Deadly Deception: A Dark Romance

by J.C. Valentine

  “Make a wish!” someone shouts.

  I blow out the candles, my only wish to have this whole thing over ASAP. I don’t do celebrations, and I have no idea how the hell anyone here knows it’s my birthday.

  There’s a lot of clapping as the smoke from the candles dissipates, and everyone takes turns surrounding me to hug and congratulate me on being another year older. As the cake is cut and dished onto paper plates, Tony appears from the back and claps me on the shoulder.

  He’s not nearly as big as Donny, but as his brother and with only two years separating them, they look nearly identical. “Happy birthday, you sorry son of a bitch,” he boasts. “Had to hear it from Charlie, who just happened to find it in your record when he was giving you your cut yesterday. If I’dda known sooner, I woulda thrown you a party.”

  “Precisely why I didn’t tell you sooner, Tony,” I say with a friendly smile as I rise and return the hug I know he wants to give me.

  “You’re a hard man to pin down, Declan,” he accuses, “but you’re one of my best men. Enjoy some cake then get outta here. I know you’re itching to get back to whatever you were doing before Donny brought you in.” He winks and turns to go mingle with the rest of the group.

  Tony didn’t get where he is by being a flake. He’s observant, and he knows his men like he knows the business. And he makes it his job to keep us as satisfied as his clients. Hence the cake. I don’t particularly like cake, and it fucks up my diet, but I’ll eat a few bites because it’ll keep everyone happy. Plus, it shows I appreciate the intention behind it, even if I don’t buy for a second that Tony wouldn’t put a bullet in my head in a heartbeat if he thought I had done something to cross him or someone in his circle. He’s just not a man to be fucked with.

  It’s a quality I understand and appreciate.

  After a couple of bites, I take my foil-wrapped slice of veggie pizza and thank everyone for the good time, then I head back to the store where I’ll wait for Glenn to finish his shift.

  Six

  ~Faith~

  I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve cleaned the house, which, without any pets or kids running around, is never truly dirty anyway. I made a few calls for work, being told on several occasions to, in no uncertain terms, “fuck off” and stop harassing them or they’ll call the authorities.

  My job stresses me out, even though it only occupies a quarter of my day. I’m lucky to have it since I don’t get out much and have no desire to. I’m a homebody, not someone who cares to be out in the world, interacting with people for any length of time.

  I prefer to make runs to the supermarket and other pit stops that require little of me and then retreat home to unwind. Some people just weren’t cut out for the humbuggery of the real world.

  If I had it my way, I would relocate to a tropical island, lay on the beach all day, soak up some sun, and catch up on my reading.

  That sounds like a fantastic life, but with the old ball and chain holding me back, I’ll never have that chance. Good thing I have Cal on the job. With him, I’ll be free to do as I please, when I please. The very thought of never having to answer to anyone again gives me goose bumps.

  A check of the clock tells me that I have little more than an hour to myself before Glenn gets home. While I know there are several days left for this to go down, Cal never specified one, so I’m left anticipating when. Will tonight be the night? Instead of Glenn arriving home from work, will the police instead show up at my door to tell me the tragic news?

  I go upstairs to scrub out the master bath’s tub and work on my performance. Cuing tears is harder than one might realize, and it gives me a new appreciation for actors who can do it on cue. Once the bath cleared of the chalky blue powder, I flip the plug and run the hot water, sitting along the side while it fills and I watch the steam rise through misty eyes that quickly clear.

  There is nothing better than a nice, hot soak in the tub. It’s my one true luxury since Glenn doesn’t afford me much beyond the basic necessities. “What would you do with nice things?” he once asked when I said I’d like to buy some new clothes. Apparently, my lack of a social life meant that the clothes I wore when we moved in together after we got married were good enough.

  The resentment grew. It’s hard not to feel a kind of hatred for someone when they continuously find ways to belittle you.

  I strip out of my clothes and step into the tub, taking my time because the water is hot enough to burn. My toes protest, as does the rest of my skin as I sink in inch by slow inch. Once I’m totally submerged, I ease back and rest my head on the edge of the tub and close my eyes.

  The house is quiet. A perfect silence that is only shattered by the occasional cars or emergency sirens on the neighboring main street.

  That’s something else a life spent seaside would eliminate. The idea of it only grows more appealing the longer I have to imagine it. Glenn’s death is a freedom I’ve never known or known to want. Now, I crave it.

  Cal. As much as I don’t want to have to rely on another person, especially another man, I’m glad I found him. From the moment we started talking, I trusted him. He’s a consummate professional, which is evident by the way he carries himself and his no-nonsense approach. He’s direct without being rude. The confidence is more than appealing.

  Thoughts of Glenn’s death take a back seat as I recall Cal’s tall, lean, sexy form. Dark, curly hair shadowing carved features and eyes so deeply onyx as to be endless.

  A girl could get lost in eyes like that.

  I didn’t intend to do any such thing though. Once I am through with this dead-end marriage, I don’t plan to make the same mistake again. Between living with my mother throughout childhood and jumping straight into a controlling marriage, I’m going to stay happily single and in complete control of my own life.

  But that doesn’t mean I won’t entertain a fantasy or two.

  Cal’s handsome face doesn’t leave my mind’s eye as my hand slips beneath the water and finds its way down my body to the apex of my thighs. I’ve never had an orgasm that I didn’t bring about by myself, so the process isn’t foreign. Glenn just doesn’t know how to take care of a woman. He’s a one-trick pony, and this girl requires more than a lackadaisical wham bam thank you, ma’am.

  Running my fingers through the slick heat pouring out despite the water’s barrier, I draw a line back up and flick the little bean that’s grown hard and swollen with thoughts of my sexy hitman. Just the thought of him out there, so strong and capable and dangerous, does something to me that shouldn’t be okay but that I can’t deny makes me weak and hungry for a taste.

  My finger moves against the tiny bud and my legs tense as I feel the rush of pleasure spread out like spilled ink beneath my skin and impregnate my muscles. Water laps at the edges of the tub loudly, and I have to concentrate harder on the object of my current obsession. Last week, it was Tom Hardy. This week, it’s Cal Whateverhisnameis.

  I imagine all of the things I want Cal to do to me and all of the things I want to do to him, most of which I would never dream of doing for my own husband. The fantasy cranks my gears, and I come hard enough to make my body quake. My mouth opens on a silent scream that I bite back for propriety’s sake. That’s me, the woman who never steps a toe out of line or does anything that anyone would deem uncouth or unacceptable, whether in public or private.

  Wouldn’t they be shocked to find out what I’m up to these days.

  When I hear the telltale rattle of Glenn’s car coming, I drain the bath and step out onto the terry cloth rug. I dry off with a matching towel, both as white as hotel linens because Glenn thinks they make things seem more “posh,” and then I step up to the vanity to smooth lotion on my reddened skin. I’m standing in front of the mirror, as naked as the day I was born, and combing the tangles from my hair when Glenn appears in the doorway.

  What hair he has left is greasy with sweat, and he carries a stale odor with him, no doubt from the merchandise he stocks at the supe
rmarket. I’m immediately turned off—not that I’d ever been turned on in the first place—but he has that hungry look in his eyes.

  I don’t respond physically, but to appear natural and not raise suspicion, I smile in the mirror at his reflection. “Hey. How was work?”

  He takes my question as an invitation and pushes off the doorframe, walking up behind me and running dirty, calloused hands down my sides.

  I shiver from his touch, but not for the reasons he thinks.

  He smirks as he bends to place a kiss on my shoulder. His hands wander as he speaks. “Work was work. I’m glad to be home. And even gladder to see you.” He hums appreciatively as his thick, stubby fingers find the wetness between my thighs. Again, not having known that I just got myself off, he takes this as confirmation that I want the same thing he does.

  “You’re in rare form tonight. Have a good day?” he asks, almost growls, as he leans down and kisses the top of one shoulder.

  I think I may be sick, but I perform a gut check and force myself to pull it together. Sex with Glenn is rarely eventful and is frankly downright boring. I’ve been faking it for years, and as I stand there and allow him to paw at me, I tell myself I can get through a few more days. What’s a little unwanted sex when the future loomed bright?

  Just like Glenn, he’s all about getting satisfaction and doesn’t even consider using a little finesse. Applying pressure to my hips, he tells me without words to bend over. I do, bracing myself against the countertop, while he unzips his work pants and takes out his cock. There’s a little nudge, and he’s in. While he thrusts away behind me, I watch him through slitted eyes, moaning and breathing heavily as if I’m in the moment, but I’m thinking of later when I scrub his sour scent from my body and briefly consider spiking his water glass beside the bed with a bit of rat poison. But that would be premature, considering I already have a man on the job.

  Ah, Cal. The reminder brings me back to my earlier fantasy, and I close my eyes tight, imagining it’s him behind me, his cock moving inside me, and suddenly the moans become genuine. Uncontrolled pleasure ripples through my limbs and down to my core, throbbing with the beat of release, and I just let it all go.

  When I finally come back down to earth, Glenn is panting as if he’s run a triathlon, and I’m feeling rubbery and weak.

  I’ve never come so hard in my life. Of course, Glenn has to go and ruin it by opening his mouth.

  “Wow, what’s gotten into you tonight?” He runs a palm over his sweaty, glistening head and steps out of the pants that fell around his ankles during our passionate lovemaking. His shirt soon joins it, leaving him in a pair of blue-and-white plaid boxers and gray-stained socks.

  How long have I not been attracted to him? I can’t even recall the exact moment it happened. I guess it just comes down to the fact that I’ve never been that into him, to begin with. Maybe, I muse, he was just a product of necessity, and his purpose in my life has expired.

  While Glenn hops into the shower, I decide to go to bed. If I get the day over with early, then I get to tomorrow quicker. Maybe tomorrow will be the day. I can’t hardly wait!

  Seven

  ~Declan~

  I’ve been on boring jobs, but this is ridiculous. If this Glenn guy is going to cheat on his wife, I say get the show on the road. But he’s been laying low since I first scoped him out, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe the wife, Brenda, didn’t say something.

  She had seemed so sure. Could she have changed her mind and tipped him off? Doesn’t matter. Even if she did, it’s like I told her. This was a done deal the moment I drove off. Glenn Overmeyer is going to die. I just have to figure out how and when the right time will be.

  Yesterday’s unfinished, cold veggie pizza sits on the passenger seat, my only companion in this stakeout. I still can’t believe that Tony and everyone threw me a party. I’m disturbed by the fact they knew when my birthday even was. But I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised. They are the mafia. It’s their job to know everything about everyone. Just like it’s my job to do the same.

  Glenn finally emerges from the grocery store at three in the afternoon. I assume it’s his lunch hour because he’s only been in there for less than four hours when his normal shift should be eight.

  He climbs into his beater and drives off the property, with me in slow, methodic pursuit. I follow him to a nearby McDonald’s where he’s handed two big bags of food that seem excessive for one person. Although he’s not the picture of good health, I’m suspicious.

  Those suspicions prove warranted when he takes a route that leads to a house that doesn’t belong to him. The neighborhood is set back from the main street on a stylish roundabout. The houses are a departure from the area, and as I park on the corner just outside of the mini cul-de-sac, I feel as if I’m straddling a line between the early-1900s and the 1950s. There are a total of six ranch houses, all a varying shade of yellow-orange brick, their colored shutters the only thing that sets them apart from one another.

  Glenn pulls into the driveway with one bearing aged white shutters on either side of a bay window that I assume fronts the living room. He doesn’t even have to knock, the front door swinging open as he’s ascending the walkway.

  From my position, I can’t quite make out the figure in the doorway, but I can tell it’s a woman, her blonde hair standing out in stark contrast against the deep shadows of the recessed entry. Thin arms wrap around Glenn’s back in a quick, tight hug, and then he’s inside and the door is closed, and I’m left waiting, watching the clock, and determining the method of death I will employ.

  It’s always best to make it look like an accident wherever possible. It keeps the questions to a minimum. In some cases, it appears like a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Except I call bullshit on that. When it comes to death, it’s always the right place at the right time. The only reason people think it’s wrong is because they weren’t ready for it to strike.

  I say too damn bad. That’s life, and there isn’t anything in life that’s supposed to be fair or easy.

  More than an hour passes before Glenn reappears. He pauses briefly to turn back and give the woman a hug and kiss, and then he’s strolling back to his car with a look of pure happiness riding his pudgy face.

  With a woman like Brenda at home, why does this guy feel compelled to cheat? It’s disgusting. Breaking trust and marriage vows ignite my fury like nothing else can. It’s the main reason I don’t like Tony and the rest of the Costello men. Cheating is like sneezing to them. But while I don’t like them, I respect them. It’s a matter of survival.

  I don’t respect Glenn. Not one bit.

  As I follow him back to his place of work, I decide it will be my civic duty to take him out. A real pleasure. The gears in my mind start turning.

  Maybe I’ll run him down on the sidewalk. A hit-and-run with no witnesses. But that seems too good for old Glenn, and there’s no guarantee he’ll die.

  A bullet between the eyes as he’s getting into his car. A missing wallet. Voila! Mugging victim. It’s quicker than I’d like, so I tuck away that option in my back pocket.

  It’d be easier if the guy worked construction or something more exciting than stocking shelves. I’ve designed so many deaths by tragic falls from scaffolding, getting crushed by a steel beam that inexplicably became detached from a crane, or my favorite freak accident of an executive who tripped and fell on his fancy Montblanc, straight through the heart.

  I take pride in my work. It’s an art form. So what will be the perfect death for our Mr. Overmeyer?

  I spend the next two hours considering this, eating another greasy burger and fries that fills me with regret, and then I follow Glenn home, where he stays long enough to eat dinner and then, to my surprise, go for a jog around the neighborhood.

  I guess his little excursion this afternoon was enough for one day. When it becomes clear he’s staying in for the night, I head home myself.

  The gym is the only thing on my hi
t list tonight, and I kill it, running a solid hour on the treadmill before lifting some weights. I like working out at this hour of the night. The gym is quiet, and if I’m lucky, I get the whole thing to myself. Tonight is one of those nights.

  When I’m done with my workout, I wipe down with a towel and hit the sauna. After eating two bad meals, I feel a need to cleanse my body of impurities. It helps that the heat and steam relax exhausted muscles since I’m not much for soaking in a bathtub. In fact, I steer clear of them like I would a person carrying the plague. Bathtubs and I don’t get along, for reasons I won’t expound on, and the lack of one in my apartment was the sole reason I signed the lease.

  I don’t need much to make me happy, but a single shower stall is one of them.

  I spend a good half-hour in the sauna, letting my body sweat out all of the toxins. At least, that’s what I imagine is happening. I prefer to live a delusional life sometimes, and for me, it works. In reality, I know what I put into my body is what counts.

  Once I’m through with all the fussy stuff, I head back upstairs to my apartment. It’s a low-key rental, basic because I don’t have the time nor the inclination to decorate. Sparsely furnished, the place is little more than gray-blue walls, oak cabinetry, and shitty floor-to-ceiling white plastic blinds that cover the wall of windows overlooking downtown.

  It’s an expensive apartment, but the single recliner in the living room with a pressed-wood round table beside it, and the queen-sized bed in the master bedroom sure don’t speak to it. I’m rarely ever here, so the place sits empty most of the time. I can’t justify decking it out with things I’ll never get around to using.

  When I retire, it’ll be different, but right now, everything is about necessity. And if the unthinkable ever happens and I have to get out of town fast, I have a bug out bag in both the closet and the back seat of my car to cover me.