Page 9 of The Queen's Joker

When I go to follow, she pushes me back out of the elevator before she jams the close door button. “Get the next one, asshole.” Before the doors entirely close, she says, “Ten minutes!”

Son of a bitch! I smack the elevator door button, and a recruit turns the corner holding a coffee with a cookie perched on the top of the to-go lid. He pauses as he sees my face and slowly backs away. “Fucking coward,” I mutter under my breath as I enter the elevators and hit my floor. That guy had better be thankful he wasn’t on my team. However, when I caught my reflection in the elevator mirror, there was no wonder he backed away. Bruises adorn my face from going rounds with Ace. Blood spatter is on my face and clothes. My knuckles have bruises, and I don’t even feel them. I turn my head back and forth to see the mark on my neck. It is a mixture between a bite and a hickie. I cannot believe I didn’t notice and allowed it to happen. My anger rises and I punch the mirror. The glass splinters and I feel no better than I did a second ago. I look at the camera in the elevator before pointing at it. “Fucking bill me!”

My gaze lingers on Queenie’s door before I move to my own. My apartment lacks everything. This place is only used for sleeping and showering. I’ve never used the kitchen for anything besides storing paperwork. I hate the idea of a closed-off office because I need to see the only entry point of this place, but even then, I mostly use a conference room.

As I walk into my bathroom, I smack the light switch before turning on the sunflower shower head and wait until it gets hot. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach that things are about to change between her and me. There are only so many times I can clean up my fuck ups with her. Only so many times that I can hide why I keep trying to make up those fuck ups with her. Anyone else would have been dead by now; surely she must see that.

There is one question that keeps playing over and over in my mind. Will I be able to stay here if I lose her friendship? This is my home. I have made enough money to live comfortably. I have the skills to disappear with bug-out bags stashed all over. My paranoid mind won’t settle for any less and the buzzing and nagging in my brain start over.

I can’t lose her. I don’t know how I will pull it off, but she is the only thing between me and insanity. Long ago, I promised myself that if she died, I would get revenge and then follow her into the darkness, letting it swallow me up and hoping we get another chance in the next life. Why am I so obsessed with her? She is the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing I think of when I go to sleep. When I met Queenie, it was like coming into focus. She quieted the noise that lived inside my head. Sitting next to her, breathing the same air as her, is enough.

She deserves a family, love, and support. I could give her love, well, at least my version of love. My fucked up soul would try. When I turn the shower off, I dry myself before wrapping the black towel around my waist. I gaze at my reflection once more in the mirror. Even if she stays here, I don’t believe that she will allow herself that. Can I stay here and watch it?

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. The list of things that are pissing me off is growing long. First, I will speak with Malcolm about banning all sessions with Broken Siren and Sex Kitten. They talked me into a session together and one of them caused my current problem. I had rules, and one of them wanted to mark me as theirs. It was deliberate. Malcolm would have already received a phone call from me. However, when he answered, he told me he didn’t have time for my bullshit. Whatever is going on at the BowTied is a problem for the future.

I dry off quickly, putting on a gray T-shirt. My wet hair drips as I slip on my black sweatpants. This conversation should be quick. After it’s over, I can come home and stare off into the darkness in bed, begging sleep to come and take me. At least tomorrow I can take my anger out on the mission.

I hope my Queen is in a forgiving mood, but I doubt that is a possibility. Nut up or shut up. That’s the motto I will use in my approach to this conversation. Set things right and get us both in a clear mindset for tomorrow. Tomorrow, there can be no distractions. I would never forgive myself if something happened on the mission because her mind wasn’t right. I grab a bottle of whiskey and take a long pull off of it before lighting up a cigarette to calm my nerves. My kitchen clock tells me I have less than two minutes left. I am prompt. Of all of my faults, that isn’t one of them.

My grip on the bottle tightens and I take another pull of the whiskey, needing it to heat my body. The noise that lives inside my brain is going to have to be drowned out before this talk. I plan on getting a slight buzz in on the two minutes I have left. A drink followed up with a chaser of smoke into my lungs so I could stop the sinking feeling in my stomach between them. With 30 seconds left, I am at the front door and walking over to her door. Here goes nothing.

Chapter thirteen

Joker opens my door in exactly ten minutes. He didn’t even bother to knock, which normally never bothered me, especially when I was expecting him. He is efficient, and even though that normally would please me right now, it only pisses me off more. I steady my hand, trying to hide that it is shaking as I pour another drink, hoping the bourbon burn will calm me down. The first one did nothing to calm the rage I felt. Tequila is my drink of choice, but that’s my happy drink. I won’t have it tainted with this conversation.

My heart beats behind my eyes because I’m sure I am doing a number on my blood pressure. Less than an hour ago, I killed a man in the basement and that didn’t stress me out, but this conversation is going to be a pain in my ass. The asshole moves closer to me, and that damn mark on his neck taunts me once more. My teeth gnash together, and my anger doesn’t wane as much as I want it to. The mark taunts me as I think of all the reasons she must be better than me. I grip my glass tight and know I have two options—break the glass in my hand or launch it at his head. I close my eyes and let my instincts take over. Before I knew it, my eyes were flying open, and I let my anger win as I launch the glass at his head.

Joker’s quick reflexes kick in, and he ducks out of the way, and the glass connects with the wall, shattering. I can’t seem to stop staring at his neck. His body loses its tension, and he tilts his head, studying me. His palms are up, motioning for his surrender, and then he snaps his fingers at me. “No.” He waves his finger at me. “You don’t get to play that card because seriously? How often have I had to see you get fucked or even hear it? So, lose your anger right now. You have no right.” He moves so I am in sight, and I can’t believe he is starting this conversation. I figured he would want to tiptoe around it like he normally does. He is the expert at dodging complicated issues with us.

But then again, he doesn’t get to dictate what I feel. No, that motherfucker has another thing coming if he thinks I am going to admit I am wrong. Because, am I in the wrong? Probably, but he isn’t about to know that. He could have told me all those years ago that he didn’t want to do those missions with me. He could have been a big boy and told me and my brothers to go fuck ourselves. No, he willingly went and never acted like it bothered him even a second. “That’s different and you know it! I didn’t want to be with any of them and didn’t get off on it.” I grab another glass off the table and go to pour another drink. This conversation is going poorly already and I need a buzz to get through it. As I drink it back, it burns, which helps me calm. Then I dramatically slam it back down and pour another. The bottle feels heavy in my hand, and my palms sweat, wanting to launch it at his head, but I don’t want to waste the alcohol.

“You don’t know if I got off either,” he says, unphased by all that. “What makes you any different from me? Tell me, princess!”

I grind my teeth, trying to keep my anger in check. This glass feels heavy in my hand, reminding me I am currently armed with another one, and he is spouting off bullshit. Why else would he fuck someone? “Well, she sure as shit got to mark you. I never proudly walked around with their handiwork on my body for all to see. Are you proud of it?” I set my glass down before walking up to him and, using both hands at his chest, I shove him backward. “Is this one special or something? Are you going to settle down with her and have a happy family? Marry her and have the whole domesticated bullshit life?” My voice rises, and I realize I am pretty well screeching at him.

“Hell no.” His gaze narrows, scoffing as if the thought left a foul taste in his mouth. “She is nothing, and I will never see her again after this. It’s against all my rules.” He stops letting me shove him by grabbing my wrists.

“Rules?” I scoff at him. My eyes lose their anger when I look at him. I let my anger step aside and let my hurt come forward. Letting him see it all as I give up, blinking my tears away. My breath catches in my throat, and I let out a small whimper, knowing this is it. This is how we end. We are already struggling with our relationship, and I don’t want to lose my best friend. But I’m losing him either way. There is no stopping it. I might as well know the answer that plagues my mind. I close my eyes briefly and open them back up, letting the tears stream down my face. “Why am I not enough?”

“What the hell are you talking about? Who said you’re not enough?” He shoves me backward against the wall, holding me there, chest to chest.

“You! Why her? Why anyone else? What’s wrong with me?” I scream at him. I let myself be vulnerable, and I hate looking weak in front of him. How else am I supposed to get him to notice and see me? Everything I have tried has not worked, and now I am cashing everything in. I can’t keep doing this and I would rather know than not know.

He pulls away from me as if I had shocked him. So many emotions cross his face, and I feel anger before he softens and I prepare for the rejection. “I can’t give you what you deserve.” He touches my cheek with his hand. His eyes are imploring me to understand. His jaw tightens, and I see him trying to swallow the words. “Because I am so fucked up. I can’t even fuck you normally. You deserve someone who can make love to you. I’m not that guy, and I can’t be that guy.”

Just like that, my anger is back. I slap his hand away and glare at him. “Don’t you dare tell me you know how I want to be fucked. How would you know what I want if you don’t ask?”

“You don’t get it!” His hand smacks the wall before he takes a steady breath and looks into my eyes. “Your Mother made me watch you on that mission! It was my punishment because you’re fucking everything to me! She knew it before I did! She knew how much you meant to me, and I repulsed myself with how disgusting I was that I could get hard watching that happen to you. Because that’s how I like and need sex to happen. I need all the control! You deserve something so much better than me. Then, after that, I had to watch you die! They brought you back in front of me! It was then that I knew I didn’t get to have you. It would be my punishment because I deserved it.” He turns his head, and I know he is about to leave. My heartbeat feels like it slows as his words play on repeat.

No, he isn’t about to leave me or this conversation. I hear his words, but they aren’t absorbing, because I hear the only words that I need to hear. I am everything to him. My hand reaches out, and I grab his jaw. My fingers squeeze harder than I should. His beard is soft under my fingers, but I ignore that for now. He tries not to look at me, but I make him. It’s now or never, and I will not let him go without a fight. I slam my mouth against his, urging him to respond to me. My nipples harden as he pulls me into his arms. His mouth devours mine like he is as desperate for me as I am for him. He pushes us into the wall, and I can feel the plaster give slightly under my back.

My body acts on instinct, and I jump and wrap my legs around his hips and feel his hard cock against my sleep shorts. I pull his sweats down slightly with my heels. Once more, he slams my back against the wall, pinning my hands above my head. As he breaks the kiss, his gaze is still on my mouth. “What do you want, Queen? I have a million things I want to do to you, and I need you to tell me.” I love the taste of whiskey on his tongue, and mine flicks to my lips to remember the taste.

He lets go of one of my hands as he rocks his cock against my core. I close my eyes and moan. He feels even bigger than I thought he would be. My hand fists his beard as I pull him back to my mouth to kiss him once more. “First, I want to see my cum leaking from your beard as I ride your face.”

“I can’t wait to watch you come undone for me.” He carries me to my bedroom and tosses me onto the bed. He pulls his shirt off and my eyes admire a sight I have seen little of. Joker’s body is something to marvel at. I could spend hours tracing all his tattoos. His abs are on display for me, along with his pierced nipples. “As much as I love your eyes on me, Queen, I need you to take your shorts off so I can see that pretty pink pussy. I want to see it wet and ready for me.”

I arch my eyebrows up at him and give him a sly smile. “Yes, sir.” My hands go to my hips, and without breaking eye contact with him, I pull them down, tossing them to the side. I run my fingers down my thighs while spreading myself bare for him to see. When my fingertips reach my core, I run them through my slit, spreading my lips for him to see the wetness that is gathering there. He watches me, undoing his sweats and gripping his cock in hand.