Take Me Out

11 - Touch Me Like You Love Me

warnings: fluff, smut, a little bit of angst

***

"Right, I need to take out the contents of my safety deposit box," Jake sighs as he taps along the counter.

"Alright, I'll need two forms of identification, then we can bring you back to your box," the desk clerk says, taking Jake's license and passport from him through the glass.

"Okay, Mr. Gyllenhaal," the woman smiles kindly up at him and Jake nods, "let's get you set up with that box, shall we?"

He follows her toward the room full of security deposit boxes like his own, digging out his key as she uses hers to unlock the first half.

He pulls the Manila folder from the second half, quickly thanking the woman before leaving.

He gathers what he needs, a few thousand dollars, the letter he's carefully written, and the Manila folder before taking off to a small motel on the edge of town.

"Riley!" Jake greets the kid at the front desk.

"Jake, dude, you just got your cigar shipment last week. Already running low?"

Jake chuckles as he shakes his head, "no Riley, thanks for checking though."

He watches Riley run a hand through his dirty blond hair before snapping the gum in his mouth, "what's up then? Whatcha need? Weed? Juuls? Dude everyone is into-,"

"No," Jake stops his cigar and weed dealer before he can continue, "I've got a favor to ask. I'm going to give you something, and I want you to wait four months before giving this," he hands him a letter, "to the police."

"What? What's going on, dude?"

"If I come back before then, I'll pick the letter and Manila folder back up, don't have to worry about a thing. But if you don't hear from me before then, assume I'm dead, and I want you to give this letter to the police."

Riley looks at him wearily, "I don't know about this man..."

"How does five grand sound?" Jake asks, setting the money on the counter.

"What's all this for? Someone out to get you?" Riley asks, flipping over the letter in his hand a few times.

"Think of it as collateral."

***

"We did it!" Tom laughs as you push the door to your townhouse open.

"You did it mister," you giggle, pulling him towards you by his tie as he shuts the door behind you.

"Hey, don't try to not give yourself any credit. You deserve it," Tom insists, his hands are tight around your wrists and he's shoving them above your head into the wooden door.

You wince slightly at the pain; a light buzz is low in your stomach.

"Just, don't say things like that," you mutter. You're right, you always are. You just stuck around with Jake and transferred the funds mostly to Jake's account. That's what both Tom and Jake believe.

"Can't you take a fucking compliment?" Tom grunts, kissing down your neck.

"I just, I drove like 11 hours Tom, I'm tired," you wince again because your arms ache and Tom's grip around them are tight.

"Fuck, you're right, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry," he says, immediately letting go of your arms and stepping away from you. His eyes are wide and welling with tears, stumbling over more words.

"It's fine, Tom, I'm fine, I just want to sleep, nap for the rest of the day, is that okay?"

"Yes, it's- I'm sorry. I'll go. I'll go. I'll go," he manages to get out as you approach him.