pointed out.

  “That's why I have to go to another continent. Gotta get more stories for you, gotta keep you turned on,” he told her.

  “You do that just fine, all on your own, Mr. Kane,” she assured him. He smirked and leaned over her, his hands on her arm rests.

  “Tell me you'll miss me,” he demanded. She nodded.

  “I will miss you.”

  “Tell me you'll think about me, if you fuck anyone else.”

  “I always do.”

  “Tell me you won't fall in love with anyone else, while I'm gone.”

  All her breath flew out of her body.

  “Not possible, so not a problem,” she whispered.

  He kissed her. Didn't touch her anywhere else, just her mouth. Slowly and sweetly, lips brushing over hers, his tongue sweeping its way past her own. She moaned, brought a hand up to the side of his face. This. More than anything, she wanted to remember him like this; she loved his biting words and his stinging hand, but his kiss. His kiss gave her hope. He kissed her for several long moments and then pulled away.

  “Alright, Tatum. Give me a night that'll have me dreaming about you the whole time I'm gone,” he told her.

  She smiled and slipped to her knees in front of him.

  This, she could do. This, she was very good at.

  Love, however, was a completely different story.

  ~15~

  A month wasn't so bad. She could get a lot done in a month.

  Tatum broke the bad news to Rus. Explained to her that Ang just wasn't a relationship kind of guy. Tate didn't play it, but she showed Rus a DVD of one of his movies. The cover was enough to make Rus turn a little green. So prim and proper. There were some tears, and a general cursing of men, but she got over it.

  Tate wasn't ready to call Ang yet, though. She was still so mad at him. The things he had said to her, the way he had spoken to her. She would wait till after Jameson got home, then she would talk to Ang. She counted down the days.

  One really shocking day was when Nick Castille called her; the baseball player she had screwed in her bar. He had gotten her number from her manager. Totally inappropriate and against the rules, but she was flattered.

  Tate was lonely and bored, so she agreed to dinner. They had a good time, but she stared at him when he asked if they could go on a “real” date sometime. Nick was extremely good looking, and several times while they ate, people asked him for his autograph. He was also really nice to her, very respectful. It was a novel experience, and she knew he was a catch. But she politely declined his offer – she was holding out for her lord and savior, Satan. Nick seemed a little sad, but he smiled at her, and said he could settle for being her friend.

  And he meant it. He got her box seats to one of his games. They went out to eat often, and even took in a couple shows. They got along surprisingly well, despite being from completely different backgrounds and living completely opposite lives. Tate enjoyed his friendship. But she didn't push it – she never went back to his place, and never brought him back to hers. Jameson had never once slept with the same girl twice during their relationship. It wasn't a rule, really, but Tate didn't want to be the one to test whether or not it should be. She would respect Jameson's wishes and actions. She would wait for him.

  She didn't speak with him at all, though. Not once. Early on, he texted her a couple times. Mostly filthy things, to remind her who was boss. A couple to ask after Sanders. A couple to remind her of her promises. One to say he missed her. Tate stared at that one for days on end. But then the texts stopped all together, and she found herself hovering near her phone, constantly checking to see if he had sent anything.

  When did I become this girl? I surrendered to him without even realizing it.

  But nothing, however, was as shocking as what happened during her third week of waiting.

  Tate was puttering around her apartment. Rus was at one of her vet tech classes. Sanders was holed up in his penthouse hotel room, doing some translating work for Jameson. Nick was at an away game. Tate was bored. At first she had been afraid that without Jameson paying for everything, she would starve to death, or worse – have to go back to temping. But of course, he thought of everything, and Sanders had supplied her with a steady flow of money. She felt like she was whoring for both of them, but she didn't mind too much. They were both very importan
t to her, so it was worth it.

  She was on her phone, getting ready to dial out for Chinese food, when someone knocked on her door.

  “Just a second!” she hollered, sliding into the living room. She peeked through the peep hole, but couldn't tell who it was; it was someone wearing a big, floppy sun hat. A woman, she assumed. Tate yanked open the door. “I have religion, so I don't -,”

  Her sister turned around to face her. Ellie was wearing huge sunglasses that weren't doing a very good job of hiding a black eye. Her arm was in a cast. And even though it hadn't been that long, her stomach looked noticeably bigger. They stared at each other for a while, till Ellie started to tremble.

  “I didn't know where else to go,” she whispered.

  “Come in, come in,” Tate urged, guiding her sister into her tiny apartment. Ellie looked around, then burst out crying.

  After Jameson's little O'Shea family reunion, things had apparently gone downhill for Ellie. A broken jaw didn't slow Robert down at all. There had been more fights. More smacks. She thought she could handle it, but then he had pushed Ellie down a flight of stairs. That was where she drew the line. He could do what he wanted to her, but he couldn't hurt the baby. If he could treat an unborn child like that, how would he treat the child when it was standing right in front of him? She didn't want to find out.

  “I'm sorry, I know you hate me. I know I ruined your life, but I just didn't know what else to do,” Ellie sobbed. Tate grabbed her hand and dragged her to her bedroom.

  “I don't hate you, Ellie. I don't even know you. And you didn't ruin my life. My life is pretty awesome. You saved me,” Tate told her as she laid her sister down.

  “I wish someone could have saved me,” Ellie cried. Tate frowned and laid on the bed next to her, got right up behind her and spooned her.

  “I wasn't there. I could've called, I could've checked on you guys. I could've saved you,” she whispered.

  It took Ellie a while to calm down, but finally her breathing evened out. She fell asleep. Tate crawled out of the bed and called Sanders. Appraised him of the situation. He told her that he was “on it”, though she wasn't sure what that meant. She really wanted to call Ang, but they hadn't made up yet. She hadn't spoken to him at all, so it would be awkward, and worse, she worried it would come off as her using him. She decided to make some tea instead, and carried it into her room.