Sweet Talk Ch. 06

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When all the chips are down...
6.4k words
4.72
23.1k
22

Part 7 of the 7 part series

Updated 10/31/2022
Created 12/14/2008
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"So, is this the part of the night where you ditch me so you can go make up with your friend, who's not your girlfriend?"

Jason flinched at the sound of Carmen's voice. Somehow, he'd almost forgotten that she was there; sitting across from him in the dimly lit booth they'd just settled into. Somewhere, beyond her shoulder, he could see the place in the crowd where Anna had just disappeared.

It wasn't that he hadn't expected to run into Anna at some point tonight—hell, they were sharing a hotel room—but he sure as hell hadn't considered the fact that he'd walk into the bar and, not five minutes later, would see her with Andreas who, true to form, had some fucking sixth sense for showing up when, and where, Jason least wanted to see him.

Which, for the last two days, had been anywhere near Anna.

A litany of swear words flooded through his brain even as he tried, and failed, to focus on Carmen—Carmen who had on this sexy, silky peach-colored dress that left one creamy shoulder bare; Carmen who dripped an earthy sexuality; whose room he'd spent the night in...who, despite all of that, he was having a hard time paying any real attention to.

And not because he was distracted by the way the fabric of her dress was clinging to her undeniable curves. She was gorgeous, and totally into him. Too bad that, in the mood he was in, she might as well be wearing jeans and an old sweater.

And now, she wanted to talk about Anna. Fucking fantastic.

He took a fast, deep swallow from his beer, and glanced away from Carmen. "I don't really want to rehash the whole Anna thing. It's over with."

It wasn't really over, though. He'd been an asshole. He knew this, but that didn't mean he was anywhere near okay with the fact that less than twenty-four hours after they'd argued about Andreas, the first person he saw her with tonight was fucking Andreas. Yeah, he didn't put it past the asshole to hit on her, buy her a drink, like she'd said, but how fucking hard was it to walk away from someone?

He took another long swallow from his beer. Seeing her with Andreas...it'd done weird, angry things to his insides. And, it wasn't just that he couldn't stand the sight of Andreas. That was part of it, yeah, but a lot of this...it was because he didn't like seeing her with anyone.

Like last night. Walking in and finding her asleep next to Sam, then seeing her with Andreas just now...it was all fucking with his head.

Like she'd heard his thoughts, Carmen leaned toward him, across the small table separating them. "Look, you're obviously not in a great mood, and I know I don't really know you all that well, but..." She pressed her perfectly glossed lips together, seeming uncertain, then, she shrugged her bare shoulder, "from what I just saw, you should really be talking things out with your friend."

Jason stared at her, trying his damnedest to keep from swearing, or, better yet, just getting up and walking away. This is what he got for bringing out some woman he barely knew. He almost never did the whole morning after thing, but with Carmen, he'd almost felt obligated.

Thanks to her whole sleeping pill routine last night, they hadn't exactly gotten around to sealing the deal. Fifteen minutes after he'd shown up at her room, they'd been half-naked, and full-on making out, before she'd pulled back with a huge yawn and apologetically said she was too tired to keep things up.

And, he'd been...relieved.

It'd taken up to that point for him to realize that, even drunk, he wasn't any more interested in hooking up with Carmen, than when he'd turned her down in the elevator.

He'd stayed the night, though, and now he was paying the price.

"Honestly," he gritted out, staring out across the dimly lit dance floor, "it's not a huge deal. Anna's fine. Don't worry about it."

Carmen laughed lightly. "Believe me, the guy never thinks it's a big deal. But I was there just now, and whatever's up with you and your friend, it's definitely a big deal to her." She paused, studying him. "Don't you think you should go talk to her?"

Jason forced a smile. "What, and leave you here, alone, for every guy in the room to hit on while I'm gone?" He leaned back, sliding his arm the length of the booth back, with what he knew was his cockiest smile. "I don't think so."

Under other circumstances, that smile had gotten him a whole lot of play, so he was wasn't surprised when Carmen slid out of the booth and circled around to his side of the table.

What did surprise him was that, rather than sliding in next to him, she grabbed her small, beaded purse off the table, and rested a hand along the inside of his thigh.

"We've still got unfinished business," she murmured, "so don't think I won't come looking for you if you do actually ditch me. But I've got two sisters and about a dozen female cousins back home."

He scowled, both confused and annoyed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Simple." A slow, sexy smile touched her lips. "Female solidarity, first. Sexy as hell pastry chefs, second." She leaned in and dropped a lingering kiss at the corner of his mouth. "Now, go make up with your friend, so I don't have to feel guilty when we pick up where we left off last night." On that parting line, she turned around and walked away.

"Seriously?" Jason muttered, watching her go. Then, swearing under his breath, he downed the last of his beer and signaled a passing waitress for another.

He braced both elbows on the table and began to strip the label from his empty bottle, piling bits of plastic next to his cocktail napkin, all the while, thinking about what a complete cluster-fuck this whole trip had turned into.

Jesus, he was exhausted.

Between his whiskey buzz from last night, and all this shit with Anna, he hadn't exactly gotten a lot of sleep. He'd been fine in competition today, but he couldn't keep going like this.

And, still, he was too keyed up, too wired to have any prayer at getting any sleep tonight, either. What he really needed was to clear his head, exhaust himself—and over-priced drinks and the shitty techno music pounding from the bar's sound system wasn't getting him any closer to that.

But the hotel gym might. It was what he'd done in high school, when things with his dad got really bad. He'd hit the gym for two, three hours after school, or run the track until his muscles burned, until he wanted to puke from exhaustion, until all he could think about was water and sleep.

Weirdly, that kind of masochistic oblivion was appealing at the moment.

He tossed some cash on the table to cover the rest of his bill and headed for the door. He had to go back to the room, to change clothes first, so, with luck, Anna was waiting for Sam somewhere, or still getting hit on by Andreas.

He didn't give a fuck, as long as she wasn't in the hotel room. What she did, and with who, wasn't his problem.

. Scowling, he jammed his hands into his pants pockets and stalked down the hall toward the elevators. He'd just reached them when one chimed, and opened, releasing a crowd of people—and Sam.

Jason swore under his breath. So much for Sam and Anna being together—not that he was really a fan of that option, anyway. Not after the way he'd found them last night.

He flicked a cursory glance in Sam's direction, as he punched the button for the elevator closest to him. "Hey."

"Hey." Sam approached, his brow creased. "You seen Anna?"

Jason looked at him for a long moment. Seriously? Of all the people to bring up right now. "Earlier, yeah," he ground out, turning to stare at the elevator doors. "In the bar."

"Was she okay?"

Jason let out a short, harsh laugh. "'Okay,' how? Like, did I go all big, bad Jason on her, and make her cry?"

"No," Sam snapped, stepping in between Jason and the elevator door, his jaw tight. "Like, was she okay when you talked to her? I got a really weird phone call from her a few minutes ago."

Jason flicked a glance at him. "Weird, how?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. I only talked to her for a second, and when I tried to call her back she didn't answer."

"Well," Jason said, smiling nastily, "she was getting cozy with Andreas last I saw. So, maybe she doesn't want to pick up."

"Are you fucking serious?" Sam's brows clapped together in an angry line. "She can't stand Andreas, Jay. He was hitting on her earlier today, and she shut him down , like, two seconds into it." He stared at Jason, shaking his head incredulously. "Look, I'm telling you, something's up with her. She said she'd had a few drinks, but—"

"She's drunk?" Jason laughed as the elevator doors dinged open. "Well, good luck with that. You might not know this," he added in a sarcastic whisper, "but she can be an angry drunk when she wants to be." He stepped into the elevator, and punched the button for the seventh floor.

Sam caught the door before it could slide closed. "You're seriously not gonna help me look for her? She might still be in the bar."

Jason shrugged, cool and careless. "I'm tired."

Sam let the door go, his eyes cold. "I knew you could be a real asshole, Jay, but until right now, I never would've thought that was true when it came to Anna."

They stared at each other in tense silence as the elevator doors slid closed.

Alone, Jason glared at his murky reflection in the elevator's mirrored interior, his insides seething with pent up anger, frustration and, now...a niggling sense of worry.

Yeah, Sam was being a dick, but Jason couldn't shake what he'd said about Anna. He'd just seen her, not fifteen minutes earlier, and she'd been fine—pissed off, but fine. Still, even if he didn't want to deal with her tonight, he knew that if Sam was worried, then...there really might be a reason to worry.

Watching the elevator numbers slowly tick down from the twenty-second floor, Jason fought an inner battle. To call Anna, or not to call her.

Common sense, and the fact that he really wasn't in the mood for another blow-out with her, said no. But if Sam was right, and something was up...

"Fuck." He dug his phone out of his pocket, and hit the power button. The elevator stopped to pick up some people on the fifteenth floor and, when the doors slid closed again, he looked down at his phone. He hadn't turned it back on since last night, and he immediately saw the half dozen or so texts and calls from both Anna and Sam.

"Time for round two," he muttered, thumbing across the touch-screen to bring up Anna's number. The phone lit up while it dialed, and Jason pressed it to his ear as he stepped out of the elevator on the seventh floor.

Walking down the hall, he stared at the hideous hotel carpet, his free-hand shoved in his pants pocket. What the fuck was he going to say if she answered?

Hey. I'm still pissed at you—and myself—but I wanted to make sure you're okay.

Right.

Her end of the line rang, once, twice, in his ear as he headed for the hotel room. He knew from experience that her voicemail would kick in after the tenth ring. And, the longer it rang, the more he thought about hanging up.

She was probably still in the bar somewhere, and couldn't even hear her phone. He counted rings as he walked. Four, five, six...

Three or four more, and he wouldn't have to talk to her. Could just leave her a voicemail, and then if she—

Jason stopped, mid-stride, his attention snagged by a low, buzzing noise. Craning his neck, he looked back down the hall behind him. It was deserted. The noise, though, kept up, got louder, the closer he got to his and Anna's hotel room.

What the hell was that?

An instant later, the sound stopped, just as Anna's voicemail clicked on.

"Hey, it's me," he said after her greeting ended, "I...uh, just ran into Sam, and—"

He cut off, mid-sentence, his eyes catching on a tube of berry-colored lip gloss lying in the middle of the hallway. It looked exactly like one he'd seen Anna use about a thousand times.

He bent and picked it up, turning it slowly between his fingers. Why the hell was her lip gloss lying in the middle of the hallway? He shoved the tube into his pocket and kept walking, only to stop again—this time, at the sight of Anna's cell phone lying on the floor, just outside their closed hotel room door.

What the...?

The phone's screen was still lit, showing his missed call, and a new voicemail. Frowning, he picked that up, too, realizing that the buzzing noise he'd heard must've been her phone vibrating against the floor with an incoming call.

First her lip gloss, now her phone? What the fuck was going on?

The tiny bit of unease he'd felt in the elevator, returned, bringing with it a cold shiver that slid down his spine.

Maybe she was drunk, and had dropped some stuff on the way back to the room. But she'd seemed fine earlier, minus being angry, when he'd talked to her.

So, what the hell?

At the hotel room door, he jammed his key card into the slot. The knob gave, twisted, but a second later, he came up against resistance. The door opened maybe, three inches, before the inside latch caught and held.

Okay, so at least she was actually inside the room. Didn't mean he appreciated her locking him out, though.

"Anna?" He jiggled the handle again, his temper sparking. He was seriously not in the mood for whatever tantrum she was pulling right now. "Look, I just need to get some clothes, and then I'm leaving." There was silence, but he caught the faint, muffled sound of movement inside the room. He swore under his breath.

"Anna!" He slammed his hand against the hard wood, the sound echoing loudly in the hallway. "I don't have time for this. Can you just open the goddamn door?"

Up and down the hall, other room doors opened, guests peering out to see what was going on. Jason ignored them. Christ, this is exactly what he didn't need right now.

Raising a fist to knock again, he took a breath, ready to speak but, he heard movement from inside again—along with a sharp, crashing noise.

He froze, his hand halfway to the door. What the fuck was

"Jason!"The scream, muffled and short, ripped through him.

He had never in his life heard Anna sound like that...it was pure, unadulterated fear. Fear that matched his own as he realized with a sick, twist of terror, that there might be another reason why Anna's stuff was scattered all over the hallway; why the door was locked from the inside.

She wasn't alone.

His entire body went cold, and he didn't think—just took a step back, and in one, fierce motion, kicked the door in. It flew inward, ricocheted off the wall with a loud crack. Someone in a neighboring room screamed, but Jason barely heard any of that, practically didn't even register the fact that, further down the hall, someone had opened their hotel room door to shout that they were calling security.

None of that mattered.

Because, the second the room door slammed open, creaking loudly on its hinges, he saw Andreas—motherfucking Andreas—crouched over Anna's limp form. Her upper body was half on the bed, her hair wild and splayed across her face in a deep, brown fan, her dress hiked up in a twisted mass, to mid-thigh. She pale face was angled toward him, her eyes wide and unfocused; and there was a weird languidness in her limbs.

And there was Andreas, half-standing, half-crouching over her, one knee pressed into the tangled, white comforter between her legs. His dark head swung toward the door and seeing Jason there, his eyes went wide for a split second.

Then, he smiled, a slow, mocking tip of his lips, before he straightened away from Anna, ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "You know," he drawled, looking from Jason, to Anna, then back, "your girl's a bit of a lightweight."

For the barest, briefest second, Jason was twenty-two years old again, standing in a bathroom doorway at the CIA, watching Andreas with Rachel.

Then...then, he realized something: he'd thought he hated Andreas. Had thought there wasn't any more rage than what he'd once directed at this asshole. But the fury he'd felt finding Andreas and Rachel together—that didn't come anywhere near this; wasn't even on the same level as the livid, blind fury that took hold of him now.

Especially when he looked at Anna, took in her milk-pale skin, the terror in her wide, unfocused eyes. He knew, in his bones, that she wasn't drunk. And he definitely didn't miss the three, deep scratch marks that curved across the inside of Andreas's wrist.

Jason's vision went red at the edges. He didn't say anything. Didn't think anything. Just, one second, he was standing in the doorway, and, the next, he was inside the room, had Andreas by the throat and lifted him—literally lifted him—off the ground, slammed him against the side of the heavy oak armoire across from the bed.

The TV on top of the armoire tilted drunkenly and crashed to the floor. Somewhere, beneath the rage, he heard Anna scream, but in the next moment, Andreas swung, wildly, his fist connecting. Jason grunted, tasted blood in his mouth, but only hauled his arm back to slam a fist into Andreas's stomach. The fucker screamed in pain, would've doubled over if Jason hadn't had such a firm grip on his throat.

"You piece of shit!" He slammed his fist into Andreas's face. Once, twice, three times. Over and over, until he lost count, until the skin over his knuckles split open.

"Jason! Stop!" There were Anna's hands, small and pale, wrapped around his wrist, trying to pull him away, but the only thing Jason truly registered was the sound of Andreas's body connecting with the unforgiving wood of the armoire—and, it was the most unsatisfying sound he had ever heard in his life.

He wanted Andreas in pain, screaming, begging for mercy. He wanted him unconscious, dead even. He pushed Anna off him, toward the bed.

Behind them, someone started pounding on the room door. Andreas used the distraction to shove Jason off, driving his fist into his temple, before lunging for the door. Blindly, Jason went after him, caught him a second after he wrenched the door open; he slammed into Andreas's back with the full force of his weight, took him down in the doorway.

Sam was in the hallway, with two security guards, the three of them half-frozen in shock at the scene they'd just walked in on. Jason barely even registered the fact that they were there.

Instead, he dragged Andreas over, onto his back, pinned his arms, and drove his fist into the fucker's face, again and again.

"Jesus Christ!" Sam shouted on the edge of Jason's awareness, "Jason, stop! Stop, dammit!" He shoved into the room and threw his full body weight at Jason.

By some miracle, Sam succeeded in pulling Jason away, physically putting himself between Jason and Andreas. Jay came back to himself, then, panting, his knuckles dripping a combination of his and Andreas's blood, his breath jagged and harsh in his chest. It wasn't until then that he realized, hazily, that'd he'd been slamming Andreas's head into the side of the metal doorframe. The bastard's entire face was a swollen, blood-stained mess.

One of the security guards stepped inside, eyeing Jason critically, his gaze skimming over the destroyed room. "Someone want to explain what the hell's going on?" he barked.

Jason didn't even look at him; instead, he was staring past him, at Andreas who was still on the floor, getting checked out by the other security guard.

Despite the murderous rage boiling through his veins, spoke with cold, calm precision. "If I ever see you again, I'll fucking kill you."

"Hey!" The security guard took a menacing step toward Jason. "You can't go around making threats like that. The cops are already on the way, but I need someone, to tell me what happened here."

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