The Jack & Jill Series

by Ann, Jewel E

Claire’s blood pooled along the floor, seeping through Jessica’s soiled shorts. It was still warm—a last kiss goodbye. There should have been tears. Any normal person would have been screaming and crying in a fit of hysteria. But when Claire released her last breath, something broke inside of Jessica. A piece of her humanity, the innate part of her that was programmed from birth to do no harm. It was severed and her grief remained buried under the desire—the need—to end Edwin’s life.

  “H-how many days h-has it b-been?” Jessica rasped through her dry, raw throat, feeling a new wave of dehydration seizing her body. The dog bowl had been dry for quite some time.

  “Three, bitch. Why? You have a date or something?” Edwin continued to scrub at the blood under the single light that hung from the basement ceiling. The wretched smell of death and other bodily fluids hung stagnant in the dungeon air.

  “Yes…” her eyelids fought to stay open “…with Jude. H-he’s going to try and k-kill you, b-but I w-won’t let him.” It wasn’t hope, it was certainty. Jude tracked her phone at all times and it was on when she and Claire arrived at the hellhole. He’d know her last location, even if the battery died.

  Edwin laughed. “I don’t know who the fuck Jude is, and I don’t really care, but I’m touched that you’re going to save me, sweetheart. Why the sudden love for me? Your slutty friend steal your boyfriend and therefore deep down you’re grateful that I ended her pathetic little life?”

  Jessica rolled her head side to side. “No, because I’m going to k-kill you.”

  His laugh grew to a roar. “Well this will be interesting. You can’t talk without stammering all over the place and you’re sitting in a puddle of blood and piss with your arms and legs restrained, yet you’re going to kill me?”

  She forced her tired eyes to meet his sadistic gaze and then she nodded once before passing out. Voices mixed with jolting sounds echoed like a tunnel, and random flashes of light blurred into hazy outlines—then black.

  *

  “Wake up so I can fucking kill you,” a voice whispered in her ear.

  Jude came into focus as she peeled her eyes open.

  “Stop it!” her mom pushed him aside. “Hey, honey.” She rested her palm on Jessica’s cheek. “You’re going to be fine. Two broken ribs but thankfully they didn’t puncture your lung.” Tears swelled in her mom’s eyes despite the smile of relief on her face. “Dad’s in the waiting room handling some things. I’ll go tell him you’re awake.” She kissed her forehead.

  Jude moved to her side again, greeting her with a scowl. “I’m serious, as soon as you get out of the hospital I’m going to kill you.”

  She managed a faint grin through the residual effect of whatever drugs they’d given her. “At least I’ll die at the hands of a worthy adversary.”

  Jude’s expression softened. “Claire is …”

  “I know.” Jessica averted her gaze, guilt-ridden that she had yet to shed a single tear. “Did you kill them?”

  “Them? You mean him?”

  Her eyes shot to his. “Them. There were two.”

  Jude shook his head. “One. When we arrived there was only one, Edwin Harvey.”

  “No there was another. He left, I think for drugs. Trigger, he called him Trigger. He carried the gun and waved it around with an itchy finger.”

  “Claire … who killed—”

  “Eddy or ‘Edwin’ … he cut her—only him. But I think …”

  Jude sat on the edge of her bed. “You think what?”

  “I think I somehow belonged to Trigger. I was his toy and it was going to be his turn.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “You didn’t answer me. Did you kill him?”

  “No. I wasn’t alone. Dad was there too and you kept coming in and out of it, but the only thing you said was ‘don’t kill him.’”

  “He’s alive?”

  “Yes. He’ll never see the outside of a prison cell, but he’s alive.”

  “Good.” She nodded.

  “Good?”

  “Hey, baby girl.” Their dad walked in the room.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “We need to talk.”

  She nodded.

  *

  Luke poured her another glass of wine as they admired the view of the city’s lights welcoming the sunset from the balcony. He listened to every single word, but it wasn’t enough. She held the pain too tight and too close to her heart and he couldn’t take it from her. It was a part of her and it always would be.

  Mostly she stared into the night as if she were looking at everything and nothing at the same time, but she’d give him an occasional glance filled with worry, searching for judgment in his eyes.

  “Jessica …” he held out his hand, having reached his limit, no longer able to resist. He needed her touch.

  She looked at it for a moment before taking it. He pulled her over onto his lap.

  “I’m all in. Do you get that?”

  She worried the edge of her lip between her teeth, giving him a barely detectable nod that lacked true conviction.

  “You don’t really get it, do you?”

  She frowned. “It’s … well, I just told you that I didn’t cry for my dead friend and that I wanted to kill a man. And I’m not done. The story’s not over. I made good on my promise.” Her brow drew tight. “That’s a lot to be ‘all in’ for: the truth, the person I became that day—and to some extent always will be—my twisted mind, and morbid obsession. Can’t you see how hard it is to ‘get’ that any person with even half my sanity would willingly be all in?”

  “Well, I am.”

  “Well you shouldn’t be!” She shot off his lap.

  He felt his heart rip from his chest, confirming that she had it, at least part of it.

  “What is wrong with you? I’m getting ready to tell you I killed a man, but I’m not going to stop there. I’m going to give you every sadistic, gory, fucked-up detail about it. And then I’m going to tell you that I walked away and in the past decade I haven’t regretted it for one. Single. Second.”

  “It doesn’t change anything.” He felt her agony, the torture, the unforgivable guilt that left a permanent mark on her heart, her conscience, and her self-image.

  Jessica huffed a sarcastic laugh. “Really?” She paced the length of the deck several times before settling with her back to the railing, resting on her hands. “I wanted to die after I attacked my mom when she woke me the first morning home from the hospital. I was so messed up. My father worked round the clock to assure Four would never taste freedom again. But he was privileged, born into a family with an obscene amount of money, so he was released on bond. My family was outraged … everyone but me.”

  Luke refused to cower under her glare, the one that said she couldn’t imagine how he could love her … all of her.

  “His family sent him to stay at their private beach house to protect him from the media. It was almost too easy, too perfect. I’d been a mess for weeks, and Jude knew I needed something more than a guilty verdict. He was my decoy for getting into the beach house and my backup if anything went wrong. But it didn’t. In less than five minutes I had him restrained with zip ties. I was there for two hours and even that was too merciful. Forty-four … I cut him forty-four times, the final cut was to his femoral artery. He begged for mercy. I showed none—not one second of hesitation, not one moment of regret, not one tear.”

  He waited for her to continue, but she just looked at him. Whatever awful reaction she expected him to have, he didn’t. She killed the man that stole her emotional innocence and murdered her best friend. He deserved everything he got. It wasn’t the professional opinion of Dr. Jones or even well-thought-out logic. It was simply Luke’s raw human emotion in that moment, his truth.

  “He had it coming, Jessica.”

  “Bullshit! How can you have a fucking degree in psychiatry and say that? Yes, he deserved to die, but it doesn’t make what I did right.” Her voice cracked as she fisted and pulled at her hair, s
queezing her eyes shut. “My hands didn’t shake. Do you get that? I was a damn surgeon with every cut, immune to his pain, immune to his cries, immune to my own humanity.”

  He sighed. “What do you want from me?”

  She shook her head, tears growing heavy in her eyes. “I want to deserve your love and I want it to make sense.”

  “Jessica—”

  She wiped her tears and walked back inside. His muscles ached to run after her. But then what?

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Jessica imagined telling Luke everything would free her. It didn’t. Saying the words aloud, hearing them herself, and reliving the events only confirmed her insanity—how unworthy she was of anyone’s love. She could be the strongest most confident woman in the world, but it wouldn’t change her past, it wouldn’t change the truth. Edwin Harvey sealed his fate the day he took Claire’s life and Jessica sealed hers the day she took his. She was destined to live without love and the kind of happiness normal people dreamed about. That was her life—her prison.

  On the way home she stopped for alcohol, but not her favorite bottle of wine. Beer. She needed beer. The six pack of Heineken called to her. It seemed like the right choice, a tribute to the man she loved but could never truly have. The first bottle tasted like piss and so did the second. By the third, her taste buds were as buzzed as the rest of her, and it went down like a smooth analgesic.

  She stared at the ceiling fan from corpse position on her living room floor. The couch must have moved on her when she tried to lie on it. Just as well, the cool floor felt like heaven beneath her warm tingly skin.

  “Why did you leave?”

  “Jones?” She laughed. It was more fun than crying. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  The door slammed shut.

  “Yep. I heard that.” The ceiling fan had her in a trance. “Why did I leave? Hmm … I’m pretty sure I left because I love you.” Another laugh. “Isn’t that just fan-fucking-tabulous? You’re the boy I dreamed about when I used the back of my hand to practice kissing as a young girl.” She smiled at the fan. The fan smiled back. “Bet you didn’t know that girls did that? Well we did—the back of our hand, a pillow, the wall, each other.”

  Luke stepped over her, straddling her waist with his feet, arms crossed over his chest while he looked down on her like a god. “You kissed other girls?”

  She pressed her lips together and grinned. “I love that you’re still a guy, Jones. Did you hear me say I kissed the wall?”

  “How many girls did you kiss?”

  “I’m not sure. How many did you kiss?”

  “I’ve only kissed one that matters.”

  She was several bottles of Heineken short of that comment not affecting her heart. “They say if you truly love someone to set them free. I’m setting you free, Jones. This is a huge step for me. If I didn’t love you, I’d keep you around, use you, abuse you, then cast you aside.”

  “Well, I’m here and I can’t leave.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re drinking beer which in your words is an SOS. You need me. Where’s my bag?”

  Jessica squinted. “What?”

  “The bag I left here. Where is it?”

  “Entry closet.”

  He bent down and grabbed her, hoisting her over his shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” She laughed.

  He opened the entry closet and grabbed the bag.

  “Jones, answer me!”

  “Quiet!” He smacked her ass, continuing to her bedroom.

  “Dammit, Jones! You did not just spank me.”

  “I did and if you don’t shut up I’m going to do it again.” He tossed her on her bed. “No more questions. Take off your clothes.”

  She shook her head. “I told you, I can’t do this. And this is not the answer to an SOS.”

  He unzipped the bag and riffled through its contents. “Then I’ll cut them off you.”

  “What? I’m not talking about—”

  “Lie back.” He tossed handcuffs and rope onto the bed. “Choose one.”

  She stared at them and then lifted her gaze to him. “Why do you think I’ll submit to you?”

  He grabbed her ankles and jerked her body so it was centered on the bed. “Because you trust me.”

  She gripped the sheet beneath her. “But I don’t trust myself.”

  “That’s the point. You don’t have to.”

  “Rope?” He grabbed one ankle.

  She tensed. They had a brief stare down.

  “This is happening … We are happening,” he said it like a warning and a promise.

  She relaxed her leg, submitting to the this part. The we part was still very much in question. He tied her legs to the bedpost, leaving enough slack to allow her to bend her knees a little. After she was secured in four points to the bed, Jessica tugged at her restraints. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  “The kiss. Were you talking about me. Is my kiss the only one that matters?”

  He worked the buttons to his shirt while bending over and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “Yes,” he whispered.

  “What does that say about your ex-fiancée we’ve never talked about?”

  Luke continued unbuttoning his shirt, his brows pulled close in thought. “If it mattered enough she wouldn’t be my ex-fiancée, she’d be my wife.”

  “But you loved her?”

  “Of course.” He draped his shirt over the chair next to her night table.

  “But you love me more?”

  His gaze brought a flood of chills to the surface of her skin, like a stadium crowd doing the wave. “Unequivocally.”

  Her next breath caught in her chest. “You can’t mean that.”

  There was such a sadness in his eyes. “I loved her which is why the word suddenly feels monumentally inadequate for you. I gave her my love, but you … you took it. You took everything. I never had a choice. You tore into my life … into my heart, wrecking all sense of the man I was before you. Being with you is the best part of my day … every day. You think you’re broken, but you’re not. And if you were … it wouldn’t matter. I love every. Single. Piece of you.”

  “Luke—” she pleaded.

  “Shh … let me love you. Let me show you that in this crazy world we make sense.” He grabbed the scissors from his bag.

  Jessica pulled on the restraints. “No! I’ll take off my clothes.”

  He shook his head. “I think it’s better this way.”

  “I-I don’t think putting a blade anywhere near my skin is a good idea. And this is an expensive dress.”

  “I’ll replace everything.” He kissed the skin just above her knee next to the hem of her dress. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t give you.” He kissed a little higher. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

  “Luke …” she moaned as his tongue brushed along her skin.

  “Now, do you trust me?”

  She met his piercing gaze then looked at the scissors he had ready to slash her dress. He was it. Luke was absolutely, unequivocally, her everything. Swallowing hard, she nodded.

  He sliced up the middle and she closed her eyes. It was terrifying, exhilarating, and so fucking seductive all at the same time. With the last cut, her dress was nothing more than scraps of material beneath her. Three snips later her bra disappeared, and two after that her panties followed suit. He’d cut everything but her.

  “Open your beautiful eyes.”

  She blinked them open. The scissors were gone.

  “You’re—”

  Her chest vibrated with a nervous laugh. “Don’t be cliché, Jones. Whatever you’re going to say, make it count because I’m so far out of my comfort zone I could rip off my own limbs just to escape.” She was nervous, scared, aroused, and in love … in so much love.

  “You’re—”

  “And don’t make it sweet or sentimental, not with me tied to my own bed.”

  He smirked. “You’re—”

  “I swear
to God, Jones … if you make me cry and rob me of my last bit of dignity with some you’re-so-beautiful-you’re-the-mother-of-my-children bullshit I will break your cock. Do you understand?”

  He ran his finger along the instep of one of her feet. She jerked. Then he did it to the other, eliciting the same response. Leaning over the foot of the bed, he rested on his elbows, his face inches away from her sex. She tipped her chin down to see him, all four restraints pulled taut in anticipation.

  Luke grinned. It was filled with mischief. He kissed the inside of her thigh. “You’re …” he kissed the other side “…going to get thoroughly fucked.” Slyest. Smile. Ever.

  “J-Jones!” she cried, her body arching from the bed as his mouth covered her.

  Luke hummed against her sensitive flesh. The need to make him bleed was building with fury. He was in complete control. The vulnerability threatened what little sanity she still had.

  “Too much … I-I can’t.” Her heart pummeled against her chest, driven by fear. She fought the pleasure that peaked in waves, growing in intensity.

  “Kiss me, please …”

  His hand replaced his mouth—two fingers slid into her as his palm pressed against her clitoris.

  “Kiss me!” she demanded between labored breaths.

  “I am,” he murmured over her skin as his mouth drifted along her body, paying a beautifully, torturous homage to every inch of it.

  “This … this is a bad idea.” Her voice broke under the duress of pleasure poisoned with a crippling anxiety.

  He flicked his tongue over her nipple.

  “Oh God … stop … my mouth … I need your mouth on mine.”

  He squeezed her breast—sucking, biting, and moaning.

  “Now!”

  He laughed. The bastard laughed. “My God, I love you. I know this is killing you, but I’d rather you feel tortured with need than with guilt.”

  She writhed beneath him as his fingers brought her closer to losing all control.

  “Kiss me.”

  “Not on the mouth,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I won’t bite you.”

  “You will.” He dragged his tongue down her neck.

  “Fuck … no … stop. I can’t come.”