If Tomorrow Never Comes (2 page)

           
An hour later, with patience
dwindled, angrily snuffing out his last cigarette beneath his sneaker as if it
was the enemy, he shouted, “Jesus Christ, how goddamn long is it going to take
to sweep this place?”
 
Familiar with
Jake's hostile impatience, without acknowledgment, the crew hastily prepared to
leave.

           
With another second of confinement,
Jordan was certain she'd suffocate.
 
Staring into the void of blackness, visions of horrible memories had
saddled up and were riding their stallions across her consciousness.
  
The Closter phobic space stealing her breath
made moving impossible. Anxiety had increased body temperature causing layered
clothing to cling maddeningly.
 
Thirst
had swelled her tongue to the gagging point.
 
Surely, she'd wet her pants any minute, and had it not been for her
proficiency at closing her mind to all sensations, all emotions, she would
have.
 

           
 
Throughout the lengthy wait, premonitions
pertaining to the inhuman beast on the other side of the door gnawed at her
insides.
 
She knew he'd wait.
 
Inevitably she'd have to face the varmint
like she had . . . Chill’s running the length of her spine forced thin fingers
to search for the knife safely tucked in the waistband of her baggy men's
pants.
 
Thank Lucifer it was still there,
she sighed.
  

           
Oh, she wasn't afraid.
 
As a youngster, she'd faced fear, faced pain,
and endured.
 
This man could do whatever
he wanted, except touch her.
 
If he dared,
without the slightest feeling of remorse, she’d plunge the sharp blade into his
flesh, dissect his intestines, and rip his guts to shreds.
 
She could do it; she'd done it many times
before.

           
The banging shut of a door built an
invisible protective shield against the trembling toying with her.
 
At last, the waiting was over.
 
Finally, she'd meet the infamous fiend.
 
The only person Scorpio feared.
 
Couriers often spoke of the DEA agent with
balls of steel, the demon that incessantly escaped the wraith of Scorpio's
thugs.
 
What kind of person existed that
could frighten a man of Scorpios' power?
 
Before, she never bothered trying to put a face to the tales, now her
imagination was in overdrive.

All at once, light flashed across her features followed
by a gruff voice. “Get your ass out here.”
   

Stubbornly, Jordan refused.
 

           
“God dammit, you either get your ass
out here or I'll come in after you.”
 
The
smell blasting Jake upon opening the door made him pray such measures wouldn’t
be necessary.
 

Again, his prey balked at his bidding.

           
Lacking the virtue of patience,
reaching in with one hand, he grabbed the body by the back of the collar.
 
In response, teeth as sharp as razors sunk
into layers of skin turning the flesh of his hand rapidly crimson.

 
“You mother
fucker,” he wailed.
 
Anger whipped into a
rage brought both hands to the shoulders of the form to forcefully hoist the
body and fling it into the room and onto the floor.
  
Amazed at how effortlessly he'd lifted the
puny lump of shit, Jake stared at the sprawled out body of rags.
 
Flashing hatred two sets of eyes one green
the other gold dared the other to move.

           
Masterfully removing his handcuffs,
he reached for Jordan's wrist but b
efore
he got a
chance to secure them thick-soled boots connecting with his
shin propelled the handcuffs into the air.
 
Sputtering vulgar obscenities, hands grasping his leg Jake careened to
the floor landing beside his captive.

           
Previous plans were now going to pay
off, Jordan thought smugly as she swiftly crawled toward her escape route, an
attempt thwarted by a hand snatching clumps of short-cropped hair.
 
Reflexes rolled her toward her assailant,
flailing fists connecting first with Jake's jaw, then his cheek, forehead and
lastly his nose.
 
Even an idiot would have
released her.
 
When he did, her body
landed with a thump on his stomach forcing his intestines into his throat.
  
Completely obliterating his defense
mechanisms allowed her fingers to wrench his hair and repeatedly bash an
already throbbing head against the floor.

           
Though he was tired, very tired, and
hurt in assorted places, all thanks to the beast on top of him, Jake couldn't
help but admire the young man's spunk.
 
A
flickering thought quickly followed by the urge for revenge. The time was long
overdue to show the mini beast who was boss.
 
Out of breath and energy, using a thrust he fully intended to be
painful, his fist connected with jawbone.
 
Stars flickered briefly, before the shade of darkness lowered sending
Jordan with a thump to one side.
                         

CHAPTER 3

Upon
plucking the limp body from the floor, to his utter shock, Jake's hands
accidentally grazed bountiful breasts, the incident giving him pause.
Unbelievable as it seemed, beneath the dirt, grease and horrid smell was a
female, of all things.
 
Tonight when he
believed he might get lucky, he should have known better.

He
was living his worst nightmare.
 
A woman
was the least of his expectations, the discovery costing him a few seconds of
control before returning to being damn ornery.
 
Envisioning a female prisoner, seething ruptured into cussing, so much
for his interrogation plans he spewed inwardly.
 
Obviously, she was a real bitch, and he'd known enough of that breed to
last a lifetime.
 
Well, she'd pay for
stealing his moment of glory, if it was the last thing he did, yes, indeed.

Troubling
him now was, though sorely tempted a few times, Jake never struck a woman then
again the wild cat had it coming he tried to persuade himself.
 
Mixed feelings obliterated the moment he
frisked her and uncovered a knife typically carried by gang members.
  
Now he was convinced she was dangerous.
 
God only knew her capabilities, or, as he
fully intended to find out, what she'd already done.
  

Stolen
glances in the rear view mirror were unsuccessful in determining her age due to
the layers of filth.
 
Besides age didn’t
matter, he was too busy wondering why a woman would allow herself to look so
appalling.
 
Possibly her face was scared,
pock marked or disfigured, he reasoned.
  
Not only was her hair an undecipherable color but also stuck out in
sprigs here and there, cut within one inch of the scalp as if, with no thought
at all, someone had snipped it.
 
She
weighed no more than a hundred pounds.
 
Slinging, her over his shoulder had been too easy. Mulling her condition
over in his mind, he concluded, she was nothing more than another punk junky
making deliveries for daily fixes.
 
Well,
he thought self-righteously, she'd talk and soon when withdrawal symptoms hit.

 
By the time, he tossed his prisoner onto the
back seat of a weather-beaten, sixty-nine Mustang the sunrise had peaked over
the horizon.
 
Hiding his prisoner
becoming top priority masked the dawn's early light that gradually exposed the
immensity of the decade neighborhood.
   

The
moment Jake arrived at his apartment, unable to cope with the horrid odor
another second, he dumped the still unconscious body on the bathroom floor and
handcuffed her wrist to the sink leg alongside the toilet.
 
Appraising the close quarters, he concluded
he had allowed sufficient freedom to use the facilities, although the stench
assailing him made him doubt she knew how.
 

Entering
the kitchen Jake went directly to the refrigerator to snatch a can of beer, his
mind set firm that his prisoner would remain impounded until she showered,
brushed her teeth, and changed into clean clothing before he began his
interrogation.
 
Moreover, once made up,
Jake’s mind never wavered a fraction of an inch.

Awaking
on a, hard, cold, tile floor, with every thought escaping her, Jordan wasn't
sure what had happened.
  
Only two things
registered a sore wrist, and the hammering pain in her jaw shooting to her head
like a rocket.
 
One moment she had no
idea, and then she did.
 
Madder than a
wet hornet, she shouted her contempt, “You son of a bitch.
 
I'll cut your heart out and eat it for
supper.”
  
Using every heathen word known
to humankind, and then some, her screaming verbal attacks continued along with
kicking the walls and spitting at the door.
 
Though no answer came, she knew the male pig in the other room heard her
he was shuffling about just outside the door.
 

Their
encounter in the dim light did not reveal her kidnappers’ appearance, except
for height.
 
She knew he was strong the
pain in her jaw testament.
 
Besides, she
didn’t care, he was a male, and that fact in itself made him her enemy.
 
Fuming flared consuming her thoughts, well,
she'd fix the bastard.
 

One-minute
gruesome ways of torturing him peaked in her mind, the next, questions. What
kind of human was he to treat her like an animal?
 
A DEA officer, with a badge that made him
superior and invincible, she answered herself.
 
A malicious smile tugged at Jordan's lips.
 
She began chuckling.
 
His brains were obviously located at the
other end of his anatomy.
 
The moron gave
no thought to the plugs near the sink and tub.
 

Hearing
water running, gratified that his prisoner took the hint, an identical smile
found Jake’s mouth.
 
Having been on the
telephone for some time learning the results of the interrogation of his
captives he never noticed water seeping from under the bathroom door.
 
A puddle that was quickly growing larger by
the second as it spread over the bare floor and crept closer and closer to his
feet.
 
A loud pounding on the door, and a
woman’s voice yelling something about water coming through her ceiling finally
penetrated.

“Holly
shit,” Jake, bellowed, his cell phone careening to the floor. Charging the
bathroom a crash of his shoulder connecting with wood jarred the door
open.
 
His stocking feet slipping and
sliding on the slippery tile made it necessary to grasp everything within reach
to keep from falling flat on his face. A glass crashed to the floor.
 
A towel rack broke free from the wall before
a snap of his wrists twisted knobs, and unplugged the drains.
 
Frantically plucking everything in sight, he
madly attempted to sop up the water while giving Jordan a lesson on foul
language only she thought she held a degree in.

Fumbling
with a hand full of keys, Margaret finally found the correct one to gain access
to Jake’s apartment.
 
Hearing the commotion
coming from the bathroom she hustled down the hall fully intending to help only
to stop short at the threshold.
 
In
stunned surprise, she observed the chaos, and the god-awful looking creature
sopping wet handcuffed to the sink.
 
Regardless of the rush of empathy, knowing Jake, she presumed such
precautions were necessary.
 
Observing
the escapades, hearing the vile language quickly brought a hand to her mouth to
conceal an unexpected smirk.
 
Women's
intuition was telling her Jake had finally met his match.

It
wasn't until he raised his fist and she felt certain he would punch the day
lights out of the wretched looking thing that she wedged herself between
them.
 
Flattening both palms against his
chest, she yelled tersely, “Don't you dare, Jacob Morgan, or you'll answer to
me.”

Roughly,
grabbing Margaret’s beefy arms, Jake escorted her from the room.
 
Having all he could do to contain himself,
the urge to kill brought his foot against the door creating new cracks on an
already worn plank of wood as it slammed shut.
  
As far as he was concerned, the bitch could lay in drenched clothing
until he saw fit to do something about it.
 
Long determined strides marched him toward an over flowing wastebasket
to chuck the plugs, neither making its mark.