Jackson sat at the kitchen bar with his coffee, yawning widely as he opened the newspaper. He was out of ideas. He had been attempting to plan an assassination for Bradford Allen Wellmont, Jr., the governor of Florida, but every idea that he and his colleagues came up with had fallen flat. The man was careful- some might say paranoid. Jackson would say irritating, to put it mildly.
He lit a cigarette and tossed aside the lighter in annoyance, listening to the plastic skip across the wooden surface before clattering to the tile floor. He hated when he couldn't figure out the next step. He knew that before long, this annoyance would turn into conviction that would drive him to think of a better plan, l'idée suprême.
Jackson skimmed through the headlines, but couldn't focus. Blah blah police did this, yadda yadda the people of New York are furious about [insert the issue du jour], such-and-such company is going bankrupt, Company A bought out Company B. Tedious.
Jackson didn't get excited about things anymore. It was always the same shit, different day. Some celeb did something, a nameless huge environmental disaster- they were all the same to him- hit somewhere, devastating the economy and killing everyone, or at least everyone in poverty, people feigned self-righteous indignation over the latest "travesty"...it was all so predictable and downright dull.
Even his job didn't give him a rush anymore. Go here, kill this person or that group of people, overthrow a generic regime, maybe steal some shit while you're there...it was nothing new.
And still, Jackson read on. He never knew when some story, some little piece of information, might spark new inspiration.
Wellmont, Jr.'s so-called paranoia was anything but, and Jackson knew it. He had good reason to worry that his life was in danger. Jackson couldn't be bothered to really care, but the man was well-versed in corruption, murder, extortion, and all manner of underhanded tactics to achieve his goals. He was plenty hated, but now that he was thought of as a favorite candidate for the next presidential election, someone with plenty of money but no personal backbone had decided that it was time to end the governor's "illustrious" career.
Jackson groaned out loud, as he released the cigarette smoke from his lungs. Society pages. If there was a more useless topic of discussion, he hadn't found it. He widened his eyes, forcing his focus to remain on the stories, and took a drink from his coffee.
His gaze fell on a familiar face, a face that he hadn't seen in years, and Jackson felt an unfamiliar rush. His heart beat more rapidly, and the air was sucked from his lungs as he stared into those eyes. He quickly retrieved the cigarette that had fallen from his now-parted lips to keep the newspaper from lighting on fire, and quickly collected his wits again.
Leese.Even in the sub-par quality of the black and white photo, Jackson could see the smokey green eyes, the auburn hair tinted with flecks of gold, and that smooth alabaster skin. For a brief instant, he could even smell her seductive perfume and feel the heat of her presence.
Jackson took a bigger drink of coffee, vaguely wishing that it was something stronger. So, little Lisa Reisert had gotten herself engaged. And not to just anyone- to Bradford Allen Wellmont, III, the wunderkind CEO of Crane Capital, the ruthless, attractive and disgustingly rich heir to the Wellmont fortune. And most importantly to Jackson, the son of the governor of Florida. Well fucking done, Leese.
On the surface, it was a beautiful story. The one-time anti-terrorist celebrity who had saved the life of Charles Keefe- not that it mattered anymore, because he hadn't lived much longer- finding love with one of the most eligible bachelors of New York, if not the country. Hell, maybe the world. But the longer Jackson stared at the photo, the stronger his sixth sense pounded in his brain.
He had seen Lisa smile before, and it, like most things about her, was stunning. This smile was heart melting- or would have been if he cared about such things- but it didn't reach her eyes. There wasn't that certain je ne sais quoi, that playful little sparkle. In fact, as far as he could see, her eyes were rather dead.
A more ignorant person might have dismissed it as Lisa not being comfortable in front of the camera, or maybe having a bad day when the engagement photo was taken, but Jackson knew better. He had seen that smile, too. It was the smile Lisa gave her customers, gave the woman at the airport to whom she had gifted that Dr. Phil book. It was her people-pleaser smile.
Smiles might lie, but eyes don't. Lisa wasn't happy.
Jackson sat back in his chair, taking a long drag of his cigarette. His lips curled in a satisfied smile, and if he weren't so jaded, he might actually get excited. Unhappy people were incredibly useful. They could be turned with a little ingenuity and cunning. He had finally found his idée suprême.
To those of you reading Blood and Roses- this story is going in a much different direction. It's going to explore the darker sides of both Jackson and Lisa- she isn't going to be the good girl this time around. It's inspired by the song "Tear You Apart" by She Wants Revenge- I highly recommend it. The story will become "M" very quickly- probably in the next chapter.
Any feedback is appreciated!