by L. J. Woods
And it only helps me reach my limit.
“You got somethin’ to say?” Downing my drink, I slam the glass on the coffee table.
I’m not gonna fight her, I just need her to know that I don’t like her. That I don’t like this. Any of it.
The room is quiet. No more chatter. No more whispers.
She steps up to the challenge, having more balls than I thought. “I’m surprised you’re even here at all if you have no interest in socializing amongst Damien King’s colleagues.”
“Know what?” Taking another glass of champagne from the coffee table, I waltz towards the door. “I’m wondering the same thing. Later assholes.”
“Jo?” Damien calls my name when he sees me heading for the doors and these fucking heels are doing my head in. He’s beside me, looking behind him as I pull the shoes off my feet, throwing them onto the floor. “What happened?”
“You. Again!”
It’s the last thing I say before I turn around, and push through the door.
* * *
Damien blows up my phone but I’m not in the mood.
All I want is a bottle in my face and good company.
Allie and Nate are too wrapped up in their significant others to pick up my call, and a text from Christian tells me he’s hitting hockey practice hard. So I decide on someone who’s feeling as lonely as I am.
The Uber pulls away as my knuckle pushes into the doorbell. The lights inside are on but I can’t see anyone from the large windows. The large wooden door swivels open. Isaac’s face poking through. “Jo?”
His eyes wander my outfit and I wish I’d changed before coming here but I smile. “Need a drinking buddy?”
When Isaac lets me in, he’s only in his boxers but he doesn’t have that slur yet, his coils packed to his head like he’d been asleep. “King?” he asks and I nod, moving into the kitchen with green cupboards and stone counters. When I head right for the bottle on the counter, he laughs. “Alright, well, since Christian’s trying to go pro, and Damien’s a businessman, you’ll do. You’re hotter than they are anyway.”
Pulling out the cork, I bring the bottle to my lip, taking a gulp that’s long enough to make me forget the last couple of hours. The words that man said, the snobbiness from the wives.
Isaac eyes my outfit again, turning on some music on the touchpad by the kitchen entrance. Something jazzy. He smiles but it looks like he’s trying not to laugh.
“What?” I ask, the bottle still at my lips.
“Why do you look like a half-black Hilary Clinton?”
Rolling my eyes I take another swig before I say, “Damien.”
“You guys role-playing or something?” He reaches for a glass from the shiny green cupboard before he takes the bottle from my hand.
“I wish,” I mutter.
“Careful, this stuff hits hard,” he warns, pouring himself a few shots. “It’s not cheap.”
“Well, give me some Jack or something.” Pushing up from the counter, I grab the bottle back. “I don’t wanna be rich.”
“Tough shit, baby.” He takes a sip. “You’re dating the King of Eden. You’re already rich.”
“Yeah but it’s not because I fucked for it,” I say. “And just because I’m not from here doesn’t mean I’m a living the Pretty Woman story.”
“Wait, what?” He raises an eyebrow. “Wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
“Wanna smoke about it?”
“Fuck yeah.”
I follow Isaac into a room and when he flicks on a dim light, I have to blink and make sure I’m not already toasted. “Is that a fucking tree?”
Isaac does a spin with his arms out wide. “Welcome to the Johnson Zen Room.” He collapses on the velvet mattress of a wood-framed daybed. It’s the only thing in the stone-walled room besides some fluffy cushions, a fireplace, and a fountain built into the wall.
“What the fuck?” Looking up, the bottle in my hand, the ceiling looks like a sky, beams between. It smells like incense and pot, everything under a soft glow. When my legs hit the back of the bed, I sink into it, already feeling looser with more booze in my system. “You have a room filled with nothing?”
He laughs. “You know, people are usually impressed when they see this.”
“You mean the girls you fuck on this thing?” I ask, watching him roll up a fat joint on the wooden tray in his lap.
He pauses, looking at me like I’ve grown a third arm. “This is an authentic, antique Chinese opium bed, baby.” Licking the joint, he finishes his roll. “Made only for letting it all go.” And with that, he lights it.
When we’re done with the first joint, we smoke another and when Isaac goes to grab another bottle, I continue ignoring Damien’s calls. I’m not sure how much time passes before we’re both stoned and drunk, staring at the ceiling, our backs against the mattress.
“You think Marion’s up there?” Isaac asks, his drawl a slur. “In the clouds?”
“Maybe,” I say, my body fuzzy and warm. “She can say ‘sup to my folks.” Despite that morbid joke, I let out a laugh. Stoned as fuck.
“And Damien’s folks.” Isaac lets out a high-ass laugh too. “Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be heading back?”
“I’m not going back there.” Not yet anyway. I know I have to talk this out with Damien and explain the real reason I ran out of there. But he should’ve known better than to put me in that situation over and over again.
“You’re not?” Isaac asks, pushing up from his slump. He’s got a silky purple robe around him but I don’t remember where or when he got it.
“Nope. Show me more of the life of the rich and famous.” Hopping to my feet, whiskey and weed fuel my decision. “Cheesecake. Let’s get some cheesecake. No! A cheese-steak!”
“Yes!” Isaac rises from his seat, gripping to the frame of the bed before he stumbles. “Wait, you don’t even eat meat.”
“Anything with cheese then!” Running through the halls, I almost knock over a painting before I’m outside in the dark at his Rover. It’s already unlocked and once I’m inside, Isaac’s in the driver’s seat shortly after.
I blare the first thing that comes on the speakers. Etta James. “I’d Rather Go Blind.” Isaac has great taste in music and I blast it, belting out the words. He turns it up, dropping the windows as I push my arm and head into the fresh spring air. He sings along with me and while his voice isn’t as smooth as his dad’s, he can totally hold a note. I’m happy to know Damien doesn’t come with all bad. Isaac, one of his best friends is starting to become one of mine too.
Isaac belts the next line at me and I’m singing along. But when I look up at the road, there’s a tree coming our way.
“Isaac!”
He doesn’t hear me, belting a long note at the top of his voice.
“Isaac!” I yell again.
When his head whips forward, it’s too late. “Shit!”
I’m bracing for impact, the tree coming closer and closer.
BANG!
The car stops, the song still playing.
I’m waiting for pain, the shock.
Fire.
Anything.
But nothing happens.
When I open my eyes, I look to Isaac to see if he’s okay. He’s gripping the wheel, eyes on the tree. “Fuuuck,” he lets out, peeking over the dash.
Peering over the dash with him, the front of his car is hardly dented, tapping the tree. I don’t realize how tight my muscles are until my back collapses into the seat, a hand coming through my hair.
A sound comes from Isaac. Looking his way, his shoulders bounce. With his hands still on the wheel, he laughs, forehead falling forward and that’s when I realize he’s still in his fucking robe. Now I’m laughing too and before we know it, we’re both sitting in his Rover, pointed at a tree, laughing like idiots.
“Shit,” he says through his laughter. “Maybe we should get an Uber.”
“You think?” I’m stupid for not suggesting
it. I was way too caught up in my own mind, judgment shot by alcohol. “Do you have your—”
“Jo!” The door swings open before there’s a grip on my arm.
“Damien?” He pulls me out of the car, a grip like a vice. “Wait!” He doesn’t. He sandwiches me between his palms, looking over my body for what I assume is any sign of harm. “I’m okay!” I reassure him before I ask. “What’re you—”
“King?” The sound of Isaac’s door closing comes from behind me and Damien looks over at his friend before he lets me go. Isaac stumbles around to where we’re standing and fuck, he’s so much drunker than I thought.
“Are you fucking serious, Johnson?” Damien growls, meeting his friend halfway.
“Hello to you too.”
CRACK!
“Damien!” I call.
Isaac’s robe twists in his hold as Damien gives him another punch to the gut. Isaac’s way too fucked up to stand on his own. So fucked up that he says, “Tryna kill me like you did Marion?”
Damien laughs that devilish laugh. “So you try to kill my girl?” Isaac groans when Damien gives him another blow, dropping him to the floor. It stirs my stomach when I hear him call me his, but it’s not as effective when he’s wailing on his best friend. He kicks him and I call out again.
“Damien! What the fuck!?” I yell. “Stop!”
He does but not without another growl. “Get the fuck up, Johnson, I’m taking your sorry ass home.” Walking towards me, he grabs me by the arm, pulling me towards his car. “You too.”
Wriggling from his hold, he loosens his grip in time for me to pull hard, my ass hitting the ground.
“Shit, Jo,” he reaches for me but I pull back, getting up on my own. I don’t even bother to dust myself off as Damien defends his actions. “I didn’t mean that but this fucker almost killed you. And himself. Like a fucking idiot!” He bangs his fist on the roof of his Lambo, pulled to the side of the road.
Looking over at Isaac, he’s still on the ground, rolling on the floor, groaning in his robe.
“How’d you even get here so quick?” I ask, walking over to Isaac to help him up but I stumble, holding on to Damien’s car. “Stalking me?”
“You almost died and you’re worried about how I got here?” He walks over to his friend, picking him up instead. Isaac latches on as Damien helps him to his feet. “Get in the car, Rowland.”
My eyes narrow, whiskey still coming from my breath. “Answer my question.”
“Get. In. The car!” His voice bellows and I swear I hear a wolf howl in response. “Get in the car, Jo,” he repeats with a lowered voice, his eyes closed, one hand dropping to his side.
I’m way too drunk to put up any more of a fight and at this point, I just want to get to bed and sleep all this off.
“Fine,” I mutter, moving to the passenger’s door. “Prick.”
Isaac scoots in beside me, squishing me into the console before Damien takes off. After what seems like forever in silence, no radio on, he’s the first to speak.
“Jo, I’m tracking your phone.”
“What?” I feel like I already knew that but still, it surprises me.
“That’s how I found you so quickly. I was following you.”
Isaac snorts, “That’s healthy.”
“And Johnson, we did what we did because Marion’s batshit crazy and tried to kill me. We didn’t seek out to kill her like she did me and it’s not a murder, it’s a homicide.”
I scoff, the whiskey speaking for me. “As if that makes it better.”
“Jo,” he warns and I shut up since he’s actually trying to explain to Isaac what happened. And since we all hardly talk about it, I wanna see where he’s headed with this. “We were on that roof and it all happened so fast.” Damien’s foot is heavy on the pedal, his grip tight on the wheel. “One minute, she’s pushing Jo off, the next there’s a gun in my face and then—”
“I get it,” Isaac finally says, his head against the window, blood dripping from his nose to his robe. “I get it, man.”
Damien takes a second, glancing at his friend before he relaxes in his seat, the white in his knuckles disappearing. “Good.” They don’t say anything else all the way to Isaac’s house but when Isaac gets out of the car, Damien looks up at him, leaning across my lap. “We cool?”
Isaac nods, swinging his hand to close the door. He misses before he tries again, but I help him out, giving him a small wave as he stumbles across the small bridge to his house.
I’m expecting Damien to say something when he pulls out of the driveway, but he doesn’t. When we drive right by his gate, I do instead, curiosity getting the better of me. “Where are we going?”
“You don’t get to ask questions. Not after that.”
“Excuse me?”
He turns up the radio to a Clash track, his headlights zooming down another street before we turn down a narrow path.
“Damien?” My voice hardly goes over the music as he pulls into a cemetery, grey tombstones in the distance. He parks his car, stopping the engine as he gives me his next demand. “Get out.”
Sixteen
Damien
Jo looks at me like I’m the one deep in the whiskey.
Like I’m the one who almost got her killed.
She doesn’t move, her droopy eyes narrow, so I say it again, “Get out.”
“No.” She folds her arms before she slurs, “Not until you tell me what we’re doing here.”
“Like you told me you were gonna get Jersey Shore wasted with Johnson? Like you told me you’re bailing on my event to get into a goddamn car accident?”
“We tapped the tree!” she protests, reeking of whiskey and pot.
Closing my eyes, my fists tight, I bang on the wheel. “Fine.” I get out of the car instead, my dress shoes landing in the gravel. It’s dark, the moon peeking out from a cloud is the only light around us, so I know Jo won’t be too far behind.
The sound of the car door closing confirms it when I get a few feet ahead.
“Damien!” she calls as I walk towards the stone path.
Taking glances over my shoulder to make sure she doesn’t stumble, I pass tombstones big and small. The smell of damp grass and earth blend with the sounds of an owl and our steps.
We keep going until we reach a small stone structure. Reaching into my wallet, I pull out a small key inside, pushing it into the lock on the wrought-iron and glass gate.
It opens and once I step inside, everything goes quiet.
“The fuck are we? This is a little creepy.” She stumbles into the small space. It’s the size of a large closet, encased in marble and gold, moonlight shining through a stained glass window.
“As a kid, I liked knowing I’d be chilling next to my mom someday.” Running my finger over her name engraved in the marble wall, Jo leans next to it, her eyes catching mine. Her brows knit before I reach into my jacket pocket for a joint.
She tips her chin to the marble wall I’m leaning on. “Is that blank space yours?”
I nod, roasting the tip of the joint in the lighter. When I glance up, Jo’s sloshed face looks beautiful. One side catching the moon, the other catching the flicker of the flame. I’ve been dreading this space since Dad died but with her here, it seems bearable. So bearable that it only confirms how I feel about her.
“That’s morbid,” she mutters before she locks eyes with me. There goes that punch to my gut. “Why’d you bring me here? Don’t we have enough death around us?”
Bingo. “So why the fuck did you get in that car with Johnson?”
Her mouth flattens before she sighs, taking the joint from my hand. She takes a long pull and hands it back, moving some hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t thinking. That doesn’t mean I wanna think about you dying.”
“That’s right, you weren’t thinking. How you feel now is how I felt when I saw that car go off the road. Those two minutes it took me to get to you were the longest two minutes of my life, Jo. I thought that was it!”
/>
“You can’t blame me for leaving!”
“But I can blame you for making a stupid decision. Be smart, Rowland.”
“So is that why you’re being an asshole? I scared you?”
I’m the asshole?
Taking a step forward, there’s nowhere for her to go. “If anything ever happened to you, I wouldn’t forgive myself.” Blowing the rest of the smoke out of the corner of my mouth I search her eyes, blurry and glossy but she’s listening. “I’d kill for you, Jo. I already have. Don’t make that be in vain, don’t—” My head falls against hers, my hand on the cold marble tomb behind her.
Her warm hand comes to my chest and I take a moment to catch my breath. Fuck, I didn’t expect my emotions to bleed out on a mausoleum floor. She whispers, “I’m sorry, Damien.” And that makes it worth it. “I’m scared too.”Her hand clenches around my shirt, and I inch closer to her lips. It’s the only thing that’s ever been able to quiet the voices in my mind, the fear in my heart. Jo sighs, her breath reeking of whiskey but I want to drink it all in. “All your business stuff—it’s a lot. I love The Grove, but all this is not me. And I’m not even sure if it’s you either.”
“What do you mean?” My left hand wanders up her side, lifting the hem of her dress. I want to feel her. I need to feel her. “It’s my name. This business is all my family has.”
“You’re all my family has.” She gazes right into my eyes and it’s pulling at my heart. Pulling at my cock. “I wasn’t losing you to Marion and I want to help The Grove but I’m not losing you in the process. I’m not losing me either.”
She’s not losing me and I’ll remind her.
My lips land on the side of her face, right by her ear while my hand moves up to her tits, grabbing a hold of that soft, round mound. Taking her nipple between my two long fingers, I squeeze tight until I get that soft moan. “Come with me to New York.”
“New Yor-ahh.” My hand lands between her legs while I twist her perky brown nipple between my fingers. I love the look on her face when she lets me play my game, putting her at my mercy. “Wh-why?”