A/N: I am often asked what my recommendations are and, honestly, I read so much and in so many fandoms, my page would be too enormous. Currently, in Kickin' It, I am reading The Zoo: Kim's Republic, Living Memories, and a new find Spyin' It: Season 1. Go and check out these stories.
So, Jack is a bit not good. Understandable intentions, questionable execution. And Kim is here, indirectly.
"Oh yesss, please, harder! Oh - oh - I'm gonna... yes!"
Jack smashed his hips down one last time as the girl underneath him arched her back upwards, her voice breathy and thready with pleasure.
"Oooo... Jack!"
Jack felt the pulsing squeeze around him and drove into that heat again and again, chasing his own completion. She whimpered, the force of thrusts pushing her up the sheets, and he moved one hand on her shoulder, holding her in place. He bent his face down to her level as his strong lower body started slowing down, but pumping into her with force all the same.
Closing his eyes and clenching the jaw, one lock of his dark hair was dangling down and tickling her neck, he concentrated on the memory. Golden hair, smooth skin, warm delicate hands, soft voice...
"Yesss..." he hissed, the orgasm just within reach, when the girl whispered babe...
"Fuck," he snapped, the voice ruining the image, and pulled his throbbing dick out and brought himself to completion all over the girl's curvy body. Too curvy, not slender and petite...
There was a sudden calmness, only interrupted by the sound of the bass down below, Jerry DJ-ing the party to the hilt. Sometimes it really was convenient to go to the rich kid's school with so many 'busy' and indulgent parents.
Jack panted and dropped himself down on the bed next to the girl whose name he didn't quite remember. No, he did - Bianca - he just didn't really care. She tried to play romantic and cuddle next to him, still dripping wet with white as Jack regained his breath and pushed her off him with one palm.
"What's wrong, babe?" she teased, catching her breath and trying to straighten out her trembling legs.
Jack stared at her, detachment and dissatisfaction already rising in him, and stood up, "Bianca, thank you. This was fun, but let's leave the cute pet names for your boyfriend. Who is not me."
She pouted and looked sad at that. Jack had this way of making all girls feel special before he fucked and disposed them with no more than an orgasm, a memory and thanks.
"I thought maybe..." the girl trailed off under Jack's now cold eyes as he towered over her, brushing his dark locks back.
Jack noticed her staring from his face to his body to his dick as he smirked, "That was it, though, right? We enjoyed each other, nothing more, nothing less." Jack waved his hand dismissively as he tucked himself in and pulled his shirt while strolling to leave.
"You... You... Bastard!" she gasped and flew at him, hand raised to strike.
He caught her hand and twisted it behind her back, pushing her face forward on the bed. He followed up with a knee on the small of her back and leaned over the now whimpering girl. She was still naked and he was momentarily distracted to appreciate the soft butt that was under him.
"Enough!" his voice was harsh and he hissed the next words mockingly, "What's the matter, babe? I thought you liked our time together? Or did I mistake your pussy squeezing me just now?" She whimpered again and he swore he felt her move her body into his. Oh, she liked it rough. Another time he'd appreciate a girl like that. Sometimes, when the fighting wasn't enough... But not this moment. Well, better stop this here and now. He switched to the cold and harsh tones of earlier, "You came with me willingly. I promised nothing but good times for all. I believe I was clear about how long this would last."
He walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. His mood soured ever more than it had before the trip to the bedroom with the flavor of the hour. Guys greeted him with smirks as he joined them downstairs. Jerry smiled from behind the sound equipment and Milton just shook his head, going back to his tablet. Yeah, no surprises there. Sometimes he didn't know why Milton bothered coming to these parties at all. He never drank, or taken any drugs, or even hooked up with girls. Of course, Milton'd tell them he was there to watch after Jerry and Jack.
Jack scoffed at the thought.
As if Jack needed anyone watching after him... Despite his recent experience, Jack Brewer could take most of the guys here in a fight. Even more than one at a time. Jack was good at it. When he fought, all the extraneous and external thoughts fell away, leaving him with single focus and determination to hit, to wound, to win. He was really good at it. Not just his fists, and kicks, and hooks. Jack was good at being a fighter. His mind worked the best at seeing many little details about the situation, the opponent, his weaknesses, everything. More importantly, Jack was willing to take every advantage. It was like he said once to Milton, who was a brown belt himself, 'you have to hit to break, to knockout, to incapacitate.'
But Milton normally would hardly break a rule, let alone hit someone viciously. Now Jack smiled a small and genuine smile. Milton was one of his best friends. He and Jerry were really the only ones Jack could call his own at this moment and he would do anything for them. And they would the same.
Even Milton. Even break the rules. Which he did numerous times.
Milton finally put down his tablet and turned to Jack, "Are you ready to listen to me now or are you still in need of, eh... satisfaction?"
Jack smirked at his friend's politeness, "I am ready to listen even if I am not entirely satisfied."
"Ah... I thought... Didn't Bianca accompany you upstairs?" just as he said it, his cheeks grew red.
"Oh, she did. And she was most accommodating, but- Never mind. What did you want to tell me?"
"The information you wanted? On the Bruneri family?" Milton's dark blue eyes were darting everywhere and Jack agreed: this was hardly a conversation to be had in public.
"Not here. Let's go to Manny's," he got up and motioned to Jerry, who passed the headphones to another guy and followed his friends.
They got to the body shop, that was their second home by now. In reality, it was Jerry's grandfather's shop that Jerry essentially ran. His grandfather was ill. Very ill, so Jerry stepped in. Of course, he had numerous relatives to actually do the job, but everyone knew that it was Jerry, who floated the shop when times were bad with the money the three of them made. In return, Jerry had unfettered access to the property and they took over the back room as their own.
Milton equipped it with the technology he deemed necessary. Milton took to tracking information (hacking, if Jack were honest) like duck to water. That first breach into police database was a gateway to tracing more information. They pieced together that the perpetrators were in fact career criminals and Jack's theory of this being a hit job was all but confirmed. Milton's curiosity was peaked and they found more and more details. Jack wanted the name of the client, who ordered the hit, and the channels through which the order came through. It was a slower going and in the meantime, Milton stumbled across a lot of information on local criminals. Thinking himself to be a 'hacktivist' Milton convinced Jack to intervene on some of the deals. What started as one or two times, became the entire operation of sabotage and justice with neat folders of collected information landing with the police tip line officers.
Jack let him think that. In reality, hand over of information to the police was the end result his search, because first and foremost, Jack looked for any bits of knowledge on people in his list. He traded information, squeezing sources dry and not being particularly polite about it. Often, once Jack got his information, he'd set people against each other and in the dust-ups Jack got closer to completing his mission. Of course, to Milton it meant that Seaford got a little safer for a brief moment. Jack, and to the extent Jerry, knew that nature abhorred vacuum and new criminals filled the space.
By this point, many thought that a new crew was on the streets trying to stake its territory. It helped that Milton and Jack were good at technology and once they got their hands on anyone's phone, they had plenty material to work with.
There were other perks aside from collection of information and an outlet for Jack's anger. It was how they managed to fund their operation and how they had their own stash of weapons. Milton frowned and refused to touch either, but Jerry was not as well-off as them. Between his grandfather's illness and the failing shop, Jerry had many obligations and his mom struggled alone. Jerry, lazy and undisciplined student, was a loyal son to this family. He was equally loyal friend and in some ways, Jack and Milton were his family too.
It was quietly acknowledged that Jerry probably wouldn't go to college, while also obvious that Milton would. Perhaps that was the reason Jerry took to shadow operations of Sapere Solutions so eagerly. It was dangerous and Jack insisted on doing most of the work alone, but sometimes Jerry was uniquely qualified to do it. He was pretty good at it too. Jack argued that he didn't want to drag his friends with him down this path of revenge, but they were stubborn and he relented. Still, in his mind, after this last year of high school, he would simply leave to complete his mission and his friends would go on to leave their lives without him. Milton would ace any college he'd end up, and Jerry would be well funded to continue with the shop.
Beyond the computer hub - it was a lot more than just one computer, of course - the room also had a small cot and a giant medicine cabinet with enough supplies to deal with any non-life-threatening injuries they might have.
He gave the cot a side eye, vividly remembering the last time he was on it, bleeding under the crude bandage held by the delicate scarf. It was hopelessly ruined and Jerry threw it out, before Jack could protest.
What do you care about scarves? Or slender blondes, for that matter?
He shook his head and sat down opposite Milton, "So?"
There was frustratingly no progress on finding out who attacked Jack. Milton tried his magic and Jack had his suspicions. So, when Milton came up with nothing, Jack asked him to check on one name that was always on the forefront of his mind.
"So, the Bruneri family runs Bruneri, Inc. The current head of the family, Massimo Bruneri, is almost 78 and has one heir apparent, his grandson Caio Bruneri, son of Carlo Bruneri, who was killed in an accident."
"That's all public information, Milton! What else do you have?"
"Less publicly known is the fact that they are a typical organized crime operation in the mold of the original Italian mobs of the East Coast. They have some affiliates here, but they are not very active as this area has plenty of competition."
Jack looked sharply at that, "Anything else?"
"They had been investigated numerous times. Massimo is an influential figure, admired for his stoic strength. He lost his two sons to what is belived to be the gang war. Despite Caio being his only surviving family, Massimo is tough on him, raising him to take over the business, both legitimate and not. Supposedly, Caio is given reign over one aspect of the shadow business, to test the waters so to speak. But obviously not enforcement."
"Why? Is he too young?"
"Barely twenty, but I believe the idea is to keep his hands clean for now. He's still in college, NYU, but he is known to be vicious and eager to prove himself as well as to avenge his father. Approval by his grandfather, whom he worships, means everything to him."
"Which part of business was given to him?"
"Drugs."
This wasn't much, but at least Jack knew where that family was (nowhere near him at the moment) and their general characters (both were scums, obviously).
"May I ask to what this questions tend? Do you think we disrupted their operations?" Milton asked, breaking Jack's concentration.
He looked over his friends, for the umpteenth time glad to have known them since middle school. But this... This was beyond serious and he had to be careful.
"Heard their name thrown around at the matches," he shrugged nonchalant. "Thought I knew all the big names sponsors here."
Jerry got up and walked over to him, "Well, big name or no, they aren't here now. And we need to worry about the here and the now." Milton cringed and opened his mouth, but Jerry plowed on, "Jack was ambushed and if it wasn't for that angel-, no, bambola,*" here he gave Jack a wink, "he wouldda died."
"Jerry, I wouldn't have died," Jack snapped. He didn't know he called her 'bambola' when he was delirious, but Jerry remembered. "The cut was deep, but not fatal."
"Sure, sure, and blood loss is no bid deal. We need to know who did it," Jerry was serious for once and Jack agreed.
"Really, there are only two reasons to attack me-"
"Only two? I could think of at least ten," Jerry mumbled and then quickly added at Jack's impatient snap of fingers, "Jack, seriously. All the girls you fuck and dump? Any one of them could be itching for a pay back. Or their boyfriends..."
Jack rolled his eyes and flicked off his friend.
"No, I think we can safely exclude the scorned women and cuckold men as the attackers," Milton said pensively. "This was very coordinated. They knew to come with more than three men. They ambushed Jack when he was alone. Managed to incapacitate him quickly, before he could square off against them, and then used knives... It's a bit much for jealous or spurned lovers. This is almost professional."
He was right, though, "Like I said, it could only be because of the upcoming matches or because of... well, you know."
"It can't be that, Jack! I am very careful and never leave trails! And I know you two are also pretty careful. No, I don't think it's because of our business," Milton said adamantly.
"So that leaves the upcoming matches. Who am I supposed to face against next?"
"Well, unconfirmed yet, but I think it maybe one of Ty's guys. Supposedlly, Ty scored a new sponsor and has a new fighter."
"All right, let's keep our ears to the ground when the time for the match comes. They'd be betting against me. Milton?"
"Of course, I can track it. But are you sure you want to fight still? You have been beaten up quite badly-"
"One on one? I'd take my chances. Really, the fact that they went to this length to make me lose, tells me their guy is probably not that great," Jack smirked and Jerry laughed at that. Milton also relaxed and they spent the next couple of hours just hanging out, seemingly with no care in the world.
But Jack kept thinking about that attack. So many things about it stood out to him. Like Milton said, it was coordinated and professional. He didn't tell this to his friends, but his attackers were armed with more than just knives, but decided not to use guns to make the assault look like a possible street violence between teens. That girl and her flat tire were truly a godsend, because he was left there to bleed to death.
And that was the kicker: they wanted him dead, not merely injured. This definitely eliminated the rival fighters and people betting on fights, unless the plan was to weaken him now and to go for the kill in the ring. It'd be a less suspicious way. At any rate, this was something he had to protect his friends and brothers from.
And bambola...
But it really was easier said than done. Jerry scared her off - understandable given the situation - and Milton tracked her down from the security camera feed and license plate. So Jack already knew her name. Kimberly Beulah Crawford. Cute and normal name. She was a cute and normal girl. She had parents, school, piano, friends. Didn't do any drugs or even smoked. All very normal. Commonplace. Average. Safe...
And yet...
He would remember vividly the disjoined snippets of that evening and there was nothing average about her then.
The pain of the last stab that slid so close to his heart... Move, drago, move... He twitched just a little and the blade moved along the rib, not between them... He was hurt all over, but his training taught him to keep awareness of his surroundings on the forefront and he pushed his own pain down... They planned to dump him out of the car on the side of the state route...
It's dark, no one'd notice him, he'd bleed out by morning...
He concentrated when the car door opened and he was shoved out... Tuck and roll... Pain... Pain... No keep your eyes open... Road... Cars... Too hurt to move... Keep your eyes open... The ground is cold... I am so cold... Wanna be warm again... Feel fuzzy... Been here so long... Did they hurt as much? ... It was a dark at home too... Were they also cold? ... Keep your eyes open, drago... Be ready to move... Someone's coming... Came back to finish the job? ... Move, strike... Can't get up... Can't move... Then hit the face... Grab the throat...
...Softest skin... Slender neck...
She is beautiful... Like a doll... La bambola... Is she here to end me? ... Too bad I haven't met her before... Wouldn't have missed her...
Hospital? ... No... No police, no hospital...
Cold. Hurt. Hands... Soft... Warm... So warm... Voice (buddy, buddy). Clear and low... Easy to listen to... More hands. Touch... Gentle... Sting. Medicine. Scent... Roses... No... Peonies... What the fuck? Peonies?. She's close. Hair... Blonde, like melted gold... Scent. Soft touches. Pain. Car. Hate back seats of cars. Jerry. Milton. Safe... Thank god... No...
...Thank bambola...
He woke up after the longest sleep almost a day later to find his friends hovering over him, fresh scar on his left side. Grant was there to help with wounds, his eyes full of questions that didn't leave his mouth. Jack recovered quickly and they filled him in. He was ambushed on the way out of the gym. He was found on Rt. 101. By one Kim Crawford, who tended to his wounds and brought him here.
He looked at her pictures and read the file, but what he saw was the memory of her from that night. Delicate face in a halo of golden hair, dark eyes shadowed by fear and lit by determination, pink lips bitten in anxiety, and that voice (please, don't die)...
He didn't die, felt like he couldn't disappoint her.
He could not tell which part of his image of her was memory or delirious dream. Was she really that pretty? Was she really that warm? Gentle? Determined to help? Did she really care?
He resisted as long as he could, feeling like he already was too curious, but maybe it was necessary. Scratch the itch, remove the mystery. See her in daylight and confirm to himself that she wasn't his nocturnal muse and savior, but simply a girl.
First time he saw her at her house late night. She was in her room, having come back from movies. She was startlingly beautiful standing there with the soft lights dancing off her loose wavy hair, reflecting in the remarkable dark eyes and a warm smile. He couldn't hear her voice, but she was either talking to someone unseen (but it was too late for company) or singing. He was shocked by how warm, peaceful, beautiful she looked. In the dark of the night, having just finished another brutal training session and facing the promise of violence in the upcoming match, he was stunned by the contrast between them.
No, this girl was from another life. He better stay away.
But like any vice, the curiosity and desire to see her sometimes overwhelmed him. He came back and watched her, for moments at a time, unseen, strange hunger nagging at him.
He listened to her play. She was incredible. He was grateful for all the times mom dragged him to concerts, because he could tell just how good she was. He also lost himself couple of times in half-dream, half-memory where he remembered mom and dreamed of seeing Kim play in the open.
He bedded several more girls, but found them to be dull and just wrong, with calculating eyes just like his. He went to sleep and woke up to the thought of that lovely golden hair and those scarves, and especially delicate hands that screamed 'musician.' He vividly remembered the feeling of warmth when she tended to him that night.
He denied himself...and wanted more and more until the thoughts start to bleed into his life, all-consuming.
He didn't know how long it'd go on like this, but fate intervened, saving him from his self-imposed torment.
*La bambola (Italian) - the doll.
A/N: I got the idea for the story while listening to the Italian singer Patti Pravo's signature song La Bambola. it's from the 60-s. It was later covered by a contemporary singer Giusy Ferreri. I wanted to call it Il Drago i La Bambola, but reconsidered.
One again, I am worried that Jack is not entirely believable. But, consider that in the show he and Milton were spies at some point. And Jerry was working as a collection boy for some racketeering guy. So, while this set up is a bit out there, it's not completely unbelievable.
