Page 16 of Condemned Soul

“Course I can, honey.” She smiles at him affectionately before kissing his cheek and sliding on a pair of plastic gloves. There's a lot of screaming for the next few minutes, then comes a loud clink when the woman who I’m assuming is Mary-Ann drops the bullet she just retrieved from Jack’s leg into a dish.

“Keep him drinking while I sew this up,” she tells Tac, who gets to work grabbing another bottle, while Jimmer and Brian work together to hold Jack down. I watch the woman stitching him up and feel so useless. I can’t help feeling jealous too as she places another kiss on Jimmer’s cheek when she’s done.

“He should be good, just watch out for infection.” Snapping the gloves off her hands she starts walking toward me, and I quickly step back and into the shadows as she moves toward the bathroom door. She stops before she opens the door like she can sense me and when she slowly turns around, I feel my heart beating out my chest.

“I’ve heard about you, you know.” Her smile is every bit as fake as her tits.

“I…I…”

“Jimmer’s latest little plaything. You're cuter than I imagined.” She laughs at me spitefully. “I’m Mary-Ann, his old lady.” She holds out her hand for me to shake, and I try to keep mine steady as I take it. “I’m sorry I can’t hang around, I’ve got to get back to our little girl.” She turns away from me.

“Wait, you and Jimmer have a kid together?” I feel as if someone just pulled a rug out from under me. Jimmer has never mentioned an old lady or a kid to me before. Now I know the real reason why he keeps me away from this place.

“A beautiful little girl with eyes just like her daddy’s. Next time I’m gonna give him a son.” Her smile fades and suddenly she turns on me, slamming her hand into my shoulder and pushing me against the wall. “Your pussy may be a little fresher than mine. But I’m the one who he comes home to, sweetheart. You bear that in mind next time you’re jumpin’ on his dick.” She sniggers as she backs down and disappears into the bathroom.

Seeing the daylight still creaking in through the open side door, I quickly race through it before my tears start to come.

“It was complicated and stupid.” I shake off the memory and focus on what's important. Ella is right, maybe I should be looking at this as a fresh start. I just don’t quite know how I want to make it yet.

“Well, you're here now. Nothing’s complicated or stupid about that.” She smiles as she stands and lifts up Sophia.

I lie awake, looking up at the ceiling and thinking about Joanne. Again. Having her here is unearthing far too many memories. My knuckles are sore from the number of times I laid ‘em into the men in Jessie’s basement who threatened her. I enjoyed watching their blood spill and causing their suffering. And it may have been a while since I got my hands dirty, but I was never gonna let anyone else here take that pleasure.

It’s strange that, despite all that's happened between us, that urge to protect her is still inside me. I still want to be the one who does everything for her. I should hate her for it, but I kinda like how it makes me feel. Joanne being here is a distraction I could really do without, and yet I’m grateful for that too. I can’t think about all this being over. About losing everything I’ve worked so hard to build and letting everyone I care about down. But every man has his limits. I hold a lotta power, but not enough to get me outta this one.

I just wish I could go back to a time when things were simpler and the only worry I had was losing her.

I throw another stone at her bedroom window, feeling like the biggest fool in Manitou Springs right now, but I’m determined to get what I came here for. I should be sinking scotch and celebrating the fact we found the Bastard who shot at Jack and sent him to his grave. But instead, here I am throwing stones at a girl’s window like some love-sick fuckin’ puppy.

“Joanne!” I whisper-yell her name, and when her sash window slides up and she pokes out her head the relief I feel actually scares me.

“Will ya come down here? I wanna talk.”

I see her long hair flowing over one shoulder and the stern look on her face and decide not to give her an option. I’m going to her.

Using the railings on her porch to scale onto its roof, I climb the tiles up to her window.

“Jimmer, get down and leave, if my parents catch you they’ll go crazy.”

“I don’t give a damn about your parents.” I lift myself up on her window ledge and let myself in, dusting off my hands as I look around her room.

“All decked out for the perfect princess.” I chuckle to myself when I look around the pale pink walls and see her Miss Manitou Springs banner hanging over the full-length, Victorian-style mirror she has on the other side of the room.

“I’m serious, Jimmer, you need to leave.” She takes me by surprise when she shoves me in the chest.

“Not until you tell me what I did wrong.” I fold my arms and look at her sternly. When I realized she’d left the other morning, I debated letting her get away. I told myself it was probably what was best for her. But something that felt a lot like desperation has dragged me here tonight, and I ain’t gonna leave without answers.

“You were happy, Jo. What made ya leave? Was it what happened to Jack? Because I swear, I would never let anyone hurt ya.”

“You're too old for me.” She turns her head away so she doesn’t have to look at me.

“Bullshit.” I won’t have none of that, this girl is old beyond her years, we’ve spent hours over the past few weeks talking. Most nights I’ve chosen her company over my brothers, and that’s never happened to me before.

“Come on, Jimmer, you're the leader of an organized crime gang and I’m a college student. I may be young and a little naive, but I refuse to be one of your whores.”

“One of my what?” I shake my head at her in shock. “Joanne, what the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?”

“I’m talking about your old lady and the little girl you got together. The ones you go home to after you’re done fucking me.” She’s looking right at me now, and I wish she wasn’t because I’m getting no fuckin’ pleasure from the pain in her eyes.

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