Adrenaline Jake Read online

  Adrenaline Jake

  Louise Collins

  M/M erotica

  Word count: 28000

  Copyright © 2017

  All rights reserved

  Chapter 1

  Jake’s body was an instrument. In fact, it was several. His heart drummed in his ears and the stomps of his feet provided the echoing basing line. The swish of his joggers added a warping noise and his tongue clacking the roof of his mouth brought it all together. His body created its own catchy soundtrack, one that made him smile as he ran giddily down the path.

  The music of the man chasing him rasped and spluttered, it skipped with no rhythm like a record with a scratch.

  “Oi!”

  The man behind had given up saying more, could only croak one-word yells of outrage. His adrenaline was fading, his tune was drowning out to nothing, but Jake’s continued to blare. He knew the streets they ran well; he needed to insure he could escape. It wasn’t a neighbourly place; hence people who were watching the mad dash didn’t intervene. The audience the chase gathered shook their heads disapprovingly and went back into their terraced houses, grumbling softly as they went.

  The panting and wheezing from the man behind vanished, the thumps of feet that competed with Jake’s stopped dead and he slowed his run to a walk.

  There was fifty meters between them. The man hunched over with his hands on his knees panting at the pavement. He had been so intimidating mere minutes ago, the sort of man you shouldn’t annoy under any circumstance.

  Jake strolled a few meters closer, knowing full well he could sprint away if the bull of a man charged him. Sweat beaded on the man’s bald head and after two drops hit the pavement, he lifted from his bow and glared. The anger in his expression would’ve been enough to terrify most, but Jake could see his red-stained cheeks and his chest heaving from exhaustion. Even the man's eyes were streaming from the excursion.

  Jake slapped the wallet repeatedly against his palm, testing whether the man had anymore stamina. There was a moment where Jake thought he’d start running again, the hands around the man’s kneecaps tightened as if he willed them to be Jake’s neck, then he sagged, and shook his head.

  Jake sighed. The excitement was over; the addictive music of his adrenaline flooded body was muted. He opened the wallet, flicking his thumb over the array of cards to discover the man's name.

  “Harry...This was fun and all, but I gotta go...”

  There wasn’t much in it, a ten pound note that Jake took and folded in half. He tucked it into his jacket pocket where the man could see.

  Harry’s lips drew back in a snarl, but before he could roar or launch a barrage of curse words, the wallet landed at his feet.

  Jake took cash, but that was all. There was no value in cards that would be cancelled immediately; he wasn’t cruel enough to take the cherished family pictures or the wallet itself that could have sentimental value. He took the money, not that ten pounds was going to make a difference to his life.

  The adrenaline rush though, the fear of being caught, and the excitement that was ultimately why he did it. Adrenaline was a necessity to his life, on par with oxygen, food and water. He would die without it.

  “You’re crazy, kid.”

  Jake cocked his head in mock thought. He was pretty damn crazy, didn’t need the guy who had been chasing him down the last mile to tell him. It wasn’t normal to seek this kind of excitement, he knew that, but it was an addiction he couldn’t cure.

  Harry had caught his eyes immediately, tattoos on his face, bulging biceps and a bald head. The kind of man who would take no shit from anyone. Jake knew he’d give a good pursuit. He had taken off like a barrelling rhinoceros at first, swearing and snorting as he went, but it was all bravado. He was all mouth and little-to-no fitness.

  Picking a target was a delicate balance to get right, too shy-looking and they wouldn’t pursue, would take the theft personally when it really wasn’t. Too rich and there was no chase, he once stole a Rolex only for his target to turn up the next day with a new one. The scary-looking men were the ones to go for. The ones that stood with their back straight sneering at everyone like they were scum. The ones that had a reputation to upkeep. Ones just like Harry.

  Jake watched as the exhausted man staggered away, then sighed deeply and began his own trek home. He was on the other side of town, would never be so stupid to thieve where he lived.

  The sky was grey, the endless dreariness stretched above, but at least it wasn’t pelting down with rain. As soon as that one positive crossed his mind, a flick of moisture struck his cheek.

  “Gotta be kidding me...”

  The sky was in fact, not kidding him. A month’s worth of rain poured down on him as he trudged up the pavement. Rows of houses were packed together each side, lights on in the downstairs windows, families eating their meals while Jake plodded home to his microwave meal for one. He didn’t resent them, had come to terms with not being included in a family dynamic. The system wasn’t designed for an eight-year-old problem child. He was nearing twenty-two and had buried those years of unwarranted hope and rejection.

  The exhilaration of the night had mellowed to emptiness; the hollowness expanded in his chest, consuming his heart with the poisonous mundane life. His brown hair was flat on his forehead; he turned his head left to right to flick it out of his sight. The joggers he wore were damp and rubbed uncomfortably. His calves ached, his toes throbbed from the wet and with each step his shoes squished out water.

  Jake’s problem, his flaw and his weakness was his need to feel alive. The only way he could fulfil that desire was angering a goliath. The thrill of the chase, his body being flooded with endorphins and adrenaline, there was no other way to achieve it. Danger made him feel alive.

  The traffic lights clicked even though there were no cars, and Jake dragged his feet as he made his way through the puddles in the road.

  The car appeared from nowhere, wheels squealing as it came to a halt. Instinctively Jake dropped to the ground and rolled on his side, narrowly avoiding the bonnet. He collided with the pavement hard enough to jog his teeth and lose a lungful of air in a rush.

  The car door opened and a mantra of ‘shit’ came from the driver.

  Jake, still dazed and without air in his lungs, didn’t move, didn’t respond. Just lay soaked on the ground.

  The man skipped round the car, hooked Jake under the armpits and dragged him toward the boot.

  “The fuck?” Jake mumbled, and the man paused.

  “You alive?”

  “Yes, I’m fucking alive.”

  The man huffed once before dropping Jake to the floor. His face was scarred, if someone had to guess which one of them had just been hit by the car, it would’ve been him.

  “Get outta here, kid.”

  “You were gonna shove me in the boot?”

  The man brushed his hand through his black sweaty hair. “Thought you were hurt.”

  “Why not phone an ambulance then?!”

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  The man stepped over him, climbing into the car.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Jake said, getting to his feet, “give me a ride.”

  “No.”

  “It’s the least you can do.”

  “Fine!” the man announced. Jake went to get in the passenger seat but the man waved him away. “The back, get in the back.”

  He begrudgingly got in, thankful to be out of the wet.

  No sooner had his arse hit the seat, the car was growling down the road, houses and lamplights passing in a blur. The seatbelt did nothing to comfort Jake, and he resorted to clinging onto the seats in front like an angry cat, hissing like one too.

  “Hey, you wanna slow down?”

  They took a corner far too fast, and the wheels mounted the pavement--

  “You said you wanted a lift, kid.”

  “I never said I wanted to die though.”

  The man barked a laugh, turning his head. “We all gonna die.”

  The man’s eyes were wide, crazed with red splitting lines. It was then that Jake re-evaluated his life choices; he was sure it was idiotic to get into a car with a stranger, especially when he already knew ‘said stranger’ drove like a lunatic.

  “I want out,” he yelled.

  The man bobbed his head, “there’s the door, jump it.”

  The road whizzed past so fast his skin was sure to be shredded on impact. He’d be skinned alive if he jumped at that speed.

  “Slow down!”

  “No way, you wanna leave, you leave.”

  Jake thumped his hand down on the man’s shoulder. “I’ll die.”

  The man glanced behind, out the rear window of the car.

  “An’ I’ll die if I stop, I’ve already wasted time on you.”

  “What, why would you die?”

  The man tilted his head to the passenger seat. A silver case sat on top. Jake stared at it, trying to realise its relevance.

  “Oh god, it’s a bomb,” he gasped, trying to decide whether he’d prefer to be ripped to pieces by the road or blown apart by the device.

  “No, it’s not a bomb.”

  “What is it then?”

  The man laughed, full on bat-shit crazy laughed, and Jake leaned away from him.

  The adrenaline was bursting in every atom in his body. He should’ve been terrified; he was more than likely going to die. But that biological drug rushing around his body was making him giddy with the thought. He no longer wanted to leave the car. He wanted to
see how this madness was going to end.

  “Something of my boss’s.... something valuable.”

  “You’ve stolen it?”

  The man cackled a crazed laugh and in an instant Jake saw his future. This was where his addiction would lead him. Even so, curiosity still fizzled in his veins.

  Before Jake could question the man about the valuable item in the briefcase, a high-pitched ping sounded out.

  For a few seconds nothing happened that suggested anything was wrong. The car still thundered, the rain still pelted on the windows, and the man stayed focused dead ahead.

  Then Jake saw the small hole in the windscreen, a neat circle in the sheet of glass. The man’s head lolled forward, blood seeping into his lap.

  “Shit!” Jake yelled, leaning as far as the seatbelt would let him and gripping the wheel. The bullet hole hovered in front of him; the man had been taken out head on.

  The pedal was still pressed to the floor by the body and Jake was struggling to direct the car when it was going so fast. He unclipped his belt with one hand, climbing into the front and sitting on the dead man’s lap.

  He kicked the man’s foot off the pedal bringing the car under control. It was gross, and he tried to ignore the blood running down his jacket where the man’s head rested at his back. He tried not to think about the man he was perched on being warm, only mere seconds ago being alive and talking but now definitely dead. A quick glance in the wind mirror had his heart jumping to his throat. A blacked-out car was following him, copying his every turn.

  Jake knew the streets, knew which roads looped round into circles and which were dead ends. He drove in a seemingly random route until he lost the blacked-out car.

  Only then did he release the breath he’d been holding. His breathing came in pants, clammy against the steering wheel as he bowed trying to calm.

  He did his best not to hyperventilate as he found somewhere to ditch the car. He didn’t turn to face the man behind, didn’t want to see his lifeless expression.

  The place he picked was a remote bit of road, no other cars were around, no people lurked and there were no road lamps to show what he was doing.

  He slowed the car on the grass verge, almost going too far and stopping in a ditch. Sickness swelled in his stomach and he scrambled for the handle, landing in the grass with a squelch. He vomited; shock, fear, disbelief, horror, he didn’t know why but the taste of sickness was bitter and burned his throat.

  The driver's head had dropped forward again, gravity the only force left to move him. He had been killed; he had stolen from the wrong person and lost. That was where Jake's life was heading if he continued with his adrenaline reliance. He shook the thought away. He would not end up dead.

  The briefcase called to him. It was the reason the man's life had been snuffed out. The case was the man's legacy, the last thing he had stolen. It called to Jake the way shiny objects call to magpies. He had to know what was inside, what valuable item was surrounded by the walls of metal and concealed with a bolted lock.

  It was impulsive and stupid, but he took the case. He would triumph where the other man failed.

  He ran with it, and when he couldn’t run anymore he walked with burning sides while hiccupping for breath. Home. His decrepit flat was in sight and he had never been so relieved to collapse down on the sofa, face to the cushion, breathing in the stale scent of home.

  Chapter 2

  After picking at the lock on the case with no success, he hid it. He wasn’t sure why he’d taken it, didn’t know what to do with it, needed to conceal it so his brain could catch up on rational thought.

  The flat next to his needed refurbishment. Mould had stained the ceilings black, damp had spread blotches in the wall. The floorboards were broken, in some cases torn up. It was the perfect place to hide the case. He slotted it under some loose boards, moving a tattered rug to cover it.

  Jake showered, the heat sunk deep into his aching muscles. He scrunched his toes, reviving them from their damp state. Adrenaline from stealing a wallet was one thing, but the death ride followed by the mystery of the metal case, it was a whole other level of feeling alive. Even after he spent an hour turning into a prune in the shower, he didn’t calm. His heart still thundered. His breathing stayed fast, lungs working overtime like he had to be ready to run any second.

  He ruffled his hair with a towel, jolting back when he caught sight of himself in the mirror, stark white skin and round disbelieving eyes. How could he feel alive but look near death? That was the key though; he had it the wrong way around. On the edge of death was when you felt truly alive, and the case was going to put him in the path of the reaper.

  He forced his aching limbs into his cotton PJs and struggled into a clean t-shirt. The sofa moulded around his body and he sunk into it with no resistance. He ran through the events of the night in wide-eyed disbelief.

  The man had stolen something from his boss, and the boss must’ve been responsible for his blunt demise. Jake had been chased through the streets and thought he had got away without being seen, but what if he hadn’t. What if the man’s boss saw?

  He felt most alive when he was tantalisingly close to death. It was a cliché, a stupid one but that didn’t make it any less true.

  Jake awoke in the morning with added neck ache from the squishy sofa. He rolled his head on his shoulders to loosen the knots, stretching his limbs out and groaning like a dying animal.

  “Jesus...”

  The previous night played before his eyes. His back itched as if blood still seeped down his clothes. The man had died, had been shot expertly. A shiver ran up Jake’s spine. It was one possible fate that awaited him after stealing the case. He shoved his hand down the cushion of the sofa to find the remote.

  Jake expected the driver’s death to be on the TV. Man found dead. There was nothing, no news report, no murder inquiry at all, as if that night hadn’t even happened, it was an elaborate dream.

  The knock on the door dragged him from his thoughts. It was tuneful, a joyous beat that didn’t match the moody area of town. Jake crept over, peeking through the spy hole. He saw a woman. Her hair was deep red, the same shade as her lips. She didn’t look like a normal neighbourhood resident. She had all her teeth and didn’t seem doped up.

  “Umm, what do you want?”

  She seemed to know he was staring through the spy hole, her lips stretched into a warm smile, showing her pearly whites.

  “I’m lost; need some help.”

  If there was a pretty woman that needed saving, he was sure to offer his services. He unclipped the chain on the door and opened it wide.

  “What’s up?”

  Her smile dropped into a scowl, eyes narrowed into slits, and he suddenly realised it was a terrible idea to invite this woman into his home.

  She shoved his chest and he stumbled back, opening his mouth to protest, but his jaw snapped shut when two suited guys entered the room with her.

  “Tom, check the rooms.”

  The suited man with the shades did as he was told, except checking the rooms really meant destroying them. Jake winced at each breaking of glass and snap of wood. He thought better than to argue with him, just stood awkwardly as his flat was destroyed.

  The red-haired woman didn’t break eye contact, she glared with enough ferocity to make Jake feel like a very small bug under her very large boot.

  The other man grimaced as he scanned the room, but then his face lit up when he saw the fridge.

  “Don’t mind if I...”

  He addressed the question to Jake, but it was clear he was going to do what the hell he wanted anyway.

  “Yeah, go for it.”

  The man ruffled his blonde hair and smiled, it reached his eyes as if he was genuinely grateful. He flicked his chin and moved to the fridge, swinging it open and rooting through the contents.

  “You got any bread?”

  “Jesus Christ, Carl,” the woman snapped.

  He shrugged in response. “Was a busy night.”

  “You weren’t even there, it was me and Tom.”

  He rolled his eyes in response. “Bread?” he said again to Jake.

  Jake smiled tightly, pointing at the loaf on the side. “Right there.”

  The dark-haired man with the shades and moustache returned. “Nothing in there.”