If Tomorrow Never Comes (7 page)

“Yours,
like they’d be any better than what I’m wearing.”

“You
obviously prefer them to women's.”

Why
his retort was hurtful, she’d never know. Forcefully folding her arms over her
chest, Jordan directed her nose upward before countering, “Fine with me.”

Shocked
by her sudden willingness to cooperate, Jake faced Jordan, his features showing
every wrinkle etched by frustration combined with a full-blown migraine.
  
Directing his pointer finger at her, he
vowed, “I'm warning you, if you try to escape I'll slit your throat, and toss
you into the alley.
 
No one will ever
know, or care.
 
In fact, Chicago would be
pleased to have fewer urchins on the streets.
 
Besides, before anyone discovers you, your carcass will be eaten by
rats.”

Terrified
of rodents, horrified by the idea, spiking Jake with dagger eyes, with a
defiant lift of her chin, Jordan drove her point home.
 
“Aren't you forgetting about Margaret?”

Margaret!
 
God, he couldn't handle much more of her
disappointment, the thought alone admonishing him for such morbid threats.
 
Besides, whether she loved him or not, she'd
have his butt in jail in seconds if he harmed Jordan.
 
What he ever did to deserve to be sandwiched
between “Mary” and the “Devil,” he wondered.

Approaching
cautiously, his eyes never leaving Jordan’s, literally yanking the keys from
his pocket he held his breath, leaned over and unlocked the cuffs.
 
Remorse in slow motion punched him upon
noticing blood dripping from her wrist.
 
She flinched in pain, her reaction so startling, he jerked back as if
expecting a knife out of thin air.

Jordan's
brittle laugh, devil like in extreme, made matters worse. “Oh, don't worry,
cop, when I kill you, you'll never know what hit you.”

Jake
was standing too close as she wobbled to her feet poor nutrition and lack of
exercise had taken its toll.
 
For a
second Jake felt a surprising need to help her, thankfully an empathy
obliterated by the fact that if he did she’d scratch his eyes out.

Intending
to hurry from his sight, the lack of strength instead made Jordan move like a
snail toward the bathroom.
 
Closing the
distance brought new dreads, oh, not of Jake; she could handle him but, the
very idea of soap, water, and shampoo, of removing the remnants of her
disguise.
 
Terror reared its ugly
head.
 
She hated Jake's guts.
 
First, chance she got, he'd be the one found
in the alley eaten by rats.

There
was no doubt in Jake's mind Jordan conceded under protest.
 
As if he read her mind, his voice on the
testy side, he added, “Don't forget to use soap and shampoo.”
 

Lighting
a cigarette, he puffed wildly, secretly praying his sentence with Jordan would
be short, or he’d be arrested for murder.
 
For some reason the possibility niggled a smile of great satisfaction.

CHAPTER
8

Anxious
to put something solid between herself and the barbarian in the adjacent room,
Jordan secured the bathroom door lock then shifted a heaping laundry basket in
front of it for extra protection.
 
Eyes
wildly searching for something more to re enforce her newly won freedom found
nothing other than the grimy toilet, tub, and sink luxuries, she wishfully
reflected, that if they were hers would be spotless.
 
What a fool Morgan was to take his blessings
for granted.
 

Breathing
suddenly becoming difficult demanded she seek other means of escape, there was
none.
 
Exasperated leaning against the
wall, eyes tightly sealed she breathed in and out, in and out trying to calm
the anxiety that was inducing violent trembling.
 
Long seconds later, as lungs began
functioning somewhat normally new contemplations spread her eyes wide
open.
 
However claustrophobic the room
was she had to admit it provided a brief respite from the wickedness of the
world and its terrible inflictions, a shelter that was surprisingly becoming
somewhat comforting.

 
Echoes of Morgan’s incessant pacing on the
other side of the door rudely reminded her why she was ordered into the
haven.
  
Left no other choice torpidly
she unbuttoned the shirt she assumed belonged to the monster.
 
It had been years since seeing her body
naked, the trepidation seizing her making her feel as though she was about to
expose herself to the entire universe.
 
Feelings that were so overwhelming, she wondered if it was the chilly
air, the ice cold tile floor, or the act about to be committed that made her
shake so badly.
 
Attempting to calm
jittery nerves, she gradually convinced herself such torture would only be a
onetime deal.

Bravely
stepping into the shower, the knobs seeming like cobras' about to strike, she
gave them a quick twist then jerked back.
 
Mesmerized by the steam swiftly filling the room, she searched
suppressed pathways for memories of the last time she, experienced the warmth
of hot water, smelled the sweet fragrance of soap, felt the richness of its
lather sensations repressed so long, her memory failed.
 
Struggling to numb her senses, for long
moments she avoided the warm spray convinced leaping off a cliff would be easier
than what she was about to encounter.

Wise
beyond her years, Jordan knew wallowing in such luxuries would make it
difficult to return to the outside world.
 
She would of course there was no other way to survive the world she'd
shunned the pain unbearable.
 
Counter
attacking the rush of invading thoughts making her want to bolt, she reasoned
in life there was either one persecution, or another, Morgan or the
shower.
 
Choosing the lesser iniquity,
she torpidly moved forward, mortified by the path she was treading.
 

The
instant the warm mist touched tender skin; her body wrenched back, moved
forward, and wrenched back.
 
The
tentacles of the mind were unsuccessful in strangling the pleasant feelings
sprinkling her.
 
Reaching for the soap,
bringing the bar to her nose, briefly inhaling its fresh fragrance forced
betraying fingers to coax lather like a child captivated by the sensation.
 
Sadly enough it wasn’t the soap that felt
peculiar, but the touch of her skin and the shocking realization she was
nothing but skin and bones.

Ever
so slowly, she explored her body, deliberately avoiding private areas that if
touched would unleash a monstrosity so deep seeded she’d be led to a place that
offered no return.
 
Instead, fingers
found her scalp scrubbing slowly, the sensation so delightful she repeatedly
shampooed until the water turning cold thrusting her from the abyss alerted her
she'd lingered much too long.

Quickly
drying with a scratchy, once white, towel, she examined the jeans, shirt, and
socks tossed on the toilet seat; apparel wrinkled and not much cleaner than her
own, that obviously belonged to Morgan.
 
Upon picking up the shirt, a piece of rope falling to the floor came as
a surprise, a discovery that made her contemplate if hanging herself would be
worth ending her crucifixion.
 
Only later
after weaving the rope through loops, and tying it, did she realize Morgan made
certain it wasn't long enough?
 
Troubling
her now, the clothing against her skin smelled of Morgan’s surprisingly
stimulating scent.
 

Glances
taking in the room one last time forced Jordan to admit; her short stay in the
sanctuary had been so enjoyable new dreads began expanding her chest.
 
She no longer had the protection of her
disguise and though a tad bit curious as to her appearance she deliberately
avoided the mirror wanting no reminders of the little girl who once made
everyone stare.
 
To this day, she still
wondered why.

The
aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the opening of the door
awakening drugged senses abruptly returned her to a time her mother allowed a
sip from a favored mug.
 
She could, taste
the peculiar flavor, feel her mothers’ hand smoothing back her long blonde
curls, the warm lips that never failed to find her forehead.
 
Trembling returned.
 
Thankfully, her hands slicking back short,
golden sprigs forced the pleasant memories into remission.

Brew
in hand Jake sat in one of two-ripped vinyl chairs placed by a small chrome and
porcelain kitchen set.
  
Eyes glued on
the bathroom door, holding a gulp of high test in his mouth, he watched Jordan
languidly move toward the kitchen.
 
Sitting at the opposing end of the table, head erect, with her
challenging eyes' boring through his said he was staring.
 
He, tried not to, didn't want to, regardless
a force more powerful than his will, commanded.
  
Despite the baggy jeans dragging on the
floor, the shirt swallowing her torso the sleeves extending well beyond her
fingers, the shirttail past her knees, hair plastered to her skull, any dummy
could see with proper nourishment and rest Jordan could be an extraordinary
looking woman.
 
High cheekbones drew
attention to a flawless, creamy complexion, and although there were dark
circles under her eyes, one would have hardly noticed due to the gold
compelling attention.
  
Moreover, her
lips were irritatingly well shaped, full, and provocative.
  

Each
step she took toward the kitchen increased his heartbeat and caused long
forbidden warmth to rush his body, curl around his sex, and tighten his
loins.
 
Feeling suddenly weak and dizzy,
he began to perspire, the tiny droplets making him crazy as they trickled down
his sides, his chest, and back.
 
Jesus,
she was turning him on, the very idea making him swallow the lump of liquid
that went down like cement.
 
“Better,”
was all he could croak out before his gaze full of embarrassment plummeted to
the table?
 

Though
she no longer filled his field of vision, restlessness ate at him prompting an
urge to move to the coffee pot.
 
Not
knowing what else to do he filled a cup, placed it before her, then swiftly
moved away as though he expected her to hurl it at him.
 
When her gaze found her lap instead, and she
remained motionless, he returned to his seat.

Jordan
could no longer examine Jake's eyes, radiating from them was an unmistakable
message.
 
Men were all alike, nothing
more than rutting bulls whose only purpose in life was to mount and ride every
heifer, damn him to hell for demanding that she remove her disguise.
  
Well, he'd soon learn she’d never lie
beneath another man as long as she lived, never!

For
long moments, she stared into the dark liquid that was tugging visions of her
mothers' face to the surface.
 
Hastily
taking a sip expunged the unsettling reflection a time when her delicate hands
slipping past the cuffs of the shirt exposed cracked and sore flesh, creases
still embedded with dirt, nails broken and stained, forearms bruised from the
abuse callously administered.
 

Jake
cringed.
 
Shit, what was there about the
monster before him appearing as though a slip of a girl that continually made
him feel like a mean, heartless bastard?
 
Not liking where his thoughts were going, he abruptly stood a reaction
that startled Jordan and splattered coffee on the table, littered with crumbs,
papers, and bottles, sticky from syrup and grease.
 

Moving
to a half opened drawer, stuffed with who knows what, Jake rummaged for a jar
of salve, the process spilling the contents on the floor, and some on the
counter the mess irritating him further causing him to sputter expletives under
his breath.
 
Returning to the table
without thinking, he reached for Jordan's wrist.
  

“Don't
touch me,” she screamed, her eyes flashing red-hot fire.

A
reaction that hardened Jake’s facial expressions, and made his eye's emit a
blast of arctic air.
 
“Have no fear, I
wouldn't dream of it,” he blustered, tossing the jar onto the table.
 
“You can suffer or put some on, either way, I
don't give a shit.”
  
Spinning around his
foot propelled an empty can of beer into the air crashing it against a cabinet
door.
 
Mumbling his favored four letter
words, he moved as far from Jordan as possible.
 
Leaning against a short stretch of chipped countertop, fingers gripping
tightly, he hoped to regain the control Jordan always seemed to obliterate
enough to negotiate a deal.