by Lane Hart
My teeth grind painfully against each other from the anger boiling up inside me at seeing him fucking touch her.
When Page doesn't protest the jackass leans forward and kisses her cheek before moving over to her lips. Her posture is cold and rigid at first, but after a few seconds she relaxes into him and presses her palms to his chest.
My own chest constricts, freezing my lungs just like getting slammed on the canvas during a fight. I've never felt anything like it before, and I have to say it sucks.
As much as I want to get back in my car and leave, I can’t. My feet are cemented to the ground, forcing me to watch while I try to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. Whatever it is doesn't ease up. Not when he loops his arms around her waist, and definitely not when she willingly presses her body against his.
"My place or yours," he asks when he pulls his lips away.
"Yours," she responds, so softly I barely hear it from my hideout.
"Then let's go. I'll drop you off at work tomorrow," the dickhead says, grabbing her hand and pulling her around the building.
Still feeling somewhat numb, I get into my impractical car. For a few minutes I consider calling one of the many women in my phone to get sucked or fucked, just because I can. I had missed calls from four different girls just today, but it's stupid to even consider doing something so risky. As much as I hate to admit it, Page is right about needing to lay low when it comes to women until all this shit is over. Besides, I don't really want any of those faceless women. So if I'm not going to fuck, I'm going to fight.
On the way to the gym I'm surprised to get a text message from Page. One that says, "Call and let me know how it went, either way." And immediately after that, "First thing tomorrow." Because it looks like she was going to be busy tonight. Fuck.
I park and head inside what is practically my second home.
"Jax! What are you doing back so soon?" my head coach and manager, Don Briggs, asks as soon as I walk through the door.
Shit.
I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone, but I know he won't just give up.
"Nothing else to fu-reaking do," I say, catching myself at the last minute when I notice Coach's teenage daughter eating dinner behind the front counter with him. "How's it going, Sadie Hawkins?"
"Bored out of my fucking mind," the brunette Annie replies with an eye roll.
"Sadie!" Coach admonishes her. "You guys are bad influences on her," he says, scowling at me.
"Your fault for bringing her in here."
"Do you think I trust her to stay home by herself? Hell no. I'm not stupid. I know exactly what boys convince sixteen-year-old girls to do when they're left unsupervised."
"Dad!" Sadie covers her face and groans in embarrassment.
I shake my head in slight amusement and quickly go change in the locker room. I push the earbuds in and strap the iPod to my arm, turning the volume of the thumping bass up until it's at hearing damage levels. I consider running a few miles, but know that will never do. I need to hit something. Hard.
After wrapping up my hands I go straight to one of the hanging bags and start in, pummeling my fists into it like it's someone's face and body. Imagining it's the jerk that doesn't deserve an incredible woman like Page doesn't help as much as I thought it would. Probably because it's hypocritical to say he isn't good enough for her, knowing I'm certainly not either.
The longer I throw punches and kicks the worse I feel. I'm suffocating on the lack of control in my life. I can't fight. I can't get rid of these bullshit charges. And I can't fuck. Instead of my usual any-hot-woman-will-do policy, I'm starting to think it was now only-one-woman-will-do. And even if she didn't think I'm a fucking monster, and she wasn't engaged to an asshole, she's still off limits. There's no way I'd risk her losing her license to practice law.
"Who you beating the shit out of?" Jude asks, when he yanks one of my earbuds out.
"No one."
"Right." He laughs, wiping the sweat off his face with a towel. "You don't rock the bag like an eight-point-oh on the Richter scale unless you're seriously angry."
"I'm not angry."
"Um-huh. So it won't bother you if I tell you that last night after you left I threw your hot ass attorney in my bed and tried to make an earthquake with her-"
I have an arm around his neck and the other around the back of his knees, cradling and pinning him to the mat before he can blink. Thinking about Page with another man is one thing, but with my own brother…oh fuck no.
"Kidding. I didn’t touch her! Damn. So why…are you…pissed?" Jude asks through gasps while I choke him and he kisses his own knees.
I eventually release my hold, allowing him to stretch out like a slinky back to his normal size.
"I'm not," I respond, standing up and going back to the bag.
"You are. You want Page, right? I mean who wouldn't, she is so fucking-"
"Shut the fuck up!"
"Let me guess… She did the unthinkable and turned you down? Did she finally manage to put a ding in your impenetrable ego?" he asks, as he finally gets to his feet again.
"She didn't turn me down, because I didn't ask her out."
"Then what's the problem? You afraid she won't enjoy your rear naked choke hold?"
"Fuck you," I bark, nailing a few combo shots on the bag.
"Too soon for choke jokes? My bad."
"She's engaged to an asshole. Even if she wasn't, she can't fuck with clients or she'll lose her law license."
"Then get another attorney," he says simply.
"Hell no. I think she might be the only one that can keep me out of prison."
"Then suck it up and get the fuck over her," he yells before walking away. Easier said than done.
…
Page
What the heck was I thinking? I ask myself as Elliot drills himself into me over and over again, faster than a woodpecker on speed, and just about as annoying.
"Oh shit! Fucking amazing." Slap. "You know you missed it," he groans, followed by two more slaps.
On my hands and knees I watch the headboard creep closer to my face, knowing I'll probably ram into it soon. Not that it would slow Woody Woodpecker back there down.
Thankfully he must be getting close to the end, because the frequency of smacks to my ass are increasing right along with their intensity. When my eyes close in boredom, I can't stop myself from thinking about a different man from the one currently inside me. My mouth goes dry just thinking about his massive, chiseled body. The feeling of it pressed hard against my backside. Remembering his dirty words about screwing me so good I'd forget what I was pissed about. Watching his darting tongue lick the freaking cookie, all hot and sensual. My insides clench when I imagine that tongue between my legs, licking me, teasing me into a frenzy. Elliot grabs a handful of my hair, tugging my head backwards, but instead of him, I imagine it’s Jax yanking on my hair, forcing my mouth up and down his long, hard length.
"Ah! Oh God," I moan in surprise when my body shakes with pleasure, radiating from deep inside me and spreading through my body in waves so intense I can't hold myself up any longer. I collapse onto the mattress and wait for Elliot to finish.
"Damn, Page. You came so fucking hard. I gave it to you good, didn't I?" he asks.
"Mmm," I reply, and then pass out with sweet dreams.
…
It's early Friday morning, and I had just hung up with the prosecutor in Atlantic City when the receptionist buzzes me. I'm still distracted by the news that Jax has been indicted by the Grand Jury, and needs to be in court Monday morning unless he wants to get arrested again. Awesome.
"Jackson Malone is here to see you," Jamie says over the intercom.
Shit! I told him to call me this morning and let me know the results. Him showing up…did that mean he passed or failed? Am I ready to know the results, that he's telling the truth and is innocent, or that he's lied to me and is actually guilty? I'll still represent him either way, but I know the way I fee
l about him will change, and I'm not sure I can handle that.
"Page?" Jamie asks.
"Oh, um, go ahead and send him back," I reply, tidying up my desk and running my fingers through my hair to fluff it. Why do I do that? I have no freaking idea.
"Hey," I say, sounding out of breath when Jackson appears in my doorway. Broken in jeans and a black tee have never looked so good on anyone. I try to judge his results from his expression. He looks a lot like the angry volcano I met that first day.
Oh God, he failed.
"Nice flowers," he says sarcastically as he eyes the vase from Elliot on my desk.
"Ah, yeah," I respond, annoyed he's talking about freaking flowers when he knows I want to hear the results.
Finally, Jax pulls out papers from his back pocket and throws them down in front of me. I quickly grab them up and open them to start reading.
On the polygrapher's letterhead, it begins with a narrative of what Jax has been charged with, followed by the three questions and his answers of “no” to each. I'm holding my breath when I get to the results. The polygraph shows with ninety-nine point nine percent certainty that Jackson has not shown any deception on any of the questions.
Holy shit, he passed!
"Don't look so fucking surprised," he snaps.
I'm not so much surprised as I am relieved. The man in front of me really is the good and decent person I've gotten to know this week. It would've crushed and disappointed me if he'd failed.
"What can I say? I'm a cynical person. I wouldn't have believed my own father if he had been in your place until I saw this," I assure him, holding up the report.
"So what now?" he asks while he remains standing. I guess that means he isn't staying long.
"Actually, it looks like we'll be heading back to Atlantic City. I just got off the phone with the prosecutor. The Grand Jury's indicted you-"
"What the hell does that mean?" he interrupts.
"It's nothing to worry about, it just came sooner than I expected. Felony cases have to be presented to the grand jury to determine if the State has enough evidence for indictment to Superior Court. That's where all felonies have to be tried. The grand jury almost always indicts since it's such a low threshold for probable cause. The defendant and his counsel are not allowed in the grand jury, so there's no one to say to them that all the evidence is bologna."
"So what does this all mean?"
"Monday morning you have your first appearance in Superior Court. You have to be there to waive the court appointed attorney, and I'll make a general appearance on your behalf. Mostly you'll just be proving that you haven't skipped town and are not a danger to the community. There's a chance the prosecutor might try to make you put up another bond, but I doubt it."
"That's all that will happen Monday?"
"Pretty much. But get ready for the cameras. As soon as the court calendar hits the media’s desk they're going to be like vultures trying to talk to you and get pictures of you arriving and leaving the courthouse."
"You're going to be there, too, right?" Jackson asks.
"Of course. We probably should go on up Sunday afternoon and spend the night to be there by nine a.m. Monday. Unless you want to leave at like four-thirty Monday morning?"
"Let's go Sunday."
"Yeah, probably safer since you never know with traffic, and all those dang toll booths take forever to get through. I'm going to draft a letter to give to the prosecutor on Monday and include the polygraph, Jude's statement, a copy of the hotel video, still photos from the video, and the bitch's Facebook pictures in a packet. Basically, I'll be informing him of all the reasons why he shouldn't proceed with prosecuting this case."
"Okay. Do I need to suit up and shit for this thing?" he asks, making me smile. Jackson Malone in a suit? This I can't wait to see.
"Probably, just to show the prosecutor, judge, and media that you're taking this seriously."
"I can do that."
"So do you want me to make hotel reservations for you, too, or are you going to get your own?" I ask.
"I can make them for all of us. Jude and my dad will probably want to go even if nothing's going to happen. Taj Mahal okay?"
"Sure."
"Any required princess preferences for your room that I should know about?" he asks with a smirk.
"Ah, non-smoking is preferred. I'll also need Internet access, of course, a robe, whirlpool tub, a bar, oceanfront view, and thousand count Egyptian cotton sheets, but only if it's not too much trouble," I joke.
"Right. I'll try and remember all that."
"And if not, just try and remember the non-smoking part since I can't stand that nastiness," I say with a shrug.
"Let's go tomorrow, or even better, tonight."
"Ah, what?" I ask him in confusion.
"To Atlantic City. Come on, when was the last time you had a vacation?"
"Well, I just got back from Paris about a month ago, Bermuda in April, and Hawaii in February."
"You really are a spoiled bitch."
"I'm kidding, and don't call me that," I snap. "I haven't actually had a vacation since I finished my undergrad three years ago."
"So are you going up with us today or not?"
"I don't know. Are you going to stop calling me a bitch?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Yes," he says, looking at the floor like a little boy being scolded. "Sorry."
"When are you leaving?" I let him off the hook since he apologized.
"As soon as you're ready. It's not like my dad and Jude have anything better to do."
I consider it for a minute. Spending a whole weekend with this man and his easygoing family does sound like a good time. Throw in some gambling and the beach, well that just seals the deal. Was it smart? No, but I'm tired of being smart.
"Okay. Let me get this letter to the prosecutor done, and all the attachments ready so I won't have to worry about it this weekend. I'll need to go to my apartment and pack a few things, but I could probably be ready around noon."
"Good. Should we pick you up here or at your place?"
"Ah, here I guess."
"All right. See you at noon," he tells me as he heads for the door. "Oh, and, Page," he pauses before hitting me with his parting comment. "Don't forget your bathing suit."
…
A few hours later I'm sitting in my office, going over my checklist for Monday one last time when I'm kidnapped. Well, I'd agreed to go with them, I just didn't think it'd be over Jude's shoulder with my protest.
"Jude, put me down, so I can grab my things!" I whisper, to avoid drawing attention to us when he leaves my office.
"Don't worry. Jax is getting all your shit from that neat little pile you made," he says with a slap to my behind.
"Jude!" I yelp in surprise.
"Ah, Page?" I hear the unspoken WTF in my brother's voice while we wait for the elevator.
I twist my neck and flip my hair up out of my face to see my older sibling frowning down at me like usual.
"Hi, Logan. Have you met Jackson's annoying little brother, Jude Malone?" I ask. "Jude, this is my annoying older brother, Logan Davenport."
Swinging me around, so I can no longer see Logan, I assume Jude is shaking Logan's hand. "Nice to meet you. We're kidnapping your sister. She needs a vacation after working so hard on Jax's case this week. Hey, bro, have you met Page's bro Logan?"
Jax must’ve joined us, although I can't see him.
"Hi, how's it going?" Jax says to my brother.
"Good. Where are you going?" Logan asks.
"Atlantic City," I tell him from Jude's back.
"Oh, well, ah have fun, I guess. Do Dad and Elliot know you're leaving?"
"I'm a big girl now, Logie, and don't need their permission. Now run along and tattle on me, snitch, before you kill my vacation buzz."
"Ha, aren't older brothers such a pain in the ass?" Jude laughs, slapping mine again. Why do men like to abuse my bottom?
"Touch her ass a
gain and I'll break both of your legs," Jax warns Jude, making me smile that he's so protective of my ass...pen.
"I'm not her client, so we can be as inappropriate as we want, right, Page?" Jude asks.
"Ah, right," I mutter, mostly just to annoy Jax when we finally make it onto the elevator.
"She has a fiancé, even though the cheap bastard didn't give her a ring."
"What? No way. The deal's not sealed unless there's a fucking ring," Jude argues. "She's a free bird."
"Put her down," Jax tells his brother.
"No thanks."
"Did you guys get my purse?" I ask. "My phone? Briefcase? Luggage?"
"Yes to all," Jax replies. "Did you pack a bathing suit?"
"Ah, yeah."
"Bikini?" Jude inquires.
I smile. "Maybe."
"Hell yes," he replies.
"Jax, were you able to get us rooms?" I ask.
"Yep. Sorry but all they had were smoking rooms."
"Ah shit...ake mushrooms. I'll never get the smell out of my clothes," I grumble.
"Don't worry. We'll get you so drunk you won't notice the smoke," Jude promises.
"I don't drink."
"You do this weekend, princess. You need to loosen up before you give yourself an aneurysm," Jax responds.
Finally we make it out of the stuffy office, and thankfully without running into my father. My feet touch down on the concrete sidewalk beside a black SUV.
"Your chariot to an awesome weekend awaits," Jude says with a wave of his arm to the vehicle, making me laugh as I climb into the back seat. He slides in beside me, and their dad is already waiting in the driver’s seat while Jax puts my things in the back. Again I can't help but wonder about their mother. Maybe I can ask Jude sometime, since I know he won't bite my head off for asking.
"Hi, Mr. Malone," I say in greeting.
"Hi, Page. Sorry my knuckleheaded sons drug you out that way."
"Oh, it's fine. It's probably all the steroids making them so testosteroni," I tease.
"No, you didn't just say that," Jude huffs. Lifting his Every time you masturbate God kills a kitten t-shirt, complete with an adorable faced feline. Instead of a cat I'm suddenly fixated on his tan, washboard abs. I have to swallow back the drool. "This is all years of hard work, baby, and nothing else."