Back then I didn’t have a cell phone. That was a luxury that we couldn’t afford. So I promised my friends that I would email them when I got in the house. Knowing good and well it was probably likely that I wouldn’t be able to send them much of anything. When my father had a tantrum, he tended to gravitate towards the electronics, and we only had one old desktop computer. My mother’s. Although I prayed that it had been spared his wrath.
As soon as we got into the car, Tyson asked me if I needed a little something to relax before I dealt with my father. I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but I assumed it was an alcoholic drink. That’s what my father said on many occasions when he poured himself a scotch.
“I just need something to relax, peanut.” My father’s nickname for me.
“I don’t drink,” I told Tyson firmly.
“I don’t mean alcohol. I’ve got a little Oxy.”
“What’s that?”
“A pain reliever. It’s prescribed by doctors. Totally safe. It’ll give you a nice buzz, so you won’t be as stressed out.”
“I don’t know—”
“Here, you can have one and see what it’s like. I take them after work and on the weekends to wind down instead of getting all pissy on alcohol. Plus most girls I know like them, because there’s no calories.”
I still wasn’t sold.
Not until he dangled it in front of me then took it away.
“Never mind. You might not be ready—”
“No,” I stupidly said. “I want to try it.” Imploring with my eyes for him to give me another chance. To give me the OxyContin. “Let me just deal with my dad and my sister first,” I said in an effort to stall actually taking the thing. “I don’t want to talk to them high.”
I remember Tyson giving me a strange look after that. As if he was impressed with my mature decision making, but at the same time irritated with the fact that I made those choices.
What I didn’t realize at the time was that this very part of my personality, my maturity beyond my years and my ability to rise to a stressful occasion without the need to numb myself, is what Tyson grew to resent. My strengths were his weaknesses, and he hated me for it. It was the part of me that he spent years trying to suffocate and annihilate. And the terrifying part was that he almost succeeded.
Camden
It’s been a couple of days and I haven’t seen or talked to Jade. Supposedly she’s been doing some leftover work for Roman that she needed to finish up before devoting herself to the club and our arrangement, but my guess is that’s just an excuse. She’s definitely ducking me.
The little gumball never showed up at the mini-mart the other night, and after waiting for an extra twenty minutes, I spun around to her house to look for her, but she wasn’t there. I knew she was lying to me. Something is definitely going on. Jade’s one fault is that she can’t really lie worth a damn. So I’m assuming to avoid the embarrassment of having to try, she’s decided to duck and dodge me. Hoping that eventually I’ll let it go. And I would have, until Cutter called.
“You may want to get over here.”
“Why? I thought we agreed that you’d handle the club tonight.”
Funny how I have less of a desire to be at Lotus if Jade isn’t there for me to watch.
“If you want Marco to take your sloppy drunk munchkin home then okay.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Cutter?”
“I’m saying that Jade is here at the club, plastered, and she’s all over Marco.”
“Drunk?!”
“Totally and all over Rico Suave.”
“Well take her ass home then!”
“When has Jade ever done anything that she doesn’t want to do? And trust me, she doesn’t want me to take her home. She wants Marco to—”
“Shut your damn mouth. I’ll be there in fifteen. Keep her there.”
Cutter laughs out loud. “All right, brother. That I can do.”
* * *
When I arrive to Lotus, I practically run out of the car and into the club like it’s on fire. I throw the side door open, and charge my way angrily towards the bar like I’m thirteen years old again, and someone has stolen my bike.
I don’t see my brother anywhere, but I definitely see that douche, Marco. He’s behind the bar closing out the register while telling some sort of story to Jade, and she’s sitting at the bar hanging onto his every word. Fucking laughing. Hysterically. As if he’s some celebrity comedian doing a stand up routine on HBO. Like he’s the funniest jackass on the planet.
I could strangle them both. I’d be totally fine with it. Hell, I almost killed a few people speeding on the expressway to get over here. So what’re two more bodies?
When Marco notices my arrival he doesn’t even flinch. Cocky bastard. In fact, my eyes better be playing tricks on me, because I swear he may have even smirked at me.
“Let’s go,” I command as I firmly pull on Jade’s upper arm.
“Kinggg Kongg.” Jade smiles and slurs when she sees me. There’s something about her saying a nickname that I usually despise tonight which is making my dick brick hard.
“That’s right, it’s me. Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” She giggles. “Marco was telling me the funniest story everrr. He said he could finish the story over pancakes.”
“Did he now?”
I stare the little shit down.
“Pancakes are the best thing for soaking up liquor,” he says in what I know now to be a Cuban accent that he turns on and off at will.
“Oh would you stop with that fake fucking accent already,” I grumble.
He laughs at me as I bend down in front of Jade.
“Get on,” I command. “I’ll make you pancakes.”
“Ooh, a piggyback ride!” she exclaims. “Bye, Marco. We’ll finish the story another time.”
Oh no the fuck you won’t.
I flinch when Jade drunkenly slaps the side of my head. “Giddy up, Trigger!” She’s wearing some sort of heavy ring on her right hand and it stung like hell, but I have to admit, that there’s something about a drunk Jade that is amusing. She’s a little silly, a lot more playful, and kind of cute.
“Wrap your arms around my neck and stop playing around.” I fuss with her to keep from grinning. Plus I don’t want her to fall and break her neck. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jade this sloshed.
“Don’t forget her phone,” Marco says.
Dammit, my hands are full of … ass.
“Slide it in her back pocket and watch your hands. No wait. Where’s Cutter?”
“I think you might even have Roman beat with this overprotective schtick of yours. I’m just going to slide her phone in her jeans like so.” He slides her iPhone in her back pocket with two fingers in an exaggerated manner. “See? I didn’t touch a thing.”
Jade giggles in my ear. The sound totally redirects me from plopping her ass on the ground, and reaching across the bar to smack the only employee in the place with built in job security. Marco is the only employee left who worked at Lotus before we took it over. We keep his disrespectful ass around only because of that. That and the fact that he’s a big draw for a lot of the women who patronize the club. They love his fake accent, his abnormally white teeth, and spending lots of money at the bar as long as he’s working. That’s his only saving grace.
“Good thing I didn’t wear my leggings today huh, King Kong?”
“Shut up, Jade, and stop wiggling around back there.”
I can feel her hardened nipples rubbing against my back, and it’s making my dick grow even harder.
“Oh yes, sir! All hail the king—”
That mouth.
I would love for her to say all of that shit to me on all fours.
“The king is coming! So let it be written, so let it be done!”
She shows no signs of stopping her chain of corny Kingisms.
“God save the king!”
This girl’s going to be the dea
th of me.
Believe it or not this is my first time inside of Jade’s apartment building, and as I look around, I spot a hundred different security breaches that I don’t like. The supposed secure front door to her building isn’t locked. There’s only one working elevator. The postman has left packages for the tenants on the front desk for anyone to grab. Hell, she’s practically living in a college dormitory. No wait, a dorm would have better security than this.
“Has Roman ever been here?” I can’t believe that he would ever cosign her living in a place like this.
“When I first moved in.”
“Years ago?”
“Yeppppers.”
“Why hasn’t he been back?”
“The same reason why you haven’t been here. No need for you to. I come to you guys.”
True. I guess the place must have gone down hill since she first moved in.
“You never thought about moving? I know we pay you enough money to live somewhere better than this. Somewhere with a doorman and decent security.”
I give her another piggyback ride inside the building to the elevator. She seems to be feeling dizzier.
“Nope, I like it here. Am I getting heavy?” she asks as we slowly move inside of her rickety elevator to the fifth floor. “You keep bobbing around like a buoy.”
I laugh. “Actually I’m not bobbing around. That’s your liquor soaked head playing tricks on you.”
“Nah, admit it. I’m getting heavy.”
“Jade, you weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet.”
“Actually I weigh a lot more than that. It’s all muscle though. Ryan works me hard. Can you feel how toned my glutes are now?”
“Who the hell is Ryan?”
“My personal trainer, silllly,” she slurs. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know all the important stuff.”
“You don’t know shiznit.”
“I know how to make you scream when you come,” I assert. Finally shutting her right the hell up.
We finally arrive to her floor.
“Apartment five thirteen right?”
“You don’t know my apartment number either? What kind of tracker are you?”
She sounds almost offended.
“What are you talking about?”
“You investigate everyone. What about me? Didn’t you track me to Baltimore?”
“ I followed you to the harbor, yes, but you’re not a client, Jade. There was no need to investigate you. “
“Because my life is soooo boring to you?”
They say liquor acts as a truth serum. So I’m wondering, is that what she really thinks about her life and herself? That she’s boring?
She’s anything but.
“Are you saying that you are boring or that you’re bored with your life?”
“My life is so not boring.” She starts to laugh uncontrollably. “I wish it was.”
I think I’m missing the joke.
“What made you drink like this tonight, Jade? Did something happen?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you show up at the mini-mart the other day? You had me waiting for a long time.”
“Sorry.”
She’s still fucking laughing.
“Where’s your key?” I ask in exasperation. Fed up with trying to grill someone who’s clearly too inebriated to answer.
“I dunno.”
“Listen, drunky, if you want those pancakes we’re going to need the key to open the door. Where is it?”
“Search me!” she says playfully as she throws her arms up. Almost falling back in the process.
“Will you hold on!” I order.
“Can’t your bad ass just kick the door down or make another key? Like that MacGyver guy. Out of a gum wrapper and glue or something? You’re smart like that.”
She continues with her drunken laughter, but now she’s rubbing my head with one of her hands, while holding onto my neck with the other. It feels incredible. If she wasn’t so damn plastered, I’d slide her around to the front of me and grind her pretty ass against this wall.
“You’re hair is so soft. You’re like a puppy.” She giggles. “We’re not allowed to have dogs in this building.”
I’m not sure that I like being compared to a dog, but I can’t help but laugh at her drunken words. Normally Jade has to be “on” all the time. Working for us. Working a client. Her guard up. Her tough girl armor on. It’s nice to see her let her hair down a little. Plus it feels kind of good that she thinks I’m a resourceful badass. Calling me MacGyver is a pretty high compliment in my book.
“I think it will be easier if we use a key,” I tell her. Then I place her gently down on the floor next to the door.
“I think I left them at the club. Oh wait,” she drunk whispers while pointing her finger in a downward motion. “I keep a spare key under the mat.”
A key under the welcome mat of her front door? Does she want to get robbed or raped? Sure enough I lift up the mat, and there’s an oversized, pink key with Hello Kitty on it underneath. This girl never ceases to surprise me.
“Are you insane? Has anything that we do for a living rubbed off on you at all?”
“Heck, yes! I’m paranoid all the time because of you guys.”
“Clearly not enough if you’re leaving keys under mats.”
“Don’t you see? I’m a genius.” She’s whispering again. Although I’m not really sure why, because there’s no one within earshot distance of us, but it’s the most adorable thing ever. “It’s the most obvious place to hide it. That’s why no one would ever think to look there.”
The strong smell of Grey Goose that is emanating from Jade’s pores reminds me exactly of why her reasoning is so ass backwards right now. How many vodka and pineapples did that lothario serve her? Me and him are definitely going to have words.
“You sound stupid,” I chastise. “Come on and stand up.”
I help her up onto her feet.
“Pfft,” she mutters.
After walking Jade inside of her apartment, I slide her key in my back pocket for safe keeping and decidedly look around. She lives in a tight one-bedroom apartment. It’s small, but the perfect size for her, and I like that the walls are painted with soft buttery colors that make the space feel warm and cozy. A definite contrast to Jade’s edgy personality.
“Where’s the bedroom?”
“That door.” She points as her lids start to droop and fade into unconsciousness.
I scoop her up in my arms, before she completely falls on her face, and carry her to the room. Kicking open the door that was slightly ajar, I’m intrigued to find a large eleven-by-twenty-inch matted photograph prominently displayed on a wall above a vintage looking wood dresser. It’s one of the only personal artifacts that I’ve seen in the house so far that reveals something about Jade that I didn’t know.
The photo is a professional shot, like one of those ones you take at Sears. It looks like it’s a picture of a very young Jade, another baby girl, and a woman whom they both look very much like but in different ways. Jade has the woman’s eyes and freckles. The baby has her nose and mouth. All three of them are dressed in white tops and denim bottoms. Cute.
When Jade finally passes out, she sprawls across her queen-sized bed topped with sheets covered in small blue and yellow flowers and a tufted white comforter. When she’s quiet like this, it gives me a moment to truly appreciate her beauty. She usually wears her hair pulled back off of her face, but seeing it splayed all over her pillow makes her look even sexier than she usually does. Her skin is blemish free and glowing. I think I even spot a couple of freckles on her face now that a lot of her makeup has worn off. She really is a striking woman wrapped in the tiniest, sexiest packaging ever.
I take my time stripping her of her clothing. It’s been a while since I’ve seen what’s underneath, and I’m damn near as excited as a child would be unwrapping his favorite toy under the Christmas tree. I think about how close
I came to choking the bartender as I gaze at her. I’m possessive. I don’t like other kids playing with my toys.
I untie and pull her favorite pair of converse off, placing them neatly by the bed. After removing her footie socks, I notice that her small feet and slender toes are painted a soft, petal pink. I lift one of her feet, cradling it in my hands. Carefully examining each and every toe. I’m starting to think that Jade secretly loves the color pink. First the pink spare key under the mat and now her pink painted toes. I’m interested by this, because it’s been my experience that women who favor the color are very girly and Jade isn’t.
She despises it when women talk about how “hot” a ball player is, because she takes her sports very seriously and cares more about their stats then their abs. She usually wears dark sweats, leggings or jeans—no dresses, no pastels. She only wears boots or sneakers—no heels. She never carries a handbag. Instead preferring to slide her phone in her back pocket, or the ankle of her boots, or inside of her bra. I think she keeps money and a credit card in the same hiding places too.
And while she is a woman of small stature, she isn’t the least bit fragile. Jade’s hills and valleys are all defined by strong, lean muscle where it counts and soft pliant flesh where it matters most. Most women are intimidated by her strong will and caustic mouth upon first meeting her. Some men too. But all of this is what makes her unique, and special, and sexy—especially to me.
Jade’s feet are resting on my lap, and now that they’re totally exposed to the air, she sleepily stretches them by flexing and pointing her toes. Inadvertently rubbing them against my cock and contributing to it’s thickening inside of my pants.
I do my best to ignore that and start unzipping her jeans. They have to be the tightest pair of jeans ever made. I’m going to have to use a bit of force to get them down, and remember to make her go shopping for clothes that fucking fit next week. I lift her hips up with one hand and start tugging the jeans side to side, working them down her hips with my other hand. Once I get her jeans partially down, all I see and feel is warm, lush, velvety bare skin. She has no panties on, and she’s freshly waxed.
Claimed by a King Page 8