by M. N. Forgy
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and heads to a white door on the left. Stepping inside the house we walk into an immaculate kitchen. The hardwood floors are clean without so much as a single scratch marking them, and the marble counters are clear of any cooking utensils or food. She must have some OCD or something as I’ve never seen a place so clean. Then again, I live with a bunch of bikers.
My eyes fall on the one thing on the counter next to the stove; a knife block with tall sharp looking knives. I glance at my current weapon. I should upgrade. I can’t believe this, I have a gun back in my dorm room. With the scissors pointing at her, I head to the knives and grab the biggest one out of the wooden block. The blade scratches amongst the block as I release it from its holding. It’s so clean and shiny I can see my reflection clearly in it.
“Sit!” I demand, pointing to a high back chair next to a long wooden dining table.
She heads over to the chair and sits down, her legs crossed. I run my hands along the back of one of the chairs. It’s covered with cloth, not like the metal chairs at the club.
“This is nice,” I admire. Soft too. It looks like something that would belong at a vanity rather than a kitchen table.
“Th-thanks.” She gives me a weak smile. I can tell she doesn’t want to be nice to me, and I don’t blame her for it.
“You don’t have to be fake with me, you won’t offend me. In fact, it’s the fake people that don’t scare me, it’s the genuine ones. They’re the ones that slip past your walls and get close to you. Loyal people know your weakness,” I state from experience. Benji, he’s the one person that scares the shit out of me because he knows me so well. Ones like him get caught in a web of passion that have you not walking away from them so easily.
I start rummaging through drawers looking for something to tie June up with when I hear her clear her throat.
“You don’t have to do this. Nobody has to get hurt,” she implores with a whiny voice. I chuckle, as I pull open another drawer. Duct tape, bingo! We use this for everything at the club.
Grabbing it, I head over to her fancy ivory chair.
“Sit back,” I instruct, and she quickly obeys. Placing the knife in between my teeth, I snatch her hands up from her lap, placing her palm to palm before wrapping the tape around her wrists. When I’m done I place them back in her lap and then tape her body to the chair so she can’t escape.
Done, I blow the hair from my face and look at my artwork.
“Aren’t you going to tape my mouth?” she asks with confusion.
I raise a brow. “How are you going to call Daddy if I have your mouth taped shut?” I raise a brow. Her big blue eyes flash with panic before looking elsewhere.
My eyes skim down her frame, she’s so in shape and pretty. She could have anyone, it’s sad she has to try and love the man she’s with. The risqué shoes on her feet grab my attention and I step closer to get a better look. They’re black with red underneath them. Like the kind I see celebrities wearing in magazines. Not being able to leave the club much, Benji would bring me new magazines every month so I wouldn’t be bored. I would scour the pages circling things I’d love to wear, or have one day and those black shoes… was one of the things I’ve circled a few times. I’m not much for heels, but those are just so damn sexy I’d pet them every day in my closet. Bending over, I grab one and jerk it from her foot.
“What size are you?” I question, looking the shoe over. It’s a Jimmy Choo, it must have cost a fortune. “I’ve never worn heels before,” I say more to myself than her, but she doesn’t respond.
“Take them, you- you can have them,” she insists with vulnerable eyes. “I have a whole closet you can have if you let me go.”
I roll my eyes at her, she can’t buy me with shoes.
“Unless you have a closet full of leather boots, your ass is stuck in that chair,” I inform her. I hold the shoe up. “This just happens to be the only kind of heel I’m interested in and not to wear.”
She blinks a few times like I’m an idiot.
“You’re not even going to wear them?”
“I mean, I might… I don’t know,” I shrug, looking the slick shoe over. I’d need to practice walking in them because knowing my luck I’d try and act sexy for Benji and fall on my face.
“Honey? Are you in here?” the panicked voice of Professor Prescott echoes through the house as he looks for his wife. I drop the shoe to the ground and quickly hide beside the fridge until he walks in. Knife in my hand I palm it tightly, my teeth clenched tightly as I wait for him to walk past.
“June?” He looks at his tied-up wife in confusion. I quietly step up behind him like a snake slithering up to his prey and pinch the spine of his back with the tip of the sharp knife.
“Don’t fucking move!” I warn, and he freezes. His arms raise like I have a gun, and I smile. The scent of him whirls around me. Erasers, marker, and hand sanitizer. He smells what I would imagine a kindergarten room would smell like. It’s repulsive. His hair is slicked back and his face is clean shaven like a baby’s ass. What does Farrah see in this tool?
“Go sit beside your wife,” I instruct, waving the knife toward June.
“Farrah… let’s talk about this,” he suggests with a calm voice. Like lightning, anger strikes my chest violently. I fist his hair with my free hand roughly, his neck popping with my harsh force.
“There’s nothing to fucking talk about and stop calling me fucking Farrah. I’m Harley, understand?” I breathe into his ear.
“Okay, okay,” he hisses with pain. I tug his hair one more time before I let go. Using my foot, I kick him in the back, shoving him forward.
“Move it!” I roar.
He rubs his back before stumbling over to the chair next to June.
“I can explain,” he whispers to her.
“Save it.” She rolls her eyes, looking the other way.
Grabbing the tape, I tape him up just like June. He sits there without a fight, looking at June with puppy dog eyes.
“Wow, not even going to try and fight me, huh?” I ask with surprise.
“I don’t hit women,” he sneers. He pulls his eyes away from his wife and looks up at me with defiant eyes.
“You pussy,” I laugh, I was hoping he’d struggle just a little bit. I’d like to test out if I could take a man down or not. “You guys really are making this too easy.”
“Is this about us because I thought I was—”
“Oh, shut up, Michael. This has nothing to do with you throwing your prick to easy college girls!” June screams, her face turning red. I stand back and cross my arms. I’m impressed she’s standing up for herself. It’s like a fucked-up version of couples counseling.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he acts offended.
“Oh, don’t act like you haven’t been trying to sleep with this girl.” She tilts her head to the other side, the sight of Michael too much for her.
He looks up at me for a lifeline, for the poor man can’t figure out why he and his pretend wife are tied to a chair.
“This has nothing to do with you, this has everything to do with June and her father though,” I sigh, placing my hands on my hips. The professor looks at his wife with a blank stare.
“You’re kidding,” he mutters almost angrily.
“Daddy owes her club money,” June shrugs.
He slumps against the chair and shakes his head.
“Go figure,” he grumbles. His head snaps to my direction. “Then what does this have to do with me? Why am I here? I have nothing to do with her dad.”
My mouth drops. “I don’t know, I thought maybe you’d want to fight in your wife’s honor, die together, some romantic crap.” I swing the knife around as I explain my actions. To be honest, I wanted him here in-case I needed him for bait.
Crossing my arms, I tilt my head to the side and observe the two mysterious people in front of me.
“I bet if I let you go right now, you’d run and leave June behind.
Wouldn’t you?” I ask with curiosity. He glances at June before looking the other way. He would, he’d run and never look back. As if there was nothing between them, and they didn’t create life together at one point. Even couples who divorce later keep a respectful relationship due to their past. At least, that’s what I read in magazines.
“Wow, you really are a piece of shit.” I’m astonished.
“That’s not what you were saying the other day,” he mocks. He must be talking about Farrah.
“Did we fuck?” I mindlessly ask, this grabs June’s attention.
His eyes widen. “No, but I was going –”
June doesn’t let him finish his sentence before she starts rocking her chair in his direction. Her teeth clashing and nostrils flaring with rage, she wants to claw his eyes out. She still loves him, if she didn’t she wouldn’t be so upset.
“Oh fuck off, if you weren’t such a princess, maybe I wouldn’t have to stick my dick somewhere else!” He rolls his eyes.
Before I know it, they’re in a screaming match. Again.
Closing my eyes, I feel emotional, sad, and the voice of Farrah in my head. I turn, my hands grabbing at the air as I feel for the counter. My vision is blurring and my stomach coils into a tight knot.
“No, not now,” I tell myself. It does no good, black begins to stain my vision. These two hurting inside and each other is making my emotions roll inside of me like an unstoppable tide.
Michael and June screaming at each other makes my head go foggy and I have to fall on top of the counter to keep from falling face first into it.
20
Farrah
Coming to, I see before me June and Professor Prescott tied in chairs. I have tape in one of my hands, and a knife in the other. They’re yelling at each other, completely oblivious to me being here.
Pulling myself off the counter, I look around noticing I’m in their house once again, it’s so clean I feel dirty.
“You take advantage of young girls!”
“They want my dick! They want my affection. Unlike you! All you can think about is yourself!”
“Maybe if you actually had a dick, that would change! The only affection you have in your body is for the sight of money, and you know it!”
“Maybe if you would just let me love you, I wouldn’t have to treat women like objects! Fucking girl from girl behind your back just to feel something inside. You think I like that?”
My heart constricts watching them fight. Hearing the professor refer to me as an object. I was his object. A toy.
“Is that what I was?” I interrupt as I look the knife in my hand over. They both shut up and look at me with wide eyes. “Was I just an object to you? Another cum dumpster waiting on the sidelines?” I quip with a light shrug. I play it off, but inside I’m cracking, I’m falling apart.
I can’t tell if I’m sad or angry. I feel what I feel, hurt, but in the background, I hear Harley in my head screaming in anger at the professor. It causes my hand to shake, the knife in my hand a tempting tool to end the professor’s game.
“We didn’t fuck,” he informs dryly. As if he didn’t stick his penis in me we had zero connection; no feelings were involved. My eyes fall to the floor. Was everything in my head, was there never a connection. Maybe I wanted one so bad, I made it all up in my head.
“You told me you didn’t love her, but you didn’t want to love me either.” I flick my eyes from the floor to him
“What did you expect, a diamond ring? You’re not wife material, babe,” he scoffs before crossing his shiny black shoes over one another. He sounds like one of the dumb boys at the college.
My heart falls to my feet in shards of heated passion. No one to love and nobody to care for me. Thunder claps against my rib cage as I try to breathe through the raging sea inside my chest. My palm begins to sweat as the knife in my hand burns into my skin. Voices in my head telling me to use it, to hurt him like he hurt me.
I drop it and gasp for air.
Looking up through my bangs, I cannot contain all of the feelings combusting in my chest like a giant firecracker going off on the Fourth of July. I run at him, tackling him to the ground. Falling to the floor the chair splinters into a million pieces.
June is screaming in fear and I’m so angry so sad and full of loneliness… I let the voices take over and the black bleeds into visions of chaos and blood.
Benji
Pulling up to the house of the professor I hear Harley screaming from inside. Slamming the car in park, I jump out, not bothering to shut the door behind me. Running across the lawn, I head inside the house with my gun drawn.
Stepping inside, my boots leave muddy prints behind, and I whip my gaze and gun to the left and right. Finding nothing, I head further into the house.
Coming into a kitchen, I find the governor’s daughter tied up in a chair screaming as she rocks the chair back and forth. Right beside her on the ground is the professor tied up and trying to fight off Harley.
Harley. I let out a small breath seeing her alive. Beating the shit out of the professor, but alive. I lower my gun and head toward her.
Harley freezes from pummeling the teacher and grabs a high heel next to his head. I hurry to her just as she screams so loud my ears ring, and the point of the heel cracks into the side of his skull.
The sound of shoe and skull one I’ve not heard before I stop. My eyes flicking from Harley and the man on the ground. Did she kill him?
The professor stills beneath her, blood spilling from his head and filling the shoe.
“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath.
“NOOOO!” June screams, her makeup and tears chapping her face. Rocking the chair hysterically, she tries to get to him. But it’s too late, he’s dead. The heel of the shoe is dug into his skull so far there’s no pulling it out. Harley blinks a couple of times, her hands clasping the shoe. I know that look. She’s just coming to, Farrah must have been in the light.
Wait? Did Farrah kill the professor? Shaking my head of the thought, I quickly rush over to her and gently lay my hand on hers holding the heel lodged in the man’s head, urging her to let go of the shoe. She begins to shake, a whimper spilling from her lips as she looks upon the dead man.
“Did- did I kill him?” she whispers with a shaky voice.
“It doesn’t matter. Just let go,” I coax her. It was both of them, they both killed the professor. The first time ever that Farrah and Harley worked together.
She looks up at me with wide ocean colored eyes. Her green irises looking darker with her soul set in panic.
“No, I need to know. Did I?” she begs me to tell her what happened. “All I remember is my arm striking down as I blinked from the darkness.” She begins to cry, piecing the puzzle back together.
“TELL ME!?” she demands in a hysterical voice. “This was supposed to be my kill, not Farrah’s!
I snake my arms around her tightly, trying to contain her panic. Her head falls back, her eyes closed as she cries through her mental pain.
“You both did it, babe,” I whisper to her. She falls silent in my hold and I squeeze her tighter. Fuck, to feel her against me and to know she is okay and safe… it’s a fucking relief. Her skin is clammy, her heart racing so fast I’m surprised she’s not passed out.
She looks up at me with tear-filled eyes. Blood smeared on her right cheek and a lost look gazing at me for help. When she comes forward from being in the light of Farrah, she’s confused and vulnerable. Often times, dangerous. Only I can control her.
“Stay still,” I tell her. My go-to phrase for warding off the echoes in her head, the guilt panging in her chest at what just happened.
“Can you feel my heart beat against your back?” I whisper softly. She closes her eyes and nods. Her wet lashes fluttering along her face. “Can you hear only my voice?”
“Yes,” she murmurs, the hysteria in her voice slowly fading.
“The chaos and the voices can’t be heard if you stay still and let me ha
ve you,” I remind her, tugging her closer to my warm body.
She opens her eyes, her hands clasping my leather cut with a death grip.
“Benji? I love you,” she reveals softly.
I freeze. The clocks in the room stop ticking and my lungs seize to take in air.
“What?” I ask. I heard her, but I need to hear it again. I’ve chased this woman far too long to hear her confession as a mere whisper.
“I love you,” she repeats, this time with more strength than before.
“Fuck, I love you too,” I breathe heavily. Grasping the nape of her neck, I take her lips to mine. The smell of blood, leather, and her scent of bubblegum filling my head.
Her lips a perfect match to mine, my hands pull her dainty dress over her head and throw it in the corner with reckless abandon. She wraps her legs around my waist and her lips eagerly kissing all over my neck. One of her hands slides along the wooden floor guiding her back to the floor, the other pulling me on top of her.
Her body is rushing with adrenaline and need. The rush to fuck and feel something rather than face what just happened her only mission.
My jeans a little loose, I shove them down to my ankles, and she tugs my briefs down far enough for my cock to spring free. It’s hard and throbbing. Veins protruding around it and the pulsing sensation is so intense I’m ready to tear into her sweet pussy. I don’t give a fuck if the wife tied to the chair is watching and there’s a dead guy, feet away from us.
I’m taking her now.
Spreading her legs her sweet cunt drips, ready for me.
“Say it again?” I demand.
“I love you. Love me!” she pants, reaching forward she fists my cock and I thrust inside of her.
“Fuck yes.” I push through gritted teeth. Propping myself on one elbow, I use my free hand to grasp her bare thigh, pulling her closer to me. Needing her skin touching my skin, wanting to feel her wrapped around me. Her pussy is tight and warm, it’s like fucking heaven between her legs.
Anywhere else is hell and even though I’m a bad man… I’m not to her.