A/N: Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer. I'm only making her characters do my bidding for a little while. The plot and original characters of Longing do belong to me, however. Jasper as the God of War and Peter "just knowing shit" are ideas that belong to Idreamofeddy.
I have to give an extra special, huge thank you to my sister/beta, Shelljayz. This chapter was a mess. I got stuck on it and was probably the most insecure about it that I've ever been on a chapter. She helped me straighten it out with such patience and sorted me out the way she always does. She helped make this chapter, guys. I love you so much, sis! Of course, I owe thank yous to Laurie Whitlock and juliangelus as well.
As always, thank you to those of you who have read, followed, favorited, and reviewed. To those of you who reviewed, I'm sure you noticed I didn't respond. I had a rough week, and I will respond to them. I enjoy and cherish each review as well as responding to them. I just can't always do it before each post.
And now, onto Jasper ...
oOo
Sunday, December 6th, 2080 … Evening ... Louisville, Kentucky
JPOV
Two days.
It had been two days since the blow up with Bella, and I'd spent the majority of those two days driving.
This road trip wasn't like the last one I'd taken. My need to take off wasn't driven by annoyance and restlessness but pure, unadulterated fury. My route of travel was no less haphazard but my recollection of it was hazy and indistinct. I couldn't remember deciding to go this way or that. All I could remember were the painted lines on the road, some yellow, some white, the gritty texture of the asphalt, some of it in better shape in certain areas than others, and Bella's voice continually echoing in my head.
Why do you ruin everything?
There was one glaring fuckin' similarity between this road trip and the last one though: I was currently sitting in the parking lot of The Finish Line in Louisville, fuckin' Kentucky, my nose assaulted by its now familiar and apparently signature scent of cigarettes, alcohol, sweat, asphalt, humidity, greasy pub food as well as other humans and the faint aroma of horses. My hands tightened on the steering wheel so intensely that it cracked under the stress.
Why? What the hell was it about this damn place that drew me to it like a moth to fuckin' flame?
A sinister snicker echoed in my mind then, and I banged my head to the top of my cracked steering wheel, hard, in exasperation, scowling. The cracked part of it broke clean through. Normally this would have pissed me off—I loved this car—but right now I didn't give a fuck. I was too furious about other things, namely the alter-ego of mine cackling in my head … oh, right and Bella.
Are you responsible for this shit, asshole? I demanded harshly.
The Major snickered again. Of course, he confirmed. Did you really expect anything less? I am your devious, ruthless, opportunistic self. Your anger provided me with a window of opportunity, so I kicked your ass out of the driver's seat and took your worthless carcass for a spin. It has been too fuckin' long since I've been 100% at the wheel, and you needed a swift kick in the balls.
It's 'ass,' idiot, I corrected.
I'm aware, the Major condescended. But in your case, more extreme lengths were necessary.
I rolled my eyes. Are you responsible for the last time I ended up here too, shithead?
No, that had nothin' to do with me, he responded firmly.
But I just bet you know why and how, I accused as I crossed my arms over my chest.
Nope, he replied.
I wasn't convinced.
It wounds me that you doubt my integrity, Jasper, the Major proclaimed in mock-hurt. When have I ever deceived you?
Never, I admitted flatly. But cryptic and evasive have never been your modus operandi either, you bastard.
Devious, ruthless, opportunistic, he repeated with emphasis. Doesn't mean I'm hidin' anything or lyin', and quit callin' me names, you pansy ass fucker!
That was true, I conceded to myself, sure the Major hadn't heard my reluctant agreement. He was brutally honest with no filter to speak of. That didn't mean he never felt the need for deception, but he never lied to me. I gritted my teeth.
Why did you bring me here?
Don't ask questions you already know the answers to, he chided.
And after a moment, a light bulb went off in my head. I knew exactly why the Major had brought me here, why I had brought myself here. Sharon. I had come to make Harpy Bitch pay for what she'd done to Bella.
I knew your brains hadn't leaked out of your skull! the Major crowed with approval.
Of course he knew they hadn't. My tactical skills would never leave me but my mind had been on other shit lately, though ways to punish Sharon had been floating around in the background ever since Bella revealed that the bleach-blonde whore had gotten her arrested. It didn't matter that I was pissed as all hell at Bella or that my relationship with her was in the shitter again. There needed to be consequences for what Harpy Bitch had done, and if no one else was going to ensure she got what was coming to her, I would.
Atta boy! the Major cheered. Apparently your balls haven't gone skittering into a dark hole, never to be seen again, just like the brains I was doubting were still there.
I snorted. There is nothin' wrong with my balls, and I would watch it if I were you. I am perfectly capable of lockin' you away.
Not right now you're not, the Major sang smugly.
I 'humphed' in aggravation but didn't respond to his taunt. I needed to concentrate on things besides his needling. I suppose we'd better get to schemin' then.
The Major whooped loud enough to make my ears ring. It's about damn time we partook in some good old-fashioned violence! The last time you really let loose, you tore apart Bambi, Thumper, Simba and Baloo! Do you have any idea how supremely dissatisfying that was?
Do you have any idea how supremely satisfying it is that the big, bad Major just spouted off a slew of Disney characters? I mocked with a snicker.
Who am I again? he countered. I could see him smirking.
Shut up, dick!
And now I could feel his self-satisfied shrug. Whatever. I was wasting time.
We need the fight, asshole. We spent a century of our life embroiled in it, he reminded me. As if I needed reminding. And then you go all domestic on me! The fight, the battle, is not something a guy with our past just stops cravin'. It's part of you and you've been denying yourself, denying us! What did you think was goin' to happen, nimrod? If you accept that part of yourself, you might start gettin' somewhere.
I have not gone domestic, and I have accepted that part of myself, genius! I snapped. But I can't go rampaging all over the place pickin' fights and killin' shit! That wouldn't draw attention to me at all! The Major was right though. I, we, needed this.
Okay, so a killin' spree is out, the Major conceded. But Harpy Bitch is only one person, and you know how to cover your tracks. You, we, can kill her. Your conscience won't even come into play. She deserves it and it simultaneously feeds our need.
I heard Bella's voice again. Why do you ruin everything?
I pushed it out of my mind. I may have been here for her, and the Major's and my need, but that didn't mean I had to think about her, especially when I was still so angry.
Harpy Bitch does deserve it, I agreed, determination and yet more rage filling me. It was a different kind of rage, a righteous one. But then I was overcome with suspicion. Wait, is the only reason you want this because we need it?
What other reason could I possibly have to want it, Jasper? he asked cavalierly—a little too cavalierly.
This doesn't have anything to do with Bella, does it? I questioned suspiciously. You don't care about her, do you?
The Major scoffed. Not particularly, but you know why we're doin' this. Don't pretend you don't.
Please enlighten me, I sniped sarcastically.
Other than because it gives us a good excuse to maim shit when we really, really need to, I'm doin' it because one of the things Peter first reminded me of when he was pullin' you out of the deep, dark hole I'd buried you in and started building up and strengthening your presence like a backed up turd I could never shit out, is that we take care of our own, he informed me.
I ignored the turd comment because he was right yet again. I took care of my own. We did. We protected them like we protected ourselves—fiercely and without mercy. I just wasn't sure why Bella qualified. Sure, we had some shit in common and I, on occasion, enjoyed spending time with her, but she was also still endlessly annoying and infuriating. She made my life difficult, and I hated it. I should have hated her for it. I wanted to, and some part of me did, but mostly, she confused me too much to figure out how I felt about her … other than frustrated.
Bella's one of ours now, is she? How is that not caring?
You love the family and that makes them yours to fight for and protect. I'm your more apathetic self, but I am still you. That makes them mine. The family considers her one of their own, he reasoned. And since she's one of theirs, that makes her one of yours, which, consequently, makes her mine too. We protect and avenge her just like we would any one of ours. It's that simple.
When did you turn into a sentimental bastard? I mocked.
I love the fight, and I'll almost always jump at the chance to without rhyme or reason because that's the way I'm wired, but I prefer havin' something to fight for, something meaningful even, he admitted starkly. I'd always known how trigger happy I was as the Major; hearing it said "out loud" still took the wind out of my sails, and it shocked me to hear that part of myself admit he had a preference for fighting for a cause. It was kind of unnerving, and I wasn't quite sure what to do with it.
Well, well, well, I said, my internal smirk over his admission obvious. I was smug, and I used it to conceal that shock and my sense of being disturbed. Haven't you just become the poster boy for evolution?
Shut it, Jasper! the Major groused irritably.
Don't worry, I'm not judgin', I assured him, though my tone still suggested I might have been just to mock him and make him uncomfortable. Why wouldn't I take advantage of that shit? He took every chance he got to do it to me, and he fuckin' enjoyed it, after all. I am, however, wondering if hell has frozen over.
Silence.
You are right about Harpy Bitch though, I repeated, not wanting to dwell. Her death happens to be for a good cause since it qualifies as takin' care of one of our own. That makes it necessary.
Glad we're on the same page, the Major approved. Now the question becomes, where to start? he mused thoughtfully but with glee.
Apparently I'm not the only one whose brains may have leaked out of their skull, I said arrogantly. We start with recon, dumbass.
The Major's eyeroll was obvious, not only because I could picture it but because it was what I would have done.
You don't say, he sneered. Then what?
Then we plot her slow, painful demise, I informed him simply.
So you haven't lost your edge after all! the Major praised proudly.
My lips turned down into a scowl, and I stalked in the direction of The Finish Line without taking the bait. I most certainly had not lost my edge but I wasn't going to argue with him about it.
I didn't need to be in the bar to know Sharon was working tonight. I could easily ferret out her scent from all the others. After years of being bombarded constantly by dozens of the distinct, sweet aromas of many humans' simultaneous flowing blood, I could pick out one I'd smelled before in a fraction of a second, though one would think that exposure would have resulted in the opposite. One scent I didn't pick up on was Christian's, which meant he wasn't there.
I lurked in the shadows in the alley near the bar, the very same one my rendezvous with Bella had taken place, waiting for a large enough group of people to approach the entrance. I would tack myself onto the back of said group in order to slip in to The Finish Line with as much subtlety as a vampire could when entering a public place. It took half an hour for my best option to show up. There were five of them in their early twenties, and from the potent fragrance of alcohol emanating from their bloodstreams, they would be too shitfaced to notice me tagging along.
My tactic worked, and I skulked to a dark corner of the bar, claiming a small table with only two chairs. I pushed the unneeded chair firmly in place next to the neighboring table and positioned the remaining one at such an angle that it provided me with a decent view of the serving floor and the bar itself; it was also one that didn't leave my back open to attack, though that wasn't an actual possibility but was a result of habit, and discouraged any approaches by delusional, alcohol-driven bravery, i.e., stupidity in the form of unwanted proposals to hook-up. I was sure it wouldn't prevent some of the more determined but it would do well enough.
Sharon was behind the bar catering to a trio of men in their late-twenties. Just the sight of her had my venom boiling in my veins. All I wanted was to speed across the bar, wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze, slowly. I wanted to watch as she gasped for breath, listen as her windpipe gradually collapsed, and revel as the life and light drained out of her eyes. Another, more sadistic, part of me would have preferred to make her death slow. Bella's certainly would have been if she'd been carted off to Gitmo instead of given the death penalty straight off for violating the Safe Citizens Act. She could have been tortured for months, years even, before she died. That thought had the red tint encroaching on the edges of my vision and a growl too low for human ears to register rumbling in my chest.
Easy, Jasper, the Major cautioned, only a trace of a smirk in his tone. No killin' sprees, remember?
He was right, but having the God of War ride my ass made keeping myself in check difficult, especially without Peter and Charlotte there to restrain me if I went off the rails. I didn't know if I could do it, but I had to do it.
If I could get Harpy Bitch alone and get this show on the road, maybe I wouldn't have to worry about losing my shit in an epic way. I did fully intend to lose it once I got my hands on her, but first—reconnaissance.
I had to familiarize myself with her: her quirks and habits, her routines, where she lived, whom she spent her time with and how much, and so on and so forth.
After watching her push her tits out, giggle in a high-pitched, obnoxious way she was convinced was attractive but made her sound more like a squealing man whose balls were in a vise, flirt with everything with a dick and do a clumsy job of mixing drinks and waiting tables for the next several hours, all while dealing with a handful of cluelessly drunk people trying to hit on me, I was more than a little annoyed and on edge. I had discovered absolutely nothing I didn't already know, like that she was a shameless whore with a bitchy attitude who still pawned most of her work off on her coworkers unless that work involved tips.
When last call came, I swirled the remainder of my Johnny Walker Black in my glass like I was going to drink it before I pulled a suave move that ended with it poured discreetly in the plant behind my table. A few minutes later, I made my exit, traveled to the alcove of the alley Bella and I had spent her break in months ago and scaled the wall. I moved to the spot on the roof that provided the best view of the employee entrance and perched there, waiting.
Sharon wasn't difficult to track even as she drove through town to what I wasn't sure was actually her surprisingly nice apartment, and I again found the best place to spy and stationed myself there. The mini-blinds were cracked just enough for me to make out what was going on inside, obscured though it was, and without my keen vampire vision, it would have been a lost cause.
"Well, that's unexpected," I announced to no one with a frown.
Harpy Bitch was currently making out with Douchebag. I had smelled him, of course, but she was vindictive and batshit crazy. After what she'd done to Bella, there was no question of that, so I figured this was some sort of psycho stalker thing, not a booty call. Only it wasn't a booty call exactly. From the presence of distinctly female possessions and the thorough saturation of her scent in the place, it was now clear to me that she did live there—with Christian—and as I homed in on their emotions and dug past the lust to the underlying ones, I felt just how much Sharon cared about him. She was cold and ruthless to most, but she genuinely loved the guy. I'd give her that. I noted that the love she had for him had only strengthened since the last time I saw her. It was deep and true, the kind of love someone would do anything for, the kind that supposedly made you a better person. That obviously wasn't the case for Harpy Bitch, but maybe that only happened when it was reciprocated. I didn't fuckin' know. It's not like I have any personal experience with it. She did have the "do anything for" part down pat, just not in a good way. Love could make a person do crazy things, as had been proven over the centuries by many a human and vampire alike. Sharon was clearly the poster child for that shit.
What surprised me was Douchebag's willing and rather enthusiastic involvement in this little scenario. He had genuinely been in love with Bella when I was here before, but now he was boning Harpy Bitch. Granted it had been a couple months and a guy has needs, but what he'd felt for Bella was what Sharon did for him, and I could grudgingly admit I'd picked up none of the bad kind of crazy in his feelings for our human.
He didn't love Harpy Bitch but he was getting there, and it was classic, wasn't it? The scorned lover falling into the arms of the one responsible for revealing their former love's betrayal. It must have come as quite a shock for Christian to discover that Bella wasn't who she said she was and that her lie, however necessary for her survival, could have gotten him in some deep shit. He had probably needed someone to ease the sting of that, and Sharon had been available and eager. Surely he could have bagged a better chick than Harpy Bitch, but if rotten crotch did it for him, who was I to judge? Okay, I was totally judging. I had never claimed to be a good person and it was Douchebag. Why wouldn't I?
When clothes started coming off, I turned my back. The two of them full-frontal was not a visual I needed filed away in my brain for eternity. Looking at their asses would scar me for the rest of my life as well, and actually seeing them mid-fuck? I shuddered. Nasty and a huge no fuckin' thank you. It was bad enough that there was no way I could avoid hearing it.
It was a long night filled alternately with boredom and cringeworthy eavesdropping. Harpy Bitch and Douchebag fucked, slept, fucked, slept and then fucked again before they finally went to sleep and stayed unconscious for longer than a few minutes or a couple of hours; thus, my torture finally concluded, and I no longer fruitlessly felt like I wanted to blow my brains out.
Now if there is one thing I could shit out, the Major grumbled irritably, it would most definitely be that.
We were in absolute agreement.
I would have knocked them out myself to avoid going through all that discomfort if my gift wasn't still fucked up. Bella had dislodged my inability to project but only a little, and I could feel it beginning to close off again. If I could only use projection on a minimal basis at the moment, which was a damn sight better than not at all, I was going to make it count, and that didn't involve putting the venomous bitch I'd come here to rain retribution down on out like a dead light bulb. Even if I had to endure hours of dry heave-inducing porn noises that made my ears leak venom. Should I have been used to it after more than a century of overheard sexcapades? Probably, but this was different somehow. Maybe it was a particular thought that kept stampeding through my head, the thought that, under different circumstances, it could be Bella in that room with Douchebag, making those noises that made the whole thing unbearable. Bella could do whatever and whomever the hell she felt inclined to, but I still wanted her. My dick reminded me of that every chance it got, and I didn't like entertaining the idea of her with someone else even if I didn't want more than sex from her, which had never been an option anyway. None of that really mattered though. I was here to do a job, not ruminate on Bella's sex life. It wasn't my business. It never had been, and it never would be. I didn't want her that much.
Keep tellin' yourself that, the Major mocked.
Tailing Sharon the next day wasn't difficult either. She did mundane human things: grocery shopping, banking, an appointment at a hair salon to get her hair freshly bleached, meeting up with a girlfriend for lunch, during which they discussed their plans to go clubbing the next night, and more errands that would have bored me to tears to witness if I could produce them. Harpy Bitch was wholly uninteresting, and I would rather have spent the time I wasted watching her trying to stab out my eyeballs with an ice pick, but a guy had to do his due diligence.
Sharon worked again that night, and it was more of the same. More flirting, more gratuitous attempts to draw attention to her tits, more mediocre bartending. The only difference was that Christian was there, fulfilling his managerial/owner duties. I didn't fail to notice that he wasn't nearly as protective and possessive of his new girlfriend as he had been when he was trying to get into Bella's panties. He didn't send any of the dudes hitting on his woman running for the hills, though there had been several occasions when he levelled said dudes with semi-menacing glares. He just never followed through with a figurative piss on her leg, and one thing was startlingly clear as a result: it hurt Harpy Bitch deeply that he didn't try to mark his territory more fiercely or at all. That made me grin.
After that snoozefest, I decided I had done enough recon, and it was time to move on to the planning phase of this operation. Dozens of scenarios raced through my head, and I whittled all my options down to the most reasonable base ones, running the logistics for each in a few short minutes: a straightforward, no nonsense kill that may or may not involve kidnapping; kidnap, torture, definite maiming and a long, drawn out death or kidnap, torture, maiming with permanent damage, no kill.
If I kidnapped and tortured Sharon, whether I killed her or not, I would need a place to take her to do it. It would have to be in the middle of nowhere to minimize the risk of exposure because the woman would scream. I would make her scream until she couldn't anymore, and I would not be interrupted. If it was already out in the boonies, it would be less of a pain in the ass to dispose of the body. All I would have to do is research on property in nearby forest areas, choose the most isolated one and acquire it in an untraceable way. I had done shit like that before, though not for this purpose. It would be cake.
Then there was the matter of how I would torture her. There were all kinds of ways I could do it: with weapons and tools, water, electricity, fire, sensory deprivation, starvation, sleep deprivation, dehydration, drugs, poison, my bare hands ... venom. There was almost too much to choose from.
And we love them all, the Major piped up gleefully.
Maybe I would do them all and then turn her, make her endure the fiery suffering of the change before I ripped her apart piece by piece and burned them one at a time. For whatever reason, we could still feel abuse to separated body parts. Add a little foreign venom to the mix and she would know agony like no other.
The maiming would be a matter of what I was in the mood for at the time.
I love the way you think, the Major sang excitedly. I'm proud to be ridin' shotgun with your ass again!
I would have rolled my eyes at that under different circumstances. Not now. I was liking my tentative plans as much as he was. I shouldn't have nor should I have been proud that I was planning someone's murder, but in this instance, I didn't give a fuck. No one fucked with one of mine. You did that and it erased every bit of conscience I'd reacquired since I left Maria.
As I plotted all the horrific, excruciating and very bloody things I could do to the mediocre bartender, an image flooded my brain unbidden. It was of me and Bella in the alley, only for the first time, it wasn't of any of the things I'd done to her while I had her pressed to the brick wall. Instead it was of her reaction to when I'd fucked with Harpy Bitch's emotions, and she'd worried her co-worker had been drugged.
Why do you ruin everything? that now grating but still sexy voice that without fail made my dick hard again sounded in my brain. I did my best to ignore it and return to the matter at hand.
The bleached-blonde whore had treated Bella like shit, but Bella had unequivocally resolved to watch Sharon's back out of some misguided girl code bullshit I would never understand despite it. She had been about ready to murder me for suggesting she leave Sharon to her own devices. If Bella ever found out I'd done something to Harpy Bitch, she would murder me.
Shit! I cursed, tugging violently at my hair. How Bella would ever find out, I didn't know, but she was a smart, observant girl. She seemed to know things most of the time, almost like Peter, and even if she didn't know for sure, she guessed and usually ended up being right.
The Major groaned. You're pussying out on me, aren't you?
No! I snapped. Do you really think we would have come all this way just to turn back now? Especially because of her? I don't fuckin' think so!
But I know you! he argued furiously. You're wavering!
I am not! I argued just as furiously. You get offended when I doubt you but you're allowed to doubt me? What the fuck?
I am not the one with a shred of a conscience here! You won't admit it, but you are wavering! I know you, and it is because of her. Why? Why do you fuckin' care what she'll do if she finds out? he demanded.
I don't! I insisted, crossing my arms over my chest.
You do! You were all gung-ho until she got into your head. That's when you hesitated! You don't hesitate! You never fuckin' hesitate, even with a conscience. Not when it comes to protecting our own, and we need this. You know we do!
I do know that, fucker!
Do you? he asked dubiously, his rage continuing to mount.
Yes!
Then why are you doing this to us?
I'm not backing out. I want that bitch dead just as much as you do! I assured him firmly.
I was committed to this and I had convinced him of that. He exhaled in relief and I smirked. That didn't mean I wasn't pissed at him for doubting me.
But then the same image of Bella that had invaded my brain minutes earlier shouldered its way back in more fiercely, this time on a continuous loop. Her words, the ones that had been echoing in my head, were its constant, irritating but unignorable soundtrack. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get it to stop, and I was wavering in earnest now.
I would never be able to convince myself that I didn't ruin everything, but that didn't mean I wanted to prove it to her. How could I risk that? How could I risk ruining things between us for good?
Damn it! You are pussying out on me! the Major exclaimed in frustration and disgust.
I didn't answer. It was all the confirmation he needed.
Have I mentioned that I hate you? he snarled. If he was totally in control, he would have ripped my hair out and killed Harpy Bitch already, no matter what I'd decided. The only reason he hadn't was because of the fierceness of my desire not to ruin things between me and Bella. It irritated me that I cared so much about that. It didn't make any fuckin' sense like so much else, especially when I was so pissed at her that I had half a mind to rip her throat out just to make all the frustration and confusion stop.
I sighed, thinking. I wasn't going to torture or kill Harpy Bitch, but there were other things I could do that would be just as painful and damaging. All I needed was a little time and some peace from my idiot alter ego to concentrate. I didn't say it, but he shut up anyway, probably because he knew I was searching for viable alternatives to punish Sharon.
A few minutes later, a plan began to form. How do you feel about psychological warfare, my warped and twisted friend?
The Major whooped. I smirked.
oOo
My scheme wasn't a complicated one. It was based on the principle that some things hurt more than physical pain, that there were some losses that made a person feel like their life was no longer worth living, losses a certain kind of person never recovered from. After centuries as an empath, I could generally tell if a person was prone to that tendency by a simple taste of their emotions and a brief observation of their body language and interactions with the people around them. Sharon had been particularly easy to get a proper read on, she was that kind of person—weak-minded and far too vulnerable, exactly the kind of person who wouldn't recover if one knew what to take from her in such a way that she could never get it back, and I did know what to take from her. It wasn't difficult to figure out. She bared it for all to see, just the way she advertised her tits when she worked.
Christian. Losing him was what she would never recover from, and I was going to use that against her. I was going to destroy her with it, leaving her a broken shell of a person. She would never get up enough nerve either to end her life or to move on because she wasn't that kind of person either, and I would have fun as I left her utterly bereft. It may have made me a bastard, but as I'd already said, my conscience had left the building. Giving a fuck was not on the menu.
It was Tuesday, and I was at a club called The Four Horsemen. It was a nice place in the nice part of Louisville, but aside from the lack of the scent of horse and greasy pub food and the addition of more potent cleansing agents, it smelled the same as The Finish Line. This was where Sharon had come with her friend to let loose on her day off, and it was playing right into my hand. Douchebag wasn't here with them. It was a girl's night and he wasn't invited, which was also playing into my hand. This would almost be too easy.
I was dressed for panty-dropping seduction: dark wash jeans I'd overheard the saleswomen at the clothing store I'd bought them say made my ass look great, a black T-shirt that stretched taut across the muscles of my chest and torso with a navy button down rolled up to the elbows but left unbuttoned, a black leather jacket with wool lining slung over the back of my chair—it was winter after all—a pair of black leather boots, a black fedora and a smirk. The fedora was a better choice even though a cowboy hat would have been acceptable. I wasn't all the fond of them despite my heritage, plus it didn't fit with my cover, and I loved my cowboy boots, but I felt the need to leave them out of this endeavor.
You have been livin' with that fashion-obsessed midget for far too damn long, the Major grumbled as I took inventory of my appearance. It's embarrassing that you know that shit.
I know, I grumbled back.
If I was successful in my plan, and I would be, dropping her panties would be exactly what Harpy Bitch would be doing in a matter of hours. It wouldn't be a pleasant experience for me, but sometimes a guy had to take one for the team.
The Finish Line closed at two, and the employees stuck around until 2:45 to clean the place up while Christian took off at three. This was information I'd flirted out of Ashley, the waitress who'd served me my first time there and who had been promoted to co-manager since. She would text me when Christian left since they shared managerial responsibilities and would leave at the same time. I'd told her I had always wanted to have sex in a bar, which led to her suggesting we make use of The Finish Line to make that fantasy come true after it closed. I had given her the impression that I would be meeting her back there to pick up where our flirting had left off when it did. I obviously had no intention of following through with what I had never quite confirmed, but that text message would give me an almost precise timeframe to work with.
I had scouted the most direct routes from The Finish Line to Christian and Sharon's shared apartment as well as from their apartment to The Four Horsemen. The drive from The Finish Line to their place took twenty minutes, while the one from The Four Horsemen took only five. I would head out with Harpy Bitch to go to her place as soon as I got Ashley's text and prolong the drive there as much as I could get away with.
Leaving The Finish Line at three, if I allowed a window of five to ten minutes to account for unlikely traffic—there was always the possibility of an accident—that would put Christian home no later than half past. I intended to be there, using his scent to gauge his nearness, to make sure he walked in on the middle of what would look like me fucking his girlfriend. He would be unfortunate collateral damage in my scheme, but this was war; civilian casualties were to be expected, and honestly, was I supposed to feel sorry for Douchebag? I don't fuckin' think so. Besides, I was doing him a favor as much as that irked me.
When he got there, I would use the last of my mojo to pump him full of so much rage, hatred, betrayal and heartache that he wouldn't be able to forget the power of those emotions even when they faded, and it would be awhile before they did if I could manage it. What Bella had done to him only months before would help with that.
How about we set some ground rules before we begin this little psychological wargame of ours, the Major suggested, looking Sharon over with disdain.
Such as?
We are not stickin' our dick in that, he said with disgust. If you even think about it, I'm stagin' a coup, and I won't even consider relinquishing control until I've slaughtered every last person here in protest.
I rolled my eyes. I am not so desperate for pussy that I would actually hit that, asshole.
Your hands begs to differ, he countered. I mean, honestly, you've mastered ambidextrous masturbation. That is the epitome of desperate, my friend.
I scowled and wholeheartedly insisted, My dick is not goin' anywhere near that. The whole idea of this isn't to actually bed this chick.
Ah, ah, ah, Jasper, ditch the scowl and get your game face on. You don't want to scare Harpy Bitch away before we even get this shindig started, the Major scolded. Seriously though, you can't blame a guy for needin' some reassurance after everything, and I love how it's just your dick when you're pissed at me.
I rolled my eyes before I schooled my face perfectly because, unfortunately, the Major was right. Any other ground rules you have in mind?
What clothes are we okay with losin'? he asked. Damn! I never thought that was a question I'd be askin'.
I shuddered at the thought but losing some clothes was necessary to sell the illusion that I was going to fuck Sharon, both to her and Christian. These are special circumstances, I interjected. Shirt's gonna have to go and possibly shoes and socks. I'm willin' to undo my belt and pop the top two buttons on my pants, but if she goes for any more than that, I'll snap her neck, consequences be damned.
I am totally okay with that, the Major agreed. What about touching?
The thought of Harpy Bitch touching me made me feel physically ill, but it had to be done. As minimal as possible just like with any other woman and absolutely no kissing. I'll make her submissive to keep her from gettin' too handsy, in fact … until it's time for the show to start, at least.
Now, shall we discuss your moral dilemma? he asked bluntly.
And what moral dilemma would that be?
The fact that you are a cold-blooded killer but refuse to touch a woman without her permission, he clarified. So how are you goin' to do this and get around that? You use your gift and you might as well be druggin' the girl, which may as well amount to the same thing. Am I gonna have to live with your pathetic brooding over it for eternity?
I let out an irritated gust of air. Why should I give a shit about any of that after what Sharon did to Bella? I shouldn't. Why did it even matter to me if I was doing this to avenge one of mine? It shouldn't matter but it did. My honor mattered to me, and rape wasn't a line I was willing to cross. I didn't have to worry about that though. The beauty of this plan was I only needed to use my gift to enhance what I could already do on my own, and I suspected I wouldn't even have to do that. After more than two centuries of life, I knew how to charm my way into a woman's panties even if I'd never really needed to or had much interest in it, and I had always been charismatic. If I wanted to draw people to me, they flocked in my direction. If I wanted people to leave me the fuck alone, they didn't come near me unless they were stupid—
Lauren Mallory, the Major fake-coughed.
Desperate—
Lauren Mallory, he coughed again.
Have no sense of self-preservation—
Lau—
I managed to figuratively put a sock in the Major's idiocy, even though he was right.
They also didn't stay away if they lacked common sense or if their judgment was impaired by drugs or alcohol.
I decided right now that Harpy Bitch's panties were coming off, and that it would be her choice to pull them down, no gift needed. If I had to use my gift to up the ante a little, that was different but I staunchly stood by my theory that it would be unnecessary. I might need to use it on myself, however. It was too bad I couldn't. I could soak up some drunkenness, though it wouldn't be a good idea to absorb much.
There is one person who falls into none of those categories, despite certain evidence to the contrary on the sense of self-preservation, the Major reminded me, going slightly off tack.
Of course he had to bring up Bella now.
She comes around whenever she feels like it and stays away when she wants to as well, he continued. That couldn't possibly have anything to do with the fact that you can't figure out if you want her close enough to be up our ass or for her to stay as far away from us as possible, could it?
Why do you ruin everything? Her voice was starting to drive me fuckin' crazy, crazier, and it was amping up my rage too. That wasn't a bad thing right now. It would help to bolster the wherewithal I needed to get this shit done, though I would have gotten it done no matter what.
My face turned stony for a moment before I brought it back to a smirk. I didn't comment on the Major's assertion.
It's okay, you know, his said, his tone uncharacteristically soft, understanding even. I can't figure out what I want in regard to her either. She tests us, which can be fun, but she fucks with our control, very nearly takes it away from us. You don't like that, I don't like that. We didn't have it for a century, and it goes against everything we've worked for and created for ourselves since we left Maria. But she's mighty pretty, isn't she?
Pretty isn't the right word for Bella.
Okay, fine, the Major conceded. She's the most beautiful thing we've ever seen, and there's just something about her.
I didn't comment on that either. There was no denying it, and he knew that.
Would you please stop talkin' about Bella? I snapped. I did not want to think about her right now considering what I was about to do. I didn't want to think about her after our fight. I didn't want to think about her at all.
What do you think she'll do to us if she finds out we almost fucked the chick who nearly got her shipped off to Gitmo? the Major wondered.
Why do you ruin everything? her phantom voice spat again.
She's not gonna find out! I growled, annoyed and doing my best to hide my dread over that possibility, wondering if I was going to ruin everything … well, ruin it more. And we're not even gonna come close to fucking Harpy Bitch! We're just makin' it look that way. Bella will understand, if she finds out. I was trying for convincing, both for his and my own benefit. I wasn't entirely successful. We'll make her understand, but she won't find out. This is much more subtle than killin' Sharon, and you're the one who brought my ass here, so Alice has no idea where I am, which means Bella doesn't either. If Peter knows, he won't tell. Now shut up!
One of the things Bella had told me in the alley was that Sharon drank too much on the job, and my observations over the last two days confirmed it. Bella had also said Sharon flirted too much as well, another thing that was glaringly obvious, which was sometimes a result of the drinking, though I had my doubts about that. That tendency wouldn't really change now that she was with Christian, and I was going to use that to my advantage.
At 11:30, I sent Harpy Bitch a cosmo, what she'd been drinking all night, via the only female bartender in the place. She accepted it without hesitation, and I nodded at her when she turned to see who'd supplied her with free alcohol. Instead of shooting her a smirk, I gave her a friendly but understated smile. I couldn't come on too strong at first. Subtlety was key for now considering her relationship with Christian. My first order of business was to convince her I wasn't out to sleep with her.
Her cheeks flushed when she met my eyes and took me in. Boyfriend or not, in love or not, I have that effect on women, partly because of the vampire thing and partly because of my aforementioned ability to draw people in.
She finished that drink seventeen minutes later. I sent her another one but still didn't approach. I also had the bartender give her a glass of water to go with it. It would make it seem like I wasn't actually trying to get her drunk; thus, making me appear to be almost nothing more than a nice guy, safe even. She smiled at me after she accepted the drink.
It took her twenty minutes to finish that cosmo, and she sipped on the water too. I ordered her another one and finally sidled up to her after the bartender delivered it to her. She noticed I was there but didn't acknowledge me until I ordered a drink for myself.
"Jameson Vintage, if you have it," I requested of the female bartender, who made it a point to be the one to serve me. I made it a point to ditch my accent. The possibility that I wasn't from around here would make me even more appealing when I moved on from friendly conversation to seduction since it reduced the likelihood that Sharon's indiscretion would be discovered. Vintage was the rarest and most expensive whiskey Jameson made. Ordering it advertised that I had money, and even though Christian was well-off from The Finish Line's success, he wasn't loaded, and Sharon gravitated towards men with high cash value. It showed in her extra attentiveness to obviously rich customers who patronized The Finish Line, though I wasn't sure why they bothered. "Jameson Gold if you don't."
"Thank you for the drinks," Sharon said. When I turned my attention to her, she continued speaking, "You should know I have a boyfriend though."
"Honey, I've got a girl of my own," I assured her with a pleasant smile. I pulled out my phone, brought up a picture of me and Charlotte and showed it to her. It was of the two of us after we'd played a prank on Peter. I had my arm around Charlotte's shoulders and we were looking down at each other, smiling. It could easily be misconstrued as a picture of two lovers if you didn't know us. Harpy Bitch certainly seemed convinced. "I just believe that no beautiful woman should have to buy her own drinks."
She returned my smile, blushing again at my compliment, and retrieved her own phone, locating a picture of her and Christian and showing it to me. They looked happy enough. Sharon's eyes were bright, her grin genuine and wide and her hold on him loving but possessive. Christian was also grinning but it was dimmer than hers, his eyes weren't shining quite so brilliantly and his embrace was affectionate but definitely not possessive. Still, it was yet again obvious that he cared for her quite a bit.
I nodded at her but was saved from having to do anything else since the bartender placed my drink in front of me. I picked it up and took a sip, reluctantly swallowing. Unfortunately, actually consuming my drinks was necessary. I didn't have a place I could spit the liquor out without drawing attention to myself, and I had to make it look like I was drinking with Harpy Bitch. It would be uncomfortable, but I would do it.
"Your girlfriend is gorgeous," she commented, her tone tinged with jealousy.
"Yes, my Sarah is," I agreed. "I would comment on your boyfriend, but I don't pay much attention to men."
Sharon giggled. "All the women here would be very disappointed if you did."
I laughed with her. "Lucky them, I suppose."
Bravo, the Major complimented me. Excellent performance so far.
"You're not from around here, are you?" she asked curiously.
"No," I confirmed. "I'm from Nevada. Vegas to be specific. I'm here on business."
Nice! the Major enthused. Do we work in a casino? Ooh! Can we be a mobster?
I fought the urge to roll my eyes at his enthusiasm.
"What do you do for a living?" Harpy Bitch echoed the Major's question.
"It has been a long day," I responded. "The last thing I want to do is talk about work. What I do want to do is get drunk."
Cop out, the Major huffed, sulking. I rolled my eyes internally. The last thing I needed was to give Harpy Bitch a potential way to track me down when all was said and done. It's not like I'd be giving her an address and social security number to go with the fake name I was using, but I still had to limit the possibility as much as I could just in case. I hardly believed she was smart or resourceful enough to find this alias and figure out that's exactly what it was, but still, the less information she had, the better.
"I second that," Sharon said. She lifted her glass in a "cheers" gesture, and I obliged her by clinking our glasses together. "What's your name?"
"Jack," I told her, holding out my hand for her to shake.
She took it, and I fought hard not to cringe at the feel of her skin on mine.
Hold it together, the Major coached. This is just the beginning. It's only gonna get worse, so grit your teeth and get it done.
It was just what I needed to hear.
"Sharon," Harpy Bitch supplied with another smile.
"It's nice to meet you, Sharon," I said, my tone mild but smooth.
"Likewise, Jack," she agreed.
As difficult as it was, I managed to flash her another really great imitation of a genuine smile, and we spent the next forty-five minutes chatting about absolutely nothing while I continued to ply her with alcohol. It was all friendly and harmless and in the name of supposedly good fun though, and I was slowly but steadily achieving the goals I'd set at the pace I had planned to achieve them. Harpy Bitch was comfortable with me, she found me charming, she laughed at my jokes with no air of falsity, she thought I was interesting. She felt safe with me. She was also attracted to me, that attraction practically beating me over the head, and I didn't even have to use my gift to bring those things out in her.
We are one smooth bastard, the Major commented smugly.
That was true, but Harpy Bitch's reaction to me still made me sick to my stomach.
It was 1:10 now, and it was time to up the ante.
"This has been really nice, Sharon," I lied with finesse and another convincing smile. "Thank you for keeping me company."
"It has been nice, Jack," she agreed, smiling back. She meant it, and I registered then that she was lonely. Despite her love for Christian and that she had finally gotten what she wanted, Harpy Bitch was still lonely.
This knowledge was my opening. "I have to admit I've been pretty lonely lately."
Sharon's expression contorted in surprise. "But why? You've got Sarah, and she's so pretty, and you look so happy—"
"Looks aren't everything and things between me and Sarah have been strained for a while."
Interest and eagerness flooded her emotions. "Why?"
There was no hesitation in her question, no remorse for prying. I wanted to snap her neck. Instead I sighed, slumped my shoulders in faux-defeat and took a deep swallow of my third glass of whiskey as lovelorn humans were wont to do. "She's got this ex, Patrick. They only broke up because he got a job on the east coast. It was over a year ago, and she and I had been together for six months at the time, so I felt pretty secure about us when he showed back up in Vegas two months ago. They've been spending time together since he got back, more than I care for." Another healthy gulp of whiskey. "They were together for a couple years, and I've told Sarah I'm not comfortable with them hanging out, but she thinks I'm being ridiculous." Another swig of whiskey. "Maybe I am, but it's hard. I love her, and I know she loves me, but as difficult as it is for me to admit, she loved him more, and sometimes, I can't help but wonder if she still does." I drained the last of my drink and motioned for another. "We've been fighting about it, but it's gotten us nowhere. All it has done is drive a wedge between us, so yes, I've been lonely. I was actually kind of relieved when I found out I was coming here on business. I wanted the space, but I miss her. I've been missing her for a while now."
The bartender conveniently showed up with a fresh glass then and I tossed it back, finishing it in one swallow and again flagging her down for another.
Harpy Bitch wasn't feeling nearly enough sympathy—Cold, selfish whore, the Major grumbled—so I fed her a dose of it. She laid her hand on my arm, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to forcefully remove it.
"I'm sorry, Jack," she lamented sadly. "There's a lot about that that I understand."
My false confession about my fake identity's girlfriend opened the floodgates exactly as I'd intended. I raised my eyebrows expectantly.
Her bitterness fluttered over me, and I intensified it. She finished off her cosmo before she began, "I was in love with my boyfriend, Christian, for a long time before we actually got together. I really thought he was startin' to feel something for me, but then she showed up."
"She?" I questioned, making sure to sound curious, and ordering Harpy Bitch another drink.
"Paige Donnelly," she spat hatefully. "Christian owns the bar I work at, and he hired her when we didn't even need another fuckin' bartender! After that, it was all about her. It was 'Paige this' and 'Paige that' and 'Paige is so fuckin' great!' But she wasn't great. She wasn't great at all! She was an arrogant, lyin', lazy, spiteful whore."
Harpy Bitch's words and accusations made me bristle, but I had to keep my sympathetic mask in place. This wouldn't work if I betrayed my true feelings.
You could, the Major countered, if you just kill her.
Not an option, I growled back, more as a result of my anger at Sharon than annoyance at him. In truth, I wanted to kill her.
Why do you ruin everything? I gritted my teeth at the sound of the words, of her voice that made my already aching chest ache even more.
Fuckin' Bella, I seethed. If only I didn't care how much she would hate me if she ever found out I'd ended this awful woman's life.
Why do you ruin everything?
"She's not even pretty!" Sharon exclaimed, her bitterness amplifying. The woman clearly didn't have eyes. If Bella got any more beautiful, it would kill me. "But Christian fell in love with her anyway. He couldn't see her for the shameless, conniving slut she is, but I did. I always could. It took me a little while to find a way to prove it to him, but she showed her true colors eventually, and I got rid of her."
"Got rid of her?"
"Oh, yes," she responded smugly, smirking and taking a pleased sip of her fresh cosmo. "I found some leverage and used it to hang her out to dry. I have to say though, that as awful as she is, and that what I accused her of was true, she wasn't guilty of what all those accusations implicated, and they were serious ones. The important thing is that I revealed just how much of a liar she is and how fake too. Wherever Paige Donnelly is now, she's miserable and suffering, and my only regret is that she doesn't know I'm responsible for puttin' her there."
Either she was too drunk to realize what she was admitting to or she truly didn't care. Hearing her say that pissed me off so much my fists clenched tightly enough that my fingernails left half-moons in my palms, a barely audible keening sounding as a result, and a low growl rumbled from my chest. My understanding expression faltered.
Harpy Bitch frowned. "Do you hear that?"
Apparently my growl wasn't as low as I thought. I fought to contain it and my fury. It was difficult. I managed to succeed but only because it was necessary. The Major wasn't so successful, his growls resounding in my head. It was also difficult to regain the understanding tenor of my features, and the Major's unrestrained rage wasn't helping. Still, I managed it because it was still necessary to our endgame.
"The growling sound?" I asked. She nodded. "It's the music."
She found my response acceptable. "Anyway," she continued. "He took Paige's betrayal hard. They weren't even together, but he really did love her and it practically destroyed him. He didn't get with me because he felt about me the way I did about him at first. I was okay with that as long as we were together, you know? I was willin' to wait for him to fall for me, and he did. I know he did. I know he cares. He loves me now—"
God, she's delusional, the Major laughed hysterically, echoing my sentiments. Her misguided belief that Douchebag loved her was excellent though. It would make her own betrayal of him devastate her that much more.
She drained half her drink in one swallow before she continued "—but it's different. He's different with me than he was with her. He was possessive with her, protective. He used to scare off men at the bar he thought were hittin' on her, if they even looked at her like they were goin' to, even if they weren't. He doesn't do that with me, and the way he looked at her? It was like he wanted to claim her, devour her—"
My fists clenched again and another growl burst forth. Harpy Bitch didn't question it this time.
"He doesn't look at me like that," she confided, her voice and emotions containing an even mix of dejection and anger. "It hurts so fuckin' much."
"I know the feeling," I said, evoking a camaraderie and matching pain in my tone and on my face.
Harpy Bitch downed the rest of her cosmo, and I again motioned the bartender for another.
"I hate her," Sharon growled venomously. "I hate her so fuckin' much."
This was another opening for me, and I had to take it. It was now twenty to two in the morning. It was time to up the ante again.
I magnified Sharon's hurt and filled her with desire, but not desire for me. It was a desire so completely different from a sexual kind. It was the desire to escape reality, the desire to forget, the desire to let go and be someone else for a little while. It soaked into her skin and straight through to her heart like she was a dry sponge. I could see it in her eyes as it did.
Let the game begin in earnest, the Major intoned, practically salivating with anticipation.
And so it did …
The flirting started out discreetly on my end: smiles that borderlined on smirks, looks that lingered just a second too long, deepening the tone of my voice the slightest bit, moving just an inch closer, throwing out a seemingly innocent and unintentionally suggestive comment that invoked a sheepish expression on my face that she actually found endearing and attractive, as it was meant to.
I gauged her responses to these things. They were all positive. Harpy Bitch was loving the attention, subtle though it was, the attention she so desperately needed from Douchebag but clearly wasn't getting, and I knew I could lay it on thicker. My borderline smirks turned more seductive, the gazes that were just a second too long extended even longer with a forced but seemingly genuine heat added, further deepening of my tone with an added hint of gravelliness that alluded to desire, another couple inches closer, more suggestive but not so innocent comments.
Harpy Bitch gave as good as she got, matching me flirt for flirt, her need to be wanted by someone the same way she wanted Christian, just to be genuinely wanted at all, and the need to be someone else it evoked fueling her. Her admission about how different Christian was with her than he was with "Paige" and how much that hurt her spurred her on even further.
I would almost feel sorry for her if she was anyone else, but she wasn't. This woman had turned a person in for treason, a person she knew wasn't guilty of it with the full knowledge that she was condemning that person to death, whether it be quick or slow. That person was one of mine. There was no feeling sorry for Harpy Bitch.
By 2:15, Sharon was putty in my hands, not even snapping out of her haze when her friend joined us to let my companion know she was taking off with some random guy and raised her eyebrow questioningly at Sharon's behavior. Harpy Bitch brushed her off, snapping at her to mind her own fuckin' business. Liquor, loneliness, bitterness, anger and lust made it easier for a person to make questionable choices and resent the people that tried to talk them out of it before they did something they couldn't take back. Her friend left miffed and angry.
When Sharon showed signs of wanting to dance with me by shooting longing looks at the dance floor and then glancing at me pointedly, I shot her a dose of distaste and she quit it for a while, but I was going to have to ease up on that. My mojo was waning, and I had to conserve as much of it as I could for the grand finale of the Major's and my psychological wargame. If she continued to pull that shit, I'd have to suck it up and it most definitely would suck.
Fortunately for me, Harpy Bitch didn't hint at dancing again.
I received the text message from Ashley at 3:02, and the beep of its arrival made Sharon scowl. That was good.
"Sarah," I growled bitterly, scowling myself. "For some damn reason, she felt the need to inform me that she'll be spending the day with Patrick, at one o'clock in the fucking morning her time, no less. And do you know where they're going? To Lake Mead! That's our place!"
Wow, you're good, the Major said, impressed.
You sound surprised. I'm insulted.
Whatever, he replied indifferently. Get on with it.
Sharon suddenly felt an uncharacteristic sympathy for me, one I hadn't brought on. Maybe it was the alcohol. I don't know, but I wasn't going to question it. It made things easier.
"You wanna get outta here?" she asked, holding out her hand.
I ignored my revulsion at the prospect and took it.
At that point I knew she was on the verge of telling me she wanted to go to my hotel room, but I was prepared for that in more ways than one. When Harpy Bitch had left to go to the bathroom earlier, I'd filched her phone from the purse she'd drunkenly and inadvertently left in my care, and because I'm brilliant, I successfully altered the time to an hour earlier than it actually was in case the earlier time eased her mind about taking me to her place. In the event of that failing, and the odds of that were unerringly high, I would use my gift to convince her to take me there. My psychological warfare wouldn't work if she didn't, and I had to cover all my bases.
As it was, Sharon was too drunk to check the time on her phone but was still too cautious about taking me where we needed to go for my plan to succeed. That meant my gift was now up to bat.
I sent healthy doses of compliance, submission and reassurance her way. I also decided impatience would be a good idea as well. As far as the lust went, I just amped up my natural charm as I seductively commanded, "Your place."
I did my job well; Harpy Bitch was so enthralled she didn't second guess me. All she did was nod dumbly and begin to lead me out of The Four Horsemen.
oOo
I'd managed to prolong our departure from The Four Horsemen for four minutes and extend the drive to Harpy Bitch's place, in her car—mine was stashed in a public parking garage approximately halfway between The Finish Line and The Four Horsemen—from five to ten. By the time we made it in the door, accounting for the time it took us to get to the top floor, it was 3:20.
As soon as the front door was shut, Sharon was on me, aiming for my lips. I dodged her as subtly as I could, directing her lips to my neck instead. My skin was crawling like crazy, but I did my best to ignore it and rested my hands on her hips to at least feign like I was interested in this.
After thirty solid seconds of her slobbering on me, she stepped back and tugged her slutty shirt over her head. Then she slipped her skirt over her hips and let it puddle at her feet. As much as I wanted to, I did not grimace or close my eyes. Instead I let her toss my fedora in some random direction and push my button-down off my shoulders before I removed the T-shirt underneath. I did not, however, go anywhere near my pants. That could not happen until Christian was about to walk in the door, nor could I stomach the idea. If they came undone any sooner than that, she would expect to move things along to territory I was not willing to go, and I would not be able to fake like I wanted to. My cover would be blown and everything would go to shit. That was not an option. Harpy Bitch had to pay and all the trouble, all the discomfort, I had endured to pull this little wargame off could not be for nothing.
This felt like it was dragging on for-fuckin'-ever when in reality it had only been five minutes. Thankfully, I'd just picked up Christian's scent; judging by its potency, he was now in the parking garage. He would be here in two and a half minutes because, as nice as this place was, the elevator was slow as hell.
Now it was truly showtime. I gritted my teeth and lifted Harpy Bitch off the ground, pulling her tight against me. Her legs wrapped around me immediately and nausea ripped through me so fiercely it could have knocked me on my ass if I let it. I was tempted to.
I carried Sharon to the couch and sank down on it, settling her on my lap with her knees on either side of my thighs, and then bit the bullet—I kissed the hollow between her collarbones and sucked. There was the overwhelming temptation to bite so I could hear her scream as the venom spread through her veins, but I resisted. I also resisted my body's instinctual need to gag at the taste of her skin on my tongue … just barely.
God, the things I'm willin' to do for my family!
You just acknowledged Bella as family, the Major pointed out.
Whatever, I growled.
Harpy Bitch hissed at the touch of my cool lips and tongue, then mewled with pleasure, the scent of her arousal intensifying and flooding the room. It smelled nothing like Bella's, which, as far as I was concerned, smelled better than anything else in existence. To my nose, Harpy Bitch's want smelled acrid and bitter. It matched her personality. That was fuckin' creepy. My nausea churned more fiercely.
So far, everything was going to plan ... except for one thing, and it was a big fuckin' problem. I did not find Harpy Bitch attractive, though most of the men I'd encountered thought otherwise. I was disgusted by her. Every second I spent in her company, especially with her touching me, made my skin crawl more and more, so it was pretty much impossible for me to get it up. If selling this shit wasn't so important, I wouldn't give a fuck. I wouldn't even be here subjecting myself to this hell, but I was here; I had a good reason for it, and selling this shit was vital. I had to find some way to overcome my mounting revulsion and quick—Christian would be here in one minute precisely.
I closed my eyes, purposely not squeezing them shut, though that was difficult, and tried to picture someone else perched in my lap. Of fuckin' course the first person to pop into my head was Bella, and lo and behold, instant boner.
I pointedly ignored any noises that may have come from Sharon as a result.
Fifteen seconds. Just fifteen more seconds.
Then she did something I should have been prepared for, should have anticipated but didn't. She wrapped her hand around my cock through my jeans and started to move it over me. It did not, in any way, shape or form, feel good. I froze.
With her other hand, she rather deftly unbuckled my belt and popped the top three buttons of my jeans open.
Will you please pry her hand off our dick? the Major requested irritably as red began to creep into my vision. That's just unpleasant.
No fuckin' kidding! I snapped, ready to tear her apart for violating my no-more-than-two-buttons rule.
Please tell me you feel as dirty as I do, he pleaded, distracting me from doing precisely that. If he knew what he'd just prevented, he would have kept his mouth shut.
I have every intention of takin' a bath in Purell when all this is through, I assured him, taking in deep breaths through my nose and trying not to lose it.
I had just closed my hand around Harpy Bitch's wrist to fulfill the Major's request and satiate my need to get her fuckin' hands off me when the front door opened and light flooded the room.
Perfect timing! At least you're good for something, Douchebag, I said to myself and the Major with relief.
He stood there, staring at his nearly naked girlfriend sitting in another man's lap for what seemed like forever, his shock radiating out of him like a beacon in a storm. Sharon stared back, frozen, her hand still obviously in a place it shouldn't be, which needed to stop because my nausea was becoming unbearable, I felt like I was going to jump out of my skin and the red was thickening.
I needed to jumpstart things before I lost it, so I used the part of my gift that wasn't fucked up to siphon the drunkenness out of Harpy Bitch. That, in addition to Christian's sudden appearance, knocked her into sobriety with ruthlessness. She scrambled off my lap so quick she banged into the coffee table before she stumbled to stand before the man she loved, and man was that love blasting out of her in a startlingly strong and sickly sweet wave. There was also panic and confusion. Even though I didn't feel any better now that she was off me, that pleased me immensely.
Then, as I'd planned, I used the last of my ability to project to magnify Christian's sense of betrayal and heartache tenfold. Oddly enough, there was no rage, but there was about to be … but then I thought better of it. Wouldn't it be worse for Harpy Bitch if Christian wasn't that angry with her? Just so hurt and so betrayed and so defeated that he could never even look at her again? I did decide to give him a dose of bitterness just for the hell of it.
"Sharon?" Christian questioned, his voice soft, almost … broken? If I didn't feel so shitty, I would have felt guilty for that. "What is this?"
I got up from the couch gracefully and Christian's eyes zeroed in on my gaping belt, unbuttoned pants and the sliver of my underwear that was showing. He swallowed hard at the sight, more dejection leaking out of him.
"Who are you?" he asked me as I walked past him to pick up my T-shirt. I had no intention of putting it on. Not after she had put her grubby little paws on it.
I shrugged and said, "Sorry, man," without really sounding all that sorry, even though I, unexpectedly, was. For him, at least. Harpy Bitch had this coming. Christian would get over this. It might take a while but I could tell that about him just the same as I could tell that Sharon wouldn't.
I left my other shirt on the floor and moved towards the door.
Don't forget the hat! the Major exclaimed suddenly. We love the hat!
I'll buy you a new goddamn hat, asshole! I need to get the fuck out of here RIGHT NOW or the God of War is gonna come out to play!
Fine! he sulked, but he knew it was true, and he disliked the God of War as much as I did, if only because neither one of us had any semblance of control when he took over.
I walked out the door without a backward glance, listening as Sharon's world came crashing down around her.
Unfortunately I couldn't even enjoy my victory. The nausea, how much I'd been touched, the red tint … I couldn't take it. I sped off at vampire speed, not giving a fuck about the potential consequences.
I only made it a few blocks before I stumbled to a stop in an alley and threw up all the whiskey from tonight and the blood I drank on the brief hunting trip I took this afternoon.
You have got to be the first vampire ever to upchuck, the Major commented with interest. At least he wasn't amused. You did good, Jasper.
I must have stood there, hunched over, for five minutes vomiting until there was nothing left, and then I dry heaved for God only knows how much longer. But I couldn't stay standing still forever. That sense of restless misery and the addition of clawing, suffocating panic were overtaking me, consuming me. I was shaking, jittery like I'd chugged a thousand Red Bulls, and I needed to get out of here, so I ran.
I managed to make it to the Ohio River, stopping twice more to vomit yet again, and dove in before everything went black.
oOo
I didn't know how long I'd been MIA when I finally came back to myself and resurfaced. A quick survey of my surroundings brought on a sense of relief; I didn't appear to have left the Ohio River for however long I'd been out of commission. Then again, I wasn't where I'd been when I jumped into the river, so I could have been wrong.
I still felt sick but it was tolerable now, as much as something like that can be anyway, and the red was gone. Small blessings and all that, I guess.
As luck would have it, my wallet was still in the back pocket of my sopping jeans. Since I was still shirtless from my little wargame, I needed to buy a new one. I needed to buy new everything, since it all reeked of the river and Sharon. That's right, the scent of Harpy Bitch still clung to me after hours in the water of the most polluted river in the United States. If I wanted to keep my nausea under control that had to change. Plus, I wasn't fond of the water-logged look I was currently sporting. The whole "No shoes, No Shirt, No Service" policy most stores endorsed would only be slightly problematic. My projection was gone again, but I was still a charming son of a bitch, and I didn't plan to linger, so any salesperson wouldn't be a match for my winning personality.
By the time I was newly outfitted in dry clothes and had made it back to my car in the public parking garage on foot, fifty minutes had elapsed. I had found out through my keen hearing during my time in the clothing store that it was Thursday, and the clock on my dash read 12:06 pm. That meant I had spent thirty-two hours, give or take a few minutes, doing God knows what.
I dropped heavily into the driver's seat of the Mustang, the supple leather and memory foam conforming to my body in a way that would have been heavenly under different circumstances. Since I was still jittery as fuck, it didn't have its normal effect. I slammed my head into my already broken steering wheel. The force caused another part of it to crack and break, the piece between the two fissures clattering to floor beneath my feet. I still didn't care.
Images of Harpy Bitch were swirling together with memories of Maria and Savannah. My stomach was clenching painfully, and my head was spinning; panic was closing in on me again. In a rush, I threw the driver's side door open and leaned out just in time to vomit again. It was mostly pearlescent venom with only minute traces of the blood I'd drunk hours ago and the amber hue of the leftover remnants of whiskey. I hadn't thought there was anything left to expel. Hell, as far as I knew, vampires couldn't even throw up. It wasn't a natural physiological reaction for us unless we forced ourselves to, like when we ate human food for example, but I had done it countless times over the last hours.
You're gonna be fine, you know, the Major said, speaking for the first time since I emerged from the river. His tone was surprisingly soothing but there was no remorse in it. We had done what needed to be done, no matter what detriment to ourselves it had caused and got to wreak a little havoc and cause some pain along the way. There wouldn't be. The Major didn't do remorse anyway. You'll get there. You always do. We always do. It's not like I'm goin' anywhere, so I'll be here to help.
I snorted derisively. I was beginning to wonder if I had ever been fine, and that he, of all people would help me get that way? Doubtful.
I may antagonize you and do my best to drive you crazy, but I'm still on your side, he informed me seriously. I will always be on your side, even if you are a turd I will never be able to shit out. We are a team, you and I.
The sincerity that blasted through from a part of me that was me but distinctly not, made my head spin even more. The Major's words were reassuring though.
When I was certain I was done throwing up, I heaved the rest of my ironically exhausted body back in the car and shut the door before I laid my head back against the headrest. My eyes fluttered closed and I basked in the cloud-cloaked, early-December Louisville sunlight. It wasn't as dreary as Forks was and the warmth of it penetrating my hard skin felt good. It was also good that my window had the standard vampire-issue tint to them and that I was parked underneath a slab of thick concrete that partially blocked me from direct exposure to the sun.
I lost track of time as I rested there, as I did my best to conjure up images of the ocean and the sound of its waves to replace my memories of Maria, Savannah and Harpy Bitch. When I finally felt like I could at least force them into the background—it would be days before I would be able to lock them away entirely, or rather until something else came along to bust the lock on its compartment open, after an event like this—I knew it was time for me to check back in to reality. If I got back to normal, or as close to it as I could, it might help to dispel some of this unpleasantness. I desperately needed to or I would lose it again.
oOo
I didn't know if I was going back to Forks yet, though I had started to drive in that direction. As I drove, however, I lost my still tentative grip on the memories that had been haunting me. In an effort to get myself back under control, I sought out the closest body of water: Patoka Lake in Indiana. I was now camped out on one of the smaller islands off the shore.
The sound of the gentle waves lapping at the rocks and sand of said island had its typical effect on my state of mind. It soothed the chaos. Not entirely but enough. I couldn't get my head to empty as I generally could, that never happened so soon after an episode like this, but I had found enough peace to separate myself from the memories and let my thoughts drift to other things as said images lingered on the edges.
Luckily, the Major had quieted, giving me the opportunity to heal as much as I could. As comforting as his declaration that we were a team was, his constant chatter would only hinder that, and he knew it.
My thoughts, of course, had drifted to the one person I didn't want to contemplate, but I couldn't seem to help myself. I'd tried countless times to pull them away from her, but they always wandered back. Eventually, I just gave in.
Why do you ruin everything?
I had never been able to get those words, her words, and the sting of them out of my head. Until now, I hadn't thought on anything about our fight aside from them and how angry I was. I would have preferred that it stay that way, but that wasn't to be.
The events of that afternoon were now playing on a continuous, relentless loop just as those words had been for days now. Since I could no longer avoid them, I didn't have much choice but to analyze the situation, as much as I would also have preferred to steer clear of it. I was just so fuckin' tired of trying to make sense of things, and I was already so damn exhausted.
I thought about how Bella had been avoiding me and how I'd wanted, needed, to fix it. About her date with Tyler, my violent reaction to it and her response to that reaction. About my slightly ill-worded claim that I didn't give a shit whom she fucked and her attempt to slap me. Her pinning me to the wall. Why did one of us always end up pinned against something when we fought?
Why do you ruin everything?
I thought about her apology and my demand to know why she insisted on testing me. About her claim that she knew how dangerous I am; her dare for me to kill her and my half-assed attempt to fulfill it.
Why do you ruin everything?
I thought about how she'd claimed she knew I wouldn't kill her because, though I was haunted, I was good. About her abrupt about-face when she told me to stay the fuck out of her business, as though she'd never made those claims in the first place, and then her brazenly stealing my motorcycle. About how she'd gotten me to project.
I thought about how I'd needed to drive, how I had ended up in Louisville because of it and the events that had followed my arrival.
As all this passed through my head, I came to a realization. I had been completely out of line. I had absolutely no right to react the way I did, and I wasn't sure why I had.
God, I'm such a dick! I lamented with a tortured sigh, bringing my hands to my face and scrubbing them roughly against my skin. I had really fucked up.
Now the question was, how was I going to fix it?
oOo
A/N: And there we have it. Jasper's POV. There was some Jasper/Major bonding that I had a great time writing and some revenge I loved writing too, though parts of it was uncomfortable for me to do. And, Jasper is making progress! At any rate, I hope you enjoyed it.
The next chapter is the dance and some huge things happen in it! :)
Oh, and I should probably mention that Gitmo refers to a Naval base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, and is essentially a prison camp. It is used to detain extraordinarily dangerous prisoners, to interrogate prisoners in an optimal setting, and to prosecute prisoners for war crimes.
Until next time ...
