Serial Story: Jasmine Betrayal, Part 11
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 |
Jasmine Betrayal
Part 11
“Max, you have to wake up. Come on...I can’t carry you.”
There was a distinct note of rising panic in the voice trying to rouse him, and Max groaned as he forced himself back to consciousness and the pain that apparently went along with it. His eyelids were heavy, and it was all he could do to pry them open as a cool hand patted his cheek.
Genevieve was leaning over him, bloodshot eyes clouded with worry as she glanced past him, then looked back at his face. Past her head and above them both he saw the roof of a car - not his, not hers. He remembered stealing the stranger’s car, and laying down in the back seat. After that, nothing.
“Thank god you woke up.” She looked past him again, clearly nervous about something. “Can you walk? We really should get inside...”
“Where are we?” he asked, suppressing another groan as he rose to sit on the seat. His side burned like he’d been scratched by a tiger, heat radiating out in all directions under his skin.
Genevieve took his hand, tugging him toward the open door. “At a hotel in a Memphis suburb - I didn’t catch the name. Let’s go inside, I’ll clean that wound out and then we should keep going, find a hospital.”
“No hospital.” He swung his legs out and stood, surveying the general area for a moment. The hotel was a dive, and while there were a few restaurants and small businesses in the general area, it was a very sparse-looking community overall. “Are you sure you weren’t followed?”
Genevieve nodded, lifting one of his arms to rest on her shoulder, and sliding an arm around his waist. “At first, there were a couple cars hanging back. I lost them on the backroads though, and then just kept going to be sure. We crossed the state line into Tennessee about half an hour ago.”
He leaned on her more than he would’ve like as she helped him to Room 212, three doors away. The key was still a key, and she had to jiggle it a few times before the lock would disengage, but the room itself seemed clean enough, the wide king-sized bed soft when he half-sat half-fell onto it.
Genevieve went back and locked the door, flipping the light switch on as she drew the seventies-style flower print curtains closed.
“Let me help you take off your shirt,” she said, leaving the car keys and a piece of paper on the table next to the door. He couldn’t stop a wide grin as she reached for him, giving her pause. “What?”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Normally women want a little foreplay before they start taking off my clothes. The direct approach is refreshing.”
She shot him a frigid look and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up and off over his head in a not-so-gentle fashion. He hissed in a breath as air hit the gash in his side, and she bent over, her fingers probing lightly on either side of the wound.
“You wanna play with me?” She stood up and met his gaze, her expression hard. “Let’s play. You tell me the whole story about my father, why he borrowed money for you and why you killed him, and I’ll consider not throwing you back to Jenkins’ dogs when we’re done. Deal?”
He thought about it for a moment, then nodded slowly. With Jenkins dead, it would take a little while for his men to fall in line behind someone else. If all went well, they’d be taken into custody before that happened, or at least the only people who knew about Pete Morano’s deal.
“Okay.” Max watched as she grabbed a pillow, taking the thin cotton case off and tearing it into strips. “First off, you should know I’ve been an informant to the FBI for the last three years. Your dad was helping me set up a sting that didn’t work out. That’s why he borrowed the money.”
Enjoy
this post? Support your author:
format every Friday right here on the blog for free. When the story is
done, it will be edited, polished and available for sale at all your
favorite online retailers.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 |
Jasmine Betrayal
Part 11
“Max, you have to wake up. Come on...I can’t carry you.”
There was a distinct note of rising panic in the voice trying to rouse him, and Max groaned as he forced himself back to consciousness and the pain that apparently went along with it. His eyelids were heavy, and it was all he could do to pry them open as a cool hand patted his cheek.
Genevieve was leaning over him, bloodshot eyes clouded with worry as she glanced past him, then looked back at his face. Past her head and above them both he saw the roof of a car - not his, not hers. He remembered stealing the stranger’s car, and laying down in the back seat. After that, nothing.
“Thank god you woke up.” She looked past him again, clearly nervous about something. “Can you walk? We really should get inside...”
“Where are we?” he asked, suppressing another groan as he rose to sit on the seat. His side burned like he’d been scratched by a tiger, heat radiating out in all directions under his skin.
Genevieve took his hand, tugging him toward the open door. “At a hotel in a Memphis suburb - I didn’t catch the name. Let’s go inside, I’ll clean that wound out and then we should keep going, find a hospital.”
“No hospital.” He swung his legs out and stood, surveying the general area for a moment. The hotel was a dive, and while there were a few restaurants and small businesses in the general area, it was a very sparse-looking community overall. “Are you sure you weren’t followed?”
Genevieve nodded, lifting one of his arms to rest on her shoulder, and sliding an arm around his waist. “At first, there were a couple cars hanging back. I lost them on the backroads though, and then just kept going to be sure. We crossed the state line into Tennessee about half an hour ago.”
He leaned on her more than he would’ve like as she helped him to Room 212, three doors away. The key was still a key, and she had to jiggle it a few times before the lock would disengage, but the room itself seemed clean enough, the wide king-sized bed soft when he half-sat half-fell onto it.
Genevieve went back and locked the door, flipping the light switch on as she drew the seventies-style flower print curtains closed.
“Let me help you take off your shirt,” she said, leaving the car keys and a piece of paper on the table next to the door. He couldn’t stop a wide grin as she reached for him, giving her pause. “What?”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Normally women want a little foreplay before they start taking off my clothes. The direct approach is refreshing.”
She shot him a frigid look and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up and off over his head in a not-so-gentle fashion. He hissed in a breath as air hit the gash in his side, and she bent over, her fingers probing lightly on either side of the wound.
“You wanna play with me?” She stood up and met his gaze, her expression hard. “Let’s play. You tell me the whole story about my father, why he borrowed money for you and why you killed him, and I’ll consider not throwing you back to Jenkins’ dogs when we’re done. Deal?”
He thought about it for a moment, then nodded slowly. With Jenkins dead, it would take a little while for his men to fall in line behind someone else. If all went well, they’d be taken into custody before that happened, or at least the only people who knew about Pete Morano’s deal.
“Okay.” Max watched as she grabbed a pillow, taking the thin cotton case off and tearing it into strips. “First off, you should know I’ve been an informant to the FBI for the last three years. Your dad was helping me set up a sting that didn’t work out. That’s why he borrowed the money.”
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