"For the Love of Jasper" One-Shot Contest
Title: Fear No Evil
Pen name: Lethologica86
Existing work: N/A
Primary Players: Jasper & Alice
Disclaimer: This story is of mature content and it's not suitable for just anyone. It includes violence and adult content. Please proceed with caution.
see other entries in the "For the Love of Jasper" contest, please
The room was cold, the scotch wasn't sharp enough and the curtains were drawn in hopes it made the room some sort of sanctuary, just for her, for our secret, as I sat yet another night waiting to see if she'd come knocking at my door. I was contracted for being the cruelest, meanest, most meticulous motherfucker of them all, and I've let her break every rule in my book, putting not only my reputation, but my life on the line just so I could have one last taste. It was always the last taste, even the very first time was the very last time and every other time since then that I've made promises I had no intentions of ever keeping. I needed to find a way to end this. I needed to stop waiting or even letting her in. She is nothing but trouble, even if the taste of her skin intoxicates me far better than any good aged liquor.
I glanced at the clock; it was almost one in the morning and too late for a visit. I placed the empty glass of scotch on the bedside table next to my gun and laid my head on the pillow. I have noticed that the less often she visits, the more restless my sleep becomes. It has been fourteen days since I've last seen her. For the first time, I worried that her absence was because the consequences of our actions had finally caught up with us and she had been the first target, due to the simplicity of her disposal. I would be next, and if she had gone first, I had no reason to fight them. I'd bend my knees and lower my head and wait for my execution with silent relief. I've never feared death. Death has always been my companion, my partner in crime; in reality death was my job, and I never had a reason to fear what I do so very well. I am the Grim Reaper.
I awoke startled by a frantic knock at my door. In seconds the safety of my gun was off, and I held it firmly in my hand as I walked quietly toward my door. Before I could reach the peep hole, there was another set of knocks. They sounded desperate and pleading. Finally looking through the small peephole, I sighed with agonizing defeat.
"Jesus Christ! Did you plan to leave me out there forever?!" she screamed as she practically pushed the door opened herself. "I thought you were… maybe that… what in the hell were you doing?!" Her eyes were glassy from unshed tears as she stared back at me with crossed arms and shaky breath.
"I was sleeping, Alice. It's three in the morning." I spoke in a careful monotone voice, fighting the urge to pin her against the wall and devour her mouth in hopes I could bring back the silence and, even worse, show the satisfaction that I felt with having her here unharmed.
We stared; looking into each other's eyes for what seemed like a millennia. It was always like this. We fought to make contact; we tasted the waters to see how long it would take to finally give in and indulge ourselves. I was always the first to break, always the first that let my hand wander to her cheek before I had her flush against me, especially after being absent too long.
"Put the gun away," she pleaded in a whisper. I nodded and walked back to my room to carefully hide my weapon. I turned to find her standing under the door frame of my room, eyes downcast and shoulders shaking as the sobs coursed through her. "I can't do this anymore," she spoke between sobs "I can't risk my life like this. Every fucking day I go to sleep, thinking that I probably won't be waking up the next day. He is going to find out, Jasper, and he's going to kill me. He is going to kill us both!" she yelled, walking to stand in front of me, pointing at my chest with revolting accusation. Despite her petite frame and the child-like way she wore her white summer dress, the anger she held made her seem powerful and indestructible, the tears in her eyes not once compromising the strength which she held herself then. I watched her silently, my chest heavy having to witness her tears without trying to comfort them away and knowing that the next words would cause her even more worry than what she already felt.
"Who started this? Huh? Don't be blaming me for any of this because you know damn well you were the one who started this, and you're the one that keeps coming back for it!" She stood with eyes wide as I fired words as easily as I could fire a gun. I aimed carefully and hit my mark with grace and an accuracy that should be admired, but I couldn't take pride on this victim, because the pain in her eyes almost became my own and it has been way too long since I've actually felt anything.
I knew that she was very aware that, despite the fact I was always the first to initiate physical contact, I was never the one to openly seek her. She knew that the very first time, which was supposed to be the very last time, it was she who fisted her tiny hands into my hair to bring my lips against her own. It was something strange when she opened her mouth to suck on my bottom lip that a quiet moan escaped me − it was without my consent, without my approval. I tried to force my body to stop, but it wouldn't listen. My mind becomes a jumble mess when she's around, and I hate every minute of it.
I stood tall and menacing and looked down at her with as much disdain as I could muster because she's never showed fear before, and those who show fear show guilt, and her guilt could cause our exposure. She took a step back, still searching my eyes for any indication that I wanted her to stay, but I refused to give any. It had become too risky. Finally, she turned and walked toward the door with careful steps that echoed in my head despite the carpet on the floor. One by one, they took her farther away from me, and I knew then that this would be the very last time and there would be no other last times to follow. She reached the door and hesitated, looking back at me with tear stained cheeks one last time before reaching for the knob.
"Fuck!" I cursed at myself once I felt my resolve give out underneath me, and before I could build back a will to save me, I had her pinned against my door, her palms pressed onto the wood, her back warm against my chest, my face buried in the long dark waves of her hair.
"No! This ends now! I started this, so watch me end this as well!" The sound of her voice was slightly muffled by the way her forehead rested on the door. Her words were determined and sealed our fate with such determination it was maddening. I punched against the door with all the fury that was building on the very pit of my stomach, the wood almost cracking under my knuckles. I turned her, clutching at her shoulders to hold her steady and looked into her eyes. My nostrils flared, and I almost shook with anger. I never lose control. Losing control provokes mistakes. Losing control was absolutely unacceptable in my profession. "Let me go! Go back to your job like a faithful dog!" The insinuation of what she spoke ignited something in me. If this was the very last time with no other last times to follow, then I needed the memory of it to be so detailed I could survive on just being able to relive it behind my eyelids.
I picked up her struggling body without any real effort. She pulled and shoved and cursed every name in the book, but I held her firmly by the waist. In the struggle, she had reached behind her and tangled her fingers in my hair, pulling with enough force, she made me stumble. It has been so long since I had let the anger consume me this way, that I let the rage burn me from the inside out without holding it back. Reaching my room, I tossed her on to the bed, making sure she landed with enough force to knock the wind out of her.
"Goddammit, you're infuriating!" I screamed, reaching to remove the t-shirt I was wearing. She had been the only one who'd seen my scars, the only one who had traced her fingers over them and played a sick game of connect the dots with all the bullet wounds.
"Don't you worry about it; you won't be seeing me anymore. You won't have to be sneaking behind your mob boss to fuck his pretty little trophy wife anymore!" She was throwing daggers, and she knew it. Every single one hitting me at just the right angle, injecting them so deep into my resolve, they threatened to end me. I held her firm by one shoulder, my other hand reaching to spread her legs so I could accommodate myself between them, my free hand running up her thigh under her garment.
The sting of her slap halted my movements and sucked out the fog of anger that had been clouding my mind. I stared into her rage filled eyes and found there the answer to my unspoken question. I have been many things in my life, but a man who disrespects the decisions of a lady I could never be. So I removed myself from her body and sat back at the edge of the bed reaching for my scotch.
"Go." My voice was raspy, but quiet, and it spoke of how hard letting go of her was without my intentions. Before I could rest the glass against my lips so I could let the alcohol wash away the bitter taste of her departure, it was crashing against the wall. She stood before me again, the rage still fuming behind her golden eyes. She had taken the glass from my hand and had smashed it. She raised her hand again to give me another slap, and though I had enough time to stop it, I didn't. I wouldn't fight her again, not if this was the last time I would see her. There was no reason to fight anymore if this situation was over.
The air left my lungs, and the confusion made my thoughts spin when she straddled my lap. She was exasperating and unpredictable. I have never witness anything like it, and despite my better judgment, I was sinking into the kiss she had planted on my lips. Soon our tongues were tangled, and my hands wrapped around her almost possessively. This will be the very last time. "Please," her whisper broke through my thought as I moved my mouth to nibble on the tiny freckles along side of it. "Give me an excuse to not come back. I started this. I know that, but I don't know how to make it stop. Please, Jasper, put me out of my misery." The meaning of the words she spoke rattled through my spine and ended the assault I was giving her skin. She had no idea what she was saying, what those words really did mean to a man like me, and for the first time in so many years, my stomach twisted with despair.
In one quick movement she was under me, pinned to my bed, the delicate fabric of her lacy underwear fisted in my hand that then became scraps of material once I pulled on them, the gasp of her surprise broken by my mouth. Soon, my fingers were inside her, and her back was arched, and her fingers were digging at the blankets, the whimpers from her pleasure enough to erase the words she had spoken just before.
Once we where both fully undressed and I was hovering over her, resting firmly against her entrance, my eyes searched her face. I needed to be sure, even then, if she'd rather walk away. I would give her that freedom, because I'm sure her husband, the man that owned me by contract just as much as he owned her by forced, never gave her the option. She held my gaze even when she reached her hands behind me to urge my hips forward; I entered her as slowly as she guided me. Even with the pleasure that threatened to overtake me, I did not close my eyes and enjoyed how she arched her back and her eyes closed in ecstasy, her mouth opening to exhale.
I set a slow pace for multiple reasons, the most important one being that I knew that after some time she would ask for more. I needed to hear it; I needed to hear her begging for me, because in that moment, when my name came from her lips and she clawed at my back in complete abandon, I was not a murderer − I was only a man, and she was absolutely mine.
I covered her skin with nibbles, licks and kisses, marking a territory that was not mine to claim and moved low enough to find one of her hardened nipples and place it in my mouth. I was rewarded with a moan and a slight shift of her hips. She tasted like salvation, bathed in holy water and wrapped in a blanket of redemption. Her taste was the only heaven I probably will ever know, and I suddenly felt unworthy and dirty by staining such a magnificent being with my bloody hands. Her hips bucked slightly, and I hid my groan in the crook of her neck. It was becoming more difficult to keep from burying myself so deep inside her; it hurt to breath.
"Jasper," she whimpered, and my arms wrapped around her back, bringing her with me as I sat back on the bed. I stilled my movements and watched as she rocked herself onto me, setting a faster pace than I had before. Her eyes were closed, and though it was my name she called, I feared it wasn't me she saw in her mind, but the man I couldn't be, the man I should have been, and a weird sense of jealousy overtook me.
I stopped her hips with my hands, holding her firmly, perhaps too firmly, her eyes flying open in surprise. "Look at me! I need you to look at me!" I pleaded, and my voice was different, distant and bare, and I hated it. She smiled. I couldn't understand why, but she smiled and leaned forward to place a solid kiss on my lips, hard enough to make me fall back onto the bed. It was different, feeling like I had no way out, knowing she was the one in control, hoping she would ease my suffering by taking me over the edge.
"Jasper, please!" she pleaded softly, eyes still opened, hands fisted in my hair. My name from her lips was being reborn in God, sin free and blessed. I bent my knees and took over, knowing exactly what she was asking for. I moved faster, harsher, pulling myself completely out of her to sink myself back into her. I was trying desperately to hold back my release and to keep my eyes opened to watch her, but when I felt her clench around me, I knew it will soon be over.
She closed her eyes again, shutting me away, and it angered me. "Alice, open your eyes. Open them so you can see who does this to you. So you can remember it will always be me, it will only be me," I whispered against her neck, and to my surprise, she opened her eyes and gave a small cry before losing herself in bliss. She had lost herself in her orgasm and had sunk herself onto me in one quick move that caused my resolve to shatter and my release to come quickly. I panted and groaned against her neck, my body shivering under hers. It was the most intense feeling, and I only had it with her.
He ran; he ran to hide because he thought his life depended on it. He thought that perhaps if he ran fast enough he could escape the destiny he chose when he decided to associate himself with the wrong people. What he didn't know was that I had entered this place on more than one occasion and knew every possible hiding place. I had memorized every room, knew how many steps there were to each stair case and gone through every possible hiding place to find a flaw in each of them. I knew he carried no gun and had no other guns in the house. I knew he had broken up with his girlfriend two months prior and that he did not have any kids nor had ever been married. He had no pets and a cleaning staff that would come every Thursday at ten a clock. I probably knew more about his routine than even he did.
I climbed the eighteen stairs steps slowly, giving him enough time to settle into the place I assumed he thought was the safest. I never wanted to prolong anyone's suffering. I came to do a job, and the quicker it was over with the better. If the client wanted it any other way, they would have to find another to do the job.
Reaching the hallway of the upper level, I listened for any sign of him. My steps were silent against the marble floor. I was always very good at being stealthy; it was something I perfected from a very young age, something that became very useful in the house I grew up in. The sudden thumping noise that came from the right side of the end of the hall gave me the direction I needed. At the end of the hall were two rooms that he could have gone into − one of those two rooms did not have a hiding place good enough to be his shelter; the other one was the main bedroom. My research told me that inside the bedroom were only two good hiding places and that was under the bed or in the immense closet.
I reached behind me for my gun and then inside my jacket for the silencer. I swung the door opened and stepped back, my gun aimed carefully. I made sure to enter the room at an angle in case he was planning to attack me as soon as I walked through the door, but the room was quiet and empty. I walked around the bed, wondering if he would make a noise that would give him away, but no such luck. I bent to give a look under, but it was empty.
I opened the door of the closet. It was divided in different sections, but there was only one place he could fit into and that was in the compartment for his suits. I opened the door, gun still aimed, and sure enough, there was Tyler Crowley, paled and shaking, his hands suddenly up in surrender.
"Please, just give me one more day!" he pleaded "I will be able to get in touch with my contact in the company, and I will have access to the accounts information. I just need one more day!" He was lying. He had been given months and, still, he had not come up with anything. The Volturi were tired of waiting.
"Step out of there, Crowley," I demanded calmly. I couldn't shoot him in the closet. He followed my instructions carefully and stood before me then, his arms still raised in defeat. "Get on your knees." His eyes grew wide with my demand, and I could see the panic coming. This was always the moment things would start getting difficult.
"Please, don't do this! I have a fiancé! She's pregnant! Please don't do this!" I had heard it all; they would always try to convince me with reasons why they should remain alive; they were almost always lies. I stood with my gun aimed and waited. My silence was the key. With silence, you always expect the worse, and just like many times before, it worked like a charm. Crowley silently settled on his knees.
I aimed the gun with one hand then, resting it on the top of his head and a very specific angle to face down. I needed to make sure the bullet remained in his body to leave no evidence. He cried then, silent soft sobs that vibrated in my ears.
I wondered then what Alice would think if she ever saw me in moments like these, when I wasn't even a man. I was a machine on automatic, with no remorse or care. It had been two days since our last night together, and I already felt the need for her again, but something inside me was thankful that the last time was the very last one with no other last ones to follow. I will never be a man worthy of Alice, worthy of the pleasures she gave me or even the time she spent on me, though I would give it all if I could. If I could go back, take it all back and start from scratch I would either be dead or have survived to become someone other than me, someone worthy of Alice.
I pulled the trigger.
The hallways of the huge mansion are bright and grandiose enough to almost hide the secrets they hold. The Volturi's family has been living in this estate for almost three generations, each one more corrupt than the next. I have been working for James for about two years. I still have very little idea of how he came to find me; he claims it was a reference from a good friend. I have never trusted him with the truth. Men like James never have good friends. They have employees and possessions.
It's a very long story of how I came to be in this profession. Some things you just stumble upon. Some things you're just good at without your best intention. Like any young amateur, I was very careless in the beginning, but as I got older and wiser, I began to follow protocol, develop regulations and build boundaries. I acknowledged early on that treating what I do with as much respect as any professional would treat their job earned me respect and gave me a very limited and exclusive clientele. When the Volturi contacted me, I knew I couldn't turn down the offer. They pay very well − all cash − with strict rules and a very clear hierarchy. The only concern I had was the rumor that once you joined the Volturi, you could not leave the Volturi. There have been other families, other mob bosses who wanted to keep me as their personal reaper, but I refused to be settled in one place for too long. I make sure I always have enough cash to disappear, change identities, names, even countries. When I feel safe enough, I emerge from the darkness. I have been doing this for twelve years, despite only being twenty eight years old. There was no one out there that carried the amount of experience I held under my belt.
This has been the longest I have been with any particular family for one very specific reason, which shames me to no end. She was the only real explanation as to why I was still around, catering to these ridiculous affairs.
I reached the hallway to James's office at the end of the corridor. Standing in front of the large double doors stood Felix and Demetri, James's two favorite guards. My reputation has been something I worked very hard to develop; I needed no friends, had no interest in lovers and saw no reason to interact with anyone other than my boss and my target. I only came to this place when necessary. I attended no parties, no dinners and was satisfied when I found many of the men around me even avoided eye contact. It was as it should be; you never look death in the eye and live to tell of it.
"Grim," Felix announced bowing his head in greeting. "Jimmy has been waiting for you," he explained, nudging toward the door behind him before reaching to open it. I enjoyed they the nickname they had given me. I was the Grim Reaper.
I entered the room to find James looking at a map. Though it spiked my curiosity, I made no effort to start a conversation about the map and went straight to the matter I came for.
"The job is done." I spoke still standing by the door, right hand holding on to my left wrist, wearing the ludicrous black suit he would make me wear. He nodded his approval and I turned to leave.
"Sit down, I have a really important job for you," he ordered, and I rolled my eyes. They were all important jobs. He insisted on going over all the details of how he wanted these jobs executed and insisted on many things handled a certain way. It made the job a lot more difficult and sometimes made the process longer than it should. I reluctantly sat in the leather chair, but found myself distracted with the memory of having seen his wife on many occasions standing beside him, staring down at me, trying desperately to keep a smile off her lips.
"Do you know how I got my wife, Grim?" he asked after a long silence, standing to walk toward his mini-bar. The question startled me, and I was thankful he was not facing me then to witness the change in my demeanor. I began to search the room; measuring the steps between the furniture, the window, the door and figuring out how many seconds it would take for me to pull out my gun from the holster if it was necessary. I still had the silencer with me; it would be a clean and easy job. The guards would not realize what has happened until I was at least reaching my apartment to get the money out of the safe. It would be too late by then. Before I stood to make my escape, I remembered a small detail that seemed to glue me to the leather chair − Alice.
"She was a good kid," he continued, oblivious to my slip and pouring himself some grappa, his revolting drink of preference. "She was in school, studying something useless like interior design. Anyway, her daddy liked to gamble, and of course, he owed us a lot of money. You know how it is." He spoke waving his hands dismissively with the cap of the bottle still in hand. "I liked Brandon. He was a sickly old man, reminded me a lot of my own father. So I went to give him a last warning visit, see if I could get something out of him, make things easier for both of us. In the middle of my business negotiation, Alice gets home and interrupts us. God, she was such a delicious creature − she still is, my little firecracker − trying to defend her father with kitten claws. She is very smart though. Don't think any differently. She came to me with a business proposition." He paused suddenly to take a sip of his drink.
The silence dragged on then, the only sound was the soft pouring of the liquid onto another glass. It was absolutely maddening. By this point I was able to adjust my composure and now held a calm exterior despite how my insides were raging in fury. "She proposed taking her, instead of us hurting her dear old dad," he continued, walking back toward his desk, placing the small shot glass in front of me. "Such a noble sacrifice!"
I watched as he walked back to his desk, counting each step and making sure I did not see any of his hands search under his desk. I knew that in his second drawer to the right was a gun and in the vase behind him there was another. He sat and waited for me to take a sip of the drink. Once I had and he was pleased with my reaction, he continued. "I, of course, took the offer. I mean, how could I say no to such a pretty lady? She was a little trouble in the beginning. I had to teach her manners every once in a while, but she eventually figured the ways of the Volturi."
My hands fisted, and I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself from wanting to cut into his forehead with a bullet. I could remember the many bruises I had seen on her body, the scars she held from the battles she fought against him. They could not match my own in numbers, but they were there, decorating her skin with reminders of the pain she's had to endure. I knew of pain, and I could pick out the good people from the crowd as easily as I could pick out other criminals like me, and I knew without a doubt that Alice did not deserve the destiny she was forced into.
"She was the one who insisted we get married, did you know that? Something about living in sin, I don't really understand, but since she promised she would keep her pretty little mouth shut and my mother wanted a wedding before her death, things worked out in the end." James rambled on ignorant to the wrath building inside me. "That was almost six years ago. Funny how time just passes us by." He paused to take another sip of his drink; his eyes seemed far away in thought. "Her dad came to visit a couple of years ago. Turned out he had managed to gather all the money he owed us. He thought that maybe he could get his little girl back." I swallowed and tried to loosen my fists because I knew exactly what happened next. I've witnessed it with my own eyes before, and it was enough to almost make me feel sorry. I knew of the tears, the man on his knees pleading, the gun, the shot, the silence. "I got that woman fair and square. She offered herself to me. I couldn't just give her back. I spent way too much time fixing her up. Stupid old man!" He finished, throwing his hands in the air to emphasize his point.
I stared then. The story had been so distracting I had forgotten to ponder the reason why he was telling it in the first place with such detail. Alice was never a topic of discussion. None of his women were ever a topic of discussion. The only logical conclusion was that he knew what was happening behind his back, and was trying to prolong the time of my execution.
"You're probably wondering why I'm wasting your time telling you this story, correct?" he asked, pointing, and I straightened my spine waiting, my face a mask of indifference. "It came to my attention a couple of months ago, a bit of a change in my wife. She's been more and more," he paused in thought, I presumed that he was trying to find the right words to describe the actions of his wife, "reluctant with her duties as a wife. I found it very odd, that after all these years, she has gone back to her annoying little habits of keeping me from her bed. So I did a little research to see if I could find anything out of the ordinary, because you know I need facts before reaching any rational decision."
My heart was pounding, making it a defining noise in my ears, as I sat almost paralyzed in my chair and watched him move papers around the desk until finally reaching for what he had been looking for. "I could have her followed of course, but I needed a reason to have her followed first. I can't just send my men out on a hunch. They have better things to do than to be following the little slut! So on my usual check of her credit card statements, I found she's been stopping by La Perla a lot lately. Have you heard of La Perla, Grim?" His tone was becoming angry, agitated and bitter, and the words were getting closer to a dangerous place. Of course I had heard of La Perla, but I was a good liar, and I knew the answer that James was looking for, so I shook my head. "It's some lingerie store. She is obviously not wearing anything for me, so she must be showing off her undergarments to someone else!"
He threw the papers. They sprayed everywhere in the room, and though I should have been startled, I wasn't, because with those last words, I knew I had absolutely nothing to worry about. If James knew who this other person was, he would have me do the job. The fact Alice was still alive meant he had other plans in mind.
"It doesn't matter to me anymore. The little puttana can't even have children, which is another something she thinks she has been successfully hiding from me. If she cannot give me an heir, then I don't have need of her anymore." My stomach dropped. It twisted in an unrecognizable pain. Suddenly, I wanted to vomit. "I leave to Italy tomorrow, Grim. I want to come home to a missing wife. I need to make her disappearance a scene, so whatever it is you do with them afterwards, do it better! This one needs to be the cleanest job you have ever done. I don't care how much it costs! It will in no way be linked to me. There will be no evidence. Do you hear me?!" He stood with his palms pressed firmly on the desk, his body rigid and shaking in anger as he waited for my answer.
I could hear her moving around inside her room. She was fiddling with something in her closet probably putting away all the new things she had bought herself. I knew she smiled despite the fact I only stared at her door. I could hear her humming then, and I closed my eyes to savor the sound for the very last time. I drew my gun, removed the safety, and held it firmly before reaching my hand to give a soft knock at her door.
I am the Grim Reaper.
Thank you to HopeStreet for being my beta and editing this quickly to meet the contest deadline! Thank you, GetDrunkOnVictory and knittingvamp7, for being my cheerleaders and helping me out on so much, and especially for keeping me from going overboard (lol)! Last but not least, thank you to Mandi1, who is not only an amazing writer (with an entry of her own which I encourage you to read as well as the rest of her stories because they are absolutely fantastic), but also the one person to hold my hand through all of this by rereading it until her eyes bled and slapping me around when I was about to give up...I love you, woman!