The Cunning (18+)

59

The smell of cigarettes was the first thing Madison noticed when she woke up, next was Jase's fingers brushing her cheek. The room was bright with the light of day.

"Go back to sleep. It's early," Jase whispered. She hummed, happy to pretend the man she was intertwined with wasn't the one who had abducted and held her prisoner for five more minutes.

"You look tired," she murmured, taking in the bloodshot eyes and the shadows beneath them.

"I haven't slept," he admitted, closing his eyes and taking another drag on the last cigarette from what had been a fresh pack of twenty. The brandy was gone and he was about sobered up yet his mind remained too loud for him to rest.

"Is it because of last night?" she questioned.

At the hint of their kiss, he could feel the ghost of her lips against his. The sweetness of the brandy on her tongue warmed his mouth, and the feel of her body weighed in his hands.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about what's keeping me up. Close your eyes."

She did as he said, promptly falling back into a deep sleep. But Jase couldn't settle. Over the past five hours, all he'd done was think about Madison's time in the house and how it was nearly over. The awareness of this was making him nauseous and as a result of this bodily reaction, irritated.

He wasn't supposed to care. Madison going to Peter had always been the plan. It was the culmination of all the careful treading, the end goal, bringing closure to the past few months. So why was he in so much internal distress now her handover was approaching?

Of course, he knew the answer. He was past the point of being able to buy his denial. They had formed a connection, letting tongues loosen under the guise of substance abuse doing it for them. An emotional tie was inevitable.

Still, he'd expected it to be one-sided. That was his understanding and previous experience. Women were emotional, they grew easily attached. A small snort escaped him. By now, he should know better than to generalise Madison, it was his constant downfall.

Deciding he wasn't sleeping anytime soon, Jase went downstairs and helped Sam tidy up in silence.

"You look like shit," Sam stated when they finally sat down at the kitchen table. Jase rubbed his cheeks with numb fingers. The house was freezing in the mornings.

"I didn't sleep," he replied flatly.

Sam smiled as if he knew something Jase didn't. "Would you and Madison heading upstairs early have anything to do with that?" Jase didn't even have the energy to banter back and forth with him, shaking his head. Sam frowned, his brow creasing. "What's up?"

Jase ran his hand over his stubble, he was in dire need of a shave but it could wait.

"Just been a long night, mate," he mumbled.

Sam knew when Jase wasn't right. He also knew that if he wanted to discuss it, he would. Trying to get something out of Jase before he was ready was like squeezing blood out of a stone.

"Any plans for Mitch yet?" Sam asked.

Jase puffed his cheeks, shaking his head. He hadn't thought about it, too preoccupied with Madison's upcoming birthday and everything it meant. The relief he had once felt at the idea of her going was replaced by restlessness and an abundance of angst. He wasn't sure he wanted it anymore, to hand her over to that greasy pig. Killing her would be merciful.

By the early afternoon, Jase had reached the point of exhaustion where it was impossible not to sleep. His head pounded, his eyes stung, and even standing to make a coffee wasn't an inconvenient enough position to keep him awake. He left the kettle to boil, coffee half made, and returned to bed.

It was dark again when he came around. Madison was doing her makeup with stuff Janine had given her.

"Who are you dressing up for?" he asked through a yawn, checking the time on his phone. It wasn't as late as the darkness would suggest, barely half-seven.

"Myself," she replied simply. He sat up, rolling his neck around and taking a fresh pack of cigarettes from his drawer.

"Any particular reason why?" he questioned. They weren't having a party.

Madison's fingers hesitated over the tube of mascara. "I wanted to feel pretty one last time before my birthday," she replied quietly. In the mirror, she saw him freeze, the flame still flickering on his lighter, the cigarette between his lips. He cleared his throat, about to say something, but there was nothing he could say. He lit the cigarette.