Jack and Djinn (The Houri Legends, #1)(3)
He needed to find Miriam, but the burning question was whether he would find her dead or alive.
Chapter 2
Miriam
One month earlier
Miriam watched Ben pour the tequila into the shaker, trying to gauge his mood. He seemed calm enough, but that didn’t always mean anything. She placed the last highball on the round black tray, hefted it to her shoulder, and moved out into the bustle of the bar. She navigated the crowd carefully, holding the tray above her head. The Taproom was bustling? full of drunks watching the Tigers game. She felt a hand grab her backside, and she halted in her tracks, cursing the jerk. He just leered, winked, and reached for her again, but Ben was there in an instant. He latched onto the guy’s arm with crushing force. Miriam winced in sympathy, knowing exactly how painful Ben’s grip was.
“Keep your filthy hands to yourself, *,” Ben growled, leaning down over the customer, a sweaty, round-faced man of about forty, wearing a green and yellow John Deere trucker hat and a flannel shirt. “If I see you touch my waitress again, I’ll throw you out on your ass, you understand me?”
“Yeah, sure. I getcha, pal,” the man said, trying to tug his hand free. Ben clamped down harder, until the man squirmed. With one last glare, Ben released him and sauntered back to the bar. Miriam delivered the rest of her drinks and went back to the service bar with her new orders.
“Thanks, Ben,” she said.
“Yeah. You okay, baby?” Ben snatched a ticket from the printer.
“He just copped a feel, no big deal.”
“It is a big deal. Not in my bar. Not my girlfriend.” He mixed the drinks and slid them to her. “If he does that again, tell me. I’ll beat the shit out of him.”
“Ben, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”
Ben glared at her. “Just tell me if he does it again.”
Great, Miriam thought. He’ll be in a bad mood for the rest of the night. A good mood with Ben was mercurial, coming and going like clouds drifting across the sun, but a bad mood would linger, and very little could lift him out of it. A bad mood for Ben meant a bad night for Miriam.
The rest of the night passed without incident, and closing time finally arrived. Ben bellowed out the last call and cashed out Miriam and the other servers. By the time they were done with their sidework—refilling salt and pepper shakers and the other condiments, and rolling silverware into napkins—Ben had shooed the last stubborn drinker out and was counting the cash register drawers to make the evening deposit. Ben shut off the lights, locked the doors, and exited out the back, the other waitresses scattering to their cars, leaving Ben and Miriam standing in a pool of flickering orange light coming off the fixture over the back door.
“You coming over?” Ben asked.
“I don’t know, Ben. I’m tired, and I work a double tomorrow.” Miriam hoped he would take the hint, but she knew better.
“Just come over for a little bit.” Ben grabbed her hand and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb in idle, annoying circles.
Miriam sighed. “Ben…I’m exhausted. I’ve been on my feet all day, and tomorrow is going to be worse.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve always got some excuse. You’re tired. You have a headache. You have a long day tomorrow.” His touch turned to a warning squeeze, not enough to hurt her just yet, but with enough force to remind her who was in charge. “It’s almost like you don’t love me anymore. Like you’d rather be somewhere else.”
“Ben, you know that’s not it—”
“Somewhere else, or someone else? Is that it?” His voice was low and threatening, sharp with latent rage. “Is there someone else?”
“No, Ben. There’s no one else. No one but you, you know that.”
“Then come over. Prove it to me.”
Miriam didn’t have much choice. He was calm and in control right now despite his earlier dark mood, but if she resisted any more, his temper would turn. Bad things would happen. She sighed and let him lead her to his ancient, battered Chevy S-10. His hand rubbed her thigh the whole way back to his apartment, his palm moving in circles around the same spot until she wanted to bat his hand away in irritation. She didn’t, though, because that would piss him off.
He was kissing her neck as he unlocked his door, and by the time they got to his bedroom, he had her shirt off and her pants unbuttoned. She was tired and her feet hurt, and this was the last thing she wanted, but it was better to just let him do what he wanted. Safer.
Ben was as self-centered in bed as he was in everything else. As soon as he had her naked and in bed, he pushed into her and started thrusting hard and fast. Miriam squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her teeth, and waited for him to finish. Normally, he’d thrust and grunt for a few minutes, finish, and then flop to his side and fall asleep. She was just there, not really participating, and certainly not enjoying it. But he didn’t care.
This time was a little different, though. She felt him inside her, his hard body above her, his breath on her shoulder. She felt a loathing, a rife, dark disgust. For Ben, yes, but mostly for herself, for being too weak to get away from him. Tonight, her senses seemed hyper-attuned—she felt each individual thread of the sheets beneath her back, the hair on Ben’s chest tickling her, the day-old stubble on his chin rasping over the round of her shoulder, his legs pushing to give him leverage for his thrusting. She felt the dry, painful tug of his manhood inside her, the brief punch of his hips slamming into hers.