Page 69 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part 2

My own parents. How could they? Is anything in my life even my own?

My world spins around me with too many thoughts to count. How much more of this can I take before I crack? I rub at the ache in my chest, willing it to go away, for all of this to be a dream. But it isn’t, is it?

Riggs takes notice and before I can comprehend what I’m doing, tears blur my vision and the attempt I make to get out of my chair doesn’t work. My legs buckle beneath me, but Riggs scoops me up as I sob.

My stomach rolls, and I have a feeling those beautiful pancakes my Jester made me are going to come back up. “Riggs, I—I’m gonna be sick.”

“Hang in there. I’ll get you to the bathroom.” Riggs places one hand under my knees, the other behind my back, and lifts me from the floor.

“Give us a minute, yeah?” he asks J and Mr. Tucker, but doesn’t wait for a response.

“Sure.”

CHAPTER30

Mr. Tucker refusedto leave until he was certain I would be fine. I’m not fine, and I’m not sure when I will be, but I convinced him I would be alright enough to move our stuff in with the guys and Foxy. After I ripped my insides from my body and Riggs held me for a while so I could cry it out, we finished our conversation.

From what Mr. Tucker has found, my father is involved business wise with Ashton Myers. He’s not sure how deep it goes, but Myers is sitting on many counts of extortion, fraud, and embezzlement. So far, my father isn’t facing charges, but he is connected and, as the investigation continues, they could uncover more.

As far as Jonas’ obsession with me, we have no answers. That was all in the past and we can’t claim anything because the police are in Ashton’s pocket. However, we agreed to connect the lawyers with the FBI and fill them in on what Jonas has been doing since it seems Ashton’s connections don’t span as far as the FBI.

Until then, I’m to stay at the apartment all weekend under the watch of my guards. That they’re here is the only thing leading me to believe something even deeper is going on, that my parents aren’t trying to marry me to Jonas. That bit of hope is the only thing carrying me through the day. As weird as my parents have been, they sent protection. I have to see the good in them. I have to.

It’s the only thing keeping me from going off the deep end.

“How you holding up?” Riggs joins me in the bedroom. I’m laying flat out on the bed, exhausted and ready to drop. On top of moving, I’ve been nothing but a ball of anxious energy, so I’m depleted.

The bed depresses under his weight as he presses a knee to the mattress. His hands make their way up my calves as he moves in between them. He works the muscles deep until I’m groaning in pleasure.

“If you keep doing that, I’m going to be perfect.” His chuckle is everything I need in my life at this moment. Knowing he is here for me is enough.

“What do you say about hopping in the shower? I’ll wash your hair for you, massage the stress out of you.”

“Is that a massage with a happy ending?” I mumble into the sheets, but he knows me well enough already to know what I’m asking him.

“I’m surprised you’re ready to come again. I was sure after last night it would be a couple of days before I’d get to taste that pussy.” The huskiness in his voice does all kinds of naughty things to my insides, winding them up, heating them.

“It seems around you I can’t get enough, Jester,” I say, my voice already turning husky despite my foul mood. I can practically hear the smile forming on his lips.

“Well, in that case, you’d better get your ass in the shower.”

I have to admit,our bed is pretty comfy. Riggs chose a nice one and while I’m not fond of the plain white drapes and bedspread, I am excited to decorate the room with him.

I snuggle down deeper into the covers, pulling them up to my chin as I slide my leg over him and turn into his side. The bed surrounding him is already warm and his scent is swirling around me in my dream-like state. An arm bands around me, pulling me in tighter, guiding my head to his chest.

Our tiny room, inourapartment, is dark, the rickety blinds pulled tight and the curtains shut to keep any light out. Soft echoes of whatever the hell he is watching on the t.v. bounce around us, the glow of the television the only thing that shows the outline of us so utterly entwined under the blankets.

“Do you think we could paint this room like the one in your other apartment?” He sighs, content.

“I was hoping you’d ask, but also, I think I should be the one to do the painting.”

“What an ass.” With that, he laughs and I playfully slap his pec. He flinches beneath me and grabs my hand, lifting my fingers to his mouth. “I mean, I love the Outlaw above the bed, but I would love to see more of your work.”

Instead of discussing more apartment decor, he blurts, “I’m going to get her tattooed on me.”

“Isn’t it bad luck to get your person’s name tattooed on you?” He shifts beneath me and his chest raises on a large inhale.

“Well, for one, it’s not your name, simply a representation of our relationship. And two, while you are the only bout of great luck in my life, I figure we are immune to that rule,” he explains.

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