Just So Far Away Read online

  Just So Far Away

  By Xavier Neal

  ©Xavier Neal 2016

  Cover Model Mathieu LeCompte

  Cover Designer Tammie Smith

  Photographer Henry Serres

  All Rights Reserved

  License Note

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without authorization of the Author. Any distribution without express consent is illegal and punishable in court of law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedicated to The Universe...Thank you for never putting my dreams too far away.

  Note From The Author:

  This book breaks the 'fourth wall', meaning it talks TO the reader. The bold italics portions are the character speaking to “YOU”.

  Hope you enjoy.

  -Xavier

  Perfect tits. Perfect ass. Perfect fucking mouth. That's the goddamn problem with Tasha Johnson. Thanks to that trifecta together with her perfect pussy, no man wants to tell her no. And they rarely do, myself included. Some have lost their mortgage payments. Had their expensive sports cars chopped down for parts. Others? Lost their jobs. Wives. I won't sit here and pretend that shit doesn't make me nervous. Real fucking nervous. Feels like a fucking countdown that I can't see is pinned to the back of my neck. I know my time for being fucked over is coming. I just do. We've had a helluva partnership and it's not exactly the fucking kind you can just walk away from without consequences. That's why I agreed to help with one final score before putting some real fucking distance between me and what I've deemed my cock's Kryptonite. Trying to fucking avoid the inevitable. Trying to prevent a fuck up I can't recover from.

  Tasha giggles at the mark while running her hand up his thigh.

  In about ten seconds she's going to promise to make his wet dreams come true. Can't say that's a promise she isn't capable of actually fulfilling. Just unlikely for him. That guy isn't the right type for her to want to fuck for fun before stealing his shit.

  Theo's unsteady voice turns to me. “Yous in for another shots?”

  Knowing what shit storm lays ahead, I peel my attention away from where they're cuddled in the high-end hotel bar, turn my black baseball cap backward, and fold my tan, tatted hands together. “Doubles.”

  He lifts his eyebrows.

  “Unless you're a bitch then we can stick to this single shit.”

  With a sly smirk, he says to the bartender, “Yous heard ma man. Doublesss.”

  Believe it or not for a dude that fucking pretty he can hold his liquor like a goddamn champ. Theo Convington adopted my drinking philosophy way back in senior year of high school. Anything really worth drinking is worth doing twice as fast. Also helps you forget the shit you hate in your life twice as quick. And with a list like mine, it's usually best to skip the bullshit glasses and chug a bottle instead. But we're at a classy fucking place. Can't exactly do that here. Well. We shouldn't fucking do that here. These ritzy fuckers are already judging us enough as it is. Fuck, if he wasn't beside me security would be watching the fuck out of me. Another reason for having the pretty boy asshole around. He gives people the impression we're not up to trouble. But look at me. I'm obviously always up to fucking something.

  The male bartender pours swiftly. “And whose tab will this be on?”

  I slide him the debit card Tasha lifted off a different man only two hours prior. “Add two more doubles to it.”

  “On top of these?”

  In a low voice, I snap, “Was that not fucking clear?”

  The bartender holds up his hands in apology.

  My eyes cut Tasha another uneasy glance. Like a well-rehearsed dance move, she wraps one arm around his neck and runs the other down his chest, forehead pressed against his.

  That's not jealousy pumping through my veins. Trust me. You can drop that fucking look. It's never been jealousy. It'll never be jealousy. I knew from the moment I first tapped that ass she wasn't the type of chick to be a one dick dude. Greed guides that pussy. Nothing else. Her fucking tattoo tells the world that, you know, if you have enough willpower to look somewhere besides her tits. No. That feeling trying to choke me to death? It's fear. Fear that something fucked up is waiting for me and I have no fucking way out. Thank fuck for alcohol.

  He slides us each a new glass, which we immediately lift. With complete sincerity cemented in my eyes, I meet Theo's. “To your old man.”

  Probably the only time you'll ever see my ass toast to a fucking cop. Or a father now that I think about it.

  To no shock, Theo grunts his annoyance on the subject before our glasses barely clink. The burning, brown fluid tries to do its job of soothing my nerves. It fails.

  Just means to keep going until it doesn't.

  “Why do yous pour sooo slow?” Theo complains loudly. Too loudly.

  The bartender fills up the glasses as he insists, “I'm just trying to be polite, sir.”

  “We wouldn't have ordered double shots if we were planning on sipping the shit,” I grouse. Just seconds after the two of us toss them back, I notice movement out of the corner of my eye and command, “Let's add one more.”

  Without objection, the bartender replenishes the supply and states, “Would you gentlemen like anything else? We have a wide selection of gourmet appetizers as well as exotic coffee blends.”

  Question. What part of me fucking says gourmet? The hopeless tats on my knuckles?

  I toss back the liquid sanity. “Nope. Just the last double, boy scout.”

  Theo drunkenly slurs something that resembles, “Thanks for the shots, man.”

  “No problem.”

  They're not exactly coming out of my fucking pocket. Between me and you? Any time I'm drinking at a bar they never are.

  Once the last batch of shots are gone, Theo gives his face a good scrub and struggles to say, “Alright, I'm gonna sakes my asssshome. There's a bed with my stame on it. I'm fuckin deat.”

  “Bed, not a chick?”

  “Yup.”

  “Don't feel like getting your dick wet tonight?”

  His body still slightly swaying on the stool somehow manages to shrug. “Prolly got whiskey nick anyway.”

  Feeling Tasha's presence approaching, I try to cover my unease with a chuckle, “Never had that problem.”

  Never will. I've got real fucking problems like the man-eater I'm shackled too. Just this last mark. Then I'm done. No more stealing. No more outsmarting waiters to get out of a tab. No more helping blackmail husbands out of their fucking pensions. I'm completely fucking done after tonight. Why do you keep giving me that fucking look? Why don't you fucking believe me? You don't fucking know if I'm lying or not. You're fucking new here.

  Theo stumbles his way towards the exit.

  What? Drunk driving? You really think I give a shit about that right now? I've got real fucking problems waiting over my shoulder. But hey, if you wanna deal with Tasha 'the incredible dick slayer' while I make sure he gets in a fucking cab, by all means, speak up. No? Yeah, I didn't fuckin' think so.

  “You ready?” Tasha whispers as she leans against the bar beside me.

  I lift my eyes up to her cold dark, brown stare. “You sure about him? I saw you break out the big guns.”

  “He's married.” She rolls her eyes and pulls her long black hair to the side of her slender face. “They usually require a little more...persuasion.”

  Code for dick touching. Or sucking. Always means if we take pictures of him in a compromising position this pay day gets a well-deserved extension.


  The two of us slowly make our way across the hotel lobby for the elevators, avoiding security cameras and skeptical eyes. Her arms wind themselves around mine and her voice even lower than before, “It's gonna be easy, Isaac. I'm gonna slip in. Drop GC in his drink. I'll copy his card, you'll take a few naughty pictures of me with him to keep him on ice, and afterward you take his car to the spot and I'll meet you there once I've hit an ATM.”

  Sounds simple because we've done it enough times it should be. But something feels wrong. Very fucking wrong.

  As soon as the elevator doors shut, I try, “Tasha-”

  She winds her arms around my neck and spins us so my back shields our faces from the camera. “No. Get your shit together. This is an easy in and out then the two of us will go our separate ways. I'll keep my end of the bargain. I always do.” Her lips lightly feather mine. “If you want...we can do one other thing...one final time.”

  My cock responds without my consent.

  Bastard always does. She says come and he can't wait to bust a nut.

  The doors ding open and we exit, faces still hidden to the camera. On the other side, she states, “Room 512. Remember the cameras are at hallway ends and cross points. See you in a few.”

  Tasha saunters away, a hair toss hiding her face as she passes her first camera. Taking a different hallway, I turn my hat around and tug it down while pretending to wander around as if looking for my room.

  The Frost Luxury Hotel is the nicest fucking hotel chain we've ever pulled this con in. Most of the time we aim for hotels with shitty security or cameras only for show, but Tasha said if we were going to go out of the game we needed to do it in style. She wanted a long con with a pay off big enough to keep us well off for the next couple of years. I wanted something short and quick to fucking end this mutual need for destruction. She agreed we could do something easy, but heavily reminded me I've got an extra mouth to fucking feed while I figure out what the fuck to do with my life. He's the real reason I said yes to the change of scenery. The reason I agreed to one last fucking score. He deserves the shit I never had as a kid, including a father who gives a fuck.

  After hiding in various stairwells and avoiding security, I make my way back around to the room at the same time Tasha opens the door. She makes sure to stay out of sight as I enter the room. Once I'm inside, I immediately notice the mark passed out on the king-sized bed, pants slightly undone and two glasses of liquor on the nightstand. I take an additional moment to observe the abstract framed artwork on the walls, the brightly colored modern furniture, and a well-stocked corner bar on the same side as the window.

  “That's thousand-dollar whiskey,” Tasha sighs flopping down on the edge of the bed next to the target. “Like the high-end shit.”

  I lift my pierced right eyebrow.

  “It's Wilcox Whiskey.”

  Still clueless I remain silent.

  “A bottle of their good aged shit never runs less than a grand, but fuck it's worth it. It's fucking amazing. Amazing.” She begins to fiddle around with his cell phone in one hand. “Have you ever had thousand-dollar whiskey?” When I don't reply she snidely giggles to herself. “Of course you haven't. Fuck, the only other time I've had it was when I was fucking that politician whose wife's closet became my Rodeo Drive fantasy come true.”

  That's an example of the blackmail shit I was talking about earlier. While she could live off of Prada and Gucci purses it wasn't exactly keeping me or my newborn fucking baby at the time, fed. Thank fuck for a Congressman's need to keep his indiscretions quiet. The payout was one of the best we ever had.

  “You should try it.” Her brown eyes look up and encourage me at the same time she pulls her card reader from her bra. “Trust me. It's the best thing I've ever had in my fucking mouth.”

  Not offended.

  Ignoring her request, I question, “Keys?”

  “His left pocket.”

  I motion a hand towards the passed out middle aged man.

  “You want 'em right now? You go pocket diving. My hands are busy.”

  Busy getting an electronic copy of his debit and credit card before the billing information. You'd be surprised the shit we can do from a cell phone.

  “Not sticking my hands in some asshole's pocket.”

  “Why not? That's what we used to do in the good ol' days...”

  Yeah, before someone made the mistake of teaching her the art of cloning cards and electronic theft. Back in the day it was snatch and grab. She'd grind on a guy at a night club, slip his wallet out of his back pocket, and sneak it to me as I walked by. Or the classic bump into a guy routine. Fuck. I kinda miss the simple shit. I honestly have no fucking clue how to do anything else other than this. And it's the one fucking thing I need to get away from.

  “Remember?”

  I fold my arms across my chest and watch her dark eyes fill with lust.

  “Then we'd go back to our motel room,” she continues, voice taking a seductive tone I know too well. “And you'd be so wound up, adrenaline pumping so strong, the door would barely be closed before you'd rip my panties off and bury your face in my-”

  “Which drink did you slip the GC in?” I ask, desperate to get away from the fucked-up crawl down memory lane she's trying to distract me with.

  “Drink the one on the right,” she replies.

  I reach for the glass and swish it around. “Is this shit really any better than the other shit? Doesn't all whiskey taste the fucking same?”

  “And of course it doesn't. Does all tequila taste the same?”

  At the rate I fucking drink it? Yeah. Hey. Judge less.

  Tasha snips. “I didn't think so...”

  “You almost done?”

  She gives me a sly smirk. “Almost...”

  I toss back the copper colored beverage in one swift gulp. It runs down the back of my throat smoothly, only leaving satisfaction behind. After a small pause, I wet my lips, put the glass back on the nightstand and admit, “Yeah...That was some good shit.”

  “Right?” Tasha coos, her wicked grin growing. “So good you'd never fucking know there was anything else in it.”

  My eyes twitch a glare.

  No....She fucking wouldn't...

  “See, here's the thing, Isaac. You don't pick when we're done,” she slowly begins. “I do.”

  Who the fuck am I kidding? Of course she fucking would. Fuck, I'm even dumber than I look.

  Denial decides it deserves an appearance. “You didn't....Tasha, tell me you fucking didn't.”

  “You wanted out?” She sneers as my vision of her begins to blur a bit. “Enjoy it.”

  “You...”

  Fuck! I can't move my fucking tongue...I can't...I...I need help...

  “Y-y-you....” My poor attempt to interrogate her is proceeded by the buckling of knees, only breaths before hitting the ground with a hard thud, chest first. With everything I have, I fight to keep my eyes open, limbs moving, consciousness churning.

  All of a sudden, Tasha lowers her lips to my ear to whisper, “Don't worry, baby. They won't give you too long for this. I'll see you again before you know it...”

  I struggle to verbally argue back.

  Momentarily paralyzed? Am I? Is that why my arms can't move? What's wrong with my legs? And why am I so tired...so goddamn tired... Shhh… Sh.... Just need to fucking sleep. Fuck me, how much did I drink? Maybe too much with Theo? Haven't been this fucked up in a while. Huh? Speak up. You're too fucking quiet. GC? What about it? Makes people numb and woozy. Weak. Hm? What's that? Tasha? Yeah, yeah, she puts it in...in the marks drinks and then...Whiskey? I drank whiskey? You mean tequila? It was damn good tequila...Fucking love tequila until I've had this much. Look, just shut the fuck up for a minute, okay? I just need a little fucking nap. Not long. Just a couple fucking minutes. Fuck, just one minute with my eyes shut will be enough. Just....one...

  One year later...

  “I wanna see my fucking kid, Winnie!”

  “And yelling at the t
op of your goddamn lungs for every fucking neighbor to hear is the way to make that happen?” She snaps and shuts the door to her double wide.

  Doesn't matter if I'm yelling or not. Everyone is this place is nosy as shit. Always have been. Always fucking will be. People are fucking predictable that way.

  “Look,” she folds her thin arms across her blue scrubs covered chest, “you were the one who decided stealing was a better career path than flipping fucking burgers. It's not my fault you made Colt a fucking afterthought-”

  “Don't,” I growl pointing a harsh finger at her. “Don't fucking talk to me like that. Don't make me feel like a shit father for trying to give my son what I never fucking had!”