Crash (Jack and Jill Duet #2)

Prologue

My fingernails are caked in blood. A monster’s blood.

I ball my fists inside Punk’s leather jacket as he hits the throttle.

The stench of stale beer and cigarette smoke still lingers between us as we speed off into the night, far away from the trailer park of horrors that I used to call home.

I take a deep breath to fight the nausea that’s creeping up my throat.

“It’ll get easier, pretty girl,” he calls out over the wind.

I squeeze him tight, clinging to his back while wishing I could climb inside him and fuse our organs together. I can never get close enough. He’s my descent into madness.

I plant a soft kiss on the back of his neck, my ache to taste him growing. He’s the Jack to my Jill. The only fucking man who has ever truly seen me. And tonight he gave me the greatest gift. He helped me reclaim my power.

I’m finally fucking free.

We take the back roads through Crimson Valley, moving unseen like two phantoms disappearing without a trace.

I can already picture the look on my mama’s face when she sees Hank’s twisted corpse.

I can even imagine the over-dramatic screams that will unfurl from behind her bubblegum-pink painted lips.

The way she’ll never admit the relief she feels, knowing he can’t hurt her anymore.

Mama’s always been a glutton for punishment.

She’s always put his needs before either of ours.

She will cry and mourn like a good little wife while still covering up her bruises with dime-store makeup. I bet she’ll spend every dollar she has left to give him a proper funeral too. It’s sickening.

Punk winces as I dig my nails into his ribs. “Forget about them, Roxy. It’s just you and me now.”

Yes. I never want to see her or this place again.

We pull into the parking lot of Pigeonhole, a rundown motel on the outskirts of town. Its grimy walls and dirty windows stand out like a warning to those who are stupid enough to find themselves inside this sad fucking town.

I can tell it’s almost morning by the pale-blue light that creeps into the black sky, the outline of the moon barely visible. But even the vibrant shades of a brand-new day can’t mask the ugliness of this place.

Punk kills the engine and pulls me off his bike. “We’ll stay the night, then head home in the morning.”

I nod, my helmet still on. It feels like another mask, keeping me safe from those who might detect the darkness in my eyes. I fear even strangers will know I’m a killer.

Waiting outside the check-in office, I watch him through the dust-caked windows.

He slides a pile of cash to the front desk clerk, and she blushes back at him.

I shove down the urge to gouge her eyes out.

I imagine dragging my fingers across her cheeks, smearing the gooey pulp into her smudged mascara.

I’ve never been a jealous girlfriend until I met him. It’s more than that. This sick obsession is possessive, protective, feral. No one gets to ogle him except me. He’s mine to look at, to touch, to keep.

My balled fists are burning holes in my pockets. I keep them clenched so I don’t punch them through the glass. Fuck. Who have I become?

I exhale the breath I’ve been holding when he struts out, a smirk on his face. He dangles the brass key in front of me. “Easy, pretty girl. You look like you want to murder someone. Again.”

I glance back through the window to see the cunt behind the desk watching us. “Maybe I do.”

Punk slides his arms around my waist and pulls me in, forcing me to focus on him. “I belong to you, love. No one matters except us. But if it will make you feel better…”

I shake my head, ashamed for even thinking it. This can’t be my answer to everything. Punk is sexy as hell. Everyone is drawn to him. “No. I can’t kill everyone who looks at you the way I do.”

He kisses my forehead, letting his lips linger for a few minutes. “I wouldn’t stop you if you did. I can relate.”

My stomach does a little flip. His words are fucked up, and yet they provoke the dirtiest thoughts in my head. I didn’t have murder as a new kink on my bingo card this year. “Let’s just go find our room. I can’t wait to scrub this fucker’s blood off me.”

He keeps his hands on my hips, guiding me up the stairs to our corner room. The second we shut the door behind us, he spins me around and pins me up against it. His hard cock presses into the small of my back. “I want to fuck you while you’re still dirty.”

I whimper as he lifts up the hem of my dress. “Punk…”

“Shhh, put your hands against the door.” He unzips his jeans and frees his cock. I gasp as he pulls my panties to the side. “Fuck. You’re so wet.”

The fire in my belly burns fast. My juices trickle down my thighs as he works the tip of his cock inside my pussy. I angle my hips back as he slides in. We both shudder at the intrusion, the stretch that he forces.

“Mmm, my filthy little girl. Fuck.” Thrust. “I’m all you need now.”

Fuck. I clench around him, desperate to feel every single veiny ridge. “Yes, fuck me until I forget everything. Please,” I beg on a shaky breath.

The door rattles against its frame as he slams into me, ripping me apart with his thick girth.

My mouth holds an O shape, my breath leaving condensation on the wood.

I gaze up at my own hand, fixating on my bloody fingernails until I disassociate.

Until all I can think about is what Punk’s cock is doing to my tight pussy.

The spasms spread like wildfire, alighting my body with so much need I’m close to blacking out from pleasure.

We reek of sweat and blood and gasoline; our bodies restless and eager to consume. He reaches around and yanks down the top of my dress. I moan as he pinches my nipples between his calloused fingers.

He sucks on my earlobe before biting it. “I fucking love you, Roxy. So fucking much.”

A deep shudder rolls through me. I brace against the door, my knees shaking. “I love you too, Punk. You’re the only one I’ll ever love for the rest of my life.”

His cock pulses inside me. “Promise me, pretty girl.” Thrust. “Promise you’ll never leave me.”

I press my forehead against the grimy motel room door, embracing the onslaught of tremors that rattle through me. “Oh, fuck… I’m coming… I promise, Punk. I’ll never leave you.”

“FUCK.” His thick cum fills me up, hot and fast. He slams his palms against the door, boxing me in. “That’s my pretty girl. Such a devoted little disciple.”

I whine and clench as his cum leaks out and drips down my legs. I would hold it inside me forever if I could. “You’re the only one I need,” I murmur.

He pulls out and flips me around, a lazy grin on his face. “We should start our own cult. But it will just be the two of us worshipping each other.”

I rub my thighs together, my pussy still tingling. “The cult of Jack and Jill. I like that,” my voice trails off. My adrenaline plummets as exhaustion sets in. I gaze back at him, my eyelids lowering to half slits.

He scoops me up in his arms. “Let’s get you cleaned up with a hot shower before bed. And then I’m going to hold you all night.”

I whimper against his shoulder and let him carry me into the fluorescent-lit bathroom.

I don’t pay any mind to the grime-caked shower tiles, burying my head into the crook of Punk’s neck instead.

His musky scent overpowers the stench of mildew and stale toilet water, blocking out the memories of the childhood that made me swear I’d never return to a place like this.

But I can stomach it because of him. Because it’s temporary. And by this time tomorrow night, we’ll be back in the safety and luxury of our penthouse in Lavender Heights.

I lean against him while he washes the filth from my skin. His touch is gentle and soothing, a stark contrast to the way he fucks me. “You always take care of me, Punk,” I murmur.

He lathers the washcloth with soap before rubbing it across my belly. “Because you’re my pretty girl. Every inch of you is mine.”

My thighs tremble with need. The craving for more. Always more. I can barely see through the steam, so I close my eyes and rest my forehead against his shoulder. He lowers his hand, dragging the washcloth down my slit.

I gurgle back a moan when I feel his fingers exploring my folds. “Oh, fuck. Please…” I bite down on his shoulder.

He wraps a strong arm around my waist to keep me from collapsing while he thrusts his fingers in and out slowly. I rock against him, desperate for him to go as deep as he can.

“That’s my girl. Grind those hips for me. Mmm… my needy little slut.” He presses his thumb against my clit, and I buck.

“Fuck,” I whine. “Yeah, just like that.” I cum hard in his hand, my legs shaking.

He scrapes his teeth across my jaw. “Open your mouth for me. I want you to taste what I’ve done to you.”

Another spasm rolls through me when he presses his cum-soaked fingers down on my tongue. I moan as I suck them clean, a mixture of my own arousal and the sweet taste of spun sugar from the vending machine cotton candy that he devoured earlier today.

“Fuck. You’re such a good girl for me.” He wraps his hand around my throat, squeezing until I see stars. I flinch, panic rising in my chest.

He drags the tip of his tongue up the side of my face. “Relax… let me control you.”

I slump against him, surrendering as my vision blurs. It’s like I’m dangling from a ledge. He could drop me at any second, but I know he’ll always pull me back up. So I submit. I let him play his favorite game. I let him own me completely.

My chest aches as a rush of fresh air fills my lungs. I blink a few times, my head spinning when I realize he’s carrying me. “Punk,” I rasp.

He sets me down on the lumpy mattress. “Shhh, save your strength. You did so good today.”

I reach for him, pulling him down with me. “Yes, I’m so tired.”

He chuckles as he shifts his weight in between my thighs. “Close your eyes, baby girl. Let me fuck you to sleep.”

I stretch out and spread my legs as far as I can. He fucks me so gently like he’s literally rocking me to sleep. He flicks his tongue over my nipples as he moans. There’s nothing sweeter than drifting off with his cock deep inside me.

Throughout the night, I feel him stir. He doesn’t sleep much. My dreams are hazy as he pulls me in and out of them. I vaguely remember being turned onto my side, my leg being lifted, and him sliding back in.

He whispers in my ear, “My. Pretty. Fucking. Girl.”

I drool on my pillow, cumming over and over again, even though I can barely open my eyes. It’s an obsession. A twisted addiction that no amount of drugs or therapy could ever cure. My pussy is raw, swollen, and in a perpetual state of ecstasy.

At some point, I finally black out, surrendering hard to a deep sleep. And when I wake, his fingers are still nestled deep inside me.

With the sunlight streaming in through the crack of the faded green curtains, this room looks even more abysmal.

I sit up in bed, watching Punk stuff my bloodied dress and mask into a plastic bag.

He moves with ease, his expression soft and playful.

An outsider would never suspect that he helped me brutally murder a man last night.

“Good morning, beautiful. I ran down to the drugstore and got you something clean to wear.” He tosses me a pair of black sweatpants and a brown hoodie with the words, “It’s Fall Y’all,” stretched out across it in neon orange.

I climb out of bed and put them on. They are about two sizes too big, but the fabric is thick and comforting, so at least I won’t freeze to death on the ride back home. I pull on my boots, my fingers trembling when I spot the dried blood on the laces. It will get easier, I remind myself.

“I can’t wait to get back. Juniper’s been blowing up my phone since last night.” My best friend has been giddy about me and Punk since day one, but ever since I moved in with him, she’s been acting strange and distant.

Punk furrows his brow, brushing a fallen dirty-blond strand out of his eye. “You need to text her. You know how she gets. We don’t need her doing something dramatic like putting out a missing person’s report on you.”

I nod. He’s right. Ever since I got assaulted at Joystick last month, she’s gotten more protective. I shoot off a quick text letting her know we went on a last-minute getaway and that we’ll be back tonight. “There. Sent. She really needs a boyfriend so she can stop worrying about me all the time.”

“I agree. Milo and Coast would each give their left nut to date her… You should have her over for dinner tomorrow night. Let her know she has nothing to worry about. I’ll make myself scarce.” He zips up his leather jacket before handing me my helmet.

This man always knows the right thing to do and say. He’s perfect. “Yeah, she’d love a girls’ night. What did I do to deserve you?” I beam back at him.

He tilts my chin and places a soft kiss on my lips. “You were made for me.”

A warm effervescence tingles over my skin. Our love is a live wire, dangerous and hot. It has the power to destroy anything that tries to darken our path. But it’s the kind of love my fragile heart has always craved.

We finish cleaning up our mess, gather the rest of our things, and head downstairs. Rain pours down in buckets. And by the time we reach his bike, we’re soaked. My stomach knots.

“Are you sure it’s safe to ride through the storm?” I ask.

Punk flashes me a sloppy grin. “You’re always safe with me, pretty girl. Just hold on tight and don’t let go.”

“Yes, sir.” I smile before putting my helmet on. I trust him more than anyone else, but storms have always given me anxiety.

I hop on behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. The roar of the engine thrums in my ears, drowning out the rest of my bad thoughts. I pinch my eyes shut and inhale deeply as we take off down the narrow road.

The rain and the wind punish us harder the faster he drives. Lightning flashes on the ground a few feet in front of us, followed by the loudest roar of thunder I’ve ever heard. I tighten my grip around him, my heart racing.

“Oh fuck,” he rasps.

I don’t see the glare of the headlights coming at us until it’s too late. I don’t hear the crunch of metal or feel any pain as we collide. Just the pull of gravity as we spin out of control.

There’s only darkness.

And the faint sound of Punk screaming my name.