Colton #2
“But you know who they are, you know who gives the orders, who pulls the strings of this discount court. Or are you not high enough up in the ranks to get that information?” asks Harper, taunting him, bruising his ego before his body.
She circles Bob slowly, laying her empty hand on his shoulder, caressing across his back and neck as she moves.
His nostrils flare at the dig, but he holds his composure.
“This Cigar Club didn’t have any concrete rules about letting women in, but it had never been done before.
They didn’t want to complicate things, and us silly women always seemed to make things messy.
See, I needed those connections to make Cirque happen, to get the permits and licenses I needed, to have little zoning issues overlooked and the fire department to play nice.
I needed to show them I was worth letting in to their special little clubhouse, that I could play the game as well as them.
I bribed and bought my way in, reaching out to their secretaries, wives, mistresses, favorite hookers, you name it.
I played dirty to get people what they most desired, all so I could get a seat at the table.
Eventually, I got a letter welcoming me as the newest member of the club.
They even sent this cigar cutter, engraved for the momentous occasion. ”
She pauses in her story. Her hand now sliding down Bob’s arm as she drops to her knees before him, the fabric of her dress pooling where she kneels. She stops her caress when she reaches his hand, her grip becoming firm.
He looks to where they are connected, and in a split second the silence cracks and chaos pours out.
Bob starts to thrash wildly, trying to yank his hand free of Harper’s hold, but his wrist is strapped so tight to the arm of the chair that the most he can do is pathetically squirm his ass around the seat.
Wade starts to move to the back of Bobs chair to shut him up, but he stops after a step, looking at me before he nods to the scene before us. I nod back, silently thanking him for letting me take this step for her, to show her what I can do.
I walk around Harper and stand at Bobs back, leaning down to curl a hand around his mouth, muffling any screams that might slip out.
Harper smiles at Bob’s attempt to curl his fingers into a fist, gripping his middle finger to lift and separate it from the others, holding the Cigar Cutter to the tip she asks, “Can you see what they engraved on the cutter for me Bob? What they welcomed me with.”
When he doesn’t respond, I grab his hair with my other hand and shove his head down, so he has nowhere else to look but where she directs.
“Oh, sorry. It’s still too far away, let me move it closer so you can see.” She pushes the cutter further up his finger until it rests against his first knuckle.
“It says Trophy Bimbo. That’s what they thought of me Bob. It wasn’t my name or the date I became a member. It was a reminder that no matter what strings I pulled to get a seat at the table, I wasn’t welcome to pull up a chair.”
Looking up into his eyes, she slowly presses the ends together, the blades beginning their slow cut through flesh. I can feel Bob’s mouth open and close under my hand, mostly grunts and groans as he tries to hold it together.
“I didn’t have a seat at their table, so I broke it.
One by one, I dismantled businesses and crumbled marriages.
I emptied bank accounts and stole high profile clients to pass onto rival companies.
One by one, I emptied their seats, until all that was left was the shell of a club that once served the men I ruined and replaced. ”
She releases the cutters, the springs pulling the blades back, crimson shining on their surface.
“Now, your little Jester wants to use what I built as a prop while they build up their kingdom? I will not be used,” Harper grits out, the last few words emphasized by the cutters slowly gliding further down his finger until it reaches the second knuckle.
“So, I’ll say it again, who is the Jester? I want a name.” She looks at me and I cautiously remove my hand from around his mouth, giving him the opportunity to answer.
“Go to hell,” he spits out. Harper takes a deep breath, relaxing her posture, turning her face from his to lock eyes with me.
In a flash she pushes down on each side of the cutter, severing the finger as my hand clamps down around Bobs mouth once more.
His tough guy act cracks as he screams into my palm, his pain pouring out through his cry.
Our gaze stays locked in place as Wade steps forward to hand Harper a towel, pressing it against the nub in the middle of Bob’s hand, blood streaming around the arm of the chair to pool at it’s feet.
She doesn’t care about Bob right now, he will survive. All her focus is locked on me, her eyes searching my face for any hint of what I’m feeling. This is what she’s been waiting for, the moment that I decide it’s all too much, that she’s too much, and leave.
I don’t know what to say, opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water, all the words I reach for feeling inadequate.
I know the cost of what the Jester threatens, more than she gives me credit for.
She wants to protect Cirque, but I just want to protect her.
The only way to do either is to get answers, through whatever means necessary.
Words are empty.
I free my other hand from Bob’s hair and reach out to the back of her neck, pulling her towards me over Bob’s shoulder, yanking his head to the opposite side as I crash her lips to mine.
It’s rushed and frantic, but it’s heavy.
Carrying the weight of all the expectations and worries we’ve both been holding for so long.
Letting them drift away as my mouth moves over hers, tongue flicking out to part the seam of her mouth, deepening the kiss.
I hear a deep cough behind us, a reminder from Wade of where we are, and more importantly, what we are in the middle of.
I nip lightly at her bottom lip before I give her neck a final squeeze and let go, pulling Bobs head back front and center with the hand that still hold his mouth shut as I lean back to my position.
Harper’s eyes stay closed and lips stay parted for another beat before she smiles wide, opening her eyes slowly.
Like waking up from a dream before getting dropped into a nightmare.
But she looks more composed than before, if that’s possible.
Like my support gave her the permission she needed to really have fun.
Bob’s breathing is evening back out, the towel still pressed against his bleeding hand is shifting from white to red.
“Bob, be reasonable. I just need a name, that’s it.
One little name and then you walk out of here in one piece,” Harper offers.
“Well now two pieces, but I think we can stop there can’t we Bob?
” Tilting her face to catch Bob’s eye. He lets his head drop in front of him and then shakes it once. Twice.
“Disappointing Bob. You think the Jester is the worst thing out there? Are you afraid of them Bob?” Harper asks, leaning closer to whisper in his ear, eyes catching mine as she speaks. “You don’t know fear. But you will.”
Harper is still pressed against his ear when I hear the unmistakable clink of a belt loosening.
Bob’s head snaps up so quickly he almost headbutts me, his panic rising as Harper leans back and brings the cigar cutter up to his face, now coated with his blood, snapping it twice before her other hand works open the button of his jeans.
He's trying to speak through my hand, his head wildly thrown side to side to shake me off, in a hurry to spill his secrets.
Harper looks at me and nods once, my hand lifting immediately.
“You don’t understand, some of the stash was taken and now she’s on the warpath to get it back. If she even thinks I’ve bee talking to someone, I’m dead.”
“Tragic,” Harper shakes her head as the telltale sounds of a zipper lowering pierces the air.
“I only know her name, that’s it. I don’t even know that it’s the Jester, but it’s the only name I know. I’ve never met her, I swear.”
Harper lifts an eyebrow in question at Bob, waiting for the name that will solve all of our problems.
“Mathers! Harper Mathers!”