by JA Huss
I close my eyes and growl a little. Reach down and help him. Gathering soapy suds as we jerk me off together. My hands over his. Pulling and tugging.
It feels amazing.
But it’s not all about me. So I reach out and take his cock in my hand and we jerk each other off. Washing each other’s dicks as we do it.
Kissing. First lightly. Then harder as our breathing becomes heavy and quick.
“Don’t leave,” I say.
“Where would I go?”
“Just don’t go back, Logan. Just—”
“Shut up and make me come.”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“I’m jerking you off, asshole. And you don’t seem to be enjoying it, so—”
I kiss him again. To make sure he understands. I am enjoying it—it’s just… I want more. I want out. And I want him to come with me. “We could really have something, you know. We could take Yvette with us. Go down to Mexico—”
He laughs.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“I think I had a dream about that. That we were in Mexico. I went to this island a couple years ago. Some place my mom and dad took me before things fell apart. That’s the only good memory I have of them. Us, as a family, ya know. So I went down there a couple years ago and I was gonna disappear. Just me. I was just tired of Damon’s bullshit. So I took off to Isla Holbox. Fucking perfect place, man. Just fucking perfect. White beaches, surreal lagoon, fucking sunrise that makes you want to get up early. No stress. Just… like you said last night. Just living.”
He jerks my dick a little harder when I seem to get lost in his description. So I jerk him back. Not hard or fast, but kinda slow.
“Let’s go,” I say. “Let’s just go there. Right now.”
He sighs. “I want to, I really do, AJ. It’s just… you know we can’t do it.”
“We can do whatever we want, Logan.”
“He’ll look for us.”
“Down on buttfuck-nowhere Isla Holbox?” I laugh. “Come on.”
“He knows I went there. I told him about it afterward. He’d look.”
“So we can go somewhere else.”
“It won’t work.”
“Fuck you,” I say, pushing him back against the wall. “I’m tired of you saying that. We can make it work. You just don’t want to.”
“I do want to,” he says. “I just think ahead, AJ. And I don’t want to get us all killed.”
“We’re already dead.” I laugh, walking out of the shower. “We’re already fucking dead. Yvette wants to die and you and I hate who we are.”
“Speak for yourself.”
I just look at him for a second.
Then shake my head and walk out of the bathroom.
Chapter Twenty - YVETTE
Yesterday morning I came downstairs dressed to die.
Don’t get me wrong. I like that outfit I wore yesterday. Before AJ ripped my shirt up the front it was very nice. But I didn’t wear it to make myself feel good or because I had someone to wear it for.
I wore it so when they found my body I wouldn’t look like shit.
What’s that old saying? Make sure you wear clean underwear in case you're hit by a car?
I don’t know why people would say that to their kids, but I’m pretty sure it’s a thing.
The point is… yesterday I came downstairs to die and today I’m still alive. Looking like complete crap wearing yoga pants and an old t-shirt, but still alive nonetheless.
Also… I have two sexy, dangerous strangers up in my bedroom.
AJ’s right. You don’t know when you’re half-baked. Still gooey on the inside. Because honestly I’m having a pretty good time with them.
Except for the part where they can’t leave here without killing me because Damon will just kill them when they get back. That part sucks.
I grab all the ingredients to make French toast and begin cracking eggs into a small stainless-steel bowl, musing about my current situation.
Do I feel different? Aside from fun, would I change my mind and want to live just because I had an incredible one-night stand?
I heat up the griddle while I think about that. Get the bread ready. Pour the syrup into a little ceramic pitcher and place it into a pan of hot water so I can warm it up. Put a small scoop of powdered sugar into three little condiment dishes. Peel a little fancy curl of skin off an orange to make the plates look pretty. Then grate some zest and add it to the sugar.
I’m kinda going all out for this breakfast.
Or maybe I’m just avoiding my question.
Do I want to live?
“Hey,” AJ says, pushing his way through the swinging metal door. “What’s cookin’, cookie?”
“Cookie,” I say, dipping bread into the eggs, then placing it onto the hot griddle. Repeating that process until the whole grill is full.
“Coffee?” he asks.
I point him to the single-serving machine that I use for myself and not the industrial version I use for customers. “Help yourself.”
He does. Finds what he needs without asking. Which I appreciate. There’s nothing worse than a helpless monster of a man.
AJ doesn’t come off that way, so I’m not surprised he can fend for himself in the kitchen. He comes off very competent, in fact. More competent than Logan.
I think Logan wears those suits because he knows he’s got weaknesses and that projects an image of strength and control.
While AJ wears jeans and cowboy boots because he knows he’s strong and doesn’t care what people think about him.
They are a nice dichotomy, I realize. Little bit of yin and yang going on. Which makes for a good team.
Or the perfect set of partners.
Which is stupid. Just plain stupid. You don’t pledge your undying love to a woman you’ve known one day. That’s dumb. Not even fairy-tale believable.
And still… I’m alive. They’re here. We’re gonna have breakfast. Spend the day together.
But is all that only because of the storm?
Do I want to live another day?
“What are you thinking about?”
Logan is standing in the doorway wearing my dead husband’s jeans and I get a really sick, sick feeling in my gut.
He enters, letting the door swing closed behind him.
“I’m thinking about… how I think you should kill me.”
“Stop it,” AJ says.
“I think we should fuck again, but this time”—I look at AJ—“don’t stop when I tell you to choke me.”
He narrows his eyes at me and I suddenly know what men see when they look at him.
Dangerous. Mean. Evil. Ruthless. Threatening. Dark.
He is all those things for about three whole seconds.
And then I say, “It’s my choice, AJ. You don’t get a say. I’m done here. My time is up, my game over, my cookie… is baked.”
Logan walks over to the coffee machine and starts making a cup.
AJ renews his badass glare. Staring me down like a wolf looking at prey.
I shrug. “That’s just how I feel.” And then I frown. Because I realize it’s true. I’m not just saying that to argue, or be right, or any of those things. I’m saying it because I feel it.
He frowns with me. Closes his eyes. Sighs.
Logan turns around, his coffee cup in hand. Takes a sip. Then says, “So go swallow all those pills. They’re still sitting on top of the jukebox.”
This time AJ doesn’t tell him to stop.
I turn back to the French toast, flip each piece one by one, and say, “I used to make breakfast like this for my family. Every single day I’d come down here and open up the kitchen. Sometimes it was French toast. Sometimes it was pancakes. Or eggs. Bacon occasionally. Bonnie just started eating finger foods a few months before the ‘accident.’ She liked pancakes.”
Every time I say the word ‘accident’ it comes with quotes. Even when I’m not talking about the non-accident that ruined my lif
e. It’s just habit now.
I turn to face them, spatula in hand. And sigh. “It’s too much, ya know? It’s just too much. I can’t stay here. I have nowhere else to go. Damon wants me dead. You have to kill me or he’ll kill you. And I can’t be responsible for any more death. I just can’t.”
Logan puts his coffee cup down and walks towards me. He smiles. Just a small one. And says, “You let us worry about us, Yvette.” Then he leans down and kisses me on the top of the head. “But I’m not gonna talk you out of killing yourself.”
I look at AJ to see if he’s gonna say something. But he doesn’t.
So Logan continues. “I’m not gonna do that. If it’s that bad, then check out. But don’t do it because you think you’re saving us.” He hardens his face into an expression I haven’t seen before.
This is his dangerous look as well. The one men see right before he kills them. Or beats them up. Or threatens them with such things if they don’t do what he says.
“We’re perfectly able to save ourselves."
Chapter Twenty-One - LOGAN
I say it because it’s true. AJ and I aren’t looking for someone to rescue us and even if we were, we wouldn’t call Yvette Nightingale. She’s a fucking mess.
“So…” AJ says, breaking the tense silence I created. “French toast.” He smiles.
You gotta give that guy credit. I mean, Aje is a wall of muscle. Tattoos, scars, bad attitude, will kill you dead if you look at him wrong on a bad day… and still, when he smiles, the world wants to stop to witness it.
“What can I do to help?” he adds.
Sometimes I want to punch him, he’s so damn charming. Or maybe it’s the rest of the world I want to punch? The people who fall for it.
And why does everyone fall for it, anyway? Why am I the mean one when he’s the actual killer in this operation?
I’m the money launderer, for fuck’s sake.
Not entirely true, my little inner voice says.
But true enough.
AJ is staring at me. He says, “I make an effort.”
“What?” I ask.
“I see you looking at me. I know that look, Logan. You’ve been giving me that look since we were fourteen.”
“Is that right?”
He nods. “That look says, Why you?”
I roll my eyes.
“It says, Why not me?”
“Fuck off.”
AJ directs his attention to Yvette. “He secretly hates me.” And he says this the way he says everything. The way he says, “I’m gonna kill you now,” just before he crashes a baseball bat into someone’s face. “He’s always hated me because I’m likable.”
Yvette looks at me.
“Oh, it’s nothing personal,” AJ continues, walking over to Yvette. He takes the spatula from her hand and begins lifting the French toast off the grill. Places them on a nearby platter one at a time. Then looks over his shoulder at me. “He hates all likable people. So I’m no one special. Right, Logan?”
I shake my head a little. “I don’t hate you.”
“No,” AJ agrees, even though he just said I did. “Not any more than you do anyone else. That was my point.”
“I don’t hate you like that either.”
“Hey,” he says, flashing that smile again. “I don’t take it personally. These are just your demons to deal with, Logan.”
“When did you become such a fucking philosopher?” It comes out angrier than I intended. “When did you come up with this bullshit? ‘You’re a half-baked cookie, Yvette,’” I mock him. “‘Just stay in the oven a little longer.’ What the fuck are you doing?”
AJ stares at me. Still smiling. “I just happen to think it’s true.”
“Well, it’s fucking annoying. So knock it off.”
“Why are you in charge?” Yvette asks me.
“What?”
“You,” she says. “Why would he put you in charge?”
For a second I think she’s talking about AJ, but then I get it. “Damon, you mean?”
“Yeah,” she says, getting out plates and placing them on the large stainless-steel table in front of me. “He never liked you, ya know.”
“He doesn’t like anyone,” AJ says. “Fucker is paranoid.”
“Yeah, I know that,” Yvette snaps, grabbing a wire basket filled with silverware and placing it next to the plates. “I lived with him, remember?”
AJ puts up a hand. “Hey, I’m on your side.”
“No,” Yvette says, shaking her head. “Neither of you are on my side. You’re here to kill me.”
“We’re not gonna kill you,” AJ says.
“Maybe not. But your intention was to kill me. And none of that matters anyway. I just want to know how you got to be in charge, Logan. Because I remember them talking about you and you were always a joke to them.”
“Whoa.” AJ laughs. “Just… relax, Yvette. We don’t need to—”
“It’s fine,” I say, cutting him off. “I know,” I say, locking eyes with Yvette. “I know what they think of me. They might not like me—and I certainly don’t like them, so who cares. But I do my job. It’s such a simple thing, you know? Doing one’s job? But almost no one actually shows up and does what they’re supposed to on a consistent basis. Being reliable is the easiest thing in the world. There are no feelings attached. There’s no emotion. You just do what you’re told. So no, I’m not gonna step out in front of a bullet for anyone. Least of all Damon. But if I’m told to make sure that no one’s in front of that asshole pointing a gun at his face, you can bet your fucking ass ain’t nobody gonna be there because I took care of it.”
They both stare at me. I feel like I just made a speech and speeches aren’t my thing, so the ensuing silence becomes uncomfortable and I feel the need to say more.
“You don’t have to like me the way you like him,” I say, nodding at Aje. “You don’t even have to trust me. Hell, anyone who trusts me is a dumbass. Because everything I do, I do for me. But if you want to find a way out of this, then you need to fucking help me do my job.”
“Help you kill me?” Yvette laughs. “Should I make it easy for you, Logan? And just take those pills?”
I shrug. “Up to you. I’m not here to save you, Yvette. I’m here to save me.” And then I sigh and look at AJ. “And him, if I can manage it.”
Which makes AJ squint his eyes in confusion. “I don’t need saving.”
He does. For sure. Because if I do my job he’ll be dead too. But I’m not gonna argue with him about it.
“So what do you want from me?” Yvette asks. “How can I possibly help you with this little dilemma?”
“Well…” I say, thinking it over for a second. Because I don’t want to kill her. I don’t want to kill anyone. I don’t want to launder money. I don’t want to work for Damon. I want to go to that fucking island, live in a goddamned beach house, and start over as someone else. Live the rest of my days bumming around on the beach with a metal detector, or collecting rocks, or painting mountain lakes while watching Bob Ross reruns. Or some other stupid hobby boring people do. That’s what I want. But there isn’t a single person on this planet who gives a fuck about my dreams. And there’s no possible way to get out of this situation unless these two people in this kitchen end up dead.
So I say… “You can start by telling me how the fuck you got away. How the hell did you escape? How did you fly under Damon’s radar for so many years and why is he fucking with you now? Because it doesn’t make sense. Not even if you add in the kid.”
Both of them look at me. Just stare at me for a few seconds.
Then AJ clears his throat and says, “Uh… OK. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
I let out a long, tired breath. Because I’m sick of this shit. I’m sick of this fucking life I’m living. I’m sick of being the monster, and I don’t want to fuck over the only guy I actually consider a friend.
I just don’t see any way around it.
Yvette uses tongs to lift a s
mall pitcher of syrup out of a pan of boiling water, and places it on the table next to small bowls of powdered sugar. And then she pulls out a tall stool hiding underneath the large, commercial table, as AJ picks up a fork and begins doling out slices of French toast.
“Sit down, Logan,” Yvette says. I look at her. She looks at me. Then she offers me a small smile that comes with a shrug. “You said you follow orders, right? I’m just helping you out.”
AJ drags a stool across the floor, making a loud scraping sound, then sits next to her and starts helping himself to syrup and powdered sugar.
I am hungry. Fucking starving actually. So I pull out a stool across from them, and sit. “You gonna explain?” I ask, pouring syrup over my breakfast. “Or you gonna just let us all die up here on this mountain?”
“Dramatic, dude,” AJ says, stuffing a healthy portion of French toast in his mouth.
“If I tell you,” Yvette says, “you need to make me a promise.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“That you will not tell Damon anything I say.”
I shrug. “Done,” I agree, not because I’m particularly invested in her secrets, I just figure he knows all this already. He’s known she was up here for a long time before he sent us.
“OK,” Yvette says. “Then… OK.” She looks worried. Bites her lip, looks down at her plate. Cuts a piece of French toast with her fork. Eats it. Then sighs. “Damon’s father got me out.”
“Oh.” AJ laughs. “Didn’t see that one coming.”
“Explain,” I say. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
She frowns. Stays silent for almost a minute as she stares down at her plate.
AJ and I look at each other. I shake my head at him, a warning that he should not try to make this easier by cracking jokes or being charming.
“He raped me,” she finally says. Then she looks up and locks eyes with me. “Damon. His cousins. His little brother. His inner circle. All of them. His father too,” she adds quietly.
“Oh, fuck,” AJ says.