Killing June

by May Bridges

Two lines formed along the threadbare crimson aisles to leave the sanctuary. One line took you out of the door being manned by a deacon or the music minister. The other line took you out of the door being manned by Pastor Bill. Mama wiggled her way to the other side of the church so we could walk out of Pastor Bill’s door. There is, after all, no reason to show your face at church if your pastor doesn’t know you were there.

  The two center aisles filled quickly, shoulder to shoulder with people waiting to file out of their wood pews. The pace moved from small steps to barely shuffling feet as each one stopped to shake hands with Pastor Bill.

  As the flock neared the back few pews, a set of broad shoulders and a dark head of hair caught my eye. It was a silhouette I knew. Something in the way I couldn’t find any more air in the room, how my heart was beating at a feverish pace, told my body I knew him. But my brain wouldn’t catch up. It was having a hard time solidifying the fear, reconciling that silhouette in this place, wrapped in a suit. It was just all wrong.

  I looked for a way to wiggle down another pew and make it to the other line but I was solidly packed in, and the current of people—no matter how slow the current was—was moving me toward the nightmare in front of me.

  Without turning my way, the tall, well-muscled gentleman in the suit slid out of his pew and stepped in line a few people ahead of us. I breathed again. Maybe the lack of sleep was getting to me. Maybe it wasn’t who I thought it was at all. It couldn’t be who I thought it was. He’d probably burst into flames the moment he set foot in a church.

  We stopped at the door, like everyone, and shook hands with Pastor Bill. “It’s good to see you here today, Alexandria. Your mother tells me you have to work a lot of Sundays.” Pastor Bill arched a dark brow at me.

  I didn’t work Sundays, unless it was from a laptop at home. My mother knew that, but telling Pastor Bill as much would be bad for appearances. I smiled at him and told him how much I hated missing services on those days and then moved along so the person behind me could have their turn.

  We headed down the front steps, following the line of people to the dining hall for lunch. I froze halfway down. My arm was still linked with my father’s and his continued forward motion almost sent me head over heels down the rest of the cement steps.

  Waiting at the bottom, with an irritatingly amused grin, was Cade. What the fuck!?

  “Come on, sweetie. There are people behind you waitin’,” Dad prompted me.

  This was normally when thoughts raced like the motor speedway, but I couldn’t think of anything. Why did he have that effect on me? My brain simply couldn’t process these two very separate parts of my life existing in the same moment. Sunday church and beat-me fuck-me were undoubtedly the parts with the largest chasm, though they were often only separated by a day or two. Why the hell is he there?

  Cade’s smile grew with every step I was forced to take toward him. He smoothed down the front of his suit and made his way toward us. He was there, waiting, when my feet hit the bottom of the stairs. Without hesitation, he placed one hand firmly on my back, leaned down, and pressed his full lips into my cheek. I almost died. I had one arm linked with my father’s and Mr. Whip & Fuck Me kissed me. Making physical contact with those two men at the same time made my head feel like it might explode. It was like linking two wrong wires, causing the whole system to blow.

  It was made worse by the wide smile stretched across Mama’s face when we parted.

  Where my brain couldn’t process things, my body had a mind all its own. I felt a tightening in the bottom of my stomach that I could only describe as delicious. I loathed it. I was suddenly all too aware of the welts on my ass, the way my pantyhose rubbed across them sending flicks of heat through my cheeks and up my back. My body was reveling in the memory of our night together without any help from my brain.

  “Alex, I’m glad I caught you.” Cade held out a small red gift bag. “I wanted to give these to you.”

  It was surprisingly heavy for its size. I took a hesitant peek inside, while Cade and my parents watched. At the bottom of the bag, laying on black tissue paper, were my handcuffs; the ones that my client had on when Cade and his friend Sean took him. I snapped the top of the bag shut as Dad tilted his head to look inside.

  I started a losing battle to fight the red rising in my face and swallowed against my dry throat. All the while, I tried to think of something—anything—to say to my parents. They looked on expectantly, waiting for some explanation for the beautiful man in a suit talking to us outside of our church, giving me what looked like a gift, and kissing me on the cheek. Hadn’t I told him never to kiss me?

  Where words failed me, never had that been the case for my mother. “Well, hello there. It doesn’t look as though Alexandria is going to introduce us. I’m her mother, Suzan Ryan.” Mama held out her hand.

  “Mrs. Ryan, it is a pleasure to meet you. I’m Cade Brannon.” If I didn’t know what kind of man he really was, I could only call him charming when he smiled and shook Mama’s hand.

  Cade shook my dad’s hand too. “This is my husband Patrick,” Mama supplied.

  “Pat. Just call me Pat. So how do you and Alexandria know each other—Cade, wasn’t it?” my dad asked.

  “Work,” I inserted, too energetically. My brain was back online and didn’t want Cade supplying any more answers. My dad, the skeptical one, would undoubtedly be digging for them.

  “You work at Star Industries?” Dad asked.

  “We don’t work together,” Cade said. I went another shade of red when he contradicted me. “Not for the same company, anyway. Business associates, really. We cross paths now and then. Alexandria is great to work with.” Cade turned toward me, his eyes noticeably tracing the lines of my face as he said my proper name.

  Something inside me cringed to hear him say my name. Not that it didn’t sound good, but now knew one more piece of me. One more name. One more fractured part of my life I didn’t want him to have.

  My mother smiled as broadly as he did. She hated that people called me Alex. She said that if she’d wanted to give me a boy’s name, she would have.

  “Won’t you join us for lunch, Cade?” Mama said, snapping my attention back. “We should be headin’ down, or our table will snatched up soon.” My mother didn’t wait for a response and started herding us toward the dining hall.

  “I’m sure Cade has plans,” I protested. “Cade, it was good to see you. Thank you for getting these to me.”

  “Oh, lunch sounds great, actually.” Cade winked at me and then turned to my dad. “Pat, I hear you own an IT company. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions. I was looking at purchasing a new PC soon.”

  My head snapped around at Cade’s mention of my dad’s profession. It wasn’t a conversation we’d had. And I’d never known good things to come from guys like Cade researching your family.

  My dad’s eyes lit up and I knew I’d lost the battle of getting out of having lunch with Cade and my parents. Best I could hope to do was damage control. “Cade is going to walk me to my car so I can put this away.” I held up the bag he’d handed me. “Save us a seat?”

  Every part of me knew without a doubt that taking handcuffs I used as a sex toy into a church, even the dining hall part, was a sin. It would also give me a chance to freak out on Cade in private.

  I grabbed Cade by the hand, squeezing as hard as I could, hoping the bones inside were hurting, and dragged him to the parking lot. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Language, Alexandria, you’re in church,” he said.

  “This is a parking lot, not a church, and since when are you religious?” I snapped.

  “You know, you don’t come across as a Sunday morning church girl either, Doll. But then again, I think we established in the bar that neither of us is that good at reading the other.” Cade smiled easily down at me.

  My jaw clenched and flexed. “Whatever. Why are you here?”

  “Told you, I wanted to return those.
I also wanted to check on you. I did feel bad leaving you like that the other night, and you didn’t seem too good when you left Rob’s yesterday. I’m staying because your parents invited me to lunch.”

  The higher my temper flared, the higher the corners of his mouth pulled up. “How have I lived my whole life without ever running into you and now I see you four days in a row? Are you stalking me? Is God punishing me?” The last question wasn’t for him.

  “You wouldn’t be the first person to associate running into me as a punishment from God. Though I will say, I don’t see why you’d think so. You asked me for the punishment you received. Begged, practically. And the last time you wanted to talk about God with me, I think it was more like ‘Oh God, don’t stop.’ My name might have been thrown in there too—somewhere.”

  Shame and embarrassment bloomed anew at his smug recounting of our night together. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his black slacks, casually leaning against my Cadillac like we were discussing the weather.

  “As for the other questions,” Cade continued. “No, I’m not stalking you. Thursday and Friday weren’t about you. They were about Christian. Though Friday did end up being more about you than I planned.” He held my eyes for a moment and let the statement thicken the air around us. “Yesterday was a coincidence. I didn’t know you would be there. Today is about you. But I don’t think tracking you down to return something I took from you is considered stalking. Is it?”

  “How do you know my dad works in IT?”

  “I want to know things, I figure them out.” Cade shrugged and his head tilted to the side, making him look completely bored. “Still not stalking you, Miss Ryan.”

  I hated that he now knew my last name too. He didn’t need to know anything about me. Too many sides of my life for one person, and particularly him.

  “Why did you kiss me, and is Brannon really your last name?” My mind wanted answers to it all. Every piece of the puzzle to process the jacked up situation my Sunday morning had become.

  “Wow, you have a lot of questions. The kiss was amusing. The look on your face was worth the trip to Plano, and yes, that’s my last name. Anything else before we go have lunch? Social security number? Date of birth? Favorite color?”

  He was frustrating me. “I told you never to kiss me. Ever.” It took a certain amount of self-control to not stomp my foot like a child. “Was I not clear on that?”

  “Rob kissed you,” Cade countered.

  “You’re not Robert. Don’t ever do that again.” I threw the bag with the cuffs in my car. “Is there no way I can talk you out of lunch?”

  “Nope. My day is wide open and this is too good to miss.”

  “Fine. Do me a favor. Don’t mention Robert. My mother hates him. Don’t mention seeing me in De Soto, or the bar—or June. Shit, don’t mention June. If you just didn’t talk that would be best.”

  “You hide a lot about yourself from them, don’t you?”

  “Just keep your mouth shut.” What I kept from others was none of his, or anyone’s, business.

  Cade shook his head and laughed at me, grabbed me by the hand, and pulled me back toward the towering white church. “Come on, June. Let’s go eat lunch.”

  The look I shot him would’ve made a weaker man piss his pants.

  “I’m kidding. Calm down.” He gave my hand a squeeze.

  We made it through the food line and Mama was waving us over. Before we reached the table I elbowed Cade in the ribs to get his attention and mumbled, “I swear, I’ll shoot you,” under my breath. He winked at me and smiled. I wasn’t kidding.

  Mama didn’t even let us get situated before she started with the questions. How do you know each other, what do you do, do you attend church often? I tensed after each question, but Cade answered easily. We met at a business get-together arranged by a mutual associate, he explained. It was true enough.

  He worked as a freelance business consultant, helping businesses restructure for increased profit and productivity. I didn’t want to know how close to the truth that was. In the world he worked in, business restructuring usually resulted in getting rid of employees. And they don’t fire people in those businesses.

  Cade did attend church, though he was looking for a new one; one closer to home, and apparently he’d really liked Pastor Bill’s sermon. Delight bloomed in my mother’s face when she heard this. Horror registered on mine.

  My dad saved us both from my mother by firing up a conversation with Cade about PCs, processing speed, RAM, and a bunch of other crap I assumed to be safe territory. I only loosely followed along, ready to step in if the conversation swayed in another direction.

  It struck me how well Cade pretended to fit in. The nice suit and buttoned up collared shirt hid his tattoos. He looked more like a businessman with a great workout routine than a stacked criminal. He spoke more intelligently than I would’ve given him credit for, and I doubted anyone would’ve questioned how comfortable he was sitting and having lunch in a church.

  “Before you go, Cade, you need to get yourself a piece of the pecan pie Alexandria brought. It’s delicious,” Mama said.

  “You bake?” Cade put his arm around the back of my chair and leaned into me. He was close enough that I could feel the heat off his body. It wasn’t an overly inappropriate proximity, but it certainly suggested we were more than business associates.

  “I just brought it in. I didn’t—”

  “Don’t be so modest, sugar” Mama cut in. “Alexandria is a wonderful cook. She makes the pies for every holiday and her ham is to die for. Have you invited Cade over for dinner yet, Alexandria?”

  “No, Mama, I—”

  “Oh well, really you should. I know these important businesswomen like to put on like they’re no good around the house, but Alexandria really is. She always kept her room clean and was in the kitchen by the time she could reach the counter with a step stool.”

  “Mother, really. I don’t think Cade wants a recap of my domestic qualifications.”

  “Actually, I think I like hearing about this side of you, Alexandria.” His tone dropped when he said my name. I’d never thought of my proper name as seductive, but hell, it sounded that way dripping from his mouth. That was not the revelation I needed to be having at that table.

  “Why don’t you get us some pie, Cade?” I said. “Mother. Stop it,” I scolded quietly when Cade headed to the dessert table.

  “I’m tryin’ to help you, honey. That’s a good looking, successful, God fearin’ man. What else could you possibly be lookin’ for? It can’t hurt to let him know you aren’t too bad with a broom and a spatula.”

  My mother had no idea what she was saying, or who the man she was pushing me toward really was. He had more reason than most to be God fearing, murderers usually do. And successful in his line of work wasn’t a good thing.

  “Dad, make her stop,” I whined.

  My dad reached across the table and cupped his hands over mine. “Lunch is almost over. You’ll survive it. Dear,” he said turning to Mama, “perhaps turn it down a little?”

  My mother pursed her lips at him.

  Cade returned and placed a plate with a slice of pie, a scoop of ice cream, and two spoons down between us. I hoped he was enjoying the little show he had going. I was sure he was enjoying it when he grinned at me. “I thought we could share,” he said, and took a bite.

  “Thank you, but I’m full.” And not sharing dessert with him.

  “This is good pie. Here, try a bite.” Cade scooped up a small piece and added some ice cream to the spoon. I almost choked on my tea when he raised the bite to my mouth. Really? No.

  As melting ice cream threatened to drip in my lap, I didn’t have another acceptable option but to open and let Cade feed me, in church, in front of my mom and dad. Cade placed the bite gently on my tongue and slid the spoon out from my closed lips, slower than necessary. I thought about becoming a murderer myself.

  Mama tilted her head to the side and made the most
awful “Aw, how sweet,” sound. I wanted to set Cade on fire at that moment. Thank the heavens, my dad pretended to be too busy with his own food to notice. In lieu of having to take another bite provided by Cade, I picked up the second spoon and helped Cade finish off the pie.

  The moment the last of it was gone, I stood with Cade’s elbow in my hand, urging him to stand too. “Sorry to have to run, but we really do need to be going,” I said to my parents.

  My parents stood as well. “Cade, it was good to meet you,” Dad said. “Let me know which PC you decide to go with. When you get it I can help you fix it up some.” My dad shook his hand. The idea of them making future plans made my stomach roll.

  “That would be great, Pat. Mrs. Ryan, thank you for inviting me to stay for lunch.”

  “Call me Suzan. Second Sunday of every month, right here. You’re always welcome to join us for lunch. You should come to service again. We can save a seat for you up front with Alexandria.”

  They met us at the end of the table. My mother whispered in my ear when she hugged me. “Make him dinner, honey.”

  Dad hugged me and kissed my cheek. “It’s good to see you. Maybe stop by once in a while.”

  “I will, Dad.”

  And in a final I’m-determined-to-mess-with-you move, Cade laced our fingers together and walked out of church hand-in-hand with me.

  Chapter Eight

  As soon as the church dining hall doors closed behind us I yanked, trying to pull my hand free from his grip. He wouldn’t let go.

  “Not yet, Doll,” he said.

  “You really shouldn’t get my mother’s hopes up like that. It’s funny to you, watching me squirm, but she is serious about trying to marry me off. I’ll have to hear about ‘the nice boy at church’ for six damn months now before she lets it go. And why the hell do you keep holding my hand, anyway?”

  “Two reasons,” Cade answered. “One, it seems to be an acceptable way to touch you. Like you’re not freaking out or anything, you know?”

  I didn’t know. The statement was simple, but it didn’t make sense. In my loft he was in such a rush to lose skin to skin contact with me, he didn’t even bother to fuck me long enough to make himself orgasm. I disgusted him. “And you want to touch me?” I asked.