Triple Pass: An MFMM Reverse Harem Romance

by Sierra Sparks

  Then, I heard his name.

  Eight years, infinity embodied in a swirl of time and anger washes me like a kitten in a storm. It takes sheer strength not to jump or leap of shout at him the moment he walks in through that door. It all makes sense, his silence at me, thrashing around at the quaint side glances he’s been propelling. Holy fuck, Spencer Winters is back again, and this time not as a friend. Or so I hope not.

  He rests his ass on the chair and silently stares. I’m so glad they never cuffed me. I’ve been chill long enough. If the energy spikes, then I have a clear shot at smacking his face back to the past right to the moment he typed that email.

  “Jasmine…Glenn-Turner. Is that right? He asks, flipping through a file on the steel table, giving his tongue a once-over. Damn, he’s still got it.

  “Uh, yeah. That’s me. I guess I should work on changing the name now,” I murmur, holding my face back and my chest forward. I know we’re being watched, but fuck it.

  He sits forward, scratching his pen with his nimble thumb. He must have been working out all this time. The veins on him...

  “And why would you do that?”

  “Well, my husband, ha, late husband, is in cold storage at the moment right? I don’t see the point of keeping his name after all this is over.”

  “You don’t seem a whole lot teared up about it. Makes me wonder…”

  “If I did it?” I quip, staring into his eyes, those long lost twin souls that made my pussy quiver like the shingles on a purring cat, waiting to see a reaction. He can’t be this calm on the inside. There’s just no way.

  “Did you? My thinking is, you stabbed him in the throat with something small, almost admissible…maybe a pencil?”

  “A pencil? Really, that’s the one thing you can come up with?” I mock, laying back and folding my arms. He caresses his chin, and looks around the room. I can feel his eyes gaze at two things, the first being the camera beeping red at its tip by the top right corner at the metal door. The second, and more worriedly, is the huge mirror in the wall, clean enough I can see the bruises on my neck from it. I can feel pairs of eyes from the other side, waiting for me to slip up and talk, maybe to reveal where I stashed the knife or…pencil. Ha-ha, he’s got jokes.

  “Well, there was nothing else on the scene. And only your prints on him at the time.”

  “Like I said, he was my husband. Is it wrong to find a wife’s hands all over his body? Passion does happen between couples you know,” I scoff, emphasizing that last bit. He stops at his tracks and coils his lips up and around his nose, like an imaginary toothpick rests between his teeth and tongue. That got to him. Good.

  “Fine. Let’s go over this once more shall we? You had an argument with him last night, and got yourself drunk. You then woke up in the middle of your bleariness and found yourself in your matrimonial bedroom, where he lay at the foot of the bed, dead, and bleeding. You then ran downstairs, where you grabbed a shoe,” here his smiling arrogance cannot be dismissed, “for defense, and a phone. Afterwards you called the police after making sure your son was safe in his room. You then woke him up and waited as the police came along, and then here you are. Am I correct in assuming all that is total horse shit?”

  That takes me of track. I had deliberately changed my story, just like Ray advised, and warmed harshly, to protect the deeds of a dead man. If I mentioned Carl’s abuse on me, then Ray would make sure I never see the sunlight, or Spence, again. What’s a mother to do?

  “What? I’m telling the truth!”

  “A shoe? Oh come on Mrs. Glenn-Turner, you grabbed a shoe for defense?” he asks, slamming his fists into the table.

  The door flies open and the two gents walk in; one of them with silver cuffs in hand. I realize I must have given away the stupor of my calm when I accidentally rose up and slammed my palm on his face. I just slapped a cop, in custody, in the heart of a murder charge that I am a major suspect in.

  “That’s a felony Mrs. Glenn-Turner! Hands on the desk!” shouts the kind one. I think his name is Blake, but there’s no time to think.

  “Calm your horses down Young! She was just overreacting, weren’t you Jasmine? Weren’t you?”

  “Blake, no need for those,” Spencer finally releases. His hand is on his face, calming the buzz I’m sure he must find rather amusing. He’s smiling. It’s one hell of a scene. Ray is by my side, sternly eyeballing the cops, while Blake, chewing something really sweet-smelling has my left hand cuffed to his, and by his side, Spencer sits comfortably smiling, hand to his cheek. Must be a sight to whoever watches the surveillance footage.

  I thought that seeing him would make me feel better. For fuck’s sake I had dreamed of this reunion from the day I cried myself to sleep. Heck, I masturbated to his name and fading memory the night of my wedding. Even Carl didn’t sleep through it, waking up from a drunken haze thinking I was having convulsions. And then, even with the shit of a claptrap walking by in a long coat and shorter hair, he has no idea how to start the long and awkward conversation. He sits idly by as his own questions ignite the fuel to my anger, and I must feel this as irresponsible on his end.

  I might have overreacted, seeing as how he’s waving the duo away from me. In this instance, I can see the kindness he imbued in my son, our son. Oh God, he has no idea that the boy he saw is his. He must think…he’s going to be so pissed I’ll laugh. Honestly, what emotion is expected after all this?

  “Young, Winters, is there anything holding my client back from tasting her freedom? There’s only circumstantial evidence holding her here, is there? Is there?” Duncan roars, furious at the rush of silver and testosterone filling the room with urgency and tension.

  “No,” quips Spencer, staring at me with his lip curled. He only did that when he was inside me, cumming. “She can go. But not out of town.”

  “Spencer,” Blake says, “a word outside?”

  They walk to the edge of the room and close the door behind them. Time to face it.

  “The fuck were you thinking slapping a law man in his own back yard? You do realize that this can go very wrong for you, for us if he decides to add it to the report, right? We’ll be screwed; we’ll both be screwed…”

  “Oh hush now Ray. We both know instead of ‘we’ you’re only thinking of ‘me’. The old dog can definitely never learn anything new but to chase its own tail and sniff its own butt. How much did he leave to you in his will, huh? Did you write me off? Tell me. I know how thick you two were, but not as friends. You haven’t even shed a tear, and I don’t blame you. You know the kind of man he was…”

  They walk back in as swiftly as they left, leaving the two of us enough time to have riled up the question of loyalty and money; more or less they’re one in the same right?”

  “You’re free to go Mrs. Glenn-Turner. Turns out the jackasses in law could slap our asses with a civil rights lawsuit for holding you with nothing more than what we have,” releases Young. It must be taking all his energy restraining himself. I know how much guys like him want to see a job get done and done right. I see it in Ray and my dad, even the ass-hat in a body bag downstairs somewhere. But not in Spencer. He’s quietly watching all this unfold, waiting for his moment I’m sure.

  “Now, since you won’t be going out of town, might I suggest a hotel, The September Moon, for your stay as we sweep your house for the remainder of the week for more evidence? If we find out you’re not the killer, and I’m just speculating here, then you’ll be free to go.”

  The September Moon is one of the luxuries in life I can deal with right now. Bath robes, soft shampoo, room service, complimentary soft bread, enough space to weep all night with no one being the wiser; it’s all a girl could ever ask for, right?

  “You’ll need an escort.”

  Spencer Winters, the volunteer.

  There is a bleed of uncertainty; eyes fluttering around to make sure the decision is unanimous. The silence is really getting to me, and the sigh I heave must be the clincher in the ice. We leave
the room and walk over to the discharge counter. Red beard and a whole lot of beer tummy are on the clerk sitting by the desk. He’s extra bored, and even more so from the fact that he’s got to hand over my belongings, including my phone. The three men are in a tussle over what happened in the interrogation room, and I can’t help but smile at the smugness evident, to me of course, on Spencer’s face.

  “Um, where’s the ladies’ room?” I ask the clerk. Man, even the effort to turn his eye is taxing. I thank him and walk through the bundle of cops staring at me. I never knew Carl as a person, or his family for that matter, but his scrapes with the law in the recent years over embezzling had raised enough chatter with local law enforcement and in one weird way above others, there was some sort of praise and admiration from the cops to me. That’s a huge maybe. But what else would you call a wink, a smile, and a silent nod with a proud smile on top?

  The room is super clean. Then again, I did notice the ladies were less. It could be different floors, so no point in me bickering on gender equality and all that. It’s the law. How many would there even be?

  I get into a stall and quickly fumble through my contacts. I see her number and get to dialing. Someone gets into a stall, unwraps a piece of plastic noisily and takes a few moments to themselves. Must be that time, but it would be awesome if she got it done faster and…

  “Hello? Madam? Are you alright?” her voice echoes through the walls around me. I try my best to whisper. The next stall empties.

  “Henrietta, thank God I got to you, I…”

  “Jasmine, is everything alright? How are you on the phone? Did they – oh no, did they book you? Ohe! Tell me madam, what do we do? What…”

  “Woman calm yourself! I’m alright…I just got released. Is,” I confirm that I am alone in the entire washroom before talking about delicate maters as such, “he alright?”

  “He is here Jasmine. Would you like to…”

  “No. Not like this. Tell him…tell him mommy is a little occupied with a new job she got. Could you tell him that for me? Please?”

  “Of course madam, of course. And I’ll keep him with me for as long as you wish. He’s having fun with the little dolls in Marcela’s old room and very helpful with the cooking,” she laughs. I can hear Spence mouthing the sounds of an engine in the background. Is it normal to have onions in washroom stalls? I think it’s in the fresheners…

  “Thank you Henrietta. I’ll talk to you soon. Kiss him goodnight for me.”

  “I will Jasmine. Be safe.”

  The line goes dead.

  I breathe for a little while, calming my eyes and drying them. I don’t know who killed Carl, and I honestly wish I had something to do with it to at least feel my soul nourished.

  Because of them, I’m spending my first night away from my son. If it would have been a vacation with my family, or loving husband, then that would have mattered. But this…this is torture. My son’s father and love of my life is right outside the door waiting on me, and he is the officer in charge of interrogating me, and if possible, booking and handing me over to the pen. How did this all get so complicated?

  I rise and meet my oppressors. Duncan already left. Only the two lawmen stand by a desk in the far middle of the bullpen. I see it in his eyes and stern frame. If I tell him, that he’s been a father for eight years without his knowledge, will he hate me?

  The ride towards the Moon is quiet. It’s just the two of us in the car, and the evening shade of dusk is clear on us. No more kids on the street, and old men reading their newspapers by the road. This is the high end part of town, where the hookers come out to play in their glittery gold and lace dresses ready for a game with the hot clientele that rolls into the night. It’s where the roaches know where to buy and sell their merchandise, with all the stores open and brightly lit on the inside to lure the heavy purses. All the way up Howler Street, where the September Moon lies in its beaming majesty, the town becomes alive. The blood of it all, the music in the clubs, is pumped all the way through by the scantily dressed skanks arming their big daddy’s hairy infertile bodies for protection.

  Luckily, if you wanted the private life, you’d get it. That’s where the Moon comes along.

  Carl and I had originally planned to go there, well, in my head that is. I had been naïve right after marriage. He’s moved me out of dad’s house before the wedding, and got me here, this Tinsel town of make-belief. I saw this white and gold hotel, and I couldn’t crave for more as we drove by on our way to the new house. Our honeymoon was spent at home, while he slept, and I touched myself to sleep, thinking of the one man who knew how to get it all off.

  And here he sits, watching the road and myself from the side of my eye. No conversation to spew. It’s oddly satisfying.

  “So…a cop. You finally got what you wanted huh?”

  “I guess so,” he sternly replies.

  “I got mine too, just in case you’re wondering,” I throw back. The body language is a lie. The man is unmoving, a rock even. The rest of the ride is as still as the tension between us. He parks it and gets out of his door.

  “Still a gentleman I see,” I commend, waltzing out of my seat and reaching for his outstretched hand. He vaguely smiles, and leaves his keys with the valet. We walk in, his hand by my waist. Sudden, unexpected and quite the turn on; I love that he still knows what flips my switch.

  “Room for one please. Jasmine Glenn-Turner,” he curtly yields to the receptionist. It’s the way he says it, my second name, that gives me a leap of hope. Like he hates it, with bile and anger and regret.

  “Room 102. Here is the key. Thank you and enjoy your stay at The September Moon,” he replies, almost mechanically. Creepy.

  “Thank you.”

  We’re in the elevator. Alone. I grab his arm and string it in mine.

  “Remember that time we had that thing for role play?”

  “Jasmine…”

  “What…can’t a girl have an imagination? This is that thing we never did. The costumes came all wrong.”

  “You’re my suspect Jazz, and…”

  “Uh, Jazz,” to hear him say my name like that tickles my toes, “it’s been years since anyone called me that, Spencer.”

  “Please…”

  Ding

  “It seems we’re here Spencer Winters. Lead the way to the room, my escort in armor.” I feel sarcastic all the seven ways to Sunday, and I can tell why. I’m waiting for the chance to be alone. I’ve been craving it since the first time I realized who he was.

  He swipes the card and stuffs it into his pocket. The beeping red light turns green and we walk through it. I get to the far edge of the window leading to the balcony. I don’t even want to look at the room any more than him. He locks it and stares at me. Oh, finally…

  “Fuck. You.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” he asks, gently stroking the door, slightly shaken.

  “FUCK. YOU. Clear enough asshole?”

  I need it to sink in. I need time to – fuck it.

  “You fucking left me Spencer! You of all people! You fucking up and left for your fucking future…and you think right now is that kinda time to just try and be polite? Polite? Man you’re a dick.”

  He’s moved to the center of the room, almost near me. I don’t want him to –

  “The fuck do you think you’re doing? You need to hear this, buddy. The day you left is the day I died, and everyone knew it. Even your mom had that feeling. You went to college, and congratulations Mister Winters, for being part of the 60% that braves the world with a college degree. Ife must have been nice, huh? Dating and fucking anyone your dick felt entitled to, hmm? After screwing me and enjoying all that I had to offer, you fucking leave me with an email? An email? What kind of sadistic bastard are you Spencer? You know what,” he’s by the bed, watching, perplexed, “don’t even answer that. I can take a guess, a hint, whatever. You realize my dad died right? Do you know what I went through the first year? Do you? Let me paint you a picture, yeah? I was t
ortured Spencer! I never left the house without his say-so. He kept me there like Macbeth, gnawing on bones and my own thoughts to stew in. The master manipulator finally won Spencer; he got me to let go of you before the first year even ended. I’m glad that selfish bastard is gone, and dead. In hell maybe, at the least level of – oh, you didn’t…”

  His shock is written all over the pose his arms are in, and the gape in his mouth. Good. We need this. I need this more.

  “He’s dead. Good riddance, yeah? I thought so too. Then I realized that he had his fist wrapped around my neck all over again, even from the grave. He married me off. Yeah, you heard that right. Your sweet little Jazz got married off like one of the very many poor girls in third world countries who get it done to them every day of the week. And you know what it was all for? Oh yeah…you got it in the first round without even trying.

  Money, Spencer, I was sold to a beast for money. And you wanna hear the best part? For eight fucking years, this dude you’re all so hell-bent on figuring out his murderer, this bastard of an ass whose mother chose to be raped by the devil, beat me nearly to death every day. Every. Single. Day.

  And you know what? You see this?” I show them to him, lifting my top all the way to my bra so he can see, so he can see the bluish and red marks on my skin from everything he caused, “this is what happened all those years while you were away happy and having the life you had always dreamed of. This is what has been happening while you fuck around and have all those whores fuck and tuck you in with all those muddy orgasms, while my fucktard of a husband whored his way around and beat the crap out of me.

  So there you go Winters, my life for you. Tell me again how awesome this ride has been for you. Tell me, after all these years, why you would send me those words, that stinking email like you cared not for that time we were one. Go on.”

  I am red, and wet. Sweat and tears spring from me, and I don’t dare hide them. I want him to feel all my pain, all of it. He’s on the bed, watching me, and his face is teary too. This is penance, and it is necessary.