Us

By Emily Eck

Told from dual points of view, Elle and J must figure out how to bring down an MC, steer clear of flying bullets in Missouri and south of the border, all the while making sure Fernie is out of the line of fire. Elle's love for J is tested, as is her belief that she will ever find "normal" with the man she loves.

J is determined to make things right so he can give Elle the "normal" life she deserves. He just has to stay alive to make it happen. With his own personal sun by his side, he knows nothing is impossible. That is, until the bullets are redirected from his head to Elle's.

Elle: I held my hand up, showing him the ring he’d put on me. “This is us,” I told him. It was more than a ring. Well, to me it was more. “I promise to love you ‘til the day I die.”

J:"Us, baby. This is us. I'll love you 'til the sun ceases to shine."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emily Eck
• Release date: Jul 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310879159

Emily Eck

Emily is a Midwestern Gal, but could be anywhere as you read this. She gypsy's the country, as well as south of the border. Adventure feeds her soul and offers great writing material. She loves kids and working with kids, but can only handle caring for four-legged furry friends. A crazy dog named Darla has trained Emily to be her partner in life. Emily's vices include Swedish Fish, ignoring chores in favor of reading, and caring too much for people in her life. When she is not writing or gallivanting around North America, Emily works in some youth serving capacity. She chose to write this bio in third person as she is an Aries and found writing in first person ended up with her writing an excessively long life story. Aries like to talk about themselves. It is something Emily is working on being more mindful of.

Book preview

This is the third book in the L&J Trilogy. If you have not read the previous installments, I encourage you to do so as this book is the culmination of Elle and J's story. You don't want to miss out on all the good stuff that's already happened :)

Thank you.

-E

L&J Reading Order

Steel & Ice (L&J 1)

J Speaks (L&J 1.5)

Melted & Shattered (L&J 2)

J Roars (L&J 2.5)

Us (L&J 3)

To all the undocumented youth in the United States,

may you find your American Dream or the closest you can get.

To anyone whose options in life have all sucked.

We choose the best we can, and hope all goes well.

Chapter 1 – Elle

I wasn't quite twenty years old, but I was partying with adults. I went with one of the other cooks who'd worked that night. Larry had to close and was going to meet up with us at this house party later. I didn't know the owner of the house, and the cook I came with was new. He seemed cool. Larry got along with him and I guess I did too. As soon as we got to the party, the cook I arrived with disappeared, leaving me to fend for myself.

I'd gone home to change. Jeans, an oversized hoodie, and Jordans. I hadn't found my swagger yet. I hadn't discovered the power women had over men, how easy it was to make them want you. I was scared of my sexuality, and didn't want to be noticed. I wanted to blend in. What a joke. I never blended. If it wasn't how I looked, it was the shit that came out of my mouth. I'd never felt normal. Yes, I fucked guys. A lot of guys. But only because I wanted to stay the night instead of going home. I didn't know love, or even lust. I only knew survival.

I didn't have to do that shit anymore. I had my own apartment. I had money. I had a job. I was set. I was in control. Fuck, I needed that control in those days. So much.

I was standing by the keg, nursing a beer. We'd gotten off work late, made later since I ran home to shower and change clothes. By the time we arrived at the party, it was past one o'clock in the morning, the jump off having happened some time ago. Someone passed me a blunt. I put it to my lips, but didn't inhale, merely pretending. I passed it to a woman with blond hair who stood next to me. She was everything I felt I wasn't. My height, but thinner, blond hair and blue eyes. She seemed so sure of herself, like she knew she should be walking the runway, not nursing a shitty beer in Missouri. I guess if I looked like a supermodel I'd be pretty fucking confident too.

The blunt never came around to me again, thankfully. The group by the keg dispersed in various directions, the party having died down, and only a handful of people left lingering. I pulled a joint out of my cigarette pack and asked the cook I came with if he wanted to smoke it with me. He laughed.

You're not high? I remember him asking me.

I didn't hit that shit. Shady mother fuckers be lacing their weed. I rolled this joint, I know it's clean. I'll share it with you, but I'll smoke it myself all the same if you aren't interested. Plus that blunt was total schwagg.

The cook laughed and took the joint I handed him. I never got to hit the blunt. I think those dudes were only passing it to you and the blond chick.

We were huddled in a corner of the basement by a bar with various liquor bottles on it, as well as red plastic cups for the keg that sat next to it, the one we were posted up by. We stood away from the dozen or so left-over party goers. We smoked the joint of good weed I'd brought with me, shooting the shit about nothing in particular, rehashing the night we had at work. Just BS-ing.

I remember the air in the room changing. I can't explain what it felt like, only that my heart began to pound and I became aware that the room was practically empty. There were three guys and the blond woman on the other side of the basement, fifty, maybe seventy five feet away. She was drunk, but not sloppy drunk. The guys thought she was, or hoped she was, as they tried to force her on top of a pool table. She was fighting them as they started to tear at her clothes.

What the fuck? I whispered. We would have to pass them to get to the door. Even if that wasn't the case, watching what was going down, I knew I couldn't leave her.

Where had everyone gone? Was I that high that I missed the room clearing out?

I pulled my phone out to call Larry since it was pushing three o'clock, and he should've arrived already. I had just pressed the green phone button to dial when a piercing scream rang through the room. The guys had gotten the blond woman's pants off. She was naked from the waist down. One guy held her arms above her head, pinned to the pool table, another held her legs, though she tried to kick, putting up a fight. The third guy was unbuttoning his pants.

The cook I was with stood there motionless. My eyes darted around the bar area, looking for something, anything that I could use to make the girl stop screaming. They landed on a knife block. I grabbed the largest knife, a cheaper version of the one I'd just spent eight hours holding in my hand cutting chicken, quesadillas, and vegetables. I'd been cooking long enough that a knife had become an extension of my arm. I no longer used paring knives or steak knives. I used the chef's knife for everything, its eight inch blade like a sixth finger.

The blond woman screamed again, and I saw the guy with his dick out pull her to the edge of table. One guy was still holding her arms, and the other had stepped away and unbuttoned his pants. He was stroking himself.

I dropped the phone and turned to the cook by my side. Find something sharp, I told him.

I moved without thinking, my heart pounding a mile a minute in my chest. I had to help the blond woman. What these guys were doing to her was wrong. It was the worst thing you could do to a woman. The worst violation.

Though my heart was racing and my pulse has sped up to heart attack speed, my mind was clear. It had only one goal, one mission.

I ran to the pool table, coming up behind the guy about to shove his dick in the blond woman. Instead, I shoved my knife in the back of his leg. He screamed and his knees buckled, blood gushing from the wound. The guy stroking himself ran out of the room, clearly realizing the night had taken a turn he'd not anticipated. I was the turn, the unexpected variable in the situation. I moved to the guy holding the blond woman's arms and he followed Jerk Off Guy out of the basement door. I tossed the woman her pants, and it was like I'd been in slow motion and time suddenly sped up to normal speed.

I saw the guy laying on the ground under the pool table, blood still pouring from his leg.

Elle!

I looked up to see Larry standing in the doorway, his face contorted upon seeing the scene in front of him, likely not what he was expecting when he came in the open door. I grabbed the girl and ran to him, still in the zone, my mind still focused on extracting ourselves from yet another fucked up scenario I'd gotten myself into.

Let's go. Meet me at my place. I turned to the other cook. Go with Larry. Fuck. Do something with this. I held the knife between my thumb and two fingers, blade down, out for Larry to grab, just like we passed knives around in the kitchen. Blade down, always. Larry took his shirt off and I placed the bloody knife in it. I wiped the blood from my hands down the front of my jeans, anxious to get all traces of the Rapist Bastard off me.

Still holding the blond girl's hand, I darted to my car. She had her underwear and shoes in the hand I wasn't clutching, and ran to keep up with me. I clicked the key fob and told her to get in.

As soon as we were in the car, I peeled out of the driveway like I'd just stabbed someone.

Fuck.

I'd just stabbed someone.

Are you OK? I asked.

Yeah. You got there before he put it in. What—why—where are we going? Her voice broke slightly, yet her posture remained stoic.

My house. You cool with that?

Yeah. I'm Chris.

Elle, I told her, not taking my eyes off the road.

We got to my place and I gave her some sweats and a T-shirt.

You wanna shower? She just nodded at my questions. I led her to the bathroom, taking the clothes from her hands and turning on the water for her. Use whatever you want in there. Soap. Shampoo. Whatever you need.

I went to my bedroom and took my jeans off, making sure not to smear the blood or get it on me. I put on some track pants and got a trash bag from the kitchen.

Are you in the shower? Can I come in and get your old clothes? I need to get rid of them, I yelled through the bathroom door to Chris.

Yeah, you can come in.

I could see the outline of her body through the shower curtain. She was sitting in the bathtub, knees pulled up to her chest, the shower raining down on her.

I know I've asked, but... um, are you OK? Do you need anything? I'd given her clothes already. I didn't have much else to offer.

My mom's boyfriend tried to rape me once. I was young. He never got his dick in me, but he touched me in—it was wrong. I swore I'd never let something like that happen again. I fucked up.

You didn't fuck up. Those mother fuckers tried to rape you. Their bastard asses are the fucked up ones who should be burning in hell right now, I seethed.

No, I mean, I wasn't on my game. I fucked up. That blunt. It was laced with something. I knew I felt wrong. I think it was meant to make me pass out, but—well, I've... she trailed off. I gave her silence to think about whatever was in her head. I could imagine the variations of what she might be thinking, the things I'd thought before. I've done a lot of drugs. I think they thought the blunt would fuck me up more, but my tolerance for shit's high. I could tell I was more than just weed high, and the blunt kept coming to me. It seemed like I was the only one hitting it. She paused, realization hitting her. Why aren't you more fucked up?

I never hit the blunt. Something had told me things weren't right. These were people Larry said he knew, but I was wondering how well he actually knew them.

She started to sob quietly. Shit. I had no idea what to do for her. She was basically a stranger, naked in my shower, having a total breakdown. Despite that, we were now connected in a way that I would later learn could never be broken.

The doorbell rang.

Shit. It's them! Chris screamed, afraid the guys were after us.

I'll go check. It should be Larry. He's cool. Hold up, OK? I asked her.

Please don't let them in.

Of course. I'll tell them they can't stay. Lock the door behind me. I picked up the bag with her and my bloody clothes, and got up off the floor where I'd earlier slid down the wall, unable to think straight while standing.

I peeked out the window to make sure it was Larry. He was alone, so I assumed he ditched our coworker.

Hey. Come in, but you can't stay. She's freaking out.

You aren't? Larry asked as he came in the living room. He had a clean shirt on, and he'd washed his hands of any blood. I looked at my own stained hands and realized I hadn't.

I guess so. Fuck. I don't know. Who the fuck were those guys? I thought you knew them? I asked Larry, walking to the kitchen and turning the hot water on with my elbow. I ran my hands under the water, scrubbing them with dish soap.

Larry was running his hands trough his hair, something I learned he did when he was annoyed or freaking out, usually annoyed. Tonight I think he was freaking out, though.

What? I asked him.

Elle, you stabbed that guy in the big artery in his leg.

OK. Larry looked at me like I was missing something, and I was.

He's dead. Bled out.

What? I felt like all the air left my lungs. I clutched my chest, trying to get a breath in. Larry was by my side instantly. The minute I felt him next to me, I grabbed his arm as my legs gave out. I sunk to the floor, putting my head between my raised knees. He rubbed my back, telling me it was OK and that he'd take care of the knife and the bloody clothes bag.

Wait—what—shit. I couldn't speak right. Cops? It was all that would come out.

He's a degenerate, a fucking dealer of all types of drugs. I'm sorry. I had no idea what a low life he was or I never would've suggested you go over there. I thought he just sold weed, but when I went to get a towel from the bar, I found all kinds of drugs in the cabinets. The cops'll probably see it as a good riddance. If they don't, I'll tell the police that I stabbed him. My fingerprints are all over the place just as much as yours and everyone else who was there tonight. He paused. I won't let you go down for this, Elle, so don't even think about cops.

My breathing evened out. Fuckin A. Larry had been such a good friend to me since we started working together. He was always making sure I was safe, even when it was unnecessary. I had no doubt he'd take the wrap for me, even if it was self defense—sort of. That was the kind of friend he was.

Thanks, Larry. I think I owe you pretty big for this one. I heard the water shut off. Shit. I'm sorry. You gotta go. Chris is freaking out.

Chris?

The blond girl I killed a guy for. I said it, but it wasn't until the words were out of my mouth that I realized what I'd done.

I get it. Call me later, before you go to sleep. I'm going to get rid of this stuff. He held up the plastic bag of bloody clothes.

Yeah. I led him to the door. He was about to step outside, but turned around and pulled me into his arms, his bright blue eyes shining with wetness.

Fuck, Elle. I don't know what I would've done if that was you. I'm so sorry.

It's OK. I was stiff in his arms, freaked out by the night and his sudden display of emotion. We'd only hugged once before, it also being under shitty circumstances.

He left, and I shut the door behind him. Locking it, I slid down to the floor.

I killed a man tonight.

I couldn't seem to stop that single sentence from rolling around my head. I took a life. I wasn't a violent person, but watching them about to rape Chris, a woman I didn't even know, had turned me onto autopilot. I didn't think about the consequences, only that what was happening was wrong and I had to stop it.

Are you OK? I looked up to see Chris in my sweats. She has them rolled up at the waist since they were too big for her slim hips. Her feet were bare as her shoes had gone in the trash bag Larry was hopefully burning.

I feel like I should be asking you that, I told her.

What did your boyfriend say? She sat down on the floor next to me.

Larry? He's not my man. Just a friend. What did he say? Fuck. He said the guy who almost raped you is dead. I stabbed him in that artery in your leg.

Her eyes got wide. The femoral artery? I shrugged. He bled out? I shrugged again, but coupled it with a nod.

We were silent, both digesting the night, the role we each played, the fuckers who we'd just dealt with, and the outcome of what was the most fucked up situation of MY life. I couldn't speak for Chris. We sat for half an hour before she spoke.

Can I sleep on your couch?

Yeah. Of course. Shit. You wanna watch some TV or something? I know it's practically morning, but I don't think I can sleep. I'm kind of afraid to close my eyes.

She exhaled a deep breath. Shit. Me too. Fuck. I haven't even said thank you.

Don't, I said quickly. I'm about to fucking lose it and that'll do it. Let's just—shit, let's just forget it, OK? I got season five of Entourage we can marathon until we pass out.

Right on. Chris got up off the ground, and held her hand out for me to take. I took it, letting her pull me up.

And we did just that, falling asleep while Ari made movie deals at a funeral.

I sat up in bed, sweat dripping from my pours, but unable to stop shivering. Shit. I hadn't thought about that night... well, pretty much since it happened. Chris and I never talked about it. We lived it. There was no need to rehash it.

My heart was racing like I had stabbed the guy all over again. I felt like I was in that basement and the fucker was trying to hurt Chris.

Shit. I looked around at unfamiliar walls. Where was I? There were hands on my waist. I reared my elbow back into the stomach of whoever was trying to touch me. Why was I naked?

Oumpf. I heard a voice behind me. The hands fell off my waist and I jumped from the bed. What the...

Chapter 2 - J

I could tell she'd been having a nightmare. She wasn't screaming or thrashing, but I felt her heart racing against mine as I held her in my arms. She started to move, and I let her go, not wanting her to feel trapped. As soon as I did, she shot up into a sitting position on the bed. I wasn't sure if she was awake or not since she didn't make a noise. I gave her a moment to get her bearings, to remember where she was and who she was with. She knew I'd never hurt her, never again, but sometimes it took her a minute to remember when she woke up from dreams like this.

I thought she was OK since she wasn't screaming. She was shivering and I was going to wrap my arms around her, warm her up. The second I touched her I felt her sharp elbow rear back into my stomach, and damn, that shit hurt like a mother fucker. She wasn't with it yet, still in fight or flight mode. She had the fight down, and the flight came next as she jumped out of bed.

She stood up, naked, eyes wild and darting around the hotel room.

Elle, baby, it's me. I tried to speak quietly, having learned loud noises at this juncture would do more harm than good. Once I tried yelling to break her from the spell the dreams seemed to cast. She'd only panicked more.

You're OK. You're with me and I love you. Come back to me. Elle. I kept speaking to her until her eyes cleared and I saw recognition cross her face.

Shit. She held her hand over her heart that I'm sure was still racing.

What do you need, baby?

She wiped the sweat beading on her forehead.

Do you want me to start the shower? You're covered in sweat and shivering.

Yeah. Please.

She went to the bathroom and sat on the closed toilet, elbows on her knees, hands folded, and her head lying in her palms. I could hear her taking deep breaths in and out. Though this hadn't been the most violent dream I'd seen her have, I knew it was bad. After what we'd been through and the fact that she was barely able to speak, I knew I'd have to be gentle if I wanted her to tell me what had her so spooked.

Once the water was hot, I asked her, Do you want me to get in with you?

She regarded me for a moment, almost like she was unsure what she wanted.

No. I think— She paused. I think I need a minute.

Although it hurt that she didn't want me in the shower with her, I gave her the space she needed. I left the bathroom, listening for the rustling of the shower curtain. Once she was in, I poked me head around the corner. The shower curtain was opaque. I could see the outline of her body as she stood under the showerhead, water raining down her back. She lifted her face to the spray of water, and ran her hands over her face, maybe wiping away all traces of the dream. One hand reached out to the wall in front of her, bracing her body, while the other stayed in her hair. She grabbed a fistful of it and pulled. I knew what she was doing, redirecting her emotional pain to physical pain. I'd seen her do it various times. Shit, I did it too; sometimes clutching my shoulder so hard it sent pain radiating down my arm. Why was physical pain so much easier to manage?

She turned off the water, yet continued to stand in the shower, placing both hands on the tiles in front of her. She leaned her head forward, until it too rested on what couldn't be a very clean wall. I watched her, unmoving, waiting for her to do something. I was just about to make my presence known when she turned to open the shower curtain. I hauled ass back to the bed and lay down.

She came into the bedroom wrapped in a towel. I knew there was no telling what would come out of her mouth. Usually it was one of the things I loved about Elle. She kept me on my toes. In that moment, though, I wished I could be inside her head so I would know how to help her, how to love her.

Can I call Chris?

Of course, I told her.

I'm not asking permission. I'm asking if it's safe.

Yeah. You can use the burner.

Shit, she said, pulling on her damp hair. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to come out so shitty.

It's OK. I handed her the phone. She took it, returned to the bathroom, and closed the door.

Fuck.

I wanted to shove my ear up against the door like the creeper that I was. I didn't, though. Whatever Elle had done in the past, it obviously involved Chris, or she at least knew about it. I had to let Elle tell me in her own way, in her own time. Those were easy words to think, yet harder to put into practice.

I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, fighting the almost violent urge to get up and either bust into the bathroom, or at least listen to her conversation. I grabbed my shoulder, the physical pain easing the torment in my mind, and I waited.

Chapter 3 - Elle

Pick up. Come on, pick up. The phone rang and rang, going to voicemail. On the third try, Chris finally answered.

You better be Ed fucking McMahon telling me I won the mother fucking Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes, or else I'm hanging the fuck up now, Chris growled.

Ed McMahon's dead.

Shit, girl. What's up? Are you OK? It's the middle of the night here and over there.

I was silent. I didn't even know where to begin.

Elle, are you there?

Yeah. Man, shit's a hot mess over here.

What happened?

I'm not sure where to start.

Well, when we last talked, you were in your new apartment and about to fuck José. You were supposed to call me with details, which you didn't. Shit not go well?

I laughed. "Shit did not go well is an understatement."

Limp dick? Little dick? Shit, no dick? Chris joked.

I ignored her joke. You got a minute? This isn't going to be short.

Of course. It ain't about José, is it?

No. I filled her in on as much as I could. I understood now why J wanted me to be able to