…Jester, the talky bastard, swivels around and folds his arms over the back of his seat. “So, James, tell me, other than murdering the fuck out of your father and marrying a douchebag, what’s your story?”
Jamie adjusts her position to face him. “I don’t have a story.”
“Yeah, you do,” Jester insists. “We all got one.”
“Fine.” She may look relaxed, but I feel how stiff she is in my arms. “You tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine.”
I hope she doesn’t think that’ll shut him up. Jester is an open book who’ll give anyone graphic details about everything from the sex he had last night to the murder he committed a week ago. He just doesn’t give a fuck.
“Not a problem. Birthday’s December twelfth, and yes, I got the shaft every year with the birthday-Christmas-combo gifts. Father was Phil. Mother was Ruth. No siblings. After having me, my parents gave up having kids. Guess I was too much for them. I met these two pricks in kindergarten. Raised hell with them as a kid, as you know. Had a crush on you, I think it was in ninth grade. Remember when I said I’d be your first kiss? It was right around that time. Became an Unholy at eighteen. Parents were killed in a car accident a year later. Got promoted to enforcer at twenty-two. Favorite hobbies are fucking, fighting, drinking, and tearing up the dirt on my ATV…not always in that order. Favorite movie isThe Notebook, because seriously Allie and Noah. O.M.G. Amirite? Favorite color is red because blood. Favorite holiday is my birthday. That’s it, James. That’s me.”
“You left out that you’re an asshole,” Malice drawls.
Jester unfolds his arms and jabs his index finger at Malice. “That too.”
“Your turn, James. And don’t pussy out.”
“I never pussy out.” Jamie’s voice is steel. “But you know most of it. My mother left when I was three. My father was the town drunk. It was an open secret that he beat me. One day, I got tired of the abuse and fought back. After my acquittal, I stayed with my grandmother. When that arrangement didn’t work out, she sent me to Orlando where I lived with my aunt. I left at eighteen. Traveled around central Florida, living on the streets, mostly, but worked odd jobs and had a few apartments here and there. I was homeless when I agreed to married David. I don’t have a favorite hobby, but I’ve always wanted to go riding with you guys. I’m a huge movie geek, withAvengers: Infinity Wartopping the list. My favorite color is the sunrise. I don’t have a favorite holiday. And that’s it. That’s my story.”
Jester snorts. “You’re leaving out a whole bunch of shit, but it’s all good. We’ll get it out of you eventually. We’re three against one, and we’re bullies.”
“Damn right we are.” I kiss her throat, and her pulse quickens against my lips. “And I’m the worst of the bullies, runt.” I punctuate the statement with another kiss. She scrunches up her shoulder and tries to squirm away, but I keep her right where I want her. “You can’t get away that easy.”
We all settle into a comfortable quiet, and with the front windows open, the breeze flows into the van’s cargo area. The wind billows the fine hairs framing Jamie’s face. She turns her face into it, and a ghost of a smile lifts those full pink lips, reminding me I’m not the only one who escaped captivity. She may not have been locked in the dungeon, but she was as much a prisoner in Gomorrah as me. Her bruised face is a testament to that fact and is the final nail in Crane’s coffin.
My bars were iron, hers were forged in fear, and just as indestructible.
I catch Jester watching her again. He gives me a crooked grin and a shrug. “Sorry, man.”
“No worries.” I get it. I may not like it, but I understand his affliction. I suffer the same malady.
On the rare moments when Jamie drops her guard, she’s breathtaking in her abandon.
She snaps out of her daydream and the moment passes. “Pardon?”
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, James.”
“I think I missed an entire conversation.”
“Jester apologized to Wraith for wanting to fuck you,” Malice announces.
“You have such a way with words, Mal.” Jester rolls his eyes. “You’d think savages raised him.”
“You’re a dick,” Malice snaps.
“Long and proud, and the ladies adore me.”
“He can try. He won’t succeed,” Jamie insists.
“Is it a medical disorder, dear?” Jester asks, deadass.
“An allergy to male whores,” she retorts with equal gravity.
“Aw, shit.” Jester pulls a sympathetic face. “Then you’ll never have the pleasure of an Unholy between your legs. We’re the manliest male whores this side of the—”
“Jester,” I snarl.
Jester wisely shuts the fuck up for once.
