Jaspierre's Last Chance (Jaspierre Trilogy Book 3)

by Mixi J Applebottom

  Shit. Was she a vegetarian? Or was she hungry? Fuck. Jaspierre drove up to the drive through McDonalds and wondered briefly how she was going to pay for this meal. She had no money with her.

  They sat in line at the drive-through waiting their turn. Jaspierre frantically scrambled looking for change, a few dollars in the glove box, or, if she got really lucky, a credit card. She found a total of $8.32. When she finally managed to make her way to the ordering box, she stared at the menu uncomfortably.

  $8.32.

  What the fuck did you buy with that little tiny amount of money? This was being poor, wasn't it? The car didn't seem to have any air in it. She had thousands upon millions upon billions taken from her, but no fucking way was she going to count change to buy a fucking hamburger. Her tummy rumbled, and she glanced at the little terrified girl next to her and ordered a Happy Meal. The lady kept asking her do you want fries, do you want apples, you want yogurt, you want milk, do you want nuggets, do you want a burger? After about a hundred questions, Jaspierre found herself screaming at the lady "I want a fucking Happy Meal. I want a fucking Happy Meal. No more questions!" Jaspierre struggled, her embarrassed anger taking over.. "Burger, fries, and Coke, and a fucking Happy Meal! No more questions!"

  She revved the engine and pulled forward to make her point more clear. No more motherfucking questions. How were people supposed to order food for their kids when there were so many questions? What if she had two children? Or, God forbid, three children? It would be like four hundred or five hundred questions and Mom wouldn't have even ordered herself a hamburger. No wonder why raising kids was so hard.

  They pulled forward to the window, waiting in the slow line. Jaspierre struggled to maintain a sense of decorum. Get yourself back under control. She found her fingers rapping against the steering wheel as though it were a big obnoxious drum.

  Finally, it was her turn at the window. There was a young lady with an overly high ponytail and a little sporty visor. She had plastered-on smile; it still looked a little nervously at Jaspierre. "That'll be ten twenty-five," she said. "Is this toy for a girl or boy?"

  $10.25.

  $8.32.

  And, another mother fucking question. Jaspierre stared at the money in her hand and looked at the little girl in the car next to her. The air from the car was completely gone now and her lungs struggled to continue. And look at this stupid grinning girl with the overly high ponytail. There was a coldness ruling inside her.

  For the very first time in her entire life, Jaspierre couldn't pay for something. In a split second, she handed the girl the money that she had. Jaspierre leaned out the car window, grabbed the bratty little lady's shirt, and screamed, "I said no more motherfucking questions!"

  The room went cold and quiet as the little perky teller, obviously shaken, grabbed the little bag and the Happy Meal, shoved them in the car, and slammed the glass window shut.

  Jaspierre pulled forward. She didn't get her Coke, she did not get her motherfucking Coke. And she didn't have another dime on her. Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck.

  "Eat your shit," Jaspierre shouted, the rage still growing and brewing inside her.

  Lucille pressed herself against the door so hard, she melted into it. The box with the Happy Meal crushed between her and the door, scooting as far away from Jaspierre as she could. Her trembling little fingers opened up a tiny burger in the meal and took a little nibble.

  Jaspierre slammed on the gas; she needed to get home and get her fucking job back. She was too angry to realize how scared her daughter was.

  Chapter

  Thirty

  Chance heaved himself over the top edge of the ravine. His side was aching; the bullet had grazed through chunk of his skin. He stood at the top, adrenaline surging within him. He felt, for a moment, that the whole world was feeding him energy.

  Was that how the world worked? When someone was in greatest need, did it feed him? He was remarkably good, having just been hit by a car and thrown down a ravine and pierced by a bullet. He took a few steps. Where had a little fucker gone?

  He looked to the left, then to the right. There was nothing to see, just instinct. His gut was screaming that he should go right, that the man was to the right. Right was the right way. With no further thought, just perfect decision, he followed Edward. He was able to walk at a very quick pace, not quite running, but not quite not running.

  He walked forward, confidence exuding from his skin. He'd catch the bastard. As he walked, the earth beneath his feet started to encourage him.

  "He's just up ahead." The rocks rumbled an agreement. "Can you feel his footsteps?" The throbbing in his bloody thigh seemed to pulse with thoughts. "You are going to get him. You are going to get him."

  His feet crunched on the ground, and the birds started to sing to him. "Up ahead. Up ahead." He could hear them screeching louder and louder, "Up ahead! Up ahead!"

  Even the wind was starting to run with the scent of his prey. He could smell the man, his fear, and his weakness. The road was winding to the right, into the left, and into the right again. It was all switchbacks from here. They were going downhill, down the mountain. At some point, they'd find someone. But not before it was too late.

  He rounded the final bend, and there Edward was sitting. He looked tired. His eyes lit up with fear as he glanced up and saw Chance. He scrambled, gun drawn, frantically backing up. And the whole world waited a moment, taking a deep big breath, and in that inhale while Edward was scrambling, Chance charged forward.

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Edward scrambled backwards with his feet, trying desperately to catch himself. He wasn't ready; he had been dozing. He was sleepwalking in drained zombie fear. His brain was grinding, screeching to a halt. Shoot him!

  His brain kept screaming, but his hands were utterly useless. They flailed like a little girl's, not like a trained officer. Shoot him! How had he found him so easily? How had he caught up at all?

  Edward had been running, crashing ahead in delirious fear. He had sat down, just a moment earlier, catching his breath. He should've been ten minutes ahead, maybe even twenty. The man had fallen down the ravine! How had he climbed out so quickly?

  Edward's brain crashed. None of his limbs would work right. Fear froze him. This can't be happening. Shoot him! This can't be happening! Shoot him, you fool!

  And just as his hand finally made its way to the gun, raising it at Chance, the serial killer, the blemish, the embarrassment of his precinct, and his finger made contact with the trigger, he was thrown to the ground.

  The two men wrestled, but it was quickly clear that Chance was far superior. He was stronger, more powerful; he was invincible. Edward frantically tried to drive the gun into Chance's mouth so he could pull the trigger and end it, end it finally.

  Edward tried everything he was trained to do; he tried everything he wasn't trained to do. He tried to survive. But somehow, in the struggle, Chance had the gun. And before Edward could do anything more, the handle slammed into his skull over and over, again and again, until finally, the world went dark.

  Chapter

  Thirty-One

  "What have you done!" she shouted. Jaspierre grabbed the chain, yanking it out harder, and higher and higher Dru lifted in the air. Then he fell.

  "How! How did you transfer my shares to you? How did you do this to my job? How did you do it?" she said.

  Dru made incoherent gurgling noises as blood dripped from his mouth and he dangled at the bottom of the chain.

  "You." Her finger pointed, pressed against his forehead, pushing his dangling head back so that he could look her in the eyes. "You. Will fix this." She sat on the floor in the middle of the room.

  She had just gotten back from meeting with her attorney and speaking with the board at Kyller and Co. Lucille was still locked in her bedroom, still unwilling to say a goddamn word.

  They had been home about one day, maybe two. Jaspierre couldn't be bothered to keep track of time. Her ribs still ached from the cracke
d beatings she had received, but her face was remarkably less black and blue already.

  "How did you do it." Jaspierre didn't really ask a question. It was more command: you fucking tell me. You will fucking tell me.

  Dru slowly smiled. "Why would I sign it back to you?"

  Jaspierre let out a little scream. She was like a small child teetering on the edge of a temper tantrum. The only way her temper tantrum would end would be in Dru's evisceration, his death, decapitation, and gut removal. She still had managed a bit of self-control and did not bring a sword into this room. Or else. Or else she wouldn't be able to contain the feeling, contain the rage. She counted to ten slowly.

  In fact, her only weapons she allowed in here were her fists and the chain. But those were more than enough. Dru probably wouldn't survive his current injuries, much less when she added to them. And she wanted to, oh, she would. Even if he told her how he had done it, even if he returned to her to the glorious position of wealth her mother gave her. Kyller and Co. was Severina's and he stole it. She had been stolen from! This kind of backstabbing betrayal was not something that Jaspierre could handle.

  Severina never handled betrayal well either. She would've done worse, much worse, damn the consequences. But Jaspierre had Lucille. Jaspierre was broke and needed her money back. So she couldn't just willy-nilly slaughter the man just because he betrayed her. No, she had to get it back first.

  "Tell me." She was now sitting on the floor in front of him cross-legged with her hands pressed tightly together in her lap. Her eyes were shut. Breathing hurt as her ribs ached from all the effort she was putting in. She didn't need to look at him; he could answer the question just fine with her eyes shut.

  "Let's go, Dru," she said again.

  "What's in it for me? What do I get if I tell you? Nothing. You might as well die a pauper like you deserved from the very fucking beginning." Little drops of blood flickered as he spat angrily at her. "Severina grew up with family money. What the fuck did she know? You grew up with the same tainted blood money. You never earned a damn dime in your life. You don't deserve it."

  "I don't have to deserve it. I just have to be born into it. Is that what this is? You're angry that your parents worked as cashiers or some dumb shit? You're angry that you lived under a bridge when you were two? You're angry that you can't carve your own goddamn path?" Her hands twitched in her lap, begging for the chain. Begging to drop him once more, once again. Let him fall, let him cry, let his guts twist inside his belly and explode. "Whatever Severina did to you doesn't matter, she isnot me. I didn't do that. I am absolutely sure that you aren't the worst person she betrayed. You aren't even the most fascinating or interesting. She talked, killed, and screwed so many goddamn people, you aren't even on her top ten list."

  Jaspierre stood up. The twitching in her hands was unbearable; she really wanted that chain. Ring that bell. "However, you make my top five." She leaned in close, her eyes boring into his, their noses almost touching. His mouth was still dripping blood. "Are you sure you want to keep pissing me off? Because you aren't hurting Severina. You aren't hurting me. You," her hands grasped the chain and slowly started raising him, "are only hurting yourself."

  Dru let out a scream; she had barely had lifted him more than a foot. And there he was, screaming like a fool. Scream, Dru. Scream. She held him there, one foot up, and he started to panic. His body thrashed around, dangling on the chain. She pulled a little harder to raise him up a few more inches. Suddenly, just like that, he changed his mind. She wasn't sure if it was just torture, or if it was her excellent speech. But he finally cried uncle.

  "Stop! Please. I can, I will do it." His voice was hoarse and his body writhed with pain. "I'll get you the company. Please stop."

  "Okay." Jaspierre gently lowered him down, careful not to jar his swelling body. She pressed her hand onto the wall, and a small panel slid open. Inside the box was a leather portfolio. She slid it out, opened it up, and took out a pen. Inside the leather portfolio was the three-hundred-page contract at her lawyer had drafted up. "Don't you dare drip a drop on those papers."

  He had to initial thirteen different pages and sign four different copies of the final page. But he did it without dripping a single red drop.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Two

  Jaspierre sat at the head of her boardroom. It was nice to be back in the place where she belonged. Her bank accounts, so weak and weary, were filling up slowly with cash.

  Lucille still hadn't said a word and locked herself in her room. Jaspierre put her directly next to her, next to Lucas's room. She hadn't gone and visited the girl much at all; it had been three, maybe four days. She wasn't sure. She had been busy getting her company back, making sure she had a legacy for Lucille. But embarrassment was strong when she thought of the child. What if she couldn't stop herself from hitting her?

  There had been a great many changes while she had been gone. For instance, the division of medical equipment had been expanded greatly, including newer versions of many different types of medical 3-D printers. It seemed Dru was getting quite enthusiastic about them.

  The pharmaceutical side of things had been dropped significantly. They lost two of the largest clients in the last few years to companies that were more responsive to their needs. Jaspierre and the board discussed strategies to gain them back, something Dru never even discussed, claiming that if they don't want us, we don't want them.

  Lucille still had not said a word.

  Jaspierre had a little inkling of fear every time she thought about her daughter. Maybe she was terrible mother. Was this what motherhood was like? Trying to make money at work, but rogue thoughts flitter back to your beautiful daughter? Trying to focus on medication business strategy, focusing on the bottom line, and still thinking about your mute baby girl? Jaspierre had been planning to stay late, working late. She did that whenever she wanted before. But now she was a mother.

  She got home quickly and strutted up the marble steps into the grand foyer. Arnold stood in the foyer, staring at her. "What do you want to do with the people in the basement?"

  "I will decide tonight. Is she...?" She nodded toward the stairs.

  "Yes," he said.

  Jaspierre clicked her long heels up the stairs, past her ruined bedroom on the right, past Lucas's room (which she was staying in) to the next little bedroom, which was Lucille's.

  She almost knocked on the door, but that was not what a mother would do. Instead, she swung it open. Lucille was under the bed, curled into a ball. It sounded like she was crying again.

  "Lucille. Out from there. I have something to show you." The child did not move. "Don't make me come get you!" She cringed at her own threat as soon as she said it. Slowly, the little blond curls started to creep out from under the bed, and finally, after they appeared, the tiny scrawny little four-year-old body also appeared.

  "Come." Jaspierre almost grabbed the little girl's hand, then changed her mind. She marched the child in front of her like a prisoner. They walked downstairs, one after another. Lucille was timid, but Jaspierre strode confidently through the foyer and toward the pool. "Have you seen the pool? No, you haven't, because you won't get out of your room."

  "Come." She pulled her to the left, to a large set of wooden doors. "Quickly; we can't let them out." She grabbed the girl, creaked the door slightly open, and shoved her in the room. She slipped in behind, latching the door behind her. "I haven't named them yet."

  The room was stuffed to the brim with play equipment. Slides, rope ladders, balls, a swing set; but who could even look at those things when there were servals everywhere? The mother was licking the few kits. Ikali and Tessa curled together on top of the playhouse. And the rambunctious teenager was wrestling a ball.

  Lucille's eyes grew wide, but she still said nothing. She crawled nervously over to the teenager. His ears perked up and looked at her.

  "You can name them. Except for Tessa and Ikali, those two." Jaspierre pointed. "The rest are yours. Yo
u must feed them, water them, whatever else children do with these creatures. Teach them to be nice; don't let them hurt you."

  Lucille said nothing but eventually started petting the teenager. He curled under her fingertips, gloriously beautiful. She kissed him but still said nothing.

  "You could say thank you. I just gave you a really cool present. Do you even understand? These are thirteen-thousand-dollar cats!" Jaspierre's heart start to pound as the rage started to build within her. "You may play with them later; right now, we will do something else." She dragged the girl by her arm and charged her out of the room.

  "Do you know how to swim?" she asked as she trudged towards the pool, dragging the sobbing little girl. "Do you know how to swim? Can you!" She threw the girl into the water with a loud splash. Lucille let out a crying scream, but no words. Not a single word.

  "Just say anything! Say anything!" Jaspierre's voice grew hot and loud.

  Jaspierre watched as her daughter struggled to keep her face out, thrashing in the waters, struggling and slowly realizing her nose was still below the water, her frantic eyes begging for mercy. But her nose was below the water.

  "Say anything, and I'll get you out."

  Jaspierre watched as she struggled and struggled, growing quieter and quieter as she could not get her nose out of the water. Jaspierre turned her head in disgust, furious that the stupid little child wouldn't talk. Why wouldn't she talk!

  The little girl cried as she drowned. Tears leaked into the pool as she struggled to survive.

  Arnold walked in and let out a scream. He dove into the water and pulled out the child. She wept in his arms as he held her. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Jaspierre! Don't you want her to like you? You're her mother. You are supposed to protect her from the nasty shit in the world, not dump more on her." He picked her up and kissed her forehead, turning to the child. "Your mama doesn't know what she is doing." And he carried her up to her room.