JACKAL
The male nursery web spider brings a gift to the female. The female checks it out and if she approves, he mates with her while she unwraps her gift and eats it; however, the male often lies. Sometimes he sucks out the food and gives the beautifully wrapped exoskeleton, or even just a twig. When the female finds out the truth, it’s over for the male.
“You’ve been paying off Yvonne an awful lot. Where are you hiding these days, Jackal?” Selfish asks when she sees me walking past the pool.
“If I wanted you to know, you would,” I tell her as nonchalantly as I can, heartbeat quickening. “A man needs time to himself every now and then. I’m not hiding; I’m decompressing.”
She flips her sunglasses back over her eyes. “As long as you make your appointments on time, we won’t have a problem.”
For once I’m grateful for the lazy-as-fuck handler. Never thought I’d appreciate anything about her, but I’m breathing easier as I walk into the compound. I have two appointments to get ready for, one closeby and the other twenty minutes away. I shower and put on a nice suit for the first, straightening my tie when my Silverbook alerts me to a call.
I look at the screen and it’s Sean. It’s too bad—I liked the guy when I first came here, and now I cringe every time I hear his name. I swallow my fucking pride and connect.
“Hello, favorite End Man of the Blue,” he says.
It doesn’t help that he says things like that.
“Hello, Governor. To what do I owe this honor?”
“I’m hosting a small dinner party tomorrow night and wondered if you could join me. I know you must get overloaded with all the parties and events you have to attend, but this one will be low-key, I promise.”
“I’ll have to check the schedule and see if that’s an option…” I start.
“I hope you don’t mind, I already cleared it with Selfice and it looks like you’re clear.”
My temper flares and I check myself before speaking. “I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow night then.”
“Seven o’clock. Come hungry.”
We hang up after brief goodbyes, and I hit the punching bag I’ve kept in every bedroom since becoming an End Man. Again and again. Until my hand is numb and so is my mind. I need another shower and hurriedly take one, which makes me late for my first appointment.
“You’re late,” Mrs. Wilson says.
The other Mrs. Wilson stands in the background, glowering. I suspect the latter isn’t keen on needing me to impregnate her wife. First Mrs. Wilson puts her hands on my lapels and pulls. Okay then. We’ve got an aggressive one.
“You will have to stay extra.” She tsks and pulls me by the hand.
“No, I’ll be leaving on time,” I tell her.
She drops my hand and stares at me. “Are we going to have a problem?”
“Nope,” I force a stiff smile onto my face. “But I do have other appointments, and I can guarantee an orgasm in ten minutes.”
She appears to be satisfied with my guarantee because she climbs me right in the foyer, her wife watching. My stomach turns over and I pull back, taking a deep breath. Am I losing my edge? I feel nauseated.
“Good,” she says. “Because I—”
“I need you to stop talking right fucking now.”
She looks alarmed for a moment, but her mouth curls up in a grin.
It’s a good thing she likes rude because that’s the only way the union is culminated. We make it to the bedroom. I close my eyes the rest of the time, she shuts the fuck up, and we get it done. Well, I get it done. She comes twice, but when I pull out, she’s still bucking and rubbing herself, and she starts squirting everywhere. The fuck. I wipe off my face. Nothing against the act—it’d be fun to see Phoenix explode like that—but seeing Mrs. Wilson squirt makes me throw up a little in my mouth.
When I get ready to leave, I don’t look at either one of them as I walk past. I see them in my peripheral, standing in front of their ceramic mushroom collection.
She starts to say something before I open the door and I slam it while she’s still talking.
I don’t know what’s happening.
I wish I could talk to Folsom.
He’s the only family I’ve ever had. He called me a dick when I was being a dick, and he chapped my ass when I shaved my balls.
It seems like a lifetime ago when I completed my training and the Society handed me over to Folsom, who was to be my mentor.
“Oh, they are going to love you,” he’d said when he first saw me, that smile of his gradually creeping up.
Best man I know.
He was the one who told me the sooner I learned to focus on the task at hand, the quicker I’d get through appointments, because they wouldn’t all be glamorous or fun. And he was right. Sometimes the women are vile, cruel, mean creatures. Sometimes they are kind and thoughtful. But no matter how awful or wonderful they are, it is our job to make them feel valued and important.
The only person who ever made me question my job before now was a woman who paid me to do it. After we had sex, she lay on her back staring up at the ceiling and said—“It must be awful for you. Having to fake feelings so many times a day. Pretending that you like this when you’re forced to do it.”
Her words shocked me. I’d never considered that I didn’t like my job. The jet, the clothes, the alcohol, and the luxury—it was given the same way sweets are given to quiet a child. Manipulation masked as generosity. The first of us to question our captivity was Folsom and now he is gone. Gwen woke him up, love woke him up. And now here I am falling for Phoenix. It is truly terrifying, my world thrown off its axis.
I don’t go to Phoenix’s that night. Selfish bringing up my disappearances has me unsteady, and the way I’m careening out of control over a woman has me hugging the whiskey. I wake up with a hangover and feeling extra bitter. I miss Phoenix. That thought sends me back to the punching bag. I’m an asshole at my next appointments and when I get back to the compound, Selfish is waiting.
“I’ve gotten two complaints about you—one from yesterday and one from your last romp. What’s going on with you?”
“I need a vacation,” I tell her.
“Your whole life is a vacation. The End Men don’t get time off.”
“Exactly. Fix that and I’ll fix my attitude.”
The Governor’s Mansion is lit up when Yvonne drops me off at the front steps. Every room in the house glows yellow in the early evening light. I arrive at seven on the dot and my car door is opened by none other than Sean himself.
“I like a man who’s prompt,” he says, shaking my hand.
We ascend the stairs to the front door in an uncomfortable silence, and right before we get there, the door opens. Phoenix stands in the doorway and I can tell she’s upset. So much for our not being seen together. My steps falter and Sean grips my arm, gently guiding me inside. Despite the nervousness that grips her features, Phoenix is glowing. Her skin is dewy, and she’s wearing her hair long, curled over her right shoulder. Her dress is a transparent gold that hugs every curve. I can see the faint outline of her nipples through the material and my mouth goes dry. Fuck my life.
“Hello, little thief,” I say quietly. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”
“Evening,” Phoenix says formally, and then she hisses a horrified “No!” at me.
She smiles at Sean and I stiffen. I look around for the alcohol, so I don’t make any mistakes, such as ripping the governor’s face off.
“Come on back, everyone is on the patio.”
We file toward the back door as Sean leads the way, and I give Phoenix a pointed look. She lifts an eyebrow and steps in front of me, cutting off any further communication. I follow her ass out, watching the way it sways hypnotically. She stops suddenly and I bump into her.
“What?”
“Quit staring at me,” she whispers, pointing at the mirror on the wall across from us.
“Quit wearing dresses like that.”
Sean turns around and I plaster a smile on my face.
“Coming?” he asks.
“At least three times a day,” I say.
Sean is clearly amused, while Phoenix looks annoyed.
“Touché,” he says. “Drink?”
“Our End Man has arrived,” he yells out the door and I hear applause.
“I thought this was a small gathering,” I say under my breath.
“It is, it is,” Sean says when Phoenix and I step out.
Phoenix looks at him sharply and then at me. Five beautiful women are standing around the patio sipping champagne.
“Oh shit,” I say.
All of them but Phoenix giggles and I know then that it’s going to be a long night. I take the flute Sean hands over and clink my glass to the women holding theirs out for me. Phoenix avoids eye contact and it’s just as well—I can’t promise I wouldn’t haul her over my shoulder and run if I saw any sign from her that she wanted out.
“The chef has prepared a lovely meal and I’ve asked Phoenix to dance for us while we’re having the hors d’oeuvres.”
Phoenix leaves for a few minutes to prepare and when she comes back out, we all watch quietly as she gets into position. It feels wrong: the women, the governor, Phoenix being asked to dance. I eye him over the rim of my glass trying to figure out his angle. I remember what I said to Gwen the first day I met her and feel it more deeply now than ever: we don’t belong to each other anymore. And even more troubling, we don’t belong to ourselves.
How have we ever been okay with that?