What Happened to Lori

by J. A. Konrath

  Presley help up a hand. “Hold on. I seduced him?”

  “I saw you by the front door. Kissing him.”

  “And then what did you see?”

  “Nothing. I turned off the camera.”

  “You turned it off?”

  Grim spread out his hands. “As I said, that’s your thing. It isn’t my business.”

  “You think I slept with him?”

  Grim stroked his jaw, then extended the motion to rub his whole face. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “You’re the one paying me. Right? Don’t you want all the details?”

  “I didn’t pay you… for that.”

  “He fired me. You sent me back there. How did you expect me to get Fabler to rehire me?”

  Grim turned away. “I know.”

  Presley grabbed his shoulder, spun him around. “You sent me back there. To sleep with him. You know what that makes you, Grim? The word is pimp.”

  Grim felt something in him crack. When he spoke again, he spoke softly. “I used to be one of the good guys. I fought for my country. I liberated villages. I was a good cop. I did my job well. I cared about people.”

  “Who are you trying to convince, here? Me or you?”

  “It’s the truth. And now… I’ve become one of those people that I used to hate. The ones that take advantage. The ones who do anything to get what they want.”

  “What are you saying? That I’m the same way? That I’ve made bad decisions too?”

  “No. I’m saying the opposite. The only good thing that has happened to me in the last three years… is you.”

  Presley folded her arms across her chest. “Don’t make this about me. This is all you and your self-pity.”

  “I’m beyond self-pity, Presley. Once Lori disappeared, I did all sorts of terrible stuff. Abusing my authority. Drinking all the time. I stole beer from teenagers, fer crissakes. And then I hired you, and spied on you like a pervert. But…” “But meeting you has changed me.”

  “Bullshit, Grim. You’re so full of bullshit.”

  “I haven’t cleaned my apartment in over a year. Haven’t gotten laid in two. Haven’t cooked since my girlfriend left me for the mailman. Haven’t exercised. Hell, I can count the days on both hands since the last time I showered. But watching you… seeing you, every day… you motivated me to try again. And how did I repay you? By acting like a pimp. And I’m the biggest asshole in the world for doing that.”

  Presley didn’t respond. Grim couldn’t read her expression.

  “I know the only reason you’re here is because you need money, and you don’t want the Turks to find you. Stay as long as you need to. I’ll get a room in town. Call my cell if you need anything.”

  Grim headed for the door, feeling as low as he’d ever felt.

 

  “Seriously? You’re leaving in the middle of cooking?”

  “You’ll be fine. We both know you can handle yourself.”

  “You don’t know anything about women, Grim.”

  “No argument there.”

  “You think we like whiny, simpering guys who act all butt-hurt when things get tough?”

  Grim finger-brushed his bangs off his forehead. “Having a moment of self-reflection isn’t the same as simpering.”

  “Dude, you look like a puppy who got kicked. Poor little Grim.” She made a fake frowny face and spoke in a baritone. “The only good thing that happened to me in the last three years… is you. That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard. And I pick-up guys, professionally.”

 
 
 

  “You know your problem, Presley?”

  “Please tell me. I’ve been waiting my whole life for a man to tell me what my problem is.”

  “That’s the problem, right there. You hate men.”

  Her hands went to her hips. “Seriously? You’re pulling the man-hating feminist card?”

  “This isn’t about feminism. All people are equal, period, let’s move on. I believe this. But you don’t. You think men are so stupid. So easy to manipulate.”

  “I think that because it’s true.”

  “And that’s why you stopped me from leaving. Because you think you lost your touch. You don’t understand why you can’t lead me around by my dick.”

  Presley cocked her head to the right. “Really? Here you are. Why haven’t you left yet?”

  “You just yelled at me for leaving in the middle of cooking.”

  “You think that impresses me, Grim? That you picked up a few baking tips while spying on me like a pervert?”

  Grim jabbed a thumb at his chest. “At least my pie crust isn’t soggy.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  “What are you, seven years old?”

  “I know you are, but what am I?”

  “Is the mailman going to be here soon? I heard he knows how to treat a girl.”

  “Fabler didn’t scratch that itch for you?”

  “I didn’t sleep with Fabler, you jackass. I haven’t gotten laid in three years.”

  “The bedroom is right behind you, Presley. Unless you’re scared to be with a guy you can’t manipulate.”

  Presley narrowed her eyes—

  —then she turned and walked into the bedroom.

 
 
 

  Grim decided he didn’t care. He hurried into the bedroom.

  FABLER ○ 2:25pm

  Reaching out a hand, trembling, reverent, Fabler touched the tree, tracing the outline he’d carved, eleven years go.

  He remembered the moment he’d carved it. A fuzzy memory, the sharp edges all sanded down by time, but some images and words remained.

  “Before we eat, I’ve got an idea.”

  “What are you doing to that poor tree?”

  Summertime, the sun like a knife, so much cooler and darker in the woods. They’d gone on a picnic, because that’s the kind of thing dating couples did. Lori wore an orange sun dress, almost the same shade as her hair, and a pair of brown hiking boots, not caring how silly they looked.

  Fabler was smitten.

  “See how thick the trunk is?” Fabler slapped the bark. “This oak has been here for a hundred years, and will be here a hundred more.”

  “So you’re carving it up.”

  “I’m giving it a tattoo. It’ll be the envy of all the trees around it.”

  Lori unpacked the basket, spreading out the blanket and setting up plates and cutting up apples and pears.

  Fabler carved.

  Lori opened the wine.

  Fabler carved.

  Lori finished a glass. Then another.

  Fabler carved.

  “Your grand romantic gesture is boring the hell out of me, Fabler. I had a reason for bringing you out here.”

  “I hope the reason includes loud, uninhibited sex.”

  “That entered my mind.”

  He grinned at her. “Almost done.”

  “Can I look?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’m going to start eating without you.”

  “One more minute. Promise.”

  It took longer than a minute. But Lori was patient.

  “Okay. Ready.”

  When Lori saw it, she gasped.

  “Fabler… it’s… it’s beautiful.”

  “I think I got the likeness close.” Fabler looked back and forth, from the woman he loved to the bas-relief of her face he’d carved two inches deep in the tree. “Obviously, the color is wrong. And you rushed me so I couldn’t put more detail into your hair.”

  “I was expecting a big heart with F + L in the
center. But this… this is a work of art.”

  “I could do the heart if you want me to.”

  She shook her head. “No. This is perfect. My face on a tree.”

  “And when we’re both long gone, it’ll still be here. The prettiest tree in the forest.”

  Lori began to cry. But she didn’t look happy. She looked angry. “I was the one who brought you out here to surprise you. And you had to do this…”

  “Surprise me with what, babe?”

  Lori reached into one of the big pockets on the front of her dress—

  —and pulled out a gold ring.

  “I had this all thought-out. We were going to eat, and I was going to put this in the wine glass. A grand, romantic gesture. But then you went and immortalized my face in a frickin’ oak tree.”

  “Lori… what are you saying here?”

  She held up the gold band, staring at him through the center, a smile breaking through her tears.

  “Marry me.”

  Fabler laughed. Lori’s lower lip trembled.

  “You think this is funny?”

  “I think it’s hysterical.” Fabler reached into his jeans, taking out the jewelry box, showing her the diamond ring he’d bought for her.

  “Oh… Fabler.”

  “I can’t believe you asked me first.”

  “So you’re saying yes?”

  “Of course. You’re saying yes?”

  “Of course.”

  And now…

  Fabler stared, blurry-eyed, at Lori’s face, carved into the tree over a decade ago.

  Then he took out his SEAL Paragon knife and chipped off her left ear.

  PRESLEY ○ 2:26pm

 

  Presley assured herself it didn’t mean anything. Sex was a biological need.

  No big deal.

  Grim was a decent enough guy, he was obviously into her, he could dance and kiss, it would take her mind off things for a while, and it had been a long time since she’d made love and she could use the stress relief.

  No big deal.

  But when he came into the bedroom, wrapped himself around her, and kissed her like she was the last woman on earth, it became a big deal.

  There were some serious emotions at play here. Not only with Grim.

 
 
 

  That’s one of the reasons Presley got into honey trapping. Being paid to seduce guys helped to reinforce her belief that all men were pigs, making them easier to deal with. She got them to want her, then gave them the finger.

 
 

  She actually liked the guy. She liked his eyes. His hands. How he smelled. How he talked. How he looked at her. She liked that he was this macho bad boy jerk with a gooey self-pity streak. As warped as it sounded, she liked that he’d been watching her for the past few weeks. Part of it was the thrill of exhibitionism, and there were times where she showed off in case he was watching.

  Showing off for her effed-up voyeuristic guardian angel.

 
 

  She liked that he learned her recipes, and cleaned his apartment for her , and bought the fish tank she picked out, and purposely stopped making out with her in the backseat of the Uber because he wanted to be honest.

  Cooking with him had been a turn-on.

  Arguing with him had made her horny as hell.

  And now Presley was being overwhelmed by conflicting feelings, his hands all over her body, his tongue in her mouth, and this was probably all going too fast yet somehow her shorts were off and then her panties were down and then his face was between her legs.

  Presley put her hands on his head, fingers gripping his red hair.

 
 

  Grim licked the hinge of her right thigh, then her left, then her right again, gently nibbling.

 

  Grim’s hands spread up her body, finding her breasts, her nipples, rubbing and circling as he put his tongue inside her.

  That’s when Presley froze.

  GRIM ○ 2:27pm

  Grim felt her muscles stiffen, and he stopped.

  “You okay?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Presley? You okay?”

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

  “Yeah. I’m okay.”

  “You sure?”

  “Just… a little nervous.”

  “Me, too. We’ll go slow, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Grim felt her legs relax.

 
 
 
 

  Grim kissed her inner thigh, then worked his way back up.

  PRESLEY ○ 2:29pm

  Presley sighed, willing herself to relax. While she couldn’t recall the last time she’d had sex, she’d completely forgotten what it was like for a guy to go down on her. It felt so self-indulgent, and at the same time made Presley self-conscious. To have a guy so focused on her was a thrill, and a worry.

 
 
 
 

  None of these thoughts helped get her in the right mood. And Grim made it worse, because he didn’t know what he was doing. He kept missing the spot she wanted him to hit.

 
 
 

  Presley tried to guide his head, roll her hips, get him to where he needed to be, and he didn’t take any hint.

 

  Then his lips brushed against her, and it was so abrupt, such a jolt of intensity, that she gasped.

 

  And then he pulled away.

  She sucked in a breath, staring at him. “What’s wrong?”

  He smiled, his cheeks glistening. “Trust me.”

 
 
 
 

  Presley swallowed. Then she nodded.

  Grim went back to licking her.

  But it was more than licking.

  He was teasing.

  Grim would nuzzle, and kiss, and suck, every spot except where she wanted it most. He was torturing Presley, making her crazy, and then when she tried to grind against his face, he pulled back, barely grazing her, and all she could feel was his hot breath. When she lowered her hips, he went back to his horrible agenda. Stroking until she felt it build, then backing off.

 
 
 

  Presley arched her back, pressing her chest against his rough hands, and he gripped her
nipples, tugging harder, sending little jolts of electricity through her body, and continuing to tease tease tease, over and over, and she lost herself in it, letting it build and ebb and build and ebb until she was ready to come even without him anywhere near her clit.

  And somehow, the bastard sensed it, and became even gentler and slower.

 

  She squeezed her eyes closed.

 

  Just lying there was damn near impossible.

  She couldn’t stop her hips from rolling.

  She couldn’t stop the sounds coming out of her throat.

  She couldn’t stop trying to capture his terrible, wonderful tongue, which kept coaxing and coaxing until—

  “Oh god…”

  Somehow, he knew she was about to come.

  And then he devoured her. Full-on pressure, fast and hard.

  The pleasure so sharp it was almost pain.

  Almost.

  He cupped her ass with both hands, pressing her into his face, sucking and licking and Presley clutched the sheets and heard screaming and realized it was her and the orgasm went on and on until her whole body shook.

  And then she was tugging at him, desperate for Grim to be inside her, desperate to feel him, and again he looked at her, his face glistening, absolutely beaming—

  —and he went down on her again.

  But it was too acute, too intense. Presley was almost ticklish down there, and when his tongue touched her it was too much, this time closer to pain than pleasure, and she pushed away his forehead.

  “No, too sensitive.”

  “You don’t trust me yet?”

  “It’s too much.”

  “Give me a safe word.”

  Presley laughed at that, knowing what it meant, never having used one before, and the first thing that popped into her head was, “Chicken pot pie.”

 

  “Okay. You say chicken pot pie, I stop what I’m doing. Deal?”

  She swallowed, nodded, and he lowered his head and licked.

  “Chicken pot pie.”

  He stopped, staring at her, raising an eyebrow. “You okay?”

  “Just testing it.”

  “Okay. Lemme know when you’re ready.”

  He waited.

  And waited.