Surviving Faith (The JackholeS, #2) Read online

  "I went to the store to stock up on tampons. You guys were still practicing and I thought I could get home before you finished. Then I passed by the frozen yogurt shop."

  I kissed the top of her head. Her love of ice cream had put us in some pretty spectacular situations. "He was on the patio of the Mexican restaurant next to the grocery store. It was surreal. He called me over like nothing had ever happened."

  Her arm broke out in goosebumps under my hand. I stroked them away as I ground my teeth, listening to her as she explained that fucking dick thinking he could talk to her.

  "I tried to stay calm as I reminded him of the restraining order. When he told me his dad had the order revoked, I ran."

  Placing my finger under her chin I lifted her face so I could kiss her lips. I needed to taste her. To remind her that running was not an option. My body pulsed with rage at every word but I didn't want to scare her with my anger.

  The asshole was unhinged, and I didn't realize how high up his dad was to have the police under his thumb. The thought was horrifying. I held her tighter as images of him hurting her assaulted me.

  Faith was different. She was it for me. I had feelings for my ex-girlfriend, Melissa. When I helped her get away from her abusive ex, it wasn't for love. I understood now, I just wanted to save her. The guilt I carried around over her death was because I felt like I failed her, but I came to the realization she had been the one who’d failed herself by going back to her ex.

  If Jason got his hands on Faith, guilt wouldn't be a strong enough word. Without Faith, there would be no life for me. All meaning would cease to exist right along with my soul.

  I rubbed her back, both of us silent. Suddenly, she jumped up and ran downstairs. Terror rushed through me as I ran after her. I caught up with her as she unlocked her trunk, and pulled out a gallon of chocolate milk.

  My panic subsided. I shook my head at the relief on her face when she pressed her hand to the jug, testing to see if it was still cold. Only my Faith would be worried about liquid chocolate while her ex was lurking about. That girl had some screwed-up priorities. Or maybe it was because she was beginning to realize I would protect her, and she was safe.

  While I helped her gather the rest of her groceries, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. When my head snapped to full attention the figure was gone.

  “What is it?” Faith asked, as we made our way into the house.

  “When was the last time you talked to Trent?” I tried to keep cool.

  Trent, her ex-friend who’d confessed his undying love to Faith, tried to portray the innocent, boy-next-door facade behind his black-rimmed glasses. He didn't fool me. Faith didn't see him for who he really was. She’d gotten a taste of his true self when she’d turned him down after he confessed his love for her, but the second I saw him, I knew I needed to keep an eye on him.

  The urge to run after him and confront him was strong. If it weren’t for the fact Faith had just let me grind on her like a dog in heat, I would have. I didn't want to leave her alone with her thoughts. Giving her time to think would be stupid. I knew her; she would convince herself what we had done was wrong, so it wasn't worth the risk. Besides, I wasn't sure it had been Trent, but the thought alone made me edgy.

  “Uhm, the last time I saw him was when he came into the bar. He tried calling me a couple of times, but I haven’t answered the phone. Why?” she asked as we put the groceries away.

  “I thought I saw him walking down the street.”

  “Huh, he doesn’t even live around here. It was probably someone who looked like him,” she said, shrugging it off.

  “Yeah,” I answered, pushing my worry aside.

  The rest of the day, we employed war tactics, torturing one another when we found the opportunity. I took my chance when she bent down to reach into the refrigerator. I leaned over and sucked on the back of her neck. She moaned quietly as she braced herself against the door.

  I felt pretty smug thinking she wouldn't be able to get her revenge now that everyone was home. She was patient though, and exacted her retribution when we were on the couch watching TV. She leaned over, pretending to get something, and brushed her hand across my half-hard dick. I had to readjust myself on the couch to hide my erection. She was going to kill me.

  As I snuck into her room later that night, my body hummed with excitement. We didn't have all of our issues resolved, but with every touch, I hoped I was breaking down her defenses and burrowing into her heart.

  When I pulled her to my side, I grabbed her chin and lifted her lips to mine. All the touching we'd been doing drove me crazy. I couldn't wait a second longer to taste her.

  The kiss started off gentle. When she pushed her fingers into my hair, tugging at it, gentleness was thrown out the window. Growling, I bit her bottom lip sucking it into my mouth as I yanked her closer.

  When my bare hands skimmed under her shirt, the torture I put her through must have finally gotten to her. She straddled me, fisted her hands in my hair and plunged her tongue into my mouth. Her little moans sent electric pulses through me, and with every nip, I was pushed closer to the edge. She drove me crazy as she shamelessly rubbed up and down on my boxer-covered cock.

  I wrapped my arms around her and flipped us over. I needed to take control before the fragile thread of my sanity snapped. I pressed my dick into her heat wanting to be as close to heaven as I could.

  Down her face, I rained light kisses until I reached her neck. I sucked on it, grazing my teeth over the sensitive area as she thrashed her head back and forth. She moaned loudly, and tensed.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, bothered by her mood shift.

  “The boys,” she answered.

  “I can’t control myself when I'm with you, and any resolve was removed when I had my first taste of you. When your affair with Mr. Tampon's over, I'm going to drag you up here and do what I’ve been wanting to do since the moment I saw you.” I held back from telling her she was mine. It hurt to keep myself from claiming her even if it was with my words.

  “Deal.”

  My balls squeezed from her eager agreement. I moved off her and pulled her to my side. She needed to get used to the idea of us before taking it further. I’d been granted a week to bust a hole through her walled heart. Once I made a crack, I would work on obliterating it.

  She was quiet as we lay in the dark. I could hear her chewing on her bottom lip, something she did when deep in thought.

  “What are you thinking, Slick?” I asked, running my finger over her pebbled nipple, afraid she was going to push me back into friend territory again.

  “That I'm sick of fighting this thing between us,” she admitted, throwing me for a loop.

  “About fucking time,” I told her as my chest expanded with emotion. I pulled her on top of me and kissed her with all the passion she’d unlocked with her confession.

  “Kill, you have to know this thing with Jason isn’t over. I'm sure he has something planned.”

  Was she really trying to give me an out? What she didn't understand was I couldn't leave if I’d wanted to. I knew I didn't have her complete trust, but I refused to let her go, and I wouldn't let her get hurt. Jason would have to be dealt with. What she needed to realize was that together we were unstoppable.

  “Faith, I've been with you from the moment I noticed your arms tucked in your shirt like a T-rex at Ray’s. I'm not going anywhere, and we'll take care of Jason when the time comes. Now that I have you, I'm not letting you go,” I said with utter sincerity.

  She smiled, and I felt her body melt into mine, my words reassuring her. Knowing Faith though, she probably was about to argue and I was done fighting tonight. So I stopped any further discussion by settling on top of her and kissing her until she lost herself in the passion we’d both held onto for too long.

  Chapter 2

  KILL

  Contentment washed over me as Faith cuddled into my arms. The instant I saw her walk into the bar, I knew she was going to change
everything. Having my first real taste of her solidified it.

  “How did you and the boys meet?” she asked as the sun started to rise, pushing the magical night into a memory.

  The innocent question falling from her pouty lips threw me back in time. A time I refused to forget, as it had molded me into who I was today.

  “At my Grandparents funeral,” I stated bluntly. The force of the jagged memory tore me open, allowing my insecurities to seep out.

  “I’m sorry,” she responded, most likely too shocked to say more.

  I squeezed her, bringing her tighter against me. The warmth of her body soothed me as my past assaulted me. The horrible truth was with their death my real family emerged, and I wouldn't change a thing.

  I laughed darkly at this realization. Faith reached out and ran her hands over my abdomen in a comforting caress. Blazing heat followed everywhere her hand stroked. I stilled her movement by entangling her hand in mine. Having a raging hard-on while telling her about my grandparents’ death was too fucked up, even for me.

  “It was the worst and best day of my life.”

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “It’s okay. You should know. It's kind of a long story. Are you up for it?" I asked, placing soft kisses on the top of her head, unable to stop touching her.

  She leaned up and kissed me softly on the lips. "If you're alright with telling me, yes, I'm up for it."

  I winked my affirmation. The knot in my throat made words impossible. As she settled back into her spot on my chest, I took a deep breath, dislodging the lump and my memories in the process. The movement caused her head to rise and fall, allowing her scent of vanilla and lavender to permeate my senses. My mind rewound to the past, pulling me along for the ride.

  I never met my parents. The only information I had about my mom was from my grandparents’ hate-filled rants. I desperately tried to be the perfect grandson, someone they could be proud of, and to make up for my mom’s mistakes. As hard as I tried, I never seemed to make them happy.

  My grandpa was a lawyer at one of the biggest law firms in Portland, and my grandma was involved in every charity imaginable. I was left alone a lot, having to keep myself entertained.

  During my alone time, I taught myself to play the guitar. I would have concerts in my room, singing and playing in front of my dresser mirror while pretending I was a famous rockstar everyone loved. My grandparents thought it was just a phase. They started to worry when I won the talent contest in sixth grade and recognized my passion.

  When I was little, my grandpa had drilled into my head he wanted me to follow in his footsteps and become a lawyer. I assumed it was to help erase some of the disgrace my mom earned me. His angry face was burned into my memory the day I told him I wanted to be a musician.

  That was the first time I purposely refused to be the perfect grandson. The only time my actions made his temper escalate into violence. He grabbed my guitar from me and smashed it on the floor. I was only fifteen. While I cried over the destruction, he had the nerve to tell me it was for the best and I would thank him someday.

  I pulled further away from them, staying out late, not checking in, refusing the farce I had held onto for so long. One night I came home drunk, wanting nothing more than my bed. My grandma was sitting on the couch crying on my grandpa's shoulder. He looked up at me with disgust. My grandma hurtled insults at me as she pummeled my chest with her fists. Screaming at me about how selfish I was, and all they’d wanted was to give me a good life and I kept throwing it in their face. She told me I was behaving exactly like my mom.

  Her accusation caused shame to surge through me. She was right. I wasn't proud of what I was doing, and I didn't want to end up like my mom. I didn't want to end up like my grandparents either.

  I became the dutiful grandson after that night. At a crossroads about how to proceed with my life, I decided to play nice until I could make a decision about my future.

  I picked up side jobs to earn money. My first purchase was a new guitar. Partying no longer held any appeal for me. At seventeen, I was already tired of it all. I started playing again to fill the void.

  I applied to the schools I was expected to and I was accepted to them all. My grandparents had been so happy they’d succeeded in turning around my mother's son.

  My grandma had wanted to throw a party for me, her Stepford grandson. The child she always wanted. While out picking up decorations for the party, they were hit head-on by a drunk driver.

  At eighteen, I had to bury the only family I had. Thankfully, my grandpa, the most anal man ever, had already made the arrangements. The partners of his firm went for the harshest penalty during the trial, and I received enough compensation I wouldn’t have to work for the rest of my life.

  My grandpa had specified in his will I was to attend a university and become a lawyer. Cementing me in his law firm as soon as I passed the bar. Floyd, one of the partners knew I had no desire to follow in his footsteps. He argued with the firm at how unfair the expectation seemed for an eighteen-year-old boy who had lost everything in one night. He fought hard, and the partners finally relented.

  The funeral was a blur. After Floyd picked me up, I shut down. People would offer me their condolences. I would shake my head not registering their words.

  As people had droned on, the numbness overtook my whole body until it was a shield. Every word was deflected off me. When it was over, I excused myself to the bathroom, unable to endure any more sympathetic gestures. I told Floyd to go to the plots without me, intending to get a ride down later.

  When I came out of the bathroom, the caskets were gone, and there was an older African-American lady flitting around the room, cleaning up all of the discarded tissues and other trash left behind. She’d looked up at me with the clearest set of whiskey-brown eyes.

  “They just left, honey." She barely made it to my chest, she was so small, but her strength had been evident in the set of her shoulders under her floral dress.

  "I was supposed to ride with my grandparents," I mumbled stupidly, still too deadened by the situation.

  Her eyes widened as she’d realized who I was. Instead of offering me a look of pity, she’d just smiled. “Don't worry about it, baby. My grandson will take you down. He drives me to church, so I can help the pastor clean up. I can get a ride from one of the other ladies later.”

  She took off to find him before I could decline her offer. That's how Grandma B and Jet entered my life.

  When Jet looked at Grandma B with his matching eyes, the love poured out of him. His mop of hair hung over his face framing his smile. His caramel-colored skin had been largely covered by his long sleeve shirt, effectively hiding his tatted-up arms. They weren't covered with the generous amount of inked-cleavage as they are now. The majority of his ink happened later.

  It seemed as if Grandma B knew we were going to be friends before we did. She gave Jet a hug when he told her he would come back to get her. She refused his offer, telling him he needed to stay with me, and she would find her way back home.

  Jet shook his head, silently telling me there was no arguing with Grandma B. So, I accepted her hug like Jet had and turned to climb into a mammoth-sized truck with a guy I just met.

  Jet rambled the whole time, filling in the silence with easy conversation, and I was thankful for it. I couldn’t be alone with my thoughts any longer without going insane.

  He told me the story of his mom, Grandma B’s daughter, and how when she found out she was pregnant, she had planned to abort him. Grandma B convinced her to give the baby to her—at a price. The day he was born, his mom checked herself out of the hospital under her own recognizance, taking her money and never looking back.

  Jet was completely open about his past; his candid account of his upbringing prompted me to tell him my story as well, solidifying our friendship before we made it to the plots.

  I stayed until everyone left. Just staring down at the caskets. Jet stood next to me the whole time, quie
tly supporting me. While we stood there, two more guys had joined us. The first time the JackholeS had stood together.

  Van was as big and scary looking as he is now. His bald head shone against the sinking sun. The tattoos and piercings had made him look menacing, and I was uneasy as he walked over to us. He shook Jet's hand, telling him Grandma B had sent them to check on us. D was tall and skinny, especially when standing next to Van. He had long brown hair that hid his hazel eyes, giving off a shy quality to him. It was obvious he was some type of athlete, but his demeanor exuded anxiety.

  I’d later found out through Jet that Van was the pastor’s son and D was their foster child. I can’t explain it, but when all of us gathered together, I felt like I had found my place in the world. Fate had taken my grandparents away but gave me something better.

  We ended up over at my newly-acquired house. I think we instinctively knew I hadn’t wanted to go to the reception, and I definitely didn't want to be alone. We stayed up all night, bonding as we got to know each other more.

  Van explained his dad was a religious nut and was extremely disappointed in the person he turned out to be. This was how D had come into the picture. Van’s parents had thought a foster child would be so grateful for being saved, they would be able to mold him into their idea of the perfect son. D kept his eyes locked on Van as he spoke, pain radiating from him.

  We all had our pasts to deal with, and I knew it was going to be a long battle for all of us to heal.

  The guys left the next day, but I knew they would be back. We had an unspoken connection. We were family now. I wasn't surprised when, not two hours later, there was a knock on my door. Van stood in front of me, two duffle bags over his shoulder.

  I moved aside so he could come in as he insisted he wouldn’t be staying long, and as soon as he found a job he would find his own place. I told him he was ridiculous. I had a huge house with more than enough room, and money wasn't an issue. There was no reason for him to leave.

  That night, Van paced the floor as he explained what happened when he had gone home. His parents accused him of doing drugs and other deplorable acts, corrupting D in the process. He couldn’t take their screaming any longer. After his escape he was mentally beating himself up over leaving D alone.