Breaking Faith (The JackholeS Book 1)

by Joy Eileen

  I must have slowed considerably as I reminisced of our first fateful meeting all those months ago, making Amy impatient. She ran over and gave me a quick hug before stuffing a licorice stick in my mouth. Dragging me toward the table, she was oblivious to my discomfort from the bruises covering my body.

  Mr. Sex-in-a-bar was still staring at me, his lips turned into a frown, making me change his name to Mr. Moody. The way he looked at me, I was positive he saw through my shield. My vagina, not caring about my comfort, begged me to go suck on his turned down lips.

  “Where have you been? We've been waiting for you. We ordered you a drink, but the ice melted, so you need to drink it quick so we can order you another one.” In true Amy fashion, she didn't stop to take a breath.

  When we reached the table, I laughed at what had to be Amy’s drink. It was the only one with a licorice stick for a straw, the real straw on the table looking dejected.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I said.

  Jessie gazed at me, and it was time to come clean. Right before I opened my mouth, a drunken lady, eyeing the perfection of the table behind us, walked into me and spilled her drink all over my hoodie.

  “Oh, sorry,” she slurred. Her friends were in hysterics. She shrugged, retreating back over to them, her mission abandoned.

  I was in shock as the icy liquid seeped into the material surrounding me. The insane impulse to run to my car and drive flashed through my mind. I thought I wanted to explain everything, but the longer I stood there-the more I wanted to run.

  Jessie got up and grabbed my hand. “Come on. I have an extra Ray’s shirt in my locker,” she said, while pulling me to the back of the bar toward the breakroom.

  I followed Jessie, refusing to cry, if I started, I would never stop. She handed me a form-fitting black shirt with Ray’s embroidered across the bust. Backing away from the revealing garment, I spotted a man’s t-shirt draped across a chair. It had Bouncer written across it, and I reached for it, frantic for a new shield.

  “I'll take this one,” I said, and headed toward the bathroom.

  I rushed inside the nearest stall, pushing past several intoxicated women. Not wanting to see my damaged arms, I threw on the shirt. The shirt was a men’s 3X, and the sleeves went past my elbows, effectively hiding the bruising on my arms.

  Jason knew where to leave a bruise so they could be hidden with little effort, or at least he did until last night. That’s when I noticed dark finger-shaped imprints circling both wrists, mocking my plight.

  How could I have missed those? So much for Jason being discreet.

  I tucked both of my arms inside the sleeves. Pushing the door open with my back, I looked like I was doing a poor imitation of a T-rex.

  Drunken women shouted their orders at me, mistaking my ridiculous outfit for a waitress uniform. Not one to have trouble keeping orders straight, I tucked them into my head to help out the frantic waitress.

  I felt Mr. Moody’s eyes watching me as I approached the table. His lips quirked, in amusement and curiosity at my state of dress.

  As his gaze burned through my body, I focused on my friends staring at me as if I’d lost my mind. Seeing as how I was wearing an enormous t-shirt, with my arms tucked into it so only my hands were visible, I figured I was close.

  Jessie opened her mouth, and I chickened out, wanting to prolong my admission a little longer.

  “What’s the bartender's name?” I blurted out.

  Jessie glared at me, and I was afraid she was going to push it. Shaking her head, she answered, “Ryan.”

  Ryan had dark brown eyes that stood out from the black eyeliner surrounding them. Her hair was cut so the front was shorter than the back, with stripes of hot pink running through it. Her eyebrows were plucked with precision, a ring flashing in one of them. At that moment, she was trying to calm the distressed waitress.

  Figuring yelling would be the lesser of two evils, I shouted, “Hey, Ryan!”

  Her eyes widened in amusement as she took in my appearance. I glanced at our table, spying a number on the edge of it. Checking out the guys’ table behind us I saw how the numerical system worked.

  Ryan walked off. A customer at the other end of the bar flagged her down while drooling at her butt, dismissing me.

  “Table sixteen needs another pitcher of beer; they didn’t know what kind, but said you would know, a Cadillac margarita, and an order of french fries. Table eighteen needs another round of apple martinis and wanted to know if you could do an order of cheese sticks for six instead of four. Table twenty wants another two pitchers and a round of Jaeger shots, and….” I glanced around at the tables and noticed Mr. Mischief finishing his beer, while staring at me in all my crazy glory. “Table thirteen needs another round.”

  “Are you fucking with me?” Ryan asked, eyeing me to see if my ability to remember the orders shouted at me was real.

  The poor waitress wailed. She whipped off her apron, threw it on the bar and screamed, “I quit,” as she made a hasty exit.

  Ryan went to call her back, but shook her head and began filling the orders I shouted out to her.

  One of the tables I just ordered for whistled and hooted like they had witnessed me perform a miracle, and exclaimed I was the man!

  I smiled, but it disappeared when I remembered what I was here to do.

  Amy bounced on her seat, smiling so wide her eyes were almost gone. “That was awesome,” she stated, and dove into her purse to pull out a handful of Skittles and shoved them in her mouth.

  Trent had a look of awe on his face, making me uncomfortable.

  Jessie let the questions in her eyes go for a minute. How long the reprieve would last? I didn’t know, but I planned on exhausting it.

  “Well, are you going to deliver all of those drinks?” Jessie asked.

  I balked at the pointed look she gave my hidden arms. I hadn’t thought of that, and searched the bar hoping to be saved by another waitress. Hell, even Jessie worked here; maybe she would take pity on me. Seeing the question in my eyes she shook her head.

  “Oh, heck no, I'm not working tonight. I took today off.”

  The table behind us harassed her, except for Mr. Moody, who stared at me through his darkened buffer.

  “Come on, Jessie, serve us. You know you're our favorite waitress,” Mr. Mischief said. “I might have to change my mind though.” He gave me a wink.

  The Professor, not looking up from his notebook, hit him on the back of the head to break his heated stare. “Hey!” Mr. Mischief cried, pushing him with his shoulder.

  Not fazed in the slightest, The Professor continued to study his notebook. “That hurt,” Mr. Mischief grumbled, rubbing the back of his head.

  Jessie leaned over and smacked him, telling him to behave. That got Mr. Moody to chuckle, and the low rumble made my whole body smolder. His straight white teeth made a cameo appearance and my panties dampened from the sight. My vagina, now in full slutty attire, pleaded with me to go grind on him like a cat in heat.

  Watching his tongue as it traced his top lip caused my mouth to go dry, and other places to become soaked. I sucked in a sharp breath, knowing the cause for spontaneous combustion was Mr. Moody’s tongue. He chuckled, and I realized I was staring again.

  Jessie turned me away. She touched a sensitive part of my arm, causing me to jump from the unexpected contact. I knocked into an older waitress who had two shots on her tray. The first one toppled over, emptying its contents on the corkboard lining while the other rocked before steadying.

  “I'm so sorry.” I was horrified at how the night had progressed.

  “What's going on?” Jessie demanded.

  I closed my eyes, still facing the waitress. My reprieve from Jessie's questioning was over.

  “I'll give you fifty dollars for the shot I spilled, and the other, if you let me drink it while you go get another round and deliver the drinks I just ordered,” I begged the waitress.

  Her skin had a leathery quality to it, and her blond hair was p
ulled back in a low ponytail, her dark roots visible, but her eyes were soft and kind. “Ok hon, don’t worry about paying for the shot, but how are you going to take it without your arms?”

  Already humiliated, I decided I might as well make my quota for the month.

  Bending over, I wrapped my lips around the top of the glass. Once secured, I threw my head back, letting the liquid burn a path to my stomach. The guys at the table behind us clapped at my performance. I dropped the shot glass on the tray, not making eye contact with the waitress, afraid to see pity reflected in her knowing eyes. She patted me on the head before turning away.

  Jessie spun me around and glared. “You're going to talk to us.”

  Each of my friends wore matching expressions of worry. I could feel a heated stare focused on me from the table behind us.

  “Ok,” I sighed. “I have to tell you something. I need you to promise you won't say a word. If you start in, I'll leave and cut off contact with all of you.” Tears threatened to spill, and I blinked rapidly until they were no longer blurring my vision.

  Amy was the most subdued I had ever seen her. The energy normally humming through her was restrained as she nodded her head in agreement. “Promise,” she said, gnawing on her licorice.

  Trent conceded after a silent stare down. I dragged my gaze to Jessie. Her cooperation was the one I was concerned with, and sure enough my eyes were met with a defiant stare. I quirked an eyebrow at her, knowing the gesture annoyed her because she couldn't do it.

  Amy bounced in her chair with less enthusiasm while Trent nursed his beer. “Oh come on, Jessie, just agree so we can start having fun,” Amy said in an exasperated tone, slapping her in the arm with a licorice stick before popping it into her mouth.

  “Fine,” Jessie agreed, an angry stare stuck on her face.

  “Not a word,” I reiterated, as I lifted my multicolored arms out of my shirt.

  Amy stopped her incessant buzzing, her eyes narrowing into slits. Trent’s eyes went wide with questions, then denial, then anger. He clenched his beer before pounding it back, gazing at the table, unable to meet my eyes or arms, or any other part of me.

  “Shit! I knew it,” Jessie exclaimed, showing how upset she was. Being the consummate southern belle, we had never heard her swear. She opened her mouth, and I gathered my wet hoodie ready to leave.

  It was hard to admit what I had lived with, but I couldn’t have them judging me. That was my job, and I was up for employee of the year.

  “Wait, I'm sorry. Don’t leave,” Jessie cried, getting out of her chair to block my escape. “I knew,” she admitted, her eyes filling up with tears. “I tried so many times to get you to confide in me. You're my best friend.”

  “I can’t believe I fell for his charming bullshit; I'm going to kill him,” Amy stated. Her New York accent became thick with the threat as her tiny frame vibrated with anger.

  “NO!” I shouted. I softly added, “Stay away from him. He's dangerous. If he knows you know, he no longer has to hold up his good guy pretext.”

  My face paled as I realized what I said was the truth. By telling them, I had put my friends in jeopardy. I was being selfish, wanting their support, not thinking of the consequences.

  “I have to go,” I said, putting my hand across my stomach, as it clenched in pain. “I put you guys in danger. Oh My God, what have I done?” I stumbled backwards in horror.

  “Stop.” Amy’s voice was low but full of authority. “We love you. Don’t worry about us, and DO. NOT. Try to skip out on us. We'll find you. We'll get through this together.”

  She gave me a firm look before putting her licorice straw in her mouth and taking a drink. Trent stared at his beer.

  “We will get through this. I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” Jessie’s eyes brimmed with tears, and I hated myself even more. My friends were putting themselves in danger for me, not caring about the repercussions.

  “I had to do it by myself to make sure I was strong enough,” I rambled, not wanting Jessie to feel bad.

  “You don’t have to do this alone. Ugh, your pride's going to kill you.” When those words slipped from her mouth, any trace of color leached from her face.

  “Don’t,” I commanded, reaching out to her, refusing to be coddled. “I took out a restraining order on him today. Everything's packed in my car. I ran out the door as soon as he left the parking lot. I'm done with him. Well sort of,” I confessed, biting the inside of my bottom lip.

  “What do you mean, sort of?” Jessie growled, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

  “Well, in order for the restraining order to become legal, he needs to be served, which I cannot do.” I bit on the inside of my lip again.

  “I’ll do it,” the three of them said in unison.

  “NO!” I cried, not caring if the whole bar became engrossed in my drama. I needed to protect them. Jason’s rage-filled eyes flashed through my mind, making me even more determined to keep them safe.

  “Please, promise me you'll stay away from him. I'll hire a big tough guy to serve him when he comes back. Stay away from him.” I was on the verge of hysteria, my arms flailing around as I made my point.

  Jessie’s eyes widened. She pushed up my sleeves, revealing the extent of my injured arms. Someone sucked in a breath, and I was fairly certain some profanities were thrown out around me. Revealing my bruised arms secured my future without Jason; there was no turning back now.

  I was about to receive one of Jessie's long winded lectures, but she held it back. “Where's the papers?” she asked.

  I nodded toward my bag.

  “Ok, good,” she replied as if she was approaching a frightened animal. “When will he get back?”

  I shrugged, trying to remember if he told me. She shot me an aggravated look at my lack of response.

  “I don’t know. I haven't answered my phone all day,” I admitted.

  “What?” she hissed, putting her fingers on my chin so I looked her in the eyes. “He'll know something's happening. He always calls you before he boards.”

  “Oh My God,” I whispered, realizing my crucial mistake.

  I never missed one of his calls, not wanting his temper to get too elevated, and of all days, I ignored him on the day I made my escape.

  I raced toward my messenger bag, trying to think of an excuse. Before I reached it, the door of the bar banged open, hitting the wall from the force pushed on it.

  “Faith,” Jason called from across the bar. His smile was at full watt tonight. Dread enveloped me.

  I ruined my chance. The only escape I would be granted now would be when he ended my life.

  “Hey, are you ok, honey?” He held a bouquet of red roses in his hand, moving toward me as I began to sway.

  Before I blacked out, I was bumped in the shoulder, jarring me into taking a breath and providing my body with the oxygen it craved.

  The four guys from the table behind us were now standing in front of me like a beautiful testosterone-wall of protection. Even with the turmoil I was in, my vagina couldn’t help but make me appreciate their finer assets.

  “Jessie, why don’t you go introduce Ray to his newest waitress. I just text him to let him know you were headed back to his office. From her performance with the orders, and since he just lost a waitress, I don’t think he'll have any trouble getting her on the schedule. We have some stuff to take care of before we go onstage,” Mr. Moody said.

  His voice was low and menacing. My vagina tossed off her outfit for easier access.

  “Ok, Kill,” she replied.

  I jerked to look at Jessie, who had just commanded Mr. Moody to murder my ex.

  “Don’t kill him, I’m not worth it,” I whispered to his back, touching the hard muscles underneath.

  His body tensed at my touch. I then noticed all four of them were chuckling. Was my drama really that amusing? His laugh was the easiest to pick out, the sound of it caused my inner thighs to catch fire and my knees to go weak.

  Je
ssie gave me a sad smile, but humor sparkled in her eyes. “No, Faith. That’s his name. Well, it’s Killian, but everyone calls him Kill, and yes, you are worth it. It’s him,” Jessie said, pointing her head toward Jason, “that’s not worth it.”

  “Oh,” was all my numb mind could come up with as she dragged me away.

  We passed the kitchen, and I hardly registered the delicious aromas wafting from it while my mind tried to catch up.

  What was going to happen to Jason?

  Was I still free?

  We entered a small office where an older gentleman pored over a schedule. His silver hair reflected the light above him.

  “Hey, Ray, I found a solution to your waitress shortage. Well… it was Kill’s idea. Her name's Faith.”

  Ray looked up, his eyes a light shade of blue. They sparkled when he smiled. He had a kind, weathered face.

  “Hi, I’m Ray. Kill just text me and gave you a glowing recommendation. He told me what you did out there with the orders young lady; I’m impressed. Welcome, Faith. And thank you. Ryan was about to resort to elderly abuse if I didn’t find a competent waitress soon.”

  Chapter 3

  As we finished up the hiring process, I tried to express my gratitude to Ray; getting out of my old job was a necessary step to my independence.

  I was puzzled, but grateful Kill vouched for me. I couldn’t help wondering what happened outside with Jason, but Ray and Jessie kept distracting me, making it hard to concentrate. This could all be in vain if Jason charmed his way out of the trouble I put him in.

  Ray received a text and frowned. Panic shot through me, afraid he had heard about the drama I brought with me and would snatch the job back. I was prepared to beg to keep my new position, but his frown disappeared.

  “Hold on, Faith. Kill isn’t quite done.”

  My heart skipped a beat as I wondered how Kill was handling Jason. Ray’s phone dinged again, and his shoulders relaxed.

  “You're all clear to go and party it up tonight. Party hard, because you're now the possessor of a grueling job as of tomorrow night. I hear the boss is a tyrant.”