Page 42 of Tricked By Jack

If she’s trying to punish me by starving herself, she’s playing the wrong game. Or maybe she thinks she’s being strong, and perhaps she is. But I’ve seen stronger women break.

A cigarette smolders between my fingers. Even though the windows are open, the room reeks of smoke and bourbon. I used to smoke years ago, but I stopped right until we put Ruby in the ground.

I tip my head back and take a deep drag, savoring the burn.

Another slam echoes through the house, followed by a scream. I smirk as I exhale slowly and evenly. She’s still got spirit, but it’s not the same as last night. Not the same chaos as her whispering threats into the dark.

This is something else entirely. Something meaner and more patient. She’s spiraling. And she’s dragging me with her.

I thought the house would be strong enough to withstand the storm that is Eve Mortis. But it’s in the walls now. Her rage, her breath, the soft scrape of her pacing feet—I hear every sound she makes, even when she’s still.

The echoes slide through the hallways, pooling in the corners, sinking into the wood like this place is learning her patterns and whispering them back to me.

This is not a home anymore. Fuck, maybe it never was. Ruby used to say that a house doesn’t make a home, and she was right. I’m not sure what it takes, only that I don’t have it. This is nothing more than a place for the worst parts of us.

While her mouth curses me to Hell and back, I know her body wants me. Every time I’ve touched her, she’s soaked me in her arousal and come so fucking prettily for me. Just remembering her cunt squeezing my cock has me aching and leaking for her all over again.

She might be a force to be reckoned with when she’s free, but I’ve clipped her wings, and shoved her in a cage for my viewing pleasure.

Raising my bottle, I salute the air. “Let the games begin,” I rasp.

Thunder cracks somewhere far off. Then the silence creeps back in. I close my eyes and wait for the next blow.

I wake to the sound of screaming and metal pounding. Eve’s voice ricochets off the bedroom walls as she slams her foot into the bars again and again.

“Wake up, you useless son of a bitch! You’re burning your fucking house down!”

My head’s a swamp of liquor and smoke. When the hell did I move back to the bedroom? My mouth tastes like ash and regret, and it takes a second for the rest to register.

What the fuck’s that burning smell? I look down to see the cigarette I must’ve dropped is melting a slow hole into the edge of the carpet. The cherry’s eaten through the fibers, leaving a smoldering ring.

“Jesus,” I mutter, grabbing the damn thing and crushing it into the ashtray. The glass wobbles, tipping a streak of gray across the wood grain of the nightstand.

“You fucking idiot,” Eve spits, voice shredded. “What are you gonna do next, jackass? Drown me in the tub because you can’t hold your liquor?”

I push upright, wincing at the pull in my back and the burn in my throat. My temples pulse as if they’re caught in a vise. “It didn’t catch,” I rasp.

She kicks the bars again. Hard. “It could’ve. I’m not dying in a goddamn fire because my jailer’s too drunk to finish a smoke upright.”

My eyes finally focus. She’s standing now, fists tight at her sides, eyes wild and bloodshot with fury. She’s practically shaking with rage. My wife looks feral, and beautifully so.

“Don’t worry yourself,” I grunt, rubbing my eyes. “I’d have gotten you out before the flames hit.”

“Oh, right. Because you’re such a fucking gentleman.”

“Because you’re mine,” I snap. “And so is your pain.”

That shuts her up—but only for a second. Then she starts laughing. Dry, breathless, on the edge of hysteria. “Yourwhat, exactly? Wife? Prisoner of war? Pretty sure even war criminals get meals and ventilation that aren’t full of secondhand smoke.”

“I gave you food and water,” I growl, dragging the bottle off the floor. “You just refuse to touch it.”

“Because I don’t trust you,” she spits.

“Fair enough,” I relent, striding over to the walk-in closet. Her colorful insults chase me as I find fresh clothes.

“Next time, try not passing out like a fucking rookie before the smoke kills us both.”

Tuning her out, I take the bottle and clothes with me to the bathroom, where I immediately run the shower. I don’t even bother undressing. Just put the fresh clothes next to the sink and walk my ass into the shower, still clutching the bottle.