I hold it back as I push over into a twisting explosion of a climax, the moaning whining scream escaping my lips into my palm as I close my eyes tight, feeling the warm liquid release and flood my hand. I ride the twisting, bliss as far as it will take me. Wanting so much more than just the fantasy.
I pull the towel out from under me, the one I prepped knowing I was going to lose the battle to touch myself tonight. It’s something no one knows but when I come…I flood. I gush and I’m sure Jacob would be horrified.
I clean myself up, roll onto my side, my breathing slowing along with my heart beats, and fall asleep to the sound in the attic and I hope beyond hope he’s not planning on going anywhere anytime soon.
6
Jacob
I never imagined I’d have any fucking clue what heartbreak feels like.
But, I’m getting a taste and it’s more rancid than prison food.
When I came down the stairs from a sleepless, marathon jack-off night, there was this cinch in my chest when I realized Maggie wasn’t here. I swear my fucking heart felt like it shattered.
The urge to find her, follow her, and fuck up anyone that dared to look at her or, god help them, touch her, was feral. I’m more than obsessed. I’m deranged.
Before I could put a few holes in the walls with my fists, Oma made me potato pancakes and some of the best coffee I’ve tasted in my life and then scurried me out the door to go meet Dan Kaminski at the construction site.
Walking the three miles to the site with a hard-on wasn’t the most fun, but fun has never been a priority for me.
As I walk into the parking lot of the Checkmate Construction Company, which is little more than a trailer on an otherwise empty lot, I’ve still got Maggie on the brain. She’s in every thought and no matter how much I pounded on the bag last night, or worked my cock until it was raw, the need for her only multiplied.
She probably left early to keep from seeing you, dickhead. You fucking grabbed her like a psychopath last night.
The thought hits me in the gut harder than any punch I’ve ever taken.
I took up organized boxing as an angry fifteen-year-old after being placed in my seventh foster home. Before that, I’d been fighting my way through life since the night my father took out his last bit of anger on my mother.
My memories of that night are a sketchy, probably some psychological self-preservation bullshit, but it still left me bitter and mistrusting. My seventh set of foster parents didn’t know what to do with me, so they found a boxing program and for the first time, I felt like I belonged somewhere.
Fighting was a part of me. I’d fought with teachers, foster siblings, foster parents, staff at state run homes, other kids in school, social workers, cops…I’d fight anyone anytime. Boxing gave me a place to release some of the rage in a more controlled environment and I excelled.
Every single opponent became my father, and every single one fell to my fists.
I did okay for a while, better than I had in a long time at least, then when I turned sixteen, I felt like things might really be turning my way. I’d been allowed to go to court and change my name, removing any remnants of my father’s legacy. That same day, I walked into the gym, straight to the coach’s office to tell him the news about getting my name change approved because he’d become a sort of mentor, someone I looked up to.
I swung open the door and found the fucker messing with one of the younger boys in the program. I saw red and I beat him until he wasn’t breathing, then beat him some more. Fucker never messed with anyone again. Never took another breath again either.
I had exacted the revenge I felt was appropriate. He was the first kill, but he wasn’t the last.
Fighting, hurting, winning, sometimes killing gave me power.
But, how quickly things change. Someone else has power over me now. I only met her yesterday and already I’d kill any man who touched her and nobody would ever find the body.
The door of the trailer opens as I approach, the sun warm as I unzip my hoodie to mid-chest, a clean white t-shirt underneath, the best job interview suit I have, and a guy in a cheap-looking business suit tumbles out, losing his balance and bouncing down the steel steps, skidding on the loose stones at the bottom. In the doorway, a man the size of a Sumo wrestler dressed in a sharp, tailored gray silk suit, gold watch, shoes you could use as a mirror, stands shaking his head.
“Tomorrow.” He points at the man on the ground, spits, then straightens his red tie. “Fucking tomorrow. You got that? I see cash or I start breaking bones. Now, get the fuck off my property.” He reaches behind him, just inside the door to the trailer and comes out with a metal baseball bat. “Twenty-four fucking hours.”
The guy struggles to his feet and runs for the open fence.
“You Dan?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the baseball bat, taking a step closer and extending my hand.
“Maybe.” He’s gruff but smiles as he shakes my hand with a firm grip, leaning the bat against the railing as he walks back inside the trailer, turning sideways to fit through the door.
He doesn’t say anything else, so I follow. The interior is sparse with an old black metal desk, an open laptop, a beige leather couch, a couple uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs in front of the desk. There’s a large burgundy throne-looking tufted leather desk chair, and I hear it squeal as he sits and hunts and pecks on the keyboard in front of him, looking up at the monitor then my way, waiting.
“I’m Jacob West,” I tell him, trying to stay in the moment, pushing the incessant thoughts of Maggie’s cunt in those red panties away.
His eyes light up. “Yeah, Thomas told me you were a bald ugly fucker. How much you press? I’m gonna guess three twenty. Am I right?”
“Three-six-five on a good day.”
He whistles. “Fucking hell. I’ve been working on my cardio more than weights lately.” He sounds serious and I don’t give a shit either way, so I just stare as he continues. “The ladies like a man with stamina. So, what’d Thomas tell you about what we do here?”
“He said you’d set me up with some construction work.”
Dan nods. “Sure, okay, I could do that, but with your skill set…” He scratches the side of his head, considering me for a moment. “You think Thomas sent you to me to swing a hammer? His father and mine…God rest their souls…” He looks up at the ceiling and makes a cross over his chest. “Let’s just say, this is a family business. The Laskas and Kaminskis go way back. Not sure construction is where you’ll fit in best.”
“I want a construction job,” I tell him. “I’ve got to show my PO that I’m gainfully employed.”
“Sure,” he nods. “I get that. Don’t sweat it. By the end of today, you’ll have paperwork coming out your ass. Parole officer stops by, you’re on our site over on the east side of town. Or is it the one by the river? I can never be sure. But, it’s your fists and fight I need.” He chuckles.
I need money. And fuck, fighting is all I know. It’s who I am. So what the fuck.
Besides, I know shit about construction.
I’ve got the wad of cash from the prison fights, but that’s not going to last and I’m not taking a free ride from Oma.
And, I need to provide for Maggie…
He opens a drawer, takes out an old flip-type cell phone and slides it across the desk to me. “Wait for my call. You get commission on every collection. You got money to keep you going until then? I can advance you—”
“No, I’m good,” I cut him off, then add, “I also want to do some construction, framing, whatever.”
He eyes me. “You want to work construction? As in, actually do the job, not just sit on the construction site in case your PO wants to check in?”
I nod. “Yeah. I want to learn.”
He puts the butt of an old cigar between his lips on a shrug and I don’t want to explain myself, but I want to fix up Oma’s place without fucking it up.
“Sure, whatever. Tomorrow morning, we’ve got a new bunch of
duplexes going up on Delaney Street down by the river.” He scribbles on a piece of paper and shoves it my way. “There’s the address and the foreman’s name. You got any skills, you tell him. You got no skills, tell him and he’ll teach you.” He spins around and pulls out a file drawer and shoves some other papers my way. “We’ll get you officially employed, fill this shit out.”
Once the paperwork is done, I take the long way through the city, heading back to Oma’s. The freedom of walking where I want when I want is pretty fucking intoxicating. Maggie’s in every thought, I can smell her, feel her touch. My head is swimming with thoughts of a life with her. Maybe that’s why I pushed for the construction work. I want something more than my fists. Something she can believe in, something we can count on.
Because, there will be a we, I just have to get out of my own fucking way and figure out this new world. It’s getting fucking miserable trying to keep my dick under control. My virgin cock is ready to lose its cherry, once and for all, and forever, to Maggie.
I look down the street to see an old-school sort of run-down looking jewelry store with bars on the windows. I’ve got a wad of cash in my pocket and the sudden urge to lighten it makes me walk a little faster.
There’s a shout from inside a bar as I walk by a dump of a downtown hole in the wall, the door flies open and two guys crash onto the sidewalk, one throwing a punch at the other but it’s weak-ass shit. I step around them, keeping my momentum going forward, when a blonde chick with heavy eyeliner wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a Nascar t-shirt that hangs to her knees comes screaming through the door.
“Stop! Mike, let him go, he didn’t touch me!”
“I’m going to fucking kill you!” screams the man receiving the punches, and I don’t know if he was asleep or taken by surprise because he finally decides to fight back.
His first punch lands square on the bottom of the other dude’s jaw, which knocks him back for a second. He steps forward, spitting and cursing on a swing that misses in spectacular fashion, nearly sending him to the ground with his own misplaced inertia. He spins, throwing another punch, only this time his fist connects into the girl’s ear and sends her sprawling back in a thud against the bar door.
The memory of my father’s fist connecting with the side of my mom’s face comes flooding back. Her blonde hair flying in a circle. The force of his punch threw her into the glass door of a china cabinet, which sliced deep into her neck. Didn’t stop him, my dad kept screaming at her, blaming her for making him throw the punch. And I’m trying to get to her but I can’t get past him. I’m not strong enough. I did my best, I jumped, I punched, I kicked but in the end it didn’t matter. It was the only fight I ever lost.
Anger snarls inside of me. I lunge forward and deliver a punch that would de-rail a freight train, knocking the fuck that just hit the woman out into the street, before swiveling and connecting with the second guy’s nose.
My heart thuds against my chest, slow and measured as I look over and see another big guy standing in the now open bar entry door, watching. There’s a wide cut on his left cheek, and a bit of swelling to that eye and I think he’s going to come at me, and fuck am I ready, I’m always fucking ready, but then he takes a glance at the guys on the ground and nods my way before turning his attention to the girl.
“You all right?”
She nods, her words thick as she sways on her feet but it’s not from the hit, she’s drunk, as I imagine they all are. “I think so.”
“Good. You can take yourself and your two boyfriends home. You’re all barred. Don’t bring your drama back here.” He turns back to me. “Impressive. I’m Pete, this is my place.” He points upward to the sign above the doorway.
Pete’s Place.
“Jacob West.”
“You new in town?”
I shrug on a nod as the three bar rejects mutter and swear but stagger and argue their way across the street.
“Well, Jacob West, you got plans Saturday night? I’d like to show you something.”
“What something?”
“You kind of something you have to see. I think you’d like it though. But,” he shrugs, “up to you. Meet me here at nine Saturday if you’re interested. And, you should be interested.”
With that, he turns and heads inside not giving much thought to his invitation because I’m focused on something else.
I brush my hands down the front of my sweatshirt and head toward the jewelry store.
7
Maggie
“What do you think?” I ask Toto as I sit on the bench at the edge of the pond, bending over, putting my fingers in the cool water. He brushes against them, the rough scales making me shiver…knowing the fish is not the real reason for the chills that keep giving me goosebumps. “I’m going crazy, aren’t I?”
The wind whips up and I can smell the tomato plants Babka finished planting this afternoon while I was at work.
“When I get the new job, all of you are coming with me,” I tell the fish, trying to use the power of assumptive thinking as they swim in swirling orange and white twists and turns just under the water’s surface.
When I walked into the house after work, I held my breath, wondering if Jacob was home. Hoping and yet scared he would be—and then disappointed when he wasn’t. There was a note from Babka, letting me know she and Mrs. Trenton, a neighbor down the street, had gone shopping.
I thought of going to my room to try to relieve the low hum that has been vibrating inside me all day. I gave in to the day time fantasies as I worked, alternating between the filthiest sort of porn and episodes of Leave it to Beaver. Even my boss and some co-workers asked why I was so distracted.
My cell phone dings, and I pick it up from the little table next to the pond, clicking on the email notification.
My heart sings.
Then sinks.
Then sings again.
Impressive in the interview. Loved your enthusiasm. Highly recommended by your superior. But without the necessary management experience…
“I didn’t get it…” I say out loud, confused by my ambivalence.
The job has gone to someone else, and my dreams are dashed, but there’s also a flash of relief. I turn away from the pond and play with the hem of the denim mini-skirt I threw on with a tank top after my shower. The sun is warm today through the breeze as I stare at the ground, thinking about how Jacob grabbed my wrist in the kitchen, then my neck...how I should have been scared but instead, I wanted him so badly to kiss me.
“Hey.” A low voice startles me.
I freeze at the sudden interruption; a jolt hits me deep in my center and the tingling between my legs explodes. Jacob’s standing behind me. His eyes filled with that same intensity they had last night, making my nipples pucker and tension gathers in my core. “Hey back,” I reply. “How was your day?”
He glances at his knuckles, as if that has something to do with the answer, then nods. “I start with the construction deal tomorrow morning, bright and early.”
“That’s good,” I tell him as an odd spin of happiness warms my face.
I didn’t get my job, which would have taken me away, but Jacob got his job, which should make him stay....
“How was your day?” He steps forward, around next to me, taking a seat. His legs bent and spread wide as rests his elbows on the back of the bench. The close proximity of his body making me dizzy as I watch the muscles in his jaw flex and harden.
I feel pinned under that gray-blue gaze, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening in concern as he waits for my reply. He’s so worldly, such an old soul in a young man’s body, I can see that in his face. He’s seen the hardships the world has to offer and dealt with them in the best way he can.
I shrug. “Fine enough.”
“That doesn’t sound that great.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Try me.”
The bench creaks in protest as he shifts his weight and my heart does this kind of somersa
ult as the energy between us buzzes. Sitting this close, he feels bigger than before if that’s possible. It feels like he could wrap me up in his body like a suit of armor and I’d never feel any hurt or pain again.
I meet his blue-gray eyes and feel like there’s tiny arrows piercing my heart. I feel naked, like he can see everything about me, every need, every desire. I feel sure he can sense what I did last night, thinking about him in bed while he pounded the bag above me. When I open my mouth to answer, my throat is tight and the words feel sticky as I force them out.
“Th—there was a job. A promotion I mean. At work. I didn’t get it.” I shake my head, licking my lips like it’s no big deal but saying it out loud brings the disappointment back in a wave.
When his fingers brush my shoulder, I tense. But as quickly as the urge to pull away comes, it’s gone, and the touch of his fingers is grounding, comforting. It makes me want to lean my head on his shoulder and feel the comfort of his strength.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “What was the promotion?”
“A management position. I’m just a worker bee though. I knew I wasn’t qualified really, but I’d hoped…” I shrug.
“That they would see something in you that the rest of the world missed?”
I stare at him for a moment, then nod. “I don’t know about that. Maybe, yes, I guess.”
“I know the feeling. But you deserve it, I don’t.”
“Of course you do,” I tell him, and for a long time we just stare at each other and I want so badly to kiss him. To wrap my arms around his strong body and let him hold me. Climb into his huge lap and have him tell me I’m his.
To give myself to this man I’ve only known for a day.
I’m a virgin and I’ve also never even seen a man naked except in the few horrible porn clips I’ve watched with my best friend Anola. I’ve never really even wanted to be touched or kissed or…fucked. The way I think about Jacob is raw, carnal, like I’ve turned feral. I want him to take me, right here and right now, and it frightens me so much that I want to stand up and go inside, but he must read my energy because he brushes his fingers from my shoulder up my neck.
One Shot (The Anti-Heroes) Page 4