End of Day (Jack & Jill 1)

“Doubtful. You probably deserved it.”

Pleasure spread across her face as she stepped back, taking another swig of beer. “I’m Jillian. And I’m sure you’re right. I probably had it coming for one thing or another. But thanks for your concern.”

He stared at her, willing her to back off. Her complete disregard for his personal space pissed him off even if his dick was having a lapse in judgement. “I wasn’t concerned.”

“Oh, well then that just shows your lack of manners for pointing out a woman’s flaws to her. You must be a real lady killer.” She gestured with her head. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Jackson.”

AJ’s head pounded with dizzying confusion. He couldn’t figure out how this sick and twisted couple found their way into Peaceful Woods. The rest of the residents may have had impaired vision, but the moment Jackson turned his attention away from the most wretchedly hideous car AJ had ever seen, he knew—Jackson and Jillian were siblings. Their eyes weren’t similar, they were identical. Identical shades of a rare golden-amber. Fucking inbreds.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Jackson offered his hand.

AJ returned a firm shake while he inspected Jackson’s face that resembled a boxer’s after a title fight.

“Don’t mind my ugly mug. Jillian got me drunk; it’s the only way she can land a solid hit.”

Jillian tilted her head, giving Jackson a subtle shake and challenging glare.

AJ had seen and heard enough. The unexpectedness of the situation crippled his thoughts. He couldn’t remember the real reason for his visit.

“Anyway…” he cleared his throat “…I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m not home much, but my son is here most weekends so maybe just keep things … appropriate for his young eyes and ears.”

Jackson and Jillian shared an indecipherable look—maybe amusement but most definitely disrespect.

“How old is your son?” Jillian asked.

“Young,” AJ replied with a matter-of-fact finality.

“Young, huh? What two numbers is that between?” she goaded.

AJ’s heart hammered as he clenched his jaw, reaching deep for control. His brain was fucked-up, but not without cause. Never before had a woman made him feel so enraged. And never before had such lewd acts felt so tempting … so inevitable. He’d found a woman who could take pain. But Jillian didn’t just take it—she beseeched it.

Chapter Four

Jillian’s mind lingered on the image of AJ long after he’d vanished from her sight. It was obvious he made weightlifting his bitch, his definition a little more than just long and lean. The short black hair with a few highlights of grey and his strong jaw bared resemblance to Hugh Jackman. His broad shoulders seemed to bear the weight of the world as much as his dark intense eyes reflected it.

Confusion set in. Did she want to lick every inch of him or beat the shit out of him just to see if she could? What did he look like in uniform and would the sight of it awaken the demons?

The buzz cut he kept would prevent her controlling hands from making claim, but Jillian envisioned her fingernails digging, ripping, and scarring the muscled terrain of his back while his stormy eyes held hers, narrowing with every stab of pain. Pain she knew he would feel at her merciless touch. In the suppressed, rational corner of her twisted mind, she knew he defined wrongness and at least a dozen other synonyms. He woke something inside her that threatened her new existence.

Was there enough room in her head for this Jillian woman and the life she was trying to make for herself? Was there room in her heart to build a wall—a tomb—around her past and start anew? She had to find out because every day without Luke in her life felt like death, and there was nothing worse than feeling dead but still being alive. Maybe if she let her body move on, her mind would catch up.

“So AJ’s the sergeant?”

“Senior Master Sergeant Monaghan.” Jillian stood at attention and saluted.

“A guy in a uniform. Sounds like trouble … as in a mindfuck of trouble.” Jackson frowned as he turned and walked inside the house.

Jillian followed. “Maybe, but don’t worry, he’s not my type. I’m trying to rehabilitate my uniform ‘fetish’ to strictly FedEx and UPS—bigger packages.”

Jackson sighed like he’d been choking on the words he wanted to say but decided to gut them back down. “Let’s rip this wallpaper off today.” He pinched a peeling corner and pulled a small strip from the wall.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“No, Jess—Jillian.” Jackson closed his eyes. “You don’t.” His pain was hers too. They were bonded by so much more than blood.

Jillian couldn’t remember a time where she didn’t sense his thoughts, feel his pain. She pressed her forehead to his back and wrapped her arms around him.

“You have a jaded history with older women, but I didn’t get all judgmental with you when Greta showed such blatant interest.”