by Whitney G.
“They can become heroes in their backstories.”
“No,” he said, running his fingers through my hair. “They’re just pretending. They’ll return to their old ways.”
“I won’t return to mine.” I shook my head, looking into his eyes. “Sometimes, I don’t think I’m a good person.”
“That’s okay.” He smiled. “I don’t think I’m a good person, either.”
“You can’t be as bad as me,” I said. “I stole from people.”
“I hurt people.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Is that past tense or present?”
He didn’t answer that. “You’re not a bad person, Meredith. You’ve just done a few bad things.”
“What about you?”
“I’ve done a lot of bad things…” He ran his fingers through my hair. “You’re actually at the top of that list.”
Before I could ask him what he meant by that, he pulled my face close to his and kissed me.
He pulled up the armrest between us, and slid his hand under my dress, but I grabbed it and moved it away.
“I wish you had been there with me tonight,” I said.
“Why’s that?”
“I have the feeling it might’ve ended very differently…I honestly thought you were there for a split second…”
“If I was there, how would it have ended differently?”
“I’ll show you.” I moved down to the floor, between his legs. I unbuckled his belt, kept my eyes on his as I unzipped his zipper and pulled out his cock.
I sucked it into my mouth, slowly bobbing my head up and down his length, swirling my tongue around his shaft each time I came up.
He groaned and ran his fingers through my hair, as I arched my back and took him as deep as I could. I gripped his knees and moved a bit faster.
“I need to come in your throat,” he said, turning me on even more. “I need to mark it as mine and I want you to swallow every drop…”
He slid his hand under my shirt and gently squeezed my nipple.
He came in my throat at the end of the act, against the sound of the final song, and I swallowed. He stared at me in utter awe and pulled me up and into his lap.
“I think we should go back to your place now.”
“There’s one more act in this play…”
“We can watch it tomorrow.”
I see the man who ruined my life of crime a few times after that in passing. Out of fear, I always double check to make sure his number hasn’t crossed my screen and I’ve missed it somehow.
He smiles at me whenever we happen to be in the coffee shop I venture into for my boss, but the first time he saw me with Michael, his eyes widened and he immediately backed away and kept his distance.
It wasn’t until Michael went to the restroom that he walked right up to me and whispered seven final words before completely disappearing from my life.
“That’s one hell of a fucking checkmate…”
Michael
Now
Police Publicly Confirm that DNA Found in Trunk of Car Belongs to Meredith Thatchwood
Officials to Investigate Thatchwood Case as a Homicide
Leonardo Thatchwood Announces Memorial for Daughter, Starts Foundation in Her Honor
1-888-MER-TIPS line to be redirected to private firm; Reward Money Decreased
Residents at Meredith Thatchwood’s Condo Request Access to Her Condo; Claim She’d Promised to Give Away Several Pieces of her Wardrobe
Top Ten Reasons Why Meredith Thatchwood is Probably Dead (& Tips on How to Take on Her Old Job at Vogue)
I roll my eyes at the pure laziness in the recent headlines, giving up on the media entirely. The only thing they’ve done right, is make the next few weeks far easier for me.
Setting down The Washington Post, I wait for Meredith to join me downstairs for dinner, but she never does. Our latest chess game remains at a standstill, her bishop in danger of crossing the line.
It’s the third day in a row that she’s done this, and it’s driving me more insane than usual. Not fucking her for weeks was better than getting a taste of it and having it taken away, without a chance for a repeat.
The night that she was in my bed—taking me in as deeply as I could go, I realized one taste of her would never be enough. I was having intense withdrawals already. I was remembering what the hell got me into this situation in the first place, and I was feeling an uncomfortable and rather annoying emotion: Vulnerability.
I stood outside her door like a fucking sap last night, asking her to let me inside, waiting for her to come out. I was willing to open up about some of the reasons why she was here, if she could just give me one fucking taste of her mouth, but she never opened her door.
I turned on our wedding video on the living room TV during breakfast today, expecting her to come down and watch it like she normally did. To glare and scowl at me during all the sweet parts, but to sit there, with me, and start to accept and believe that there was a bit of a method to this madness. (And maybe also, so we could fuck at the end, but the aforementioned things would’ve been fine as well.)
The only thing she did was tiptoe down the steps and grab a few bagels. She poked her head into the room when I said my vows, and she rushed back to her room without saying a single word to me.
What the hell am I missing?
Michael
Now
Subject: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
I wore a turtleneck and gloves, and made sure to look very sad while playing you.
What happened to “We don’t fuck with the mafia? Ever.” Why the hell is Rio Warren currently in the hospital?
You’re welcome for my presence at the memorial.
--Trevor
Subject: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
I’m sure you weren’t as attractive as I would’ve been, but I won’t hold it against you.
I have no idea what you’re talking about in regard to Rio.
Thank you for going in my place.
--Michael
Subject: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
Someone in a ski mask beat the hell out of him, out of nowhere several hours ago…The bone breaks and the M.O. of the attack from behind all sound like something you would do, in my opinion…
What the fuck did he do to you to deserve that?
I’m not doing any other favors for you.
--Trevor
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
Did any cameras catch this “someone in a ski mask”? I don’t think there would be any around, if someone were bold enough to attack Mr. Warren in broad daylight.
I don’t have any other favors to ask of you.
Michael
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
WHAT THE FUCK DID HE DO TO YOU TO DESERVE THAT?
Trevor
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
I just happened to stumble across my wife’s old diary the other day and saw something in there about him that I didn’t like. That’s all.
Michael
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
Meet me at The Reynolds Diner off 87. NOW.
Trevor
Michael
Now
The diner where Trevor wants to meet is not his typical style at all. It’s simple and cheap, and I’m sure it’ll only take thirty minutes for him to complain about the lack of a three-course menu.
Pulling out this week’s latest list of offenders while I wait, I run my highlighter over a few of the names that weren’t there last week. There are a few I’ll pay a free visit to in the coming months.
After half an hour has passed, Trevor walks into the diner—making the waitress do an immediate double take and drop her coffee pot to the floor.
Ever the gentleman, he helps her pick it up and strikes up a short conversation. He offers to brew his own coffee, and he tells her that he thinks she
’s pretty. I’m certain he’s failing to mention that her manager is currently suffocating to death in the back of his trunk.
When he finishes charming her, he heads my way and pulls a newspaper from his coat.
“You hear about this?” He slams a copy of The New York Times onto the table. “They’re building some new luxury condos over the place where we used to stay. They’re going to be designed by some egotistical hotshot who wants each unit to cost a minimum of five million.”
“I did hear.”
“The asshole is going to blow up the old buildings and dig trenches twelve feet deep for a moat. A goddamn moat in New York City.” He shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”
“I think it’s quite ambitious,” I say. “Stupid, but ambitious.”
“It’s unfortunate.” He lets out a sigh. “But nothing I can’t look into this week.”
“I take it that you’ll have some of our guys assess the building plans and move some things around before they begin?”
“Already did.” He pours himself a cup of coffee. “Now that that’s settled, how’d you get rid of Thatchwood?”
“I’ve already told you this.”
“I want to hear it again.” He shrugs. “I’m in the mood for a really good story today.”
I set my newspaper down and sigh, signaling the waitress for a second fresh pot of coffee.
“I suffocated her while she slept,” I say, as the waitress walks away. “Wrapped her in a rug and cracked her skull with a sledgehammer. Her body is at the bottom of a ghosted river.”
He nods, takes another sip from his cup. “You know, that’s a really intricate and well-detailed tale.”
“The truth usually is.”
“The lies are always better.” He glares at me. “I had two guys trail you on the day you supposedly got it done.”
I tap my fingers against the table; I know this already and I’d purposely lost them after seventy miles of driving.
“When they lost you, I made them stop and wait at the ghosted river,” he says. “You never showed.”
“You and I both know that it takes far more than two people to watch an entire river.”
“Michael…” he says, looking into my eyes. “Don’t fuck with me. Where is she?”
“Are you asking as my brother or as the client?”
“First, I’m asking as the client.”
“She died a tragic death and she’ll never be found.”
“Now, I’m asking as your brother.”
“She died a tragic death and she’ll never be found.”
He lets out a sigh and leans back in his seat, shaking his head. “Rio said that your wife had a double life in that strip club.”
“He’s just upset that he didn’t get invited to the wedding.”
“I don’t think that’s it.”
“How well do you really know your wife, then?” He narrows his eye at me. “Because this is a perfect example of why I’m not supposed to tell you shit about who and what is behind the jobs we do. There’s always a risk of someone getting too close.”
“I’m not that close to her. I’m just close enough.”
“For your sake, I’m going to hope that’s true,” he said. “I know the past few years have held a few detours on things for us, but now is not the time to lose focus, Michael. We have a plan and we need to stick to it, until it’s one hundred percent complete.”
“How much do I owe you for this lecture? Do you accept cash or credit?”
He rolls his eyes, but he slowly backs down. “Now that I think about it, I’m kind of upset that I didn’t get an invitation to your wedding.”
“Would you have shown up?”
“I would’ve tasted the cake.”
I smile. “I thought it would be best if she doesn’t know about you.”
“Doesn’t or didn’t? Is she currently in past or present tense?”
I sigh and fold my newspaper. “Give me the next job and go get on someone else’s nerves.”
“There aren’t any for the next few weeks, since a certain someone completed them all early,” he says. “You can return to doing the ones on your personal list for a while. I’ll be doing some accounting for a few businesses that owe us some money.”
“Noted.”
“For what it’s worth,” he says, standing to his feet and placing a newspaper clipping of me and Meredith’s wedding photo onto the table. “I’ve never seen you happier than when you were stringing her along. By the way, there’s blood on your hands.”
“Literally or figuratively?”
“Both.”
I look down and see a dried streak of blood on the inner lining of my glove’s left finger. A small bit of Rio.
“Thank you.”
He nods and starts to walk away, but then he comes right back.
“In the off chance that you’re considering being with your wife for the long term and telling her everything…” he says, “Like, if you honestly think there’s a chance that she’ll be able to accept you for you once you bare your soul, I want to give you some advice.”
I don’t even pretend to deny his suspicions anymore.
“Don’t.” He glares at me. “You know it’s pointless and it’ll never last. You have far better things to do—An “all or nothing” promise that you owe yourself, and me. If you ever suspected me of doing what I’m suspecting you of doing, when it comes to a target, I would expect you to tell me the same goddamn thing.”
“Even if you love her?”
“Especially if you love her.” He steps back. “You can’t have her forever, and you know it. Get rid of her now, Michael. For real this time.”
Meredith
Now
I’m standing downstairs in the mansion’s basement. One of two places in this house where Michael’s cell phone gets reception. (The other is the living room, and I won’t dare risk doing this anywhere near Michael.)
It’s now or never. This man is going to kill me, and he’s left me in the dark this entire journey. Seeing that guy’s number on his phone let me know that Michael is a part of that “underground ecosystem” and I want to save myself from being a part of that food chain.
My fingers tremble with every digit of Gillian’s number I type onto the phone’s screen. I hit the green icon and hold the phone up to my ear, hoping like hell the call will go through.
Ring. Ring. Ring…
“Hello?” she answers, her voice soft.
“Gillian, it’s me. Meredith. Please don’t hang up. Please!”
The line remains quiet, and for a split second, I think that she believes me, but then she begins to yell. “Fuck you! I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but this shit is not funny! Stop playing your twisted fucking games with me and delete my number! Right now!”
“It’s really me, Gillian.” The words rush out of my mouth. “Michael has kidnapped me. You were right about me trusting him a little too easily, falling in love a little too fast. I’m not missing. I’m still alive, and I need you to call the police.”
I hear her sniffle, so I continue talking. “We played Russian Roulette with a toy gun in our old apartment one night when we both had horrible days at work, remember?” I try to say as much as I can to prove my point, to prevent her from hanging up. “You and Jake argued almost every day when you first started dating. You demanded more from him than any other woman had before. Even though I used to think that you two had the most toxic, up and down relationship ever, I told you that I couldn’t see you dating anyone else. It’s really me, Gillian,” I beg. “Please don’t hang up. Please help me…”
It’s too late.
She’s long gone.
My blood is boiling and although tears are pricking my eyes, I refuse to let them fall.
Crying won’t make any of this make sense.
Nothing is adding up when it comes to the man who calls himself my husband, and I doubt anything ever will. I’ve thought my final move through hundreds of tim
es—weighed the pros and cons, and it’s time to end this one-sided game once and for all.
My husband has never been my partner. He’s the dealer of a twisted game, and he’s finally forcing me to play my best hand.
Slipping the phone into my pocket, I make my way upstairs to face him.
The moment I step into the living room, I clear my throat. “We need to talk. Now.”
“Of course,” he says. “But first, tell me something. How is Gillian?” He smiles. “Did you two have a nice chat?”
I freeze like a deer in headlights, my blood running cold at the shock of his words.
“I’m assuming she didn’t believe it was you who called…” He picks up his whiskey shot glass, tosses it back. “I wouldn’t take that personally. She’s been getting a lot of fake emails and spam calls lately. It’s a shame what some people on the internet will do for attention these days.”
“I’m calling the police now,” I say, pulling the cell phone out of my pocket. My finger hovers above the ‘start call’ icon. “I’m going to tell them everything.”
“Oh?” He raises his eyebrow, not looking rattled in the slightest. “What exactly do you plan on telling them?”
“That my husband kidnapped me and held me in captivity for no reason,” I say, stepping forward. “That he’s clearly involved in some twisted criminal activity, and I’m willing to bet that if they look closely enough, they’ll find a few more things.”
“They’ll find a lot more things.”
“I won’t visit you in prison,” I say, moving toward him, stopping right in front of the chess table. “But I will send you a wedding invitation when I find a man who isn’t full of shit and actually knows what the fuck it means to love someone.”
“You’ll never find another man who is willing to do half of what I’ve done for you, Meredith.” He looks at me. “You can bet millions on that, all fucking day long.”