Chapter Fourteen
The car ride was mostly silent the way there, as car rides with the Joker usually were. Both he and Wilks remained quiet and still in the front seat, occasionally exchanging hushed words that Taylor couldn't hear or just didn't understand. She sat in the backseat, still a bit shaken after having seen the Joker punch Anders in the face. She absently nipped at her bottom lip as the scene kept replaying itself in her head. She remembered how Mr. J had been as fast as lightening and the way Anders' nose had cracked when the Joker's fist went flying into it. She remembered the sound of the man's back slamming painfully into the side of the car, and then finally how blood had erupted from his nose. She couldn't believe Mr. J would do such a horrible, vicious thing. She desperately wanted to ask why he had done it, but she was terrified that the question would only serve to anger him.
She watched as Wilks turned in his seat to glance at her, eyeing her almost confusedly before turning back to the Joker. She could just barely make out his words. "She talk, boss?" He gestured to her with his thumb while the Joker stared blankly at the road ahead.
"You have no idea."
Taylor furrowed her brows and played with a fuzzy piece of lint on her pajamas somewhat anxiously. She couldn't decide if it was okay to speak or not. She cleared her throat and lifted her head. "Mr.—Mr. J?" she called uncertainly. Wilks turned around to glance at her again and she eyed him once before turning her attention back to the Joker who was seated in front of her. "Mr. J, I'm really thirsty," she announced softly.
When he didn't respond, Wilks spoke up instead. "We're about fifteen minutes out," he said to the Joker.
Fifteen minutes, however, eventually turned into thirty because the roads were icy and they were thus reduced to traveling at a slower, more careful pace. The road ahead was narrow and curvy, the black pavement winding its way through pine and cedar trees that lined either side of the road. No cars passed them as they traveled farther and farther away from the city. The thought of going further from where he wanted to be only exacerbated the Joker's mood for the worse. He didn't want to hide from Black Mask—which was exactly what he was doing—but he needed to gather his bearings and figure out what to do with the masked figure. He couldn't move forward with his plan—the plan that involved Taylor—without first taking care of the man who had a target on his back. He was used to watching his back and always being conscious of the fact that at some point or another, anybody at anytime could point a gun there, but, being the most wanted man in the city, it was something he had grown accustomed to. He had always been that way for as far back as he could remember.
With Black Mask, however, things were entirely different. Black Mask wasn't just any old criminal looking to knock the Joker down or turn him into the cops for some cash. No, this man's motives were entirely different. He wasn't looking for money or self-righteousness, he was looking for the same thing the Joker wanted, and that was Gotham. The Joker didn't want Gotham literally, of course—he had no intentions of installing his own system of government or mandating new rules simply for the purpose of introducing a little chaos, (he didn't operate that way)—he simply wanted the people of Gotham to know that he was the one who really controlled things. He was the one with the power, not the corrupted bureaucrats or string-puppeteer city officials. That was where the Joker and Black Mask differed. His operation wasn't simply a display of power; he wasn't doing what he did for self-glorification or the need to seek revenge or display his dominance. He did what he did because he liked it. Because he liked chaos and fucking with people's minds and playing games. Black Mask, on the other hand, did what he did for revenge against the city and even a little fame. The Joker was stealing his limelight, at least according to what Alex had said, and Black Mask didn't like that, not at all.
And that was why the Joker would lay low for a few days, devise a plan that would quietly and effortless snuff out Black Mask so he could resume his plans of luring Batman out to play.
Wilks suddenly pointed to a gravel road ahead that lie just and off to the right, removing the Joker from his thoughts. "That's it right there."
The Joker turned onto the driveway, and, after a few curves and around a tall bend of trees, the house finally came into view. It was gray in color with a black shingled roof. Despite it being just one story, it looked as if it were two, the ceilings nearly fifteen feet high. The front of it was all lofty, narrow glass windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, and the house itself had a striking architectural design; very modern, sleek, and precisely-cut.
Black, wrought-iron steps led up to the spacious concrete deck nearly seven feet off the ground. The railings that lined the porch were also wrought-iron and the bars were ornately shaped to intertwine and curve in intricate patterns. On the roof, three skylights were buried in snow.
As the car came to a stop in front of the garage, Taylor eagerly unbuckled her seatbelt and rose to her knees, studying the new change in scenery with curiosity. She had never seen a house so magnificent and strange looking. She wasn't quite sure what to think.
Once the car was turned off, both men wordlessly got out, Wilks retrieving the Joker's things from the trunk while the Joker opened Taylor's door for her. She thought he was going to pick her up in his arms like he usually did, so she stretched them out to him expectantly. Instead, he just stood with his hand on top of the door, staring at her blankly.
She frowned up at him, disappointed, and wordlessly scooted out of her seat, dropping down into the snow as the Joker closed the door behind her.
The whole house was surrounded by trees, and the scent of pine hung heavily in the air as the three of them shuffled through the snow towards the long staircase that led up to the deck. Taylor watched, fascinated, as her puffs of breath floated around her in the frigid air as she climbed the steps, holding onto the railings for support. "Whoa," she murmured. She had never noticed before that she could see her own breath. Intrigued, she began to pant quickly and heavily on purpose, watching what look liked white smoke leave her mouth. Wilks stopped on the stairs in front of her and slowly turned around to face her, looking bemused. Taylor stopped her actions and immediately turned a dark shade of pink under his gaze, clearly embarrassed.
Her ears perked up when she heard the sound of a car pulling up next to the Joker's, and she turned around to inspect who it was. Upon spotting Anders, she made a small noise in the back of her throat and hurriedly moved up the stairs, pushing past Wilks and meeting the Joker who was already impatiently waiting by the front door.
"What took you so long?" Wilks called out.
"Got stuck in a patch of ice," he muttered as he mounted the stairs. Anders reached the deck in no time at all, his hand draped loosely over something that hung from his hip. It was then that Taylor noticed that there was a gun in a holster swinging from his side, making her nearly gasp aloud. She had seen cowboys and bad guys wear those on T.V. and shoot people with them. She sidled closer to the Joker as Wilks fished for the keys in his pocket and inserted one of them into the door. He opened it and then stepped aside to let the Joker enter first.
Taylor followed closely at his heels, her eyes immediately roaming upwards to stare in awe at the skyscraper-tall ceilings. The wooded ceilings were slanted outwards and came to meet in the middle to connect at the highest point, almost like a cathedral-type design. She had never seen something so grand and she openly gawked.
The room was spacious and open; a large fireplace was nestled against the wall to the left of them, and a massive, crimson ornamental rug adorned the sleek, mahogany floors. A black leather sofa was on one side of the fireplace while two matching armchairs sat across from it, a rounded coffee table resting in between the three items. Despite the many windows, the room was very dark, mostly because the sky was overcast, but also because the planks that lined the ceiling were black. A massive, floor-to-ceiling window took up the expanse of the wall opposite them, displaying the snowy world outside and a large lake, completely iced over.
Anders was the last one to enter the house and he closed the door behind him, kicking the snow off his boots. "It's a fucking freezer in here," he muttered, moving past the Joker and disappearing down a hallway to the left of them. He had apparently been here before, the Joker noted.
Wilks watched him leave a bit apprehensively. He knew the Joker didn't appreciate bad attitudes and complaining, and he wanted to look out for his friend, but at the same time, he didn't dare say anything lest Anders lash out at him. The last thing he wanted was a fight on his hands that resulted in the Joker having to intervene. What a nightmare. He shook his head to rid himself of such thoughts. "You want to look around, boss?" he asked instead, setting the Joker's box on the coffee table and then moving back over to him. "The rest of the house is this way." He gestured to the hallway Anders had just disappeared down.
The Joker's eyes flitted about the room thoughtfully, taking in every detail. Anders was right, the place really was freezing, but despite that, he liked it already. It had a very murky, cold sort of feel to it; the sleek, black furniture, the dark, towering ceilings, the glass windows. It was all perfect.
Remembering Wilks' question, the Joker made a "hmph" noise and led the way down the hall.
The corridor eventually opened up into a kitchen, which was almost just as large as the living room, the color scheme much the same. Beautiful, dark mahogany cabinets lined the walls and an island sat in the center of the kitchen.
"Everything's freshly stocked, boss," Wilks explained, opening cupboards and revealing an abundance of food in each. He opened the fridge lastly to show that it was indeed full.
Taylor immediately hurried over to the Joker, having been standing in the doorway. She tugged on his jacket to get his attention. "Mr. J, can I have some orange juice?"
The Joker looked up at Wilks, raising his brow.
The man responded by pulling out a fresh carton, no pulp, and setting it on the counter. He closed the fridge and started to pull a cup from one of the cabinets.
"Wait!" she suddenly cried. Everyone turned to look at her. "I can't use that I . . . I have to use my bottle."
Wilks decided not to point out that four year-olds didn't need bottles, but he didn't, mostly because he knew the Joker was watching him.
"I don't think we have any of those." He fumbled with the cup in his hands.
Taylor licked her lips and looked around, becoming increasingly more uncomfortable knowing that all the men were staring at her.
"That's okay," she swallowed thickly. "I have one in my backpack." She let out a shaky breath and then grabbed the Joker's leg, cowering behind it.
The Joker ordered Anders to get her backpack with a jerk of his head. The man grudgingly got up from the dining room table on the other side of the room and disappeared back out into the hallway. When he promptly returned with Taylor's backpack, he set it on the floor next to her.
She immediately bent down on her knees and zipped it open, random odds and ends of things tumbling out. The Joker rolled his eyes at her and then strode towards Wilks, snatching the cup out of his hands and pouring himself some orange juice. He had finished the whole glass by the time Taylor had returned to Wilks, passing her bottle to him.
He cautiously grabbed it from her and unscrewed it carefully, as if he didn't know if he was doing it right. He filled the clear plastic bottle all the way up and then screwed the cap on, handing it back to her.
From across the room, Anders was watching her at the table with hooded eyes. He had to wonder what the Joker was doing with a little thing like her. He knew she wasn't related, he had learned that much from Wilks, but if she wasn't related . . . then why was the Joker so . . . so attached to her? He didn't quite understand the girl's purpose. If anything, she seemed like she'd just get in the way of things.
She was, however, quite a pretty little thing. A little frail looking perhaps, especially in the face, with her gaunt cheeks and sallow complexion, but overall rather pleasant to look at, at least for a little kid. Anders wondered where the Joker had abducted her from—or perhaps she had found him? Either way, the situation was pretty damn strange all around. The Joker didn't seem like the type of guy to put up with the shit and tears that children tended to bring. What the hell could he possibly want from her?
Back by the counter, the Joker casually glanced at the clock above the sink and then smacked his lips, carelessly throwing his cup into the sink.
"Is there anything else you need, boss?" Wilks inquired, always ready to get him whatever he requested. He knew he was being a kiss-ass, but it was better than acting ignorant and having a superior attitude, which was what Anders was doing. Wilks had known his friend for a long time and knew that Anders didn't like to be told what to do. The only reason he was working for the Joker was because the pay was good.
The Joker smacked his lips again and picked up Taylor's backpack from the floor. "No loud noises," he ordered from over his shoulder. He passed by the dining room table and left the kitchen, disappearing down another, wider hallway. Taylor hurriedly picked up the remains from her backpack before scurrying after him, sucking on her bottle contentedly all the while.
There were three bedrooms and two bathrooms in this wing of the house, and the Joker quickly located the master bedroom, dropping Taylor's bag by the door when he stepped inside. He strode into the room, flipping on the light and then removing his jacket, vest, and gloves, dropping them onto a chair. Taylor entered the room right behind him, her eyes giving it a quick inspection as she sucked on her bottle noisily. She closed the door behind her and dropped her things back inside her backpack before moving farther into the room.
A king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room and a chestnut brown quilted comforter rested on top of it. The rest of the room was fairly empty. There was a small walk-in closet, the door that led to the bathroom, a dresser, and a leather chaise lounge with a pile of books on the floor stacked next to it.
The Joker kicked off his shoes lazily, revealing multi-colored socks. He knew he smelt terribly of copper, Anna's blood still on his clothes on even some on his skin, so he decided that he'd take a quick shower. He didn't have much to do now, anyway. He'd lay low for a few days until he could figure out what to do about Black Mask. All he knew so far was that he wanted the man dead so he could get back to playing with Batman. This "Roman" guy was really screwing things up for him. The Joker wanted Batman all to himself, but now that he had presented himself—a man who was obviously a . . . somewhat worthy adversary—the two of them were going to have to vie for Batman's attention, and the Joker didn't like that. At all.
Black Mask seemed to realize that the Joker was the one who held the power in the city—which was why he wanted to take that from the clown. But it wasn't fair that the Joker should have to give up his fun for this . . . other villain. Gotham was his city. He had worked hard to get to where he was today. He wasn't going to let some idiotic amateur with a plastic mask on his face take that away from him.
No, the Joker was going to have to show Roman just how powerful he really was. The Joker would take him down a notch, force the man to his knees and have him begging for mercy by the time he was done with him. Roman, or rather—Black Mask—wouldn't even know what hit him.
The Joker pulled his suspenders down from his shoulders as he walked towards the bathroom. "Don't leave the room," he growled to Taylor, glaring pointedly at her until she nodded her head in agreement. He slammed the bathroom door shut and the sound of running water instantly met Taylor's ears.
She sighed heavily as she stood by the door, finally setting her bottle down on the floor so she could dig through her backpack. She pulled out her toothbrush, her coloring books, her box of Crayola crayons, a pair of sneakers, socks, and her dark green dress, which now had a dark stain on the front from when she had spilled her grape soda.
Glancing over all of her things that were sprawled across the floor, she decided that she would color while Mr. J was taking a shower. She grabbed her Care Bears activity book and flipped through the pages, wanting to find one of those blank ones where she could draw her own picture. When she found one, she grinned to herself and flopped herself down onto the floor, lying on her tummy.
She already knew what she wanted to draw.
Kicking her feet up into the air, she reached for a purple crayon and got straight to work, her tongue poking at the corner of her mouth as she busily scribbled away. Next came the green crayon, and then the red one, and then the black one, and then the yellow one for hair.
Mr. J has the same color hair I do! she realized absently as she colored, giggling to herself.
She finished the rest of her picture in no time at all. When she was done, she smiled knowingly to herself. Boy was she good. She hoped Mr. J would think so too. Just a few more finishing touches . . . .
Suddenly, there was a knock on the bedroom door. Taylor immediately stopped coloring and dropped her crayon, listening carefully.
After a moment, there was another one, louder this time.
She stood and slowly went over to the door. She didn't know what possessed her to do it, but she decided to open it. She was relieved to see that it was only Wilks (and not Anders) who stood in the doorway, the Joker's box in his hands. He looked down at her and then quickly scanned the room.
"Mr. J's taking a bath," she explained to him cordially.
"Uh . . . right." Wilks swallowed and slipped passed her in the doorway. "I'm just gonna put this here." He placed the Joker's cardboard box on the tall round table next to the bed.
Taylor's eyes followed him across the room and then watched as he vanished down the hallway. When he was out of sight, she closed the door quietly and resumed her position on the floor.
She had heard the shower shut off long ago, but Mr. J was obviously still doing something in the bathroom, so she busied herself with coloring more pictures. She did a few mazes, (they were soeasy,) and flipped through her book until she found the specific bear she was looking for. The yellow Care Bear was her favorite. It was the Funshine bear and he had a smiling sun on his tummy. Taylor liked that because she liked the sun.
Unfortunately, it was always so dark and dreary in Gotham, like there was a perpetual cloud of darkness that hung over the city. It was as if the darkness strangled the city skyscrapers, refusing to let up on its powerful chokehold. Taylor imagined that the darkness had long, spidery black fingers that oozed ink whenever they touched something, forever staining it black.
That's why she liked the sun, because the sun was prettier. The sun had warm, friendly hands that sprinkled gold on everything it touched. And it was a beautiful gold too, not like that crayon gold, which was dull and dreary looking, but like the kind of gold that glittered in the sunshine or the gold of her mommy's jewelry.
Taylor found it sad that the perpetual war that waged between the sun and the darkness was predominately won by the darkness—at least in Gotham. It was always dark in Gotham it seemed, the sun's powerful rays somehow never able to break through the toxic, black blanket that suffocated the sky.
Still lost in her own thoughts, Taylor was startled when the bathroom door suddenly burst open, making her jump in fright as the Joker stepped out.
He was dressed only in his purple slacks, his suspenders still attached at his hips and hanging loosely around his thighs. His belt was left unbuckled and his hair was still wet, limply hanging over his shoulders in damp waves. His makeup was freshly applied too, she noticed.
That, however, wasn't quite what held her attention.
She stared in awe at his bare chest. His skin was pale, and a light tuft of hair speckled his chest. What she noticed most, though, was that his sides and stomach were completely littered with horrible-looking lacerations and large, purple and yellow bruises. It was strange, seeing the stark contrast of his bare chest clash with that of his painted face.
He stood in the doorway of the bathroom for a moment, simply staring at her as she did the same to him. Eventually he moved across the room, his bare feet padding across the carpet, and sat himself down on the edge of the bed. Taylor watched with morbid fascination as he pulled a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open. He then absentmindedly proceeded to clean the knife, running his fingernails over the blade to remove the dried blood there and then occasionally swiping the flat of the blade against his thigh to wipe it off.
After a few moments, Taylor slowly made her way over to him, her picture in hand. "Do you want to see what I colored?" she asked quietly, standing in front of him. When he didn't answer or even look up at her she continued on. "I drawed it for you . . . ." she trailed off, her eyes wandering over his chest and then to his lean abdomen.
The Joker finally lifted his head from his work to look up at her and she eagerly met his eyes. She pulled the picture out from behind her back with a small, careful smile, and the Joker took it in his hands. It was him—well, a crude stick figure version of him, but still him nonetheless. He was toweringly tall, almost took up the whole paper, in fact, and he was wearing his purple suit. He had black, filled-in circles for eyes and a messy, crude red grin as a smile. Standing next to him, (he almost hadn't noticed her because she was so small,) was Taylor, who was wearing a green, triangle-shaped dress.
"Do . . . do you like it?" she asked, holding her breath as she looked up into his eyes, trying to gauge his reaction.
He narrowed his eyes. "Mhm," he mumbled after a moment, staring at the picture for just a second longer before handing it back to her.
She reluctantly took it from his hands. "You can keep it if you want," she offered dejectedly, her voice cracking at the end.
The Joker shrugged his shoulders and went back to his work, pulling something metal out of the pocket of his pants and using it to sharpen his knife.
Taylor frowned and eventually ambled away, feeling slightly disheartened. Next time, she promised to herself, she would try harder to color inside the lines, maybe then he'd like her picture better.
Sighing, she decided she would check out the rest of the room. She curiously inspected everything in sight, but was disappointed when nothing of interest caught her eye. After a while she found herself near the window. With a furtive glance over her shoulder, she giggled and disappeared behind the floor-length blackout drapes. She squinted her eyes at the sudden change in light and gripped the edge of the windowsill, watching as little white flakes of snow drifted lazily to the ground. Everything was still and quiet outside, the trees hardly stirring even an inch. She looked upwards to find something hanging from the edge of the roof. Her eyes widened and she smiled.
"Look Mr. J!" Her head poked out from behind the drapes. "Bicycles!" she said in awe. "D'ya see 'em Mr. J? They're so pretty." She whispered the last part, staring at the frozen water dangling from the roof with mesmerized eyes.
The Joker considered telling her that she was looking at icicles, but he didn't have the energy to care. He turned halfway to glance behind him, but she had already disappeared behind the curtains again. He resumed his work.
"Mr. J, how do trees get so tall?"
He rolled his eyes while Taylor fired off a few more random questions as she stared out the window. How do you tell if a worm is a girl or a boy? How do the fishies breathe if they can't come up out of the water when it's frozen? Why couldn't the snow be a pretty color like . . . yellow?
He ignored all her questions, the shink noise of his blade filling the silence of his answers as he sharpened his knife.
Taylor, clearly disappointed that he had not shown interest in any of her topics, eventually wandered back over to the other side of the room. She saw his box of things on the small, round table and went over to it, pulling herself up into one of the armchairs. She cautiously glanced at the Joker to make sure he wasn't looking before she peeked inside the box.
"Ooh," she murmured to herself, looking at all the different things he had in there with interest. "Can we play with your cards?" she asked as she stared at them, pulling out a stack.
She flipped through the cards and noticed that they all had that silly little dancing man on them. She forgot what he was called. She plucked the top card from the stack and dropped the others into the box before sliding off the chair and running over to him.
"What's this one called?" She held it up for him to see and he lifted only his eyes so he was staring at her from beneath his brows.
"The Joker," he whispered, his voice suddenly dark and his eyes acidic. He remembered back to a few days ago when they had been back at her "home," and she had tried to pronounce the name on the card but failed. Now she was asking him what it was called instead of trying to figure it out for herself.
"The Joker," she repeated in a whisper, staring at the playing card almost as if in reverence. A strange thrill went through him at hearing her say his real name, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had come. "That—that's your name?"
The Joker nodded his head wordlessly, watching her the whole time.
Taylor furrowed her brow. "Why is he dancing?"
"Because he wants to."
". . . Why does he want to?"
He quickly licked his lips and straightened, suddenly grinning at her, baring his yellowed teeth. "You ask too many questions," he said, pointing his knife at her playfully.
Taylor folded her arms behind her back and twisted back and forth shyly. "I just want you to talk to me," she murmured, afraid to meet his eyes.
Staring at her, he simply regarded her and didn't reply, resuming his work yet again.
After a few moments of silence, she suddenly perked up again. "Do you want to play house?" She stepped forward to place her hands on his knees, leaning on them for support as she looked up into his bowed face. "I can be the mommy and you can be the daddy, okay?" She smiled and scrunched her nose excitedly as if it were the best idea in the whole world. "I'm gonna pretend to cook dinner for you, and you can ah . . . well you can just do what you're doing," she explained as she straightened and made a gesture with her hands.
He didn't look up at her.
". . . Sure."
She squealed in excitement. He was actually going to play with her, she could hardly believe it. "What do you want to eat? I'm a greatest cook!" She smiled and practically trembled with excitement, her hands clasped near her chest.
He couldn't help but smile to himself. "The greatest, huh?" She nodded her head fervently. "How about eggs and bacon, you think you can handle that, baby doll?" His tone was mocking, but she seemed to have missed that.
"Okay!" Taylor wiped her hands on her PJs and went over to the chair by the table, pretending to use it as a stove. "Wait!" she suddenly cried, making the Joker's eyes wander up from his work, his head still bowed. "I can't cook in my pajamas." She rolled her eyes as if that was absolutely absurd. "Mommies don't cook in their PJs."
The Joker's eyes followed her across the room as she went over to her backpack where all her items were strewn across the floor. She stared at her green dress with the soda stain on it and decided she didn't want to wear that again. Instead, she dug through her backpack until she found her white summer dress. It was frilly and she liked it. Besides, maybe if she wore her summer dress it would make the sun want to come out? Biting her lip, she hurriedly unzipped her PJs, taking them off with some difficulty because the zipper got stuck halfway down. She finally shrugged out of it and let it fall to the carpet.
The Joker watched somewhat amusedly as she attempted to pull her dress over her head, but when that didn't work she attempted to step into it, which didn't seem to work for her either. She huffed in exasperation and tried again.
"C'mere," he suddenly called to her, his voice quiet.
She looked up at him questioningly and then slowly padded over to him, clothed in just her underwear. When she was close enough, he gently took hold of her upper arm and pulled her closer so she was standing in between his thighs as he sat on the edge of the bed. Taking her dress from her hands, he was about to pull it over her head when he suddenly felt her warm, tiny hand on his skin. He let out a quiet and shallow gasp in slight surprise when she gently brushed the tips of her fingers against a large bruise he had on his ribs. Taylor's mouth parted in awe as she looked at it curiously.
He watched as she splayed her hand across it, covering it fully, and then took her other hand and touched her stomach, covering one of her own bruises.
"We're the same," she whispered quietly, a strange curiousness to her voice. Her eyes roamed up his stomach and chest before reaching his eyes.
He simply stared back at her with a dark gaze, tonguing at his scars from the inside. If she only knew how wrong she really was.
"No," he said forcefully, narrowing his eyes at her as she pulled her hand away. He straightened his shoulders and worked his mouth. "No we're not."
Taylor let her hand fall to her side as she cautiously stared back into the Joker's eyes. She wanted to ask why they weren't same, they both had bruises, after all, but she never got the chance when a loud, thudding knock resounded on the door.
Before the Joker could even ask who it was, it burst open.
The Joker's brows furrowed together at the intrusion and he quickly rose from the bed.
Wilks stood in the doorway, panting and breathing somewhat heavily while a cell phone was clutched tightly in his hand. He suddenly noticed Taylor standing in front of a shirtless Joker, dressed in only her underwear. A disturbing thought flitted through his mind briefly, but he pushed it away, honestly not caring in the least what the hell had been going on between the two of them. There were bigger problems that were about to arise.
"Boss," he swallowed breathlessly, his brows knitted together in slight panic. "Jacob's gone."