Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. They belong to Stephenie Meyer. This plot belongs to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

My Mercenary

A 'Breakaway Bella' Outtake

written from Jasper Swan's POV

as requested by CaliGirlMon

I hadn't even reached puberty yet the first time I killed a man.

I sat on the muddy red banks of the Mississippi River loading my gun. It was sleek, the metal cool and familiar, bringing a smile to my face. Some folks enjoyed golfing, some bird watching.

I enjoyed killing.

It'd been instilled in me since birth, the instinctual need to take away one's life. My father was my merciless instructor, and what an instructor he was. He bought me my first gun the day I was born, even placing it in the bassinet beside me as he posed for a picture proudly by my side. I was hunting wild game as soon as I was old enough to walk, taking down squirrels and birds with one clean shot, as though it were second nature, and it was, second nature that is. It was easy. It was satisfying. It was a thrill. It was the chase of that thrill that enthralled me, time after time.

I cherished every moment of it, the intensity of the hunt, the patience of the wait. Hunting deer isn't much different than hunting a man. It requires time and the patience of Job to sit and watch, to study all of your surroundings, memorizing every minute detail in your vicinity. Your environment is especially important: the direction the wind blows, the position your target stands in. It all comes into play when ending one's life.

Old Helbert was my first human kill. He was fishing the day I took him down. He took it all in too, the direction of the wind, his surroundings, as he sat on an overturned bucket and began to bait his hook.

I was unsure of the reasons surrounding his improvable murder. I never asked the details at that time, too terrified to displease my old man. It never seemed to matter much anyway, back in those early days. All I needed was the name and the plan was set into action.

I never needed a much of a reason to have me a good old time.

I lit a cigarillo, unconcerned with the smoke and the smell of it all. He was perched at such a great distance I knew he'd be unaware of my presence. I sucked it down to the end, until it singed my calloused fingers. Tossing the remains to the side, I blew the smoke from my lips in one billowing breath. I crawled on my knees and elbows through the bracken below, placed myself directly behind the M40 sniper rifle, and glanced through the sight.

Then I waited.

When the old man crept closer to the bank to drag in his third catch of the day, I squeezed the trigger. The man never flinched, never stumbled. He simply fell from the bank and into the murky water, his body quickly swept away with the current.

I stood and stretched, rubbing away the knots and kinks in my neck and shoulders. Hell, I was twelve, too damn young to feel that damn old, but it came with the territory. I slunk down the bank a little further and dropped to the grass, watching as the man's prone body floated listlessly down the river, keeping my eyes open so long that they stung and burned. Eventually he drifted out of sight, and I allowed myself to blink, surprised to find myself blinking back tears.

But they weren't tears of sorrow. They were tears of pride, and as I climbed that steep embankment I met the dark eyes of my father who stood nearby, a lazy grin on his tanned face. He gazed at me with pride, and a lump formed in my throat. All I ever wished out of life was to please him, to please that man who expected so much from me.

And I did. I pleased the monster, until one day I found I could please him no more.

~bb~

I cherished the comfort of a woman's warm embrace.

If I think back I guess it began with my mother. She was the Jekyll to my father's Hyde, always one to give me a tender smile and a tight hug. Over the years I became a mixture of the two who birthed me, the urge to kill embedded deeply into the contours of my brain by my father, my casual confidence and lazy smile inherited from my mother. They were one of each, Jekyll and Hyde that is, but I was both, a venomous mixture of the two, and over the years I grew to hate myself for it.

The resentment towards my father began after meeting an unsuspecting Hispanic girl named Maria.

Maria's father was Senor Perez, a man who travelled a great distance between Mexico and Georgia to transport illegal drugs. Back in those days my father was on this drug kick, his goal to rid the South of drug lords one person and one Southern state at a time.

Senor Perez was an easy hit, my father told me. He played golf every Saturday at the local country club in Atlanta, and spent his nights shacking up with his lover in a RV at a nearby state park.

It was a sad situation, that rich married man screwing some local white trash who lived in a camper half the size of my house. I knew I'd feel no remorse in killing that man, that man who had a wife of thirty years at home, the same wife who bore all three of his children.

I ditched my car two miles from the campsite and trekked through the woods the remainder of the distance, smiling as I pressed the barrel of the gun below my nose, inhaling the soothing scent. Through the ditches and sloughs I thought of nothing but cutting the robust man down, to watch him squirm and bleed after I ended his life. I'd have to kill his woman too. No witness.

Never a witness.

I could do with some better equipment, but we were poor back then, so the portable tree stand had to do. I shook it from my shoulders, letting it slide from my back. Attaching it to the tree, I situated myself inside, using my arms and feet to drag my body halfway up a good, sturdy tree.

From where I sat I watched in morbid curiosity as the camper shook and squeaked, my hormone-induced body reacting as any other teenage boys would as my pants tightened near my groin. I shoved my mental image of the two sweaty lovers aside as best I could as I loaded my weapon, placing the silencer into position.

As soon as the old man stepped onto those metal steps leading to the camper, I blasted a hole through his right temple. His lover screamed, falling from the camper and clinging to his jerking body.

I smirked at the sight, at the way he quivered and shook, the blood seeping from the gaping hole. I took her out as well, cringing slightly as she flailed and fell to the ground, the low-cut negligée exposing her fleshy breasts.

I tore my eyes away from the sight, swallowing the knot forming in my throat. It was the first time I'd killed a woman, and the pang of regret was an unexpected one. I never felt remorse before that day, but in that instant I did, and it was an unexpected, unwelcome emotion brewing inside of me.

I was around fourteen when I killed Senor Perez … or maybe closer to sixteen. Hell, the years of traveling and murdering began to blur by. The days turned into months, then turned into years. It was hard keeping track of everyone I took down, but there was something different about me after killing Senor Perez.

I attended his lover's funeral, and then his funeral that followed.

Call it morbid curiosity, or childish foolishness that led me to both occasions. Either way, I was there, sitting in the back pew during the woman's pitiful excuse of a funeral service. Only a handful of people attended, as she had no children, no living relatives. I dropped a single white rose on her coffin before I left that day, never looking back.

Senor Perez's funeral was quite different. Thousands of mourners attended his service. Governors, lawyers, judges, and the like. I frowned in disgrace at it all, at the crooked people in the world, finally grasping the same amount of disgust for those people who fueled my own father's disdain.

Perez's children sat on the front pew, weeping loudly, moaning his name. For the first time in my life I felt my heart seize in my chest, especially when his oldest daughter, Maria, happened to glance over her shoulder, her chocolate-brown eyes meeting my blue ones for the first time.

There was such remorse, such pain in those eyes that I found myself fleeing, running from something for the very first time in my short life. I stumbled from the building, lit a cigarillo between my shaky fingers, and made my way to the borrowed pickup truck my father had loaned me.

That's where she found me, sitting in that old Chevy truck, nervously pulling drag after drag from the small cigar. She never said a word as she slid in beside me, her sweet vanilla scent filling the putrid air surrounding us.

Cracking my window, I tossed the cigarillo from the window and turned the engine, the smoke billowing from my lips as I turned her way.

"Where to?"

Those big sorrowful chocolate eyes bore into mine as she placed her hand on my thigh. I felt myself growing harder the closer those brown fingers grew to my crotch. She wore a tight black dress, slinky and clinging to her curvy body. She had to be about eighteen-years old, and experienced in ways that I wasn't.

"There's a hotel just down the road," she breathed, fumbling with my button fly.

I nodded in response, jerking the truck into gear and tearing down the road, too damn excited to even check for oncoming traffic, and nearly ramming into the side of a BMW. I wasn't a careless person, never had been, never would be, but in that moment I was so desperate to sink myself into that girl, into that woman, that I would have taken anyone down who stood in my way between that Cathedral and the local motel.

The girl never spoke. Not after paying for the room, dragging me up the stairs, and pulling me into bed. She did it all, yanking my jeans down and taking me in her hot mouth. I moaned, throwing my head back and willing myself not to blow my load on the spot. She never even removed her dress, choosing to slide it up over her hips instead, sinking her hot, tight body on top of mine as I lay on the bed.

I'll never forget the way she looked as she rode me hard and wet, the way she increased her rhythm the longer we fucked, the demons she attempted to chase from her mind. I felt her hot body clench around mine as she began screaming obscenities in Spanish once she reached her orgasm.

After that I tossed her on the bed, pounding into her wet flesh from behind. I chased my own demons as well, screwing that girl so hard, so fast that I left her raw, sore, yet begging for more.

I came inside her, sweaty and spent, uncaring that I just screwed a girl who didn't even know my name and without any protection, not that it mattered. I didn't care that she ever knew my name, but I knew hers. I knew everything about her. That was part of my job, the knowing, the watching, and I was good at it.

I left her there, sticky and spent, resting with a smile on her beautiful face, those long black lashes resting against her cheeks. I felt compelled to leave her with a chaste kiss, so I did, lingering over her and breathing in her scent, the vanilla, the sex, before I pulled away.

"Did you know my Papa?" she whispered, causing me to freeze in my tracks as I attempted to slip away.

"Si."

Not exactly a lie.

"I miss my Papa already," she whimpered, tears filling those dark eyes as she gazed up at me from the bed.

The remorse returned, the painful sting I felt once I ended Senor Perez's lover's life. Call me weak, sensitive, but there was something about a woman crying that broke me in half, shattering the hardened shell around my heart.

"His soul is in God's hands now," she whispered, wiping her tears away and closing her eyes. "As is ours."

I sat in the corner of the room chain-smoking as she fell asleep. I watched the rise and fall of her chest, memorized every curve of her body, stored away her whispered words to remember for the rest of my life.

~bb~

Things changed after that, somewhat.

The urge was still there, the indisputable yearning to kill, but I learned to control it by remembering Perez's widow wife sobbing over his stiff body, remembering Maria's woeful eyes as she climaxed above me.

I vowed to change my ways, to pay for my sins by doing some good in my life. That's how I found myself in Memphis, years later, sent there by the FBI to gather information on the Cullen family one member at a time.

The Southern heat was stifling, coming in waves, billowing over the hood of my car like invisible ghosts. It was something I was used to after all my years.

I sucked in a mouthful of humid air, blowing it out through pursed lips. Beads of sweat dampened my forehead from the midday sun. I swiped it away with the back of my hand.

I watched her as I had for the past several weeks, Mary Alice Cullen, although she prefered to be called 'Alice' for short. I was slumped lazily in my car across from the public library, the dark tint of the windows in my Charger concealing my face.

The girl was tiny and lithe, with raven hair, dark, dancing eyes, and covered in tattoos, something I'd never taken a liking to on a woman before. Hell, I never had a hankering for a woman as small as her, typically finding myself attracted to thick hips and soft curves over the past several years, but Alice Cullen was the one exception.

Alice slipped inside the large building across the street from where I sat, and the sun hit the glass door, momentarily setting her vibrant body ablaze. I pulled a cigarillo from the crumpled pack in my front pocket, the cellophane crinkling and breaking over the sound of Waylon Jennings crooning from the speakers. I slowly smirked at the words...be nobody's darlin' but mine, shaking my head and lighting the cigarillo as I fingered the small black and white surveillance photo of Alice between the rough pads of my fingers.

Jesus. I was in deep with that girl, too deep.

It was a simple mission: follow the Cullens, learn their routines, their interests, what made them tick, starting with the youngest Cullen first.

Falling in love with my target was never part of the plan.

Months spent watching her every move made me into that person, that man who felt more like a giddy teenager with a severe case of puppy love. Hell, I reckon I'd do anything for that girl at that point, kill for her if I had to.

And we'd never even spoken to one another. She didn't have an inkling of my very existence.

I knew I was in trouble. If word got back to headquarters that I had my eye on Alice Cullen for anything besides gathering evidence to put her criminal excuse of a daddy away for life...I'd lose it all. I'd worked too hard to lose everything I'd worked for over some...gal.

But what a gal.

Heaving a heavy sigh I slipped from the vehicle, sliding my Ray Bans down over my eyes and carefully shutting the door to my black '69 Charger behind me. I loved that damn car. Bought it when I was barely old enough to drive, restored it myself, and raced every asshole in my hometown with balls big enough to bet against me.

I never lost.

My old car triggered the memories...memories that I mulled over day by day, night after night. Crossing the street in front of the Memphis Public Library, I thought of the past, thought of the mistakes I'd made in my life. My past was filled with red: red with the blood I spilled, red from the men I so freely murdered. It was the color I saw when I thought of my cousin, Bella, who went through so much growing up, so much that could have been prevented.

I failed her, just as I'd fail this girl if ever given the chance.

I took one last drag of my cigarillo, languidly sucking the sweet smoke into my bitter lungs before tossing the butt carelessly on the sidewalk. I stomped the cherry out with a heavy step of my boot, never looking down. Smoke rolled from the side of my mouth as I grasped the door handle, my reflection glaring back at me as I entered the building.

A whirlwind of cool air and the musty smell of aged books assaulted me as I slipped into the building. I slid my shades in the same pocket that held the cigarillos, never glancing up as I made my way to the Civil War section.

I watched her from time to time as she browsed through section after section, a pencil tucked smartly behind one delicate ear. She was decorating something for someone, although I had yet to figure that part out. Book after book was tucked in her tiny little arms. Her dark eyes searched the bindings of the books on the never ending shelves, her face brightening with an excited grin each time she found what she was searching for.

I'd do anything to see her smile at me the same way.

I shook my head and groaned, running my fingers through my hair. I was head over heels and in a whole heap of trouble. My situation was compromised. I had to turn the case over to someone else. And I would.

Eventually.

~bb~

The days grew into weeks and my uneasiness came with it. I was growing bored with standing in the shadows, but it all came to a head the night I followed her to the movies, watching in narrow-edged fury as she embraced a man near the entrance.

She was on a date.

An uncontrollable rage coursed through my veins, an anger so strong that it caused my body to tremble, my breathing to become ragged. I hadn't been that angry in years, not since the last time I took another man's life.

Nice steady breaths, Jasper, I told myself, sliding casually from the Charger and slamming the door behind me.

I purchased a ticket at the box office and slipped inside the theater. It was filled with babbling teenagers and excited children. My eyes darted through the thick crowd until I spotted her, wearing a red dress that clung to her body. She was standing in line beside the big oaf of a fellow she hugged outside. He was massive, making up about three of her in body size, with dark hair and matching eyes, and dressed like a pansy with his expensive dress pants and polo shirt.

I slipped in line behind them, gazing up and down the short stature of her body with an intensity to cause her to turn slightly. She glanced over her shoulder, and into my eyes. I felt the corner of my mouth turn up as she gazed at me the first time, her deep eyes so dark they were almost ebony, the same color as her shoulder-length hair.

Alice's breath caught in her throat as she gave me a stunned expression. I felt my smile begin to wane. What did she see when she looked at me? Did she see the murder I chose to so carefully keep hidden inside?

Her date must have felt the intense force flowing between our bodies. He turned as well, glaring at me through contemplative eyes before wrapping one arm around her shoulders and forcing her body next to his. This seemed to draw Alice from her stupor. I was blessed with a small, timid smile before she turned away, but not before she glanced at me once more.

Lord knows I tried to tell her. I tried to tell her without speaking, tried to acknowledge how I felt with one simple glance. The line lurched forward. I shoved my hands in my pockets, listening as her softly spoken voice requested popcorn and candy, another detail I stored away.

When the couple walked away I felt as though she took my heart with her as well. I refused to look in their direction, refused to torture myself anymore. Instead I ordered the same thing she did, then retreated into the dark theater, pretending I didn't see the couple six rows down and to the right, but I did.

I did.

~bb~

Following her became torture.

Luckily she hadn't gone out with the big guy again. If she had accepted another date with him I undoubtedly would have ended his life, even if it meant crushing his giant skull between my fingers.

I became obsessed.

It didn't help that I blatantly began to bump into her from time to time, receiving that same look with each encounter, like a deer caught in the headlights. I couldn't for the life of me understand it, how this strong-willed, loud little being could be so silent whenever I was around. I convinced myself that she was the first, the first girl to be sickened by me, the first girl to see me for who I truly was inside: a killer.

Our last encounter was at the bank. I was entering the building as she was exiting. She wasn't paying attention to her surroundings during her rush to leave, and nearly stumbled from the sidewalk. I caught her by her arm as she began to fall, steadily assisting her back to her feet as she gazed into my eyes and gave me a tender smile.

"Thank you, …"

"Jasper," I told her, the easy smile on my face a contradiction to how I felt inside.

"Jasper," she breathed, her cheeks reddening as she excused herself.

I watched her worriedly as she crossed the busy street, sighing in relief once she made it to the other side unscathed. She graced me with one last look before slipping around the corner and disappearing among the throng of people littering the sidewalk.

~bb~

My years of training in the FBI and working for my father taught me valuable lessons. It taught me how to be invisible, how to fade into my surroundings. It was something that came as natural as breathing, as natural as killing, like second nature. It wasn't long before I grew bored with standing in the shadows silently watching.

That's when I decided to sneak into her apartment.

She was living in a shitty little excuse of an apartment back then, a place much too impoverish for a girl with her last name, a girl with her social standing, which only drew me to her that much more. She didn't care about what was expected of her from her father or anyone else. She was her own person.

It was something that I never knew.

I was a soldier since birth, falling in my father's footsteps, a trained mercenary, until one day I wasn't. Sick of the life I was leading and desperate to pay for the sins of my past. Clinging to the hope that I could still somehow save my soul, I turned from a life of crime to a much different life.

I started college in the fall after high school, working my way through law school while helping support Bella. I never wanted her to want for anything. She was the closest thing I had to a sister, and it was my fault she'd been through it all, the murders, the kidnapping, the … rape.

I could barely think the word, and I'd never said it. Even in court I couldn't utter those words, breaking down and casting a gaze to the side, avoiding the prying eyes in the courtroom as they finally put James away in prison.

Shoving the thoughts aside I decided to focus on the task at hand, which happened to be breaking into Alice Cullen's apartment.

Piece of fucking cake, piece of fucking pie.

I didn't even have to break in. Not technically. One lazy smile at the landlord, a few spoken words, and a half-assed excuse later I held her key in my hand, the landlord believing I was Alice's boyfriend.

If only…

I wondered what it would be like to be someone's beau, to wake up next to the same girl day after day, to slip beneath the same sheets as the dark-haired beauty night after night. It was something that I would never know, and I cursed myself for even questioning the feeling, for even allowing myself to enter that fantasy realm.

No one deserved a man like me. Not with the baggage I carried, not when I was doomed for disaster since birth. Hell, I was doomed before I was even born.

Alice's apartment was even smaller and more cramped than I imagined. A sewing machine sat in one corner. A cardboard box overflowing with colorful material sat beside it. I smiled, the sewing machine and material immediately reminding me of my mother, and my cousin, Bella. The two women loved to sew.

"I bet y'all would get along perfectly."

My tone of voice sounded sad and far away as I spoke to myself. Clearing my throat I shook my head, trying to shake myself from my own thoughts.

I took my time searching the apartment for anything I could use against Carlisle Cullen, but I found nothing. I found Alice's binder of bank statements, each section marked off by colorful tabs and kept in detailed, record condition.

The girl was nothing if not thorough. I found a filing cabinet filled to the brim with financial statements, old tax return forms, and other useless information that I already had copies of. Being in the FBI had its perks and obtaining just about any record or document was one of them.

I left her bedroom for last, feeling like the piece of shit that I was for entering her private sanctuary in the first place. The room was in pristine condition, the colorful bed made and the room free of clutter. A familiar scent wafted through the air and it wasn't long before I found the source of said scent: a purple bottle halfway filled with her perfume. I picked it up, placing it just below my nose, closed my eyes, and breathed in her scent. The familiar smell of lilacs and summertime filled my lungs. I smiled.

I snooped through her drawers, finding nothing outstanding, except her lacy thongs and a silver vibrator. My hands were clenched by my sides as I fought the urge to pick up that vibrator, to touch the very thing that had been inside her tight, wet body possibly numerous times, to see if it still smelled of her. The urge to sneak a pair of her panties was there, but I quenched the urge by telling myself I would see them on her soon enough.

It was just a matter of time.

I had to have her, even if it was just for one night.

Sitting on the edge of her bed I slipped a small device from deep within my pocket, holding it in the air, and smirking to myself. I carefully attached it beneath the tiny round table beside her bed, the top of which held an antique lamp and a book of poetry. I thumbed through the book finding her favorite passages and storing them to memory.

After placing the book exactly where I found it, I slipped from Alice's apartment, returned her key to the landlord with a wink, and sauntered out into the sunshine. Slipping my shades back into place I stood in the alley across from Alice's apartment, lit a cigarillo, and did what I did best.

I waited.

~bb~

I sat in my car that night listening to Alice as she clambered around inside her home. My eyes grew heavy the longer I waited, straining my ears as she chatted on the phone with her brother, and gaining no useful knowledge from their idle conversation.

Eventually I heard the telltale sound of a squeaking mattress and the rustle of sheets. The sound of her gentle breath evening out was a sweet lullaby. It was sweeter than the chorus of crickets that sang to me on those long nights back home, sweeter than the sound of my cousin's rare laughter.

Remembering the thin scraps of fabric in her dresser, the pitiful excuse of underwear, I groaned, cursing myself as I quickly became aroused. I envisioned the rise and fall of her chest, of those tiny breasts as she lay in bed beneath her silky sheets. I felt like a fucking pervert, my fingers dwindling near the device to snap off the sound, but I froze, listening as a soft word was spoken from her whimpering lips.

"Jasper."

I say whimpering. It was more like a strangled moan. I was hard as a fucking rock, narrowing my eyes in denial at the inanimate object. Surely she hadn't just whispered my name …

"Yeah, Jasper. Right there."

Holy shit.

The soft rustle of sheets followed by a wet, smacking sound filled the dense air inside my car. My fingers found the switch on the device, but it wasn't to turn it off. No, instead I turned it up, like the sick fucking person I always knew I was. Palming myself inside my jeans I listened as she pleaded and begged my name, her breathing increasing in tempo as did each stroke of my cock. When she screamed my name, I choked out her name as well. Then I blew my load in my jeans like a fourteen-year old virgin.

Fuck. I was so fucked.

~bb~

I couldn't wait to leave Memphis. I couldn't wait to leave the city and the smog, the thickness of traffic and unfamiliar faces surrounding me. Only one thing held me back as long as it had, and it was that tiny brown-eyed girl.

The Cullen case was turned over to another agent after I placed one simple phone call. My bags were packed, sitting near the door of the cheap hotel room, quietly awaiting my departure, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave that town without seeing her one last time.

My Alice.

Alice Cullen was a creature of habit, always stopping at the local diner on Saturday nights to pick up a slice of blueberry pie. That's where she found me the last night I spend in Memphis, sitting in a booth alone, slouched down in my seat as I stared disparagingly through the dirty diner window, smudged with fingerprints.

She approached me warily, the fifties-style floral dress trembling around her thin legs, rustling with each step she took. I took a long, languid sip of my coffee as she slid into the booth across from me, meeting those deep soulful eyes through the steam of my brew. Her pretty, pouty lips were drawn into a timid smile as she gazed at me shyly before she finally spoke.

"You've been following me."

I said nothing in response, choosing to sit the coffee cup back down on the table and give her a lazy grin. There was no sense in lies or confessions. I was leaving before the morning sun would rise.

I planned to never return.

"Why are you following me?" she asked, her voice solemn and strong.

"I'm not following you," I sighed, twisting the wrapper from the silverware, removing a fork, and stabbing my slice of apple pie.

"Not anymore," I clarified.

"But you were?"

Again, I said nothing, unwilling to compromise myself or my position for anyone, even this girl who I cared for more than my own mother, a girl I barely knew at all.

"Are you … leaving?"

"I'm afraid so, Darlin'," I responded, taking a bite of the apple pie and meeting her unrelenting gaze. "This town ain't no place for me."

"Nothing holding you back, huh?" she breathed, causing a knot to form in the pit of my stomach.

"Unfortunately, no."

Alice went silent for a long time, watching as I slowly finished my pie. I had just wiped the crumbs from my lips with my crumpled napkin when she finally spoke once more.

"But you've already kept me waiting for so very long."

Those words, and the warm grip of her fingers which suddenly found mine stirred something deep within me. Her touch, her gentle, compassionate touch was unfamiliar, yet so recognizable at once, as though the brush of her fingers was something my body had been longing for my entire life. In that moment I found the overwhelming intensity to take that girl, tuck her away, and keep her to myself for the rest of my days.

Then her fingers slipped from mine and just like that, she was gone, easing from the booth with her styrofoam container of apple pie, and disappearing through the doors of the diner with one sad glance over her shoulder.

An uncontrollable force raged deep inside me, much more urgent than the need to kill. It was the need to conquest, the yearning of desire, to touch that girl in all her secret places, to fill my needs and hers as well, to be as close to that woman as a man could be. So I went after her, tossing a few wrinkled bills on the table and darting out into the night.

The streets that were typically busy were dead, desolate, and abandoned. The wail of a siren bounced off the nearby muddy Mississippi River, reminding me once again that this wasn't my home.

I felt my shoulders sag as I slowly eased down the sidewalk, making my way to the parking garage where my Charger was safely stored. My mind was weighted down with thoughts of her, of never seeing her again, of losing the one chance I had to spend one breathless night with someone who, for the first time in my life, I cared about, other than my family.

It was there in that parking garage where I found her, her back turned to me as she placed the container of pie in the passenger seat of her car. My mind went blank, other than the one primal urge I clung to, the battle waging inside my brain as I skillfully crept across the cement floor.

Alice cried out once my hands found her floral covered hips, her head darting to the side, a flash of brown eyes the only thing I saw before my mouth found hers. She moaned in response to my tongue demanding a gentle, yet firm entrance into hers, which she obliged. She tasted good, sweet as sugar and as tempting as Bourbon. I slid my hands beneath the dress, my fingers skimming her soft thighs, digging into the tender flesh.

"Someone could see us," she gasped, just as I slipped a finger beneath against her wet thong.

"Darlin', I really don't give a shit."

The rapid rise and fall of her pert breasts and the dilation of the pupils in her eyes proved that the idea thrilled more than scared her. I slid one hand under the bodice of her dress, groaning when I found her braless. I cupped one breast in my hand, rolling the nipple between my fingers and grinning at the soft moans escaping her throat. I continued to twist and pluck at her nipple with one hand, my other hand dipping beneath the thin silky thongs to find her wet and swollen.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good, Darlin'."

Her little nub was swollen, throbbing between my fingers. I gave it a gentle tug, eliciting a loud cry from her throat.

"Shhh…" I scolded with a smile, slipping my hand from beneath her bodice and placing it gently over her mouth. "Do I need to keep my hand over your mouth to keep you quiet?"

She nodded, a violent little nod. I pushed her softly against her car, grinding myself into her tight little ass. She cried again, the wetness between her legs intensifying as I continued to lazy flick her little nub. We found an easy rhythm, me grinding against her ass, her ass grinding against me as I massaged her clit. I felt her body tremble beneath me and slowly slid one finger as deeply inside her wet center as I could.

Alice gave a strangled moan as my finger entered her. I carefully removed it, brushed it against her nub, before plunging it back inside, increasing my rhythm with each stroke.

Her face was sweaty beneath my hand from her intense, labored breathing. Garbled words slipped between my fingers, and I instantly removed my hand, worried I hurt her.

"Fuck me, Jasper," she begged, her slick center tightening around my fingers. "Please."

"Protection?"

"I'm clean … are you?"

"Yes. Fuck, yes."

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

I hated taking her in a parking garage of all places, but I felt as though I'd explode if I didn't sink myself into her soon. Turning her around, I lifted her light body in the air and sat her on the hood, giving her one last violent kiss before tugging those sinful thongs from her body and shoving them in my back pocket.

She gave me a wicked grin as she watched me pocket her drawers. Her tiny fingers quickly went to work on my fly, tugging the jeans below my hips. Her eyes went wide and wild once they were down, glazing over slightly as she watched me palm myself over my boxer briefs.

"I heard you … in your sleep," I confessed, avoiding her eyes as I pushed her skirt up and ran one long finger down her wet slit. "I heard you say my name. What were you doing, Alice?"

"How … how did you…"

Her voice was cut off by her own deep moan as I pushed two fingers inside, all the way to the knuckle. She tossed her head back, her hips lifting from the hood of the car as she slowly begin to ride my fingers, meeting them thrust for thrust as I pumped into her slick wetness.

"Were you doin' this when you called my name?" I asked, teasing her with one hand, sliding down my boxers with the other. "Did you touch yourself and think of me?"

"Yes. Oh, God. Yes."

The feral, pleading moans grew louder and louder as I fingered her, the sopping wet sounds filling the abandoned garage. Unable to take the teasing anymore, she found my cock, wrapping her little hand around the base and guiding it to her wet entrance.

"Don't be gentle."

"Whatever you say, Darlin'" I grinned, plunging into her without warning.

The scream that tore from her chest was one of pleasure intermingled with pain. I stilled for a moment, searching her face for any sign that she wished me to stop, but there was none. If anything she was desperate to continue, the gyration of her hips as she grew needy spurring me on. Placing my hands on her hips I began to move, guiding her body against mine, the wet squeaking of her ass against the hood of the car as her juices dripped down below driving me wild.

"More," she moaned.

It took everything within me not to come with each stroke of my cock. I'd only been with a handful of women, and none of them felt that good, that hot, that wet, that damn tight. It was as though her body was made for mine. The hot suction of her body gripping my length was euphoric. The overwhelming urge to spill inside her at any given second causing me to grit my teeth in concentration.

I yanked her dress down, exposing her breasts, gazing at her dusky nipples before tasting each peak. I rolled my tongue around one, then the other, smiling as each one lengthened and hardened inside my mouth.

Alice kept moaning 'more' over and over, until I finally lifted her completely from the vehicle, holding her light body up, and begin pumping into her in earnest. Her small ass bounced in my hands as I kneaded each cheek, plunging myself deep with each stroke of my cock.

"Oh, God, I'm about to come," she warned, just as I felt her uncontrollable spasms begin.

Alice's mouth fell open, her head fell back. A string of curse words escaped my lips through gritted teeth as her walls constricted around me over and over before her little body went completely limp.

I placed her back on the hood, spreading her legs as wide as I could. Staring down into her lusty eyes as I violently pounded into her body, finding that little nub one last time and rolling it between my fingers.

She clenched and seized once more and I felt my own orgasm approach. A few desperate, uncoördinated thrusts later I was spent, coming inside the beautiful girl below me, losing myself in the slick, wet, tightness of her body.

I pulled her from the hood, pressing her dampened body against mine, ignoring her shocked eyes as I did so. She was expecting an awkward ending, not an emotional one, I'm sure. But I had to hold her one last time, cling to her, remember the way her skin felt beneath my fingers, the sweet scent of her perfume before I left, because I thought I'd never see that beautiful girl again.

But I would. I would see her again two years later, and after that…I'd spend the rest of my days on God's green earth making it up to her for leaving.

I would never leave her side again.

All mistakes are my own.

Thank you to CaliGirlMon, who created the beautiful banner I'm using for the outtakes. She made this for me a long time ago, while she was reading Breakaway Bella.

I'm open to other outtake ideas. I have already received a few and I'm doing my best to write them in the order they're received. Thank you for reading. This was fun!

Reviews = lurve