Give My All to Jessie (Third in Outlaw Series)

Chapter Eleven

"Marston!" Rose interrupted crossly.

He grinned. "That wonderful example of a morally bankrupt human being is just fine. And if he is in trouble then it's his own damn fault and there's nothing for us to be worried about. Honestly, I'm hoping I never have to see him again."

"You don't mean that."

"Yes I do," Marston countered, laying a kiss to her temple and then trailing them down along her jaw and to her neck.

"He's your brother," she whispered breathlessly as she clung to his arm. His expert hands slid beneath her sleeping gown and stroked her thigh.

"Nope," he growled, his lips moving to that mole on her collarbone.

"We'll talk about this later," Rose warned, burying her hands in his thick dark hair and moving his mouth lower.

Marston chuckled against her breast. "Yes ma'am."

***

"Get off me!" Jeremiah snapped, shoving the petite blond to the side just before he spent himself.

She smiled in that sultry way that whores seemed to have perfected and ran her finger across his arm. "The girls were right about you."

Jeremiah scowled. "Get the hell out of here. I didn't pay to hear you speak."

Insulted, the whore stood and quickly donned her corset and petticoat. Jeremiah didn't spare her a glance as she snatched up her money from the bedside table and stomped from the room, slamming the door behind her.

"Temper. Temper," Jeremiah muttered. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and shoved himself to his feet. Stumbling his way to the washbasin, Jeremiah splashed water on his face and cleaned himself before staring hard at his reflection.

Damn, he looked like hell.

True, he'd never had the striking good looks that his brother possessed but he hadn't always looked this....worn.

His cheeks were thin and gaunt beneath his sharp cheekbones. His once firm lips were chapped and nearly colorless. His skin had grown paler and his golden eyes were bloodshot.

When Jeremiah slid into his clothes, it was obvious that he'd lost weight. They hung off his skin and bone frame and were dirty and torn. He had no money to buy new with. What little money he'd had had just left the room with the blond.

How long had it been since Jeremiah had looked at his reflection and recognized himself? He wasn't sure. It had been months since he'd been sober. Hearing Langley tell him what he thought of him and having Marston turn his back and Duke chew his ass had been more than Jeremiah could take.

He'd wanted to kill them all but instead he'd taken to killing whiskey shots. Whiskey bottles. Whiskey vats. Anything with whiskey was open game. He couldn't say how long it had been. The days seemed to be running together.

Jeremiah snorted. He wasn't a damn drunkard but he did like his drink. Speaking of.... He went to the dresser and grabbed the whiskey bottle he'd left there only to realize it was empty.

Jeremiah felt desperation fill him. He was falling into a sober state and that wasn't allowed. Sober meant thinking and thinking was bad. He tore apart his hotel room in search of another bottle. He tossed tables, chairs, yanked back the mattress and pulled out the drawers but found nothing.

Finally he fell exhausted to the floor and stared up at the ceiling. His chest rose and fell rapidly. As Jeremiah lay there and wondered if it was worth getting up, he thought about Langley. Where was that little bastard? Langley had better hope that Jeremiah never saw him again. If he did, Jeremiah would shoot him and leave him lying. Langley had ruined his life when he'd gotten himself arrested.