Jameson Hotel: The Complete Series Box Set (Parts 1-6)

by Aven Jayce

  She puts out her hand. “Give me the fucking money. I’ll take the two trips and drive the damn cars.”

  “What?”

  “Why the fuck didn’t you just ask me instead of putting your son in danger?”

  “I needed to see him.”

  “What?” she gasps. “Are you listening to yourself? What parent would—”

  I put up my hand for her to stop, closing my eyes with a deep exhale. “You don’t understand,” I say slowly. “I’m going with him. He’s not taking two trips, we’re driving together.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, I’m a fucking shit of a parent, and if I have to pay my son five grand for him to agree to go on a road trip with me, to be my partner in this, I will. I don’t care anymore. That kid out there needs to love me like everyone else.” She rolls her eyes like I’m crazy. “He said my offer for him to visit wasn’t enough, so I made it worth his while. Now I win. This is how the world works. You pay your kids for their time.”

  “This is how your world works.”

  “That’s exactly right.”

  “Fine,” she states.

  “Fine?”

  “No, what I’d like to say is ‘fuck you, dickhead,’ but what would that accomplish? And I should smack you and stomp off to my room, but then I’d be a hypocrite since I said you don’t need ‘fixing.’” She crosses her arms. “You’re not killing any more people for at least a month. You understand?”

  I bite my lip, trying not to smile.

  “Mark.” She points authoritatively. “This after-party clean up gets too complicated.”

  I laugh, in need of repeating my new favorite expression to her. “Welcome to the family, princess.”

  “God, any other relationship after this one would bore me to death.” She throws her hands in the air. “I’m fucking stuck with you.” The door swings open and she leaves my bedroom, and then my suite.

  “That was my plan!” I call out to her. “There’s never a dull moment with Mark Jameson!”

  ~ ~ ~

  But then my son fucked me over. I treated the situation like a normal business deal, trying to teach him a thing or two about life, giving him half the cash when he arrived, and promising the rest when we got to Vegas. We were to leave early the next day. I woke up throughout the night to check on him, but at five in the morning, he was gone. And now I’m fully aware of how fucking easy it is for my kid to travel by plane without my knowledge. After taking a shuttle from my hotel to Reno, he purchased a ticket with cash from a booking agent at the airport. Yes, minors can do this. It was his plan all along... and he told his mom he came back early because I was being a dick. I hired him for a job and he stabbed me in the back. I was disrespected and if the little shit knows what’s good for him he better show up at my door, groveling for forgiveness.

  Fucking prick.

  And I couldn’t believe what he said to me in a text later in the day.

  I’d rather take half the money and leave than have to deal with your shit for an entire day.

  Hell, he killed me with those words. My son. My fucking son... he’s going to be worse than me when he grows up. Although by being worse, he’d actually be better.

  So Jules and I took a one-day trip, got the fucking cars to Vegas, paid my guy to make them disappear, then spent the night on the strip... where once again, even in front of the stunning Bellagio fountain, she refused to marry me.

  That’s alright, I can wait. And I decided when we do get married we’re having a ribbon cutting ceremony after we exchange our vows, not a reception. We can place the ribbon across the entrance of my suite, cut it with our knives, walk inside, and fuck.

  I keep planning all this shit in my head and some day it’s going to come true.

  I’m obsessed with my woman and I know she loves me; I’m sure of that. She carries her Berti wherever she goes and sleeps with it under her pillow. That’s her ring, and whether she realizes it or not, we are engaged.

  This is our beginning, just her and me, and no one’s going to fuck with us.

  No one.

  Oh, and by the way, there’s so much more to come...

  JAMESON HOTEL

  Parts Four, Five & Six

  PART FOUR

  One year later...

  STARTING OVER

  “TALK TO ME, JACK. What can I do to help?”

  I catch sight of my son’s pale face and tear-stained cheeks. I haven’t seen him eat in three days, and I doubt he’s slept much since his mother committed suicide. She’d been fighting an aggressive form of cancer for a year and the last three months have been hell, for her and my son.

  People will likely say she took the easy way out, that she gave up and didn’t finish the fight, but that’s fucking bullshit. Her body and mind were dog-tired and she wasn’t going to last much longer. I knew it was over when she called two weeks ago to discuss arrangements for our son. Years of accusations, calling each other bitch and cocksucker ended with that call. I flew out to Philly immediately.

  Fuck, she was only thirty-eight, but looked more like eighty when I arrived. It was the right thing for her to do. She wanted to end her life before the cancer finished eating her alive, but nothing is going to comfort my kid. Nothing.

  “Your things will arrive in a few days. I’ll help you get settled and take you to register in a school. I heard the local high school’s decent, but I’m fine paying for a private school. Of course, that’s your choice. Either way, it will be good for you to get into a routine once you unpack. The longer you sit around and do nothing, the harder it’ll be to get out of your depression... psychologists are an option too, if you think you need one.”

  He stares out the window of my Tacoma, gazing at the mountainous landscape as we drive from the airport to the hotel. This is a massive change for him, not just losing his mother, but the environment as well.

  He grew up in Vegas and was still getting acclimated to Philadelphia when this shit happened. Now, he has to be uprooted for a second time from his friends, familiar places, and my ex-wife’s family—moving out of a large city and into my isolated hotel in the woods. He could’ve stayed close to Philly and lived with his grandparents, and I’m still surprised by his decision to move here. Then again, he knows his grandparents would want him home each night by six, in bed by nine, and up bright and early every Sunday morning for church. That’s no life for a sixteen-year-old. I’d choose a bastard father over that lifestyle any goddamn day.

  “The holidays are upon us and I just had a thirty-foot tree and lighted garland installed in the lobby. White lights line the exterior paths and drive, plus there’s—”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  At least he finally opened his mouth. “I know you’re hurting more than you ever have, but—”

  “Do you not understand what ‘shut the fuck up’ means?” He flashes a repulsed look; his face red and fists clenched, sitting close to me in the truck, yet so detached from my life.

  I absorb his words, nod, and try to stay calm while he puts on his headphones. What the fuck am I gonna do with this kid? Shit, what the fuck are Jules and I going to do with him in my suite, within earshot of our bedroom?

  “Jack.” I pull the damn headphones off his head. “We need to talk, or I’ll talk and you listen, but snubbing me when you’re two feet away isn’t going to happen, not anymore. You’re in my life now, and we should—”

  “Not for long.”

  “What the fuck do you mean, not for long? You need to finish school before you get any ideas in your head about taking off somewhere on your own.”

  “I don’t have to do shit.”

  An exaggerated sigh escapes my mouth. I know he’s hoping for a shitload from his mother’s estate, but insurance companies aren’t going to pay out a fucking dime after the coroner writes ‘suicide’ as the cause of death. The house and other belongings go to her parents, not my son. He’s unaware of that for now.
I’ll tell him after his things arrive so he has some form of comfort within arm’s reach, something to reassure him that all is not lost.

  He’ll get his college tuition paid for, the basics that he needs, but not a large sum of cash. My ex was smart in setting that up with her family. She knew he’d take off the moment he had enough money to live on his own... he still will, but I don’t expect that to happen for some time, maybe years. He’s only got three grand in his bank account, not enough for a kid his age to survive for long. And he knows my motto when it comes to money. What goes out must come back in. You can’t keep spending without replenishing the pot.

  “I’ll get you a ski pass for the rest of the winter. My friends own one of the resorts in town. Good guys. I’ll ask them what days kids your age hang out on the slopes.”

  “I don’t need my dad making friends for me.”

  He turns up his music, filling the truck with a bass so loud I can hear every beat coming from the device around his neck.

  “You’re old enough to get your driving permit in California, but don’t expect a license for another year and a half unless you take driver’s ed. I’m fine with you getting the permit, only if you get a work permit too... if you’re gonna drive, you’re gonna work. You can shadow my pool boys a few days a week... and don’t fucking roll your eyes at me either. I’m being a good guy here so don’t... what... what the fuck is that look for?”

  “A good guy?” he sneers. “Are you in denial?”

  “I want you to be happy,” my voice rises.

  “Then let me do my thing and leave me the fuck alone until I can figure out how the hell to get out of this mountain shithole. You and mom had no right to call my friends’ parents and insist they not take me in. That should’ve been my choice, not yours, or hers. It was a complete stab in the back as far as I’m concerned,” he gripes. “I could’ve lived in my friend Dave’s basement for years, but then his parents changed their minds. What the fuck? What did you say to them? And then I’m given a choice between your hotel and grandpa’s fucking cow farm? Jesus. That’s not a choice. I got screwed.”

  “You did, I’m not denying it. Life sucks. Now, you can either put one foot forward and make the best of it or be a miserable fucker and see where it gets you.”

  “Yeah, that’s right, I might end up owning a hotel in the middle of Bumfuck, California, sticking it to some fourteen-year-old, while living off my daddy’s porn money.”

  My nostrils flare as I turn onto the hotel drive and slam on the brakes. “Not another fucking word about my life or my fiancé! Show some respect to every person here, and that goes for my guests and employees too. This is a place of business, not some freakin’ carnival!”

  He responds with a harsh laugh.

  “I mean it, or you’ll find yourself at a boarding school.”

  “Is that a threat, fuckwad?”

  I wish he’d flinch at my raised hand. Damn, this kid. In all honesty, a good smack is exactly what the little bastard needs.

  “I can’t wait for my sword collection to get here. You won’t say shit like that to me once it arrives.”

  “It’s not coming. Your grandparents will send it out when you turn eighteen.”

  “Fuck you!” He opens his door and kicks my truck before heading toward the woods.

  “Get back here!” I shout. My dress shoes sink into the deep snow as I follow him into the pines. He’s quick, but I know my property well, and he doesn’t stand a chance of getting away from me in this forest. “I’m right behind you,” I pant, close to reaching his coat. “Running away is what little kids do. Stop and talk to me like a man.”

  “I am a man!” He turns and plants a harsh kick into my abdomen, only to have his foot grabbed and his body flipped. He lands on his stomach in a gasp.

  “Okay, tough guy.” My hand grips the belt loop of his jeans and he’s lifted like a piece of luggage. His arms and legs swinging in a continuous thrashing motion as we walk back to the truck. “Enough!” I set him down and open the passenger side door.

  “One morning you’ll wake up and I’ll be gone!” His high-pitched voice echoes throughout my property. “I need to figure out where... who...” His words sound like a warped record, rising, falling, fast, then slow until the anguish is too much for him to bear.

  My son just turned sixteen and is at odds with himself, trying to act like a man, physically starting to look like one, yet emotionally still a boy attempting to comprehend death. That’s one of life’s greatest disappointments at any age. And now his hatred over his living situation is replaced with extreme sorrow. “I don’t have any... my friends are gone! My mom...”

  His lower lip trembles as he punches my chest in a sobbing rage. “I can’t believe you didn’t go to the funeral! You stood outside in the fucking parking lot! You bastard!”

  “I couldn’t,” I whisper, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I went earlier when no one was around, but your mom’s family wouldn’t appreciate—”

  “I saw you standing by your rental car smoking dope. Everyone saw you, Dad.” His words are muffled against my chest as he fights to escape my arms.

  “Shh, I’m not letting you go, buddy. You can swear and beat the hell out of me all you want, but my way of doing things is always the right way. You should know that by now. I paid my respects in private, spoke to your grandparents in private, and that was all I could do. But from this point forward, I’m going to make sure you have a decent life.”

  “Fucker.”

  There’s a loud click, he exhales a grunt, and I feel a sharp burning sensation in my side.

  “What the fuck did you just do?” I step back and touch the warm blood under my coat. His face turns pale and his trembling hand drops the bloodstained blade, painting the snow a deep red.

  “First time?” I ask with a fake smirk, about to go ballistic on his ass. “Get in the fucking truck!” I force him inside, slam the passenger side door, and pick up the knife. It’s one of mine; he must’ve found it in my glove box when I was putting the luggage in the back.

  He keeps his head low while we continue down the drive to the garage—his hands still a shaky mess, his breathing quick, and his chest trying to tame his sporadic, heaving sobs.

  I’m torn whether I should follow a societal norm and have him put away, someplace where he can get professional help, or praise him for stabbing me.

  He mumbles a half-assed apology while taking his bag from the truck and heading for the stairwell, leaving me to carry three bags with a gash in my side.

  “An apology means nothing to a man who’s been stabbed,” I say, following close behind. “And remember, if you weren’t my son, you’d already be dead... stop rolling your eyes at me, damn it! I’m pissed, Jack.”

  “Mark!”

  “Hey, princess.” I drop the luggage, watching Jules race down from the bedroom and into my arms. She’s wearing shorts in the dead of winter, on purpose, showing off her cleanly shaven, tanning-bed bronzed legs. “Nice outfit.” I bite her lip and tug her closer for a warm kiss before slipping my hand under her shirt. Her tits brush against my chest and her pussy rubs into my dick. “You look fuckable,” I say in my softest voice, not wanting my son to hear. “But I’m in the middle of something... give me five minutes.”

  Jack groans as he takes a Coke from the fridge. “What room am I in?”

  Jules joins him in the kitchen, giving him a hug and offering words of comfort for his loss. He’s only met her once, last fall, and I’m surprised when he doesn’t back away... I guess it really is just me.

  “This situation is far from over. Get your ass upstairs.”

  “What?” He acts like nothing happened.

  I take off my coat in haste, pitching it across the room before gripping the back of his neck.

  “What’s going on? And why are you bleeding? Did you get yourself into another situation?” she asks.

  He’s pulled upstairs, through my bedroo
m, and into the bath with Jules close behind. She’s confused, but not surprised. I take out a small medical kit, keeping him confined in the process.

  “Stop struggling. This is serious.”

  “What are you gonna do to me?”

  I hold a small needle between my teeth and unbutton my shirt to examine the wound. “You fucking did this, now you’re gonna fix it.” He winces when I open the gash, wanting to see how deep and wide it is. “About four stitches,” I say, threading the needle.

  “Hell no, I won’t.”

  “You did, and you are. If you’re man enough to stab a guy, then you’re man enough to do a stitch job. Learn a skill, son.”

  “Dad,” he whines like a toddler, regressing thirteen years in order to get his way, only that shit never works with me.

  “Mark, don’t make this worse than it actually is. I’ll stitch it for you,” she says.

  “No. This is about consequences for his actions. Besides, I could stitch it myself if I wanted to.” With her hand on her waist, I can sense she’s about to call me a hypocrite. “Don’t,” I caution. “He’s doing this.” She takes the needle and heats the end with the lighter from my dresser as I clean the wound, using a washcloth, soap, and water. I hold the wet cloth over the cut until she’s finished and my son’s ready. “Pinch the skin, only a little... and gently... stick the needle in vertically. Don’t drive it straight inside, do it at an angle. Not too deep, but deep enough so the flesh doesn’t tear when I move. I don’t want the stitches to come undone. You understand? Are you ready?”

  Jules warns, “Be nice. Don’t leave him with such a horrible memory.”

  “Excuse me?” I remove the washcloth and motion toward the gash. “This is a horrible memory. He needs to see it and repair it so he feels compassion for his victim. That way the ghastly image in his head will be replaced with pretty fucking butterflies.”

  “Oh, I get it. You’ve made the decision to stop the succession of the Jameson family? You believe what he did was wrong? I say boo-fucking-hoo. If he stabbed you, then you slipped up, not him.”