Playing Jacks

xii. Life's a Game We're Meant to Lose, Part 2

Unable to part with her, Jacks hovers.  It’s pathetic- a sporadic user turned chain-smoker in the last hour before he’s cut off- but it’s the only way to keep his chest intact.  Pierced, it’s a wonder he doesn’t bleed through his pores or, much more likely, his tear ducts; but he manages to keep heart and blood within the confines of his skin- for now. 

Chest still bared and moist from their shower, Jacks ignores his own state.  If her plush body must be covered, then he will do it.  He selects the simple jeans and watches them cover her opulent legs.  The chocolate brown lace that covers her amble chest earns those beauteous mounds a tender kiss good-bye.  He settles the sweater over her torso, smoothing the knit over her hips himself.  His fingers pull closed the zipper that seal her small, precious feet into her boots. 

And then he kisses her.  Hands woven in the soft hair, still warm from the hair dryer, he stood over her where she sat on the edge of their eternity and drank in whatever cocktail of pheromones pulled him away from his personal purgatory and enticed him into this- whatever this is.  One fact is painfully clear: if he thought he’d get his fill of her in one night, he was painfully mistaken. 

Pulling her onto the bed, he cups his body behind hers.  His arms around her, his hands show her a small gun. “Do you know how to use this?”

Sophie swallows and reaches for the small, black weapon.  She turns it side-to-side to inspect it, then with quick precision, pulls back the chamber and loads the gun.  She braces it- one hand overlapping the other- demonstrating that she does, in fact, know how to handle it.

It looks so wrong for her pale, manicured hands to hold something so black and deadly but Jacks is suddenly quite grateful her father had wanted boys.  Squeezing her against him, he kisses her neck. “That’s my girl.”  Pride and grief leak into his voice.

Just as quickly, Sophie drops the magazine and clears the chamber- disarming the weapon- before laying it onto the table beside them and turning into Jacks’ bare chest.  She must be terrified, he thinks, because she is huddled against him like a child hiding from a thunderstorm.  Sheltering her in his embrace, he closes his eyes and prays for just a little more time.

The door sounds with a sharp rap and, in tandem, both man and woman think, Already?

“Jacks,” Sophie whispers, her voice laden with grief.

“Shhh,” Jacks hushes, pulling her closer. “It’s going to be alright, Sophie.”

The door splinters on its hinges.

“What the hell?” Jacks demands, pushing himself up from the bed as the room is filled with men.

“What’s going on?” Sophie echoes with panicked confusion.  She isn’t even able to finish the thought before she’s hooded and pinned.

Jacks isn’t caught so quickly and certainly not as easily- but caught he is.  Both man and woman demand explanations but, bound and hooded, no one enlightens them. 

The room is dark- so dark that Sophie wonders if they truly removed the hood that covered her face but the faint whisper of air grazes her cheek, confirming that the thick velvet is truly gone. 

“Ms. Amando, do you know who we are?” A voice clearly asks from everywhere at once.

“If I knew who you were, why would I be screaming, ‘who are you?’ and ‘what are you doing?’ at every possible opportunity?” Sophie answers, her nerves visibly frayed. 

A light flips on- not terribly bright but after the enforced darkness, it seems to glare.  Sophie squints and blinks reflexively, unable to shield her eyes with the hands still bound behind her back.  In front of her sits a plain table with an envelope- her envelope- and a ring of keys.  Beyond it a window that reflects back her own image.