Jaxxon tried to get up from the bed. Maybe to hug her sister. Maybe to slap her. Or maybe to follow her downstairs and wave at the front door. But it was as though her body was depleted. As though her body was downright sick of her mind ignoring Leah’s hurtful behaviour so had decided to intervene before she ran after Leah like a little lost puppy. She did feel lost, though. Jaxxon was a person who always looked on the bright side but right now there didn’t seem to be one, and Jaxxon didn’t know how to function without it.
So she sat there immobile as Leah’s singing gradually faded until she could hear her no more. In that moment Jaxxon felt something change within herself; it was the same sensation she’d gotten when her mother died, and then again when Connor left. Like a piece of herself went with them, leaving gaping holes that Jaxxon suspected might be permanent.
But wasn’t that her own fault for getting too close to people? Wasn’t it her own fault that she was in such pain right now? It was stupid to have ever thought that Connor would want her and not Leah. Her sister was undeniably beautiful with her straight, sleek caramel-blonde hair and piercing hazel eyes and tall, thin, lithe body. She would have the angelic look down to a tee if it wasn’t for the fact that her smile always had a glint of deviousness to it.
The two sisters were practically polar opposites in appearance. Jaxxon sported a head of brown, untameable ringlets and a curvy body that she despised because of the attention it gained her. She was, to her utter annoyance, an early bloomer. Her generous-sized breasts and heart-shaped butt were constantly groped, even by total strangers. It hadn’t been so bad when Connor was around; boys had tended to leave her alone for fear of what he would do. Things had changed drastically since he left. And now that she was without her older sister things could only worsen.
Footsteps outside her bedroom door stole her attention from her thoughts. Then the door swung lazily open as her relatively new foster sister, Rhona, strode into the room, chewing gum, and plonked herself on the bed beside Jaxxon. The smell of smoke clung to her dark skin and clothes. Jaxxon wasn’t expecting any comfort from this anti-social girl who seemed to hate everyone. She didn’t get it.
“So, Big Tits, how long do you think it’ll be before Queen Bitch realises she lives in a fantasy land? Singer, my arse.”
Jaxxon said nothing. Just continued to stare at the photograph in her hand, wondering whether to kiss it or tear it up.
“You know she won’t come back, don’t you? She won’t. They never do,” grumbled Rhona. She wasn’t feeling sorry for herself; just simply stating what she believed was a fact.
“She’s my sister.”
“She’s also a self-absorbed, spiteful, selfish bitch who -”
“But -”
“But nothing, Jaxxon,” she said firmly. “Just because she’s blood doesn’t mean anything. I’ll bet that girl has never done a single thing for you in her life. She looks out for number one, and number one only. Just like the rest of them. So wise up, Big Tits. And do it now. You’re on your own.” Just before leaving the room, she turned back to Jaxxon. “Wanna know what the trick is to getting through this shit? Never let anyone in.”
Alone again, Jaxxon stared down at the photograph as she deeply considered Rhona’s departing words that had been both advising and chastising. One thing that had kept Jaxxon from losing herself so far and avoiding the bitterness that consumed Leah was to roll with the punches. Just accept that suffering was part of life. The whole ‘woe is me’ thing wasn’t for her. After all, what was so special about her that meant she could flit through life without pain while others were swamped by it? So, she reasoned, her being alone while Leah and Connor began a life together was all just something else that she’d have to accept too, even though it cut deeper than anything else ever had.
Finally, with a deep cleansing breath, Jaxxon tore the photograph to pieces and slung them out of the partially open bedroom window. She wouldn’t let this be an ending. She would try to instead make it a new start. She’d do as Rhona said – wise up and face that she was alone, but she wouldn’t cut herself off like Rhona had.
Little did Jaxxon know, but as from the following day her new start would be tainted. Tainted by violence, struggle, and even more pain. With all that would come her decision to never let anyone in again.
CHAPTER ONE
Eight years later
It was amazing how alcohol had the power to make people think that they were attractive, mused Jaxxon. Or, in this case, some sort of gift to women. Thank God there was the bar to separate her from this bald, heavy-set bloke who was so drunk that both his eyes were fighting for the one corner. For the past half hour while he swayed and slurred he had been flirting shamelessly with her. His ‘come hither’ smile revealed a set of Nicorette stained teeth – oh wait, it wasn’t actually a full set. And ‘flirting’ wasn’t quite accurate. Not unless you considered dirty talk, sexual innuendos and being given flashes of body parts to be flirtatious behaviour. More like sick-minded crap.
Needless to say she wasn’t inspired to welcome him into her arms and body. Unfortunately, he just wasn’t getting the message. Even the words ‘get the fuck out of my face’ hadn’t fazed him. Jaxxon was now itching to get out of the dingy, stuffy pub – she was tired, hungry and feeling homicidal. But she was pretty sure that Joe, the landlord of the pub, wouldn’t be too impressed if his barmaid up and left. Jaxxon cast a quick glance at her quickly aging, flabby boss only to find him smiling at her in mock sympathy.
After serving another bloke – this one smiling shyly at her and blushing like a virgin on a first date – Jaxxon switched her attention back to the pen and clipboard in front of her, noting what needed stocking up on, and all the while wondering how she managed to attract oddballs and plonkers. Not that there was much chance of her being approached by someone who might spark her interest in here. The pub didn’t exactly appeal to the youthful. In fact, looking around at the punters, the place looked like a bloody nursing home.
The bald bloke was now suggesting a ‘fuck festival’ with him and his five friends – all of who shared two things in common. One, they were over the age of fifty. Two, they had beer guts. She respectfully declined, but his persistence earned him a ‘sod off you sick perv’ from her. Still he was unfazed.
Then he leant across the bar, and by the look in his eyes Jaxxon knew he was about to touch her. Jaxxon and ‘touch’ didn’t go well together. “Don’t dare,” she warned. He ignored that warning and abruptly reached out and squeezed her breast painfully hard. Pure reflex, she gripped the pen tightly and stabbed the web-like skin between the thumb and forefinger of his roaming hand, not enough to draw blood but enough to wrench a cry of pain from him.
“Hurts like fuck, doesn’t it,” she said through gritted teeth. “Don’t ever touch me again.”
The creepy old sod actually grinned at her. Apparently pain made him horny. Oh great – now, in his drunken mind, she had just flirted back. No doubt he would have stayed exactly where he was, hoping for more, if his friend hadn’t dragged him away.
Joe joined Jaxxon’s side, giggling. “Another satisfied customer.”
“He’s one sick bastard.”
“Sick bastards love you and your mean-arse streak.”
“It’s not mean to be honest and straight with people or insist on them not being perverted.”
He nodded toward a particular table not far from the bar where a pair of bashful looking blokes sat all leathered up. “The two Submissives are here again. They still want you to be their Dom?” Joe giggled again.