Judging by the sheer size of his chest, it was safe to assume he had a lot of free time in that prison camp, a lot of time to work out. I had a clear picture in my mind: Hunter, glistening in sweat from the heat, with both hands clasped around a bamboo beam. He pulls himself up, touching his chin to the beam before lowering himself back down and repeating the process. Every muscle in his arms, torso, and back bulge as they flex.
I let my hand slowly lower down my stomach. I curled the base of my shirt up to my bellybutton and the tips of my fingers pushed under the waistband of my pants. My hand slipped down.
The prison camp must’ve been so lonely. The newspapers said they spent weeks in solitude, with nothing to do. It was surprising that Hunter, of all people, went five years without touching a lady. Knowing Hunter, he probably jerked off a lot.
The tip of my middle finger snuggled between the lips of my pussy, and gently drew circles against my clit. My whole body shuddered. I couldn’t help but wonder if he thought of me when he was in that camp.
I pictured his hand stroking up and down the length of his cock, beads of sweat still trickling down his glistening body. He gets harder and harder and harder until the throbbing tip of his member is nearly touching his sternum. The vein that lines the underside of his cock is throbbing harder and he begins to stroke faster.
My other hand slipped under my panties and two of my fingers penetrated my hole. “Shit,” I heard my voice mutter.
Hunter pumps his cock faster still, his eyes closed, his muscles tense. He’s muttering my name under his breath. He wishes he could just bend me over, stick it in me, and fuck me until my muscles go weak and I squirt all over his dick.
Then, he pulls out and flips me over just in time for his warm come to spray my tits.
I came. “Oh shit,” I said aloud, my hands down my pants and my legs convulsing. A shudder of pure elation surged through my body and my body was suddenly weightless, warm, as if Hunter was holding me tightly in his thick arms.
I opened my eyes, pulled my hands out from my panties. I looked around the room, overwhelmed by the sudden anxiety that Liam was home. He wasn’t, thank God.
But now I had another excuse to clean. My fingers were dripping wet and my crotch was damp. I’d squirted. I hadn’t done that since…
Since I slept with Hunter.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The internet had come a long way since I left for the Congo, which I discovered with a quick stop in at the local library. It had come such a long way that I barely knew how to use the damn thing. I had to get one of the librarians to help me, which I was happy to do, seeing as the librarian was a surprisingly young and surprisingly hot woman.
She was the complete opposite of the librarian stereotype, save for the pair of glasses that sat at the end of her nose. “What do you want to do?” she asked, taking the seat behind the computer and aligning her fingers at the keys. She smelt like flowers and horny nightclubs.
“I was just hoping to look up an old friend,” I said.
“The best way to do that is with a Facebook account. Do you have one?”
“No.” I didn’t know what that was, but she set one up for me, and tried to show me how to use it.
It was mostly gibberish, though I got the part where she said, “Type your friend’s name in here and you should be able to find him.” She was right. I found Liam Silverstone of Nintipi, Kansas; occupation: Junior Foreman at Nextek Solutions. He only had a couple of pictures posted, mostly of him slamming cans of cheap beer and a couple pictures of him holding up a dead buck by the antlers.
There was only one photo of him and Kyla. He was trying to look tough, scowling into the camera. It made me wonder what Kyla saw in the loser. In the photo, she was sitting next to him, with her legs across his lap—those thick, juicy legs. She had a big smile on but she didn’t look happy. I knew what Kyla’s smile looked like, and that wasn’t it.
Liam’s final picture was of him in the Middle East, dressed in full camo, holding an M240 machine gun. Son of a bitch was a US Marine. I was more surprised at myself for not suspecting as much based on his other pictures—and the fact every second asshole in Nintipi went into the Marines, myself included.
I didn’t even have to type Nextek Solutions into a search engine. The website told me all I needed to know with a single click.
My librarian helper came back to check on me. “Everything working for you?” I swear her blouse was open one button lower than before. She still smelled like flowers and horny nightclubs.
“Yeah, thanks. I think I got all I needed.”
“Aren’t you Hunter Sykes?” she said. “I mean—Sergeant Sykes.”
“Yeah.”
“I saw you on the news. Were you really in a P.O.W. camp for five years?” Her eyes lit up as if it were some kind of achievement.
“Yeah. Four and a half, really.”
“That’s incredible. I bet you have some amazing stories.”
“If that’s what you want to call them,” I said with a laugh.
She put on her best sad puppy face and bit her lip. “It must have been really hard. I’m sorry.” She wanted me to fuck her. I’ve seen those glowing eyes and that little lip-bite more times than I could count—and it always meant the same thing.
She would have been a good time. I could picture those firm, perky tits bouncing so slightly while her tight tush slapped against my lap. Had my blood not still been boiling from the thought of Silverstone hitting Kyla, I just might have taken her into the back room and fucked her brains out.
My blood wasn’t going to stop boiling until I confronted the ex-Marine. “It is what it is. Thanks for showing me how to use the computer.” I continued towards the door but she ran up next to me.
“I think you’re really brave,” she said. “I can’t imagine how scared you must have been.”
“Yeah. I just did what I could to survive.” I reached for the door.
“Could I ask you something? And I totally understand if it makes you uncomfortable in any way.”
“What?”
She bit her lip again. Hell, I thought she was going to ask me right then and there to stick it in her. “I’m working on this book. It’s kind of a history of Nintipi book, for my Masters’ thesis. I’d love to interview you for it—learn more about the Boys from Nintipi, and their mission in the Congo.” The history of Nintipi? There once was a shithole town called Nintipi. From the day it was created, it was a shithole and nothing interesting ever happened. To this day, Nintipi is still a shithole. The end. “The Boys of Nintipi has a good ring to it, right?” she asked.
Anders’s face flashed through my mind.
“Yeah, maybe. I need to get going, though,” I said.
“Can I get your number? We don’t have to do the interview now. We can do it whenever—wherever. Your place, my place, here, it doesn’t matter. The corner of her mouth was curved upwards and her lips were pressed thin, as if she was trying to hold back a laugh. By the looks of it, she wasn’t talking about any interview. I guess there was some benefit to being somewhat of a celebrity.
I jotted down my number and gave it to the girl. “I’m Erin, by the way,” she said as I turned to leave. I smiled, nodded, and left.
Nextek Solutions wasn’t hard to find, and it wasn’t far from the library either. The blue and white Nextek logo was clearly printed on a small sign, stacked with fifteen other signs that stood tall above the town’s warehouse district. All the companies shared warehouse space—there were only four warehouses between the fifteen companies. And they all shared a reception room.
It was more like a waiting room at the DMV than a reception area, with a long line of desks, each occupied by a different tired-looking woman, fifteen in all, one for each company. Nextek was at the very end, and the receptionist looked particularly tired.
I asked her if Liam Silverstone was working.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I was surprised when Liam came home early. I wasn’t as
surprised that he was in a rage, as that was becoming more and more common. Though this time, he was furious. He nearly took the door off of its hinges when he barged in.
My heart skipped a beat. There was no way that he could have found out that Hunter came over—not unless…
My heart sank into my stomach. Hunter had gone to the warehouse. I should have figured he would’ve gone and done something dumb and reckless after he left.
Liam’s eyes locked on me and his expression dropped. “I can’t fucking believe you,” he said. His eyes were red, as if he’d been crying. “I asked one thing. That’s it. Just one fucking thing.”
“I’m sorry, Liam. He just showed up here. I was going to tell you,” I said.
He shook his head and laughed, the rage still burning in his eyes. “Just admit it. You’re fucking him. Just tell me, Kyla. Just fucking tell me.”
“I’m not.”
He slapped me. My ears were left ringing and my jaw tender. Tears began to well up in my eyes.
“Don’t lie to me. I’ve been nothing but good to you. Three years, I’ve supported you. This is your way of repaying me?”
“I’m not sleeping with him, Liam. I’m not lying to you.”
He prepared to slap me again, but hesitated. His body was tense and his jaw was clenched tight. It was taking everything he had in him not to knock me out cold. Maybe it was the tears running down my face, or maybe he actually believed me; something held him back.
“Please don’t hit me again,” I said.
“Just tell me why you did it?” He wiped his eyes, which were also glazed with tears.
“Did what? He just showed up. I don’t even know how he got our address.”
“Bullshit,” he shouted.
I backed away from him. His mind was made up and there was nothing I could say to change it. All I could do was hope that he didn’t hit me too hard.
Liam turned away from me and began pacing the room with his hands on his head. He took long, deep, controlled breaths. It crushed me to see him like this. Liam wasn’t a bad guy. He didn’t have a short fuse. He never screamed, or yelled, or hit me until Hunter came home from the Congo. I don’t know what’d gotten into him, but if yelling at me and hitting me would make him feel better, I was happy to be his punching bag. I just wanted the old Liam back.
“I bet he told you, then?”
“Told me what?”
“C’mon, Kyla. Don’t start this.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I pushed away my tears.
He laughed. “Yeah, right. I lost my job. Last week.”
“What?”
“I was fired. And you know what? It’s your fault. If you weren’t such a fucking slut, I would still have my job.”
He scowled at me. His eyes were full of hate, full of disgust. There were no signs of love anywhere behind those dark lenses.
I tried to speak but couldn’t. I didn’t know what to say. I had too many questions but I was too afraid to ask any of them. I was too afraid of what he might do. What did he mean he lost his job because I was a slut? I’d never even met his bosses or been to the warehouse. I didn’t even go to his staff Christmas party. Liam had told me it was for employees only. Though now, I was beginning to think he was just ashamed of me.
“Oh, don’t try to look all sad. Don’t expect me to feel bad for you,” he said. I tried, but I couldn’t help it. I was devastated. Our three-year-long relationship had fallen into pieces in the span of a few days. “Two weeks ago, they brought in a new floor manager. He liked me for a while. I actually thought I was going to get a raise. Then, he found out about you.”
“What are you talking about, Liam? What do I have to do with anything?”
“The new manager’s name is Roger Patrick. Turns out, he knows you pretty well.”
Roger Patrick was Sammy’s older brother. Roger hated me, even before rumour got out that I cheated on Sammy. Roger used to be friends with Hunter until one day when they had a falling out. I’m not sure what happened, but after that, Roger hated anything to do with Hunter, and that included me. Roger always told Sammy to stay far away from me, told Sammy that I would cheat on him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong.
It wasn’t a surprise that Roger fired Liam.
“Liam,” I said, “I’m so sorry—there must be something we can do—”
“—There’s nothing. I need to find a new job and no one’s hiring. We’re fucked.” His hand remained clenched in a fist, but he didn’t strike. Still, something was holding him back—something that hadn’t held him back before. “I applied for unemployment but I haven’t heard back.” Still pacing, he was slowly calming himself down. The redness slowly drained from his face. “I don’t know what you ever saw in that cocky piece of shit.”
“That was a long time ago.”
He laughed. “I’m trying really hard to think of a reason to stay with you,” he said.
I felt the same way. I scoured my brain for a reminder. I could still remember the day he asked me out on a date. It was so cute, the way his face got all red while he shuffled his feet. It would have been impossible not to say yes. He reserved a table at Antonio’s Steak House, and he got all dressed up in a suit and a tie. Sadly, we didn’t even make it to the table. The waiter told him his credit card had been declined with his fifty dollar reservation deposit.
Oh God, I felt so bad for him as we walked out of the restaurant. His face was beet-red and he couldn’t look me in the eye.
We ended up across the street, ordering cheap pizza from a place called Nero’s. It wasn’t the greatest spot for a date, seeing as it had no tables, so we took the pizza to the nearby golf course, climbed the fence, and lay down on the green, watching the stars as they overtook the sky.
We kissed. He told me that, as long as we had each other, things would be okay.
The man I kissed under the stars that night was not the same man that was pacing around the kitchen, calling me a slut, and slapping me across the face.
“I’m going out,” he said without looking at me. He slammed the door on his way out. I didn’t know where he was going. I didn’t know where he’d been going at all for the past week.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I woke up the next morning with Anders standing over my bed. The son of a bitch damn near gave me a heart attack—could have gotten himself killed, had the gun I usually kept under my pillow been there. Fortunately for Anders, I wasn’t allowed having any weapons in my house until I “completed a full psychiatric evaluation.”
“Good morning,” he said with a casual smile. In his hand was a cup of coffee, fresh judging by the steam rising up from it. It was one of my mugs, meaning he made it with that damned pod machine.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I came to check on you.” He took a long, casual sip and then exhaled as if it was the best damn cup of coffee he’d ever tasted.
“You’ve got a fucked up way of checking on people, Anders.”
“I wanted to beat the media. I tried calling, but your phone’s disconnected. Why is your phone disconnected, Hunter?”
By about 3AM, I had to disconnect the thing. It kept ringing—Greg kept calling, telling me the Kongies were outside his house. I would tell him he was dreaming, he’d calm down, and then he’d call back fifteen minutes later. He kept telling me he couldn’t find his rifle. I guess that’s why they didn’t let us have guns. God forbid Greg mistook some poor kid walking his dog for a Kongy.
“Telemarketers. They’ve really upped their game since I left,” I said.
“From now on, just keep the phone connected.”
“Roger that.” I sat up. “I don’t suppose you made one of those for me?” I asked, looking at the cup of coffee in his hand.
“I didn’t. You’re out of pods. Tell me, Hunter. Why are you breaking orders, going to see Kyla Rose?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He laughed and held up a
document. “I’ll refresh your memory. You left your house a few minutes after 1300, arriving at the Kyla Rose’s house at 1330. At 1415, you left Ms Rose’s house, arriving at the library at 1430—”
“—You’re spying on me?” I knew they were keeping a close eye on me, but I didn’t realize they had someone following me.
“I’m not personally.” He took another sip from his coffee—my coffee.
“Okay, so I went to see a friend. You going to have me arrested?”
“No. And we actually appreciate that your trip to Ms Rose’s house was fairly discreet. I’m more concerned about what happened after.” He referred back to the document. “At 1515, you showed up at Flannigan’s Irish Pub and assaulted an ex-Marine in public. Not just any ex-Marine, but the ex-Marine that happens to be dating the Kyla Rose, whose name we are trying to keep out of the media.”
GAGE: A Bad Boy Military Romance Page 22