by K. S. Adkins
Briggs.
I shouldn’t be surprised the motherfucker found his way in here, into my home. He used to love humiliating me like this. Especially, when I didn’t feel like having his kind of sex. He’d just go on without considering me or my pleasure and then leave the evidence all over me. This always made him laugh. It always made me sick.
So there it is. The evidence. All over my Pottery Barn sheets.
Briggs is out.
He’s coming for me.
Message received.
I sit down next to my bed and do what I do best: I plan. When he comes for me again, I’ll be ready. I won’t freeze up. I’ll kill him. If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I’ve never willingly quit anything in my life. I won’t allow any man to take from me again or hurt Venessa like he promised he would. What Briggs took from me no one can replace. What Jonas could take from me, I’m not willing to give.
My heart, what’s left of it, beats only for revenge.
I waited until everyone left to get the rage out of my system. I punished my body with a grueling workout until I couldn’t throw another punch. Why do I always have to open my goddamned mouth? Why did I go out of my way to hurt the female’s feelings that I care about? Why didn’t she tell me about the phone calls? Why did I call her stupid? Why at the mention of Ben’s name was I ready to carve the man with a blade?
Exhausted, I sit down and force myself to admit the real problem. What if she gets hurt and I’m not there to save her? Here I sit, like a kicked puppy worried about losing a female I don’t even have yet. Probably never will, either, if I don’t get my head right.
Throwing my gear into my truck, I debate on sitting around the block from her in case she calls or needs something. The next minute I shoot that idea down, too. All I do is hurt her, so why bother? Like she and Venessa said, she can take care of herself. Plus, she doesn’t want me there, and why should she?
Leaving the lot, I make a left instead of a right knowing I live one way then driving another. I just need to make sure she’s home safe and then I’ll go. Curious as to the verbal beatdown that probably happened the second she got in his truck, I dial my partner to confirm she hates me and that I’m off the team.
“What?” he says.
“Give it to me straight,” I say. “I know she fucking hates me. Did she quit the team? Or am I out?”
“The fuck are you going on about now?” he asks.
“Like she didn’t verbally castrate me on the way home?” I ask.
“As a matter of fact you never came up,” he says, and my shoulders fall. “She tore us a new one though, then went in the house and slammed the door. If there’s a dog house, we’re all in it.”
“What did you say to her?” I growl, pissed they caused her pain.
“Ain’t gonna work trying to get tough with me, partner,” he says. “You started this shit. We tried cleaning it up, and turns out the three of us are assholes. Hold up, Cap’s calling.”
So I sit on hold and stew. They upset her and it pisses me right the fuck off. The thought of wanting to choke my partner out for hurting her and maybe stealing Venessa’s music for upsetting her calms me some. It wasn’t too long ago that I had misjudged Venessa; for that fuck up, I’m amazed I’m still pissing straight.
Even in a third party situation, I fuck shit up.
“Where are you?” he asks.
“Driving by Macy —“ I start.
“Briggs is out.”
“Fuck you,” I say. “When?”
“Yesterday,” he says. “Cap just found out. Macy’s not answering her phone either. We’re gearing up now. Rafe?”
“Yeah?” I barely get out.
“Protect your woman,” he says. “At any cost.”
I squeeze my phone in my hand as I’m pushing fifty miles per hour on the side street before hers. I take the corner and I’m shocked I don’t flip it, wouldn’t have given a fuck if I did. Vehicles are replaceable, she ain’t. I launch my truck up her driveway leaving the keys in the ignition, truck running with the door wide open.
I don’t knock; I just kick the goddamn door open and start yelling her name.
He was here.
In her house. I could fucking feel it. The warmth was gone; it felt wrong now. After checking the main floor then the basement, I take the stairs two at time still yelling her name, no answer. The two spare rooms are empty, so are the bathrooms. I see a light on in the master bedroom and I pray that he is not with her, behind that door.
Ain’t no God or any other deity that can help him if he is. I turn the handle and it’s locked.
“Macy!” I yell. “Macy!”
Nothing.
I use my left shoulder and all my weight and break the fucker in.
My eyes can’t focus fast enough. Where is she?
“Jonas?” I hear.
“Macy.” Lowering my weapon, I scramble over to see her huddled next to the bed. Getting as close as possible so I can look her over for any injury, I notice her sitting there quietly with a .45 in her hand.
What bothers me most is that she looks at ease with it. She’s not shaking, she’s not screaming or crying like chicks usually do. “Macy,” I say sitting next to her, and she doesn’t respond. “Princess.”
Looking up at me, she breaks my heart when she says, “I knew he would come.”
“Is he here, Princess?” I ask, reaching for the gun. “Did something happen?”
Refusing to release the weapon she turns away from me, and I simply will not allow it.
“Don’t shut me out,” I say, “God dammit, Princess, talk to me.”
When she turns back to face me there’s a range of emotions there, none of them good. I see something in her I’ve never seen in her before, but I’ve seen it in Venessa.
Vengeance.
Looking at her now, Venessa’s words make sense. “You don’t think she’s like me, but she is.”
And she was right, Macy just hides it better. A lot better.
“Princess,” I say. “Please.”
She takes a deep breath and lets it out.
“He isn’t here,” she says. “Who knows when he got in and did this. I’ve been home for a while and just noticed it.”
“The gun?” I ask “What’s it for?”
“For when he comes back,” she says quietly, running her fingers over it.
Not if, but when.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I ask.
“I didn’t call anyone,” she says.
“That’s not what I asked you,” I say. “I asked why you didn’t call me.”
She turns away from me again, so I get up and move to her left, forcing her to face me.
“Look at me, Princess,” I say. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Despite what you think, I can take care of myself,” she begins. “He’ll come for me again, and when he does, I’ll kill him. But, if it makes you feel any better, I promise to call you after.”
“Jesus,” I say. “Don’t say shit like that.”
“Would you prefer I lie to you?” she asks. “I will not go through this again. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen, and if that means I kill him, so be it. If you’d rather not be around for it, there’s the door.”
“I’m a cop you know and I’m sitting right fucking here, Macy. I won’t let anything happen to you,” I promise her.
“You think just because you’re a cop that you can fix this?” she demands. “A cop is responsible for this, Jonas. A cop just broke into my house. A cop just broke into my home and jacked off on my bed. Forgive me if my faith in law enforcement is lacking.”
“So you just lump me in with him then?” I ask. “Is that it? Guilt by association? Does this rule apply to Rogan, too? Would it kill you just to trust me, us?” She just sits there, saying nothing. “For someone who loves her research, you need to check your fucking facts better.”
“Here’s what I know as fact,” she
growls at me. “I called your department for help multiple times and got shit. I called other departments for help and got shit there, too. I don’t know you, Jonas, and we haven’t exactly met under the best of circumstances, so don’t push that shit down my throat. One minute you’re insulting me the next you want to rescue me. You confuse me, all right? And right now, I don’t have the luxury of being confused.”
She gets up and leaves the room, leaving me to sit there and replay the conversation in my head. Who’s right here? I don’t fucking know. I decide to give her a minute to cool off and me a minute to compose myself. I look over to her big, beautiful four-poster bed and see the evidence that he left behind. That motherfucker jacked off in my woman’s bed. For the first time in my life I wonder if I should turn a blind eye to the law and get my own revenge. Just as I plot that fucker’s death in my head is when I hear yelling. I jump back over the bed and down the stairs in one leap.
“The fuck are you doing, Macy?” asks Rogan, standing there with his hands in the air.
“I didn’t shoot you did I?” she says. “Who walks in without knocking?”
“I did knock,” he says. “The door was wide open.”
“How was I supposed to know that?” she asks. “I didn’t fucking leave it open.”
“You handle that .45 like a pro, Macy,” says Venessa. “It looks good in your hand. Is it new?”
“Thanks, yeah, it’s new,” she says, smiling. “It feels good, too. Picked it up last week, and Tommy says hi.”
“It’s open because I kicked it in,” I say, joining the conversation and making a note to find out who Tommy is.
“Well, there you go,” she says. “Happy now, Rogan?”
“You all right?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” she says. “Anybody hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“Me too,”
“You two can eat out,” I say, halting everyone. “She’s packing a bag and coming home with me.”
“Is this going to be strike three, Rafe?” asks Venessa.
“Not unless she makes it that way,” I say, looking at Macy.
“It’s her choice,” says Rogan, pissing me off.
“No,” I say. “It really isn’t, and it isn’t your business either, partner.”
I walk over to Macy and walk her backward into the hallway; she trips once, but I catch her. I wrap my hands around her waist and pull her to me so I can hold her tighter. She doesn’t fight me, which is progress, but I’m fully aware she’s still holding that .45, so she wouldn’t have to fight me at all; she could just pull the trigger.
“Come home with me,” I say, leaning in just inches from her mouth. “Please.”
“Why are you always so hot and cold with me?” she asks, leaning her head on my shoulder.
“I’ve never been off balance before,” I say, lifting her chin up. “I want you more than I ever remember wanting anything, Princess. You keep me guessing, and it’s throwing me. I’m not the only one feeling it; you feel it, too. This dance has gone on long enough. Come home with me.”
“Did you just say that?” she asks.
“I did,” I say, certain for once in my life. “Meant every word, too.”
“Who are you?” she asks, confused.
“I’m yours,” I say. “If you think you could want me back.”
Just as I’m leaning in to kiss her, Rogan clears his throat to make his presence known, and I turn my head to see what he wants. I see an uncomfortable Rogan and a smiling Macy.
Well, at least one of us is happy. I just want her to myself for once.
“Cap says word is out on Briggs,” he says. “We’ll find him.”
“Before or after he finds me?” she asks.
“We’ll find him,” I say backing up his words.
“Until we do,” says Venessa, “You should stay with Rafe. He’s right. You know, safety in numbers and all that.”
“Right,” she says, looking at me, then seems to make a decision. “Fine, you win. I’ll go.”
She walks away not looking anywhere but to the floor. She shouldn’t have been backed into a corner, but she’s coming with me, and that’s all that matters. All I have to do is look in her eyes and I know she doesn’t think we’ll find him. But I will, if it’s the last fucking thing I do.
“I’ll go talk to her and think of something girly and appropriate to say,” says Venessa, following her upstairs.
He and I both nod, because that’s all we can do. I’m just about to say something to break the silence when Venessa walks back in. I look at her and she shakes her head no, so I turn to ask her what’s going on when she tells me, “She’s talking to Ben,” then grabs Rogan’s hand and they leave.
What have I done now?
Wanting Jonas from afar is one thing. Living with him is another. Shit. Not knowing what else to do after being caught in a private moment, I go back to my room to pack a bag. Checking my phone, I see I missed another call from Ben. I can’t keep pushing him aside; he’s my friend, and I’ve been helping him for months. My bullshit aside, I can’t drop the ball on him, it’s not how I operate.
I’ll call him while packing.
“Macy?” he asks on the first ring. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Ben, I’m sorry,” I say. “Life’s been crazy. How are you? How’s your research?”
“Same as usual,” he says. “Making progress then hitting walls. I miss you, miss talking to you. Are we still on to study Thursday?”
“Uh,” I say. “I can’t commit to anything right now, Ben. Something’s come up, and I have to head out for a day or two, but can it wait until I get back?”
“Sure,” he says, disappointed. “Are you really okay? I’ve never heard you rattled like this.”
“I’m sure; just tired,” I say. “I should be back by Thursday, so how about I call you Wednesday in case it pans out?”
“That works,” he says. “Is this about the guy that came in asking questions about you?”
“What guy?” I ask, biting my lip with worry.
“Big guy,” he says. “Said he’s a cop and a friend of yours; he saw my badge and said you’ve mentioned me before and started asking questions. He was really worried, Macy. I told him you’re home studying. If something’s happened, you can tell me.”
“No, Ben,” I say. “I really can’t. If he comes back you have amnesia or better yet, tell him I quit, but please, stay away from him.”
“I don’t like this.”
“I’m sorry, Ben,” I say. ‘I’ll explain more when I can, okay? I promise.”
“Until Wednesday then.” He says goodbye and disconnects
I toss random items into a gym bag, grab my laptop, the girls’ photos, my data, phone charger, toothbrush, and my gun.
I open my door to Jonas scowling at me.
Awesome.
“Ben, huh?” he asks, obviously pissed about something, but I have no idea what.
“Ben huh, what?” I ask.
“Are you fucking him?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he says, getting in my face and caging me in. “Are. You. Fucking. Him.”
“Since I’m not fucking you, I don’t see why the answer would matter.”
“Since who you fuck does matter to me, I want an answer.” He pauses, leaning closer. “Because, Princess, once you walk out that door the only one fucking you is me.”
I did the only thing I could do. I stood there totally fucking speechless.
After getting an earful on how I should handle Macy, I take about three seconds to process it and decide they can fuck off. Those two are the last two people I’m taking advice from. Seriously? How do you take advice from people who name a dog Boner?
I decide not to give her any time to change her mind, so I take the stairs two at time not even bothering to look at pictures on walls or gauge my surroundings. Instead, I follow her voice. It’s coming from the spare room on the right. I hear her
talking and I take in the sound of her voice. Just like that, all of my anger melts away. That is, until I hear her say the name Ben. Then I fucking see red.
Standing next to her door I take in the conversation. Dead man walking, aka Ben, clearly wants to see her but even though she tells him something’s come up and it has to wait, which isn’t really a yes … It isn’t a no, either. Before I bust down the door and demand she hang up, I hear her ask about a big guy, and instantly there’s something in her voice. So Briggs went to see Ben, then. Now she’s protecting him by telling him to stay away from Briggs. She’s too fucking nice for her own good. Personally, I don’t give a fuck what happens to Ben. I’m keeping her safe, not him.
Conversation over, I open the door and barge in like it’s my room, my bed, and my goddamn closet. She sets her phone down and I notice she’s packed a bag while talking to him, and I also notice she’s tired.
Truth? I don’t fucking care right now. I stalk up to her and stare down at the phone set on the bed. Letting my temper get the best of me, I grill her about him, again. Her answer didn’t do much to calm me down, either.
She sighs and rubs her temple. She does that when she’s spent. Tomorrow I’ll feel bad about this, but tonight I don’t have it in me. I put both hands on her shoulders and pull her into me. She doesn’t hesitate. Wrapping her arms around me she tilts her head up to meet mine with what I can tell is in effort to soothe me, to make me feel better, like I haven’t been a world class asshole since meeting her.
“Ben is just a friend, a study partner.”
“I’ve seen Ben, remember? Tall, good looking, smart, probably has money, says all the right things and follows you around like a puppy. He wants you, Princess. I want you, I told you I did. Difference between me and him? I won’t follow you around wagging my tail.” Which is a fucking lie.
“I’ve been helping him study, and he’s been assisting me with data. I don’t know what goes on in his brain, but he’s never said anything or been inappropriate. I don’t want him. He’s a friend, Jonas. I wouldn’t lie about it, and I also don’t want a puppy.”
“What do you want, then?”