Savage Love

by J. Jenkins

  With her discomfort lessening, she sat drumming her fingers on the steering wheel waiting for the light to go green. Her gold engagement ring, with its five precious little diamonds, caught and reflected the sun just beginning to break through the thick, black clouds overhead. The rays of light reminded her of how Dylan's eyes had shone the previous night, his irises sparkling when he'd knelt before her to slip the ring on her finger, asking her to marry him with so much southern charm she'd grown weak. Then he'd sung to her, 'You do something to me', his voice deep and enchanting, causing a wave of warmth to wash over her and settle in her stomach before rolling down to pool at the juncture of her thighs. The emotional weight of his mother's ring on her hand felt tremendous, giving her tremors of sadness, pangs of regret and waves of undying love. Carolina could feel his mother's wondrous presence surrounding her now and could smell the earthiness of his father. The ring on her finger grew warmer, giving her a tiny electrical jolt when the driver in the vehicle behind hers beeped the horn, urging her through the intersection. She quickly glanced skyward and despite the sun streaming through the clouds, decided to journey home for an umbrella in case the storm did break.

  Pulling into the garage, her stomach, although not completely flat, was paining her less. She closed the exterior garage door as a precaution, knowing that even in the best neighborhoods lax behavior could invite trouble. Exiting her vehicle, she walked through the garage, into her home and came face-to-face with two brawny, tattooed men brandishing guns and one spindly, pierced man-child holding a grudge.

  Calmly propping herself against a nearby black console table she addressed Liz's boyfriend, “Apparently you don't learn from your mistakes.”

  He laughed at her confidently, “Bitch, if you hadn't noticed we out number you three to one. We have the guns and all you have is your big mouth.”

  She mocked his laughter waving her middle finger at him, “But the three of you combined don't have the IQ of a peanut. My neighbors are home and they're homicide detectives.”

  One of the gun holding duo, a big bald guy with a bushy mustache, sporting the tattoo S.W.P high upon his upper arm leered, telling her crudely, “We'll see if you can still talk so much when I'm ramming myself down your throat.”

  Leaning back against the table, she kissed the air at him. “I like a good party. Put your guns away and let's do this right. But first get rid of short-eyes.”

  The clean-shaven gun holder with a huge number 18 tattooed on the side of his neck looked suspiciously at Liz's boyfriend, “What's she talking about?”

  “Nothing, just shoot her and let's go,” the man-child ordered nervously. These men despised pedophiles as much as they hated homosexuals and minorities. He wasn't going to let her big mouth put him in the crosshairs. Fearing for his own life, Liz's boyfriend walked over to Carolina and punched her in the face, watching happily as her head snapped back from the force, then backhanded her across the mouth hoping to put an end to her talking, before he got a bullet in the back of his head.

  Tasting metal, Carolina spat out, “You molested Justin on Liz's order.” Turning to the other men, she tried to sound pleading, “They want me dead because I know what they did but I didn't tell anybody because the boy's family would have been destroyed.”

  “You're wasting your breath. We got paid to do a job and the task is getting done. That family ruined themselves long ago by mating and marrying outside their own kind. You and the boy are the ones having to pay,” declared S.W.P. “But before I kill you I plan to feel your pure Irish body under mine,” the big bald thug menaced, handing his gun to his tattooed partner before walking over to roughly elbow Liz's boyfriend aside, removing his shirt to flex his muscles in her face.

  His racist rubbish was sickening. She looked beyond him, watching as his partner turned to place the guns aside and from beneath the table she withdrew two long daggers, plunging one into S.W.P.'s neck to sever his carotid artery, his blood forming a red geyser, his eyes registering surprise before he dropped dead. Her face remained stolid as she heard the man-child's terrified exclamation and with her left hand she spear-threw the remaining dagger, assessing its flight until the gleaming tip hit its target, the remaining tattooed ruffian's back, directly behind where his heart should have been. Calmly she watched him try to pull the blade free before he fell lifelessly forward.

  Carolina bleakly looked over at the fear-paralyzed man-child. With his dull blond hair and unexceptional blue eyes, she thought he appeared quite the sad sack, a very poor substitute for Dylan. However, she also knew he was someone's child, as Justin was hers, and maybe, just maybe, they were aware of his redeeming qualities, saw a side of him that hadn't been tainted by Liz's excesses. In a soft voice she commanded, “Convince me you're worth saving.” Stepping over the prone body of S.W.P., she walked around the terror-rooted figure of Liz's boyfriend. From behind him, she wrapped her upper arms around his throat, cradling him against her body. Into his ear she whispered, “I want an uncomplicated life and a family. But, if I let you go and you keep trying to kill me eventually one of the kids will get hurt and Patrick will leave me. If I let Patrick kill you and Liz, Dylan will never forgive me.” A warm breeze stirred around her and she tightened her arms on his neck, “I'm going to tell you a secret Tyler Mitchell Warren that only Justin knows. I'm not exactly human. I bear the mark of death and destruction within the now grown shell of a child that should have died at birth and although I try to suppress that part of my spirit, the fire can't be easily extinguished when it's been lit. Now I carry my love’s seed and don’t want vengeful blood to taint my babe. I just need a sign that you three should live.”

  Her signal was a rush of warm fluid from her uterus, wetting her thighs. She peeked down and saw her sneakers tinged red with blood, felt her womb continuing to empty, her dreams ending. Closing her eyes tightly to block out the loss, she finished executing the chokehold, tightly squeezing his neck until he lay dead in her arms. Numbed by heartbreak, she released his body, opening her eyes in time to see him plop into a puddle of silvery blue fluid and the sight sent her to her knees.

  ****

  Dylan sat frowning at Liz, disgusted that she'd immodestly worn a black mesh t-shirt that revealed her breasts even though she knew his house was full of children and impressionable young men. At the memory of sleeping with her on Sunday, he felt loathing, amazed that she could interpret his ability to have sex with her as anything more than fetish-fueled insanity since not once in the entirety of their relationship had he ever made love to her. But there she sat, for nearly two hours, stirring up the ashes of their marriage, trying to convince him that more good, besides the birth of Justin, had resulted from their ten years of Pandemonium. She was wasting his and her time. He would have tossed her out but reporters and paparazzi, who having gotten wind of his pending marriage, were camped outside.

  Justin, Calder and Callum were sitting nearby acting as chaperons because they didn't trust him to be alone with her and apparently, no one else in the house trusted themselves to be around Liz, except Patrick who'd been eager to get her all to himself. Earlier he'd spied them walking through the house to who knew where, although Patrick had told him they'd been looking for him. But having found him, Patrick had kept watch over them until the boys had arrived mysteriously and even then, he’d hung around until Chris, Vega and their kids invited him to join them out at the stables.

  Giving a great stretch of boredom and genuine tiredness Dylan knew he had to put a stop to her yacking before he lost his mind. “Liz the relationship between us was over from the start. Now tell me the real reason you're here. Carolina will be home soon and the two of you crossing paths would be unwise and possibly dangerous.”

  Liz flipped her stiletto black hair over her shoulder, exaggerating the motion so he'd see she wore her engagement and wedding rings, “Did you tell her about us?”

  Dylan wondered what Carolina was doing, hoped she'd have good news when she arrived. Catching Callum staring at Liz
's semi-exposed torso Dylan cleared his throat meaningfully and the boy hurriedly looked away. “There’s no us,” he told her.

  Crossing one leather-clad thigh over the other she bragged, “You never cheated on me because I satisfied you. She'll never do for you what I did.”

  Dylan ignored her comments scrutinizing her accessories, five-hundred dollar black leather pumps, four-hundred dollar black designer sunglasses, eight-hundred dollar custom black handbag, and from her reddened nostrils and dilated pupils, he estimated two thousand dollars a day for her drug habit. “Do you need money?”

  Liz tried to look hurt, pouting enticingly, “No, I need you and our son.”

  From the background, Dylan heard Justin groan, “Oh, give me a friggin' break.”

  She looked at Justin impatiently, her lips curling in disgust when she saw the coppery streaks in his hair, “Your time with that woman hasn't bettered your disposition, nor improved your language. And what the hell has she done to your hair? Dylan I can't believe you'd allow that cow to redden the Savage trademark golden mane.”

  “Liz I will not tolerate name calling and Carolina hasn't dyed his hair,” Dylan defended although he could see Justin's hair was no longer the same blond as his own. He liked that the change made Justin resemble Carolina a little more, hinting at a connection the two of them desperately wanted. Now Dylan wanted Liz from under his roof. “If you don't need money, what do you want? And don't start that nonsense about wanting me because Carolina my world. I will never be with you again.”

  Liz pinched the tip of her nose as if she'd gotten the whiff of rotten eggs, before allowing her ring-bearing hand to fall back at her side. “I'm here for the same reason as the reporters. Are you marrying her?”

  He wished she'd stop flashing those ugly rings in his face. He'd never liked the twenty-four carat engagement or the million dollar diamond wedding ring she'd demanded and not because they'd cost a fortune. He hated those signs of ownership because they were vulgar, like her skin-tight black and white wedding dress had been. He couldn't wait to see Carolina on Sunday, wearing his mother's rings and he'd bet her attire would be simple, surely not a fashion nightmare that would have done Elvira Mistress of the Dark proud. Boastfully, he told her, “In a small, private, simple ceremony.”

  Liz cackled. “A week after fucking me in her bed. That's priceless. Am I invited?”

  “No,” the boys chorused and Calder gave her an especially blistering look.

  Her lack of regard for the boys' presence irked Dylan. “Liz you need to leave.”

  “She'll never give you what you crave,” she stated icily.

  With his vision unobstructed by perverse desire, Dylan knew what had to be done. “She already has. I want Carolina to adopt Justin.”

  “Amen,” the boys shouted as if sitting in the pews of the First Baptist Church.

  Liz shot the trio a withering look, “Not in this lifetime. Can’t she carry a child? Are the two over there even hers?”

  He didn't answer, but determinedly pursued his goal in a language she always understood, “Name your price.”

  “You. I never should have let you go. This time we'll be happy,” she sniveled.

  Calder chimed in angrily, his eyes locking with hers, “If you want to make our dad happy give him his mother's diamond necklace you stole.”

  Liz scowled at the boy thinking he was an interfering, little pissant. “He's hers alright, inherited the loud-mouth gene I hear,” Liz stated darkly. Addressing Calder she warned, “I don't have his mother's necklace, so mind your own damn business.”

  Dylan felt rage and indignation throughout his body, not an 'I'm gonna spank you 'cause you've been naughty' feeling, but an 'I'd like to bury you far out in the High Desert and forget to leave your finger sticking up', emotion that if acted upon would land him on death row. Snapping his fingers at her, he drew her attention away from Calder, “You will not address my child in that tone. If Calder says you have my Ma's necklace then you do.” He leaned forward menacingly, giving her a resentful glare, “You have no idea what that necklace symbolizes. You hated that those stones and my mama belonged together, always coveted them for yourself and after my parents' deaths, you pretended to be distraught over their disappearance. Get the necklace to my lawyers before today's end. Then get out of the Solimar Beach House by tomorrow night. You can move to the Beverly Hills townhouse, but I want you away from my family.”

  “You can't mean that. I know you still care for me,” she motioned to touch his arm with her bohemia red lacquered nails.

  Dylan recoiled from her violently, “Don't put your hands on me. I've told you what you need to do. I suggest you budget whatever money you have because you won't get another dime from me.”

  Liz shot Calder a livid look and when the boy stuck his tongue out at her she snarled rabidly, before turning brazenly to Dylan, “Soon, you'll come to me, when the stress and sorrow become too much. The townhouse is an hour's drive away.”

  Rising from the sofa Dylan called to his sons just as Patrick reentered the room. With controlled violence in his posture, he firmly addressed her, “I made a mistake-”

  “I've always admired your predictability,” she interrupted, leering expectantly.

  Dylan's voice was glacial, “Move to the New York apartment instead. The possibility of me ever laying eyes on you there's slim-to-none and if you are foolish enough to seek me out, I'll have you tossed in the street faster than a cat can lick its paw.” Dylan listened to her annoyed spluttering as he corralled his sons, “Let’s go boys.” He strolled from the room saying to Patrick, “She's all yours.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” Patrick's ruthless tone let Liz know he would be the only one having fun and he watched intently as she gathered her belongings before hurrying from the room and he was right on her trail. When they were far away from Dylan and the boys, he grabbed her arm, spinning her to face him. “Get his mother's necklace to his lawyers today or if not I'll be coming to reclaim their property. You may be sinful enough to have had Justin molested. So full of selfish greed that you murdered Dylan's parents. But you're no match for me.” He pulled her closer, tightening his hold, stating dangerously, “If you feel you like pain I'll prove you don't. If you think you have friends who'll protect you from my wrath, they won't. If you believe I can't personally drag you back to the belly of Hell from which you sprang, you are assuredly mistaken. The only person standing between you and death at my hands is Carolina and you had better pray, if you know how, that nothing ever happens to her.” Patrick released Liz, shaking his hand as if he'd touched something eely.

  Shoving on her shades Liz jutted her chin forward and placed clenched fists on her hipbones as she hissed furiously, “Screw you and that red-headed slut.”

  With a slight wave of his arm, Patrick caused a strong gust to rise in the room that slammed into Liz. The spiraling wind sent her stumbling backward before lifting her forcibly off her feet to toss her head-over-heels into the corner. Quickly he entered her mind and having acquired the vital information he required he altered her perception of reality, sending her on a trip for more sinister than she’d ever experienced on all the psychoactive drugs she’d taken. He sauntered forward, crushing her broken sunglasses beneath his feet and kicking the scattered contents of her handbag from his path. Predatorily he advanced and he knew to her eyes his complexion was darkening to coal-black, body growing in height and girth until he stopped, the sinister behemoth, of her fears, with eyes and hair of fire, to tower over her shaking and huddled figure. He clasped his hands behind his back and caused her to think she was cast into the pit of darkness, the only light for her to behold, being a pair of disembodied orange-glow eyes and rising, undulating flames of hair. Patrick embellished on her terror by creating in her mind a loud, echoing voice full of virulent malice, “You now have until three to get the necklace. If you don't, at one minute past the hour, I'll be on my way to see you off. But don't bother packing; Hell, as you well know, doesn
't have a fashion standard.” He reached out and Liz’s bloodcurdling scream ripped through the air.

  Chapter 16

  The temperature in Carolina's room was pleasantly warm. Pensively, she sat on her bed beside five baskets, three pink and two blue, all lined with protective greens, sachets of dried shamrocks and earth from Connemara. Her babies were plump and healthy, beautiful beyond belief, three golden-haired girls with eyes of green and two ginger-haired boys with eyes of blue. Sensing her presence, they all started transmitting and in her head. She could hear their combined thoughts: they wanted to go home.

  Having no prepared speech she phoned Dylan, jumping nervously when he answered with a sultry, “Hey honey how'd everything go?”

  Serenely she began her revelation, “I didn't keep the appointments. I stopped by my house. Some matters needed my attention. But I'm all better.”

  Dylan sat back in his chair, studying the glowing tip of his cigar, “I'll reschedule. Were reporters there? Is that why you didn't go?”

  “I haven't seen any reporters.”

  “They were here all morning until a bunch of wolves and skunks took up residence out front and some intimidating hawks have been flying overhead.”

  Carolina guessed the animals were waiting for her. “Well...”

  “Liz stopped by uninvited. The boys were with me the whole time so don't think I was up to anything. I told her about the wedding.” Leaning back, he puffed on his cigar then blew twin smoke rings.

  Carolina touched each of her babes reassuringly. She didn't want to hear about his ex-wife. “What time is it?”

  “Almost two,” in an hour she'd be home he thought happily.

  She took a steadying breath before proceeding, “I need you to come and get me. But by yourself, we need to talk and I don't want Patrick or the boys distracting us.”