by Izzy Sweet
Aiming the pistol at his head, I pull the trigger twice. Each bullet slams through his skull, exploding out the back with blood, bone and brain matter.
Turning to the two men beside me, I say, “Simon have this cleaned.”
Simon looks unfazed by the situation; Sommers is a shade paler than normal for a black man but he wisely keeps his mouth shut. That’s good, I don’t want to kill him. I’m pretty sure he knows that too, especially since he knows I just ensured he is a knowing accessory to murder.
Putting my hand on his shoulder, I turn him from the gory scene and start walking with him as I hear Simon start making a phone call.
“How’s Jeanie and Alicia doing? Alicia still planning on heading to that ivy league college?”
“Yeah, she is trying to ensure Jeanie and I have no retirement money left, I swear.”
Laughing, I say, “Well, if she needs help getting into Yale let me know. I know a couple of their board members. I should be able to get her in and lessen some of that financial burden.”
Nodding his head, he says, “I will.”
* * *
Getting into the vehicle, I look to Andrew as I rub my hands. The Explorer looked much better when I came out of the building. “Good job.”
“Thanks, Lucifer, where to next?”
“Let’s wait for Simon to come out, then downtown.”
We sit there for only a couple of minutes before Simon comes out of the building, zipping his winter coat up. Walking over to our vehicle he comes to my window.
Rolling it down, I say, “Meet me downtown at Fifty-Three for breakfast, after you get the shit set to be cleaned here. I’m fucking starving. Then we need to go to a club on forty-eighth street I’m looking into buying.”
“The strip club? What’s it called, Lucky Tail’s?” he asks.
“Yeah, that’s the one,” I say smiling.
“Fuck, how many strip clubs can a man own?”
8
Lily
Dropping the kids off for school is a surreal experience, and really drives home the point that I no longer have any control of my or my children’s lives.
Since I can’t open the back doors from the inside of the black sedan, I have to wait for Peter to open them for us like he’s some fancy chauffeur.
It’d be more fitting if he was dressed up as a prison warden.
We drop off Adam first. There are a few looks as we pull up to the curb and Peter comes around to let us out. This is a nice school but it’s not that nice. We’re upper-middle-class around here, not Wall Street.
Adam is only in kindergarten but he hates being babied so I stay in the car and just watch him until he disappears through the school’s front doors.
Usually he’s in a rush to get inside and meet up with his friends before the first bell but today he pauses in front of the doors and glances back, his little face pinched in concern. It makes him look so much older.
I hate it.
I know he knows something is going on, and he’s too smart not to figure this out on his own eventually. If I can’t get us out of this mess today, I don’t know what I’m going to tell him.
How do I protect him from this?
I wave from within the car but I’m not sure he can see me. Eventually, one of his friends comes up and slaps him on the back, drawing his attention away. I release a little sigh of relief as they walk into school together. At least in there I know he’s safe.
Evelyn, on the other hand, is only four and I have to walk her up to the doors of her preschool.
I feel every eye of the mommy clique turn on us as we pull up.
Peter opens the door for Evelyn and me. I step out and some of the mommies are gasping. Yeah, I look like a hot mess so I just ignore all the stares and rush her inside. I help her hang up her coat and put her lunch box away.
After hugging her goodbye, I press a kiss to the top of her head and tell her to have a good day.
She hugs me back and tells me cheerfully, “You too, mommy.” Before turning around and skipping off to play with the toys.
Peter is waiting for me when I walk back out. Standing in front of the back door, his eyes narrow at me and he crosses his arms over his chest as I eye the group of mommies standing near the entrance. I could walk up to them, join in the conversation. Let them question me about the car and driver. Maybe drop a few hints…
No, no, it wouldn’t be right to drag anyone else into this mess. Besides, who’s going to believe me? I’m not sure I’d believe myself.
With a sigh of resignation, I lift my chin into the air and walk back to the car, climbing in. Peter shuts the door behind me and without my children with me the sound is so much more ominous.
Silently, he drives me back to my house and there’s already a moving truck parked in the driveway.
Shit.
Again, I have to wait for Peter to open my door, and he follows close on my heels as I walk up to my house. All the doors are open, letting all the heat out, and there’s another beefy guy in a suit hanging out in my kitchen.
“James,” Peter rumbles and nods his head at the man.
“Peter,” the man grins back before popping a strawberry in his mouth.
James is leaning against the island counter and has a spread of bagels, fruit and muffins in front of him.
Peter breaks away from me and walks up to the island, perusing the breakfast spread.
Swallowing down his strawberry, James turns his dark eyes on me and asks, “Hungry?”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I quickly shake my head.
“Are you sure?” Peter asks, surprising me. He picks up a bagel and waves it at me. “You don’t want a bagel? Or a muffin?”
I shake my head again and both men frown at me like I just insulted them.
I don’t have to justify myself to them, yet I explain, “I already ate breakfast with the kids.”
“Ah,” Peter says and then he smiles. He takes a huge bite out of the bagel in his hand.
“Would you like some juice?” James asks, pointing to the pitcher on the counter.
I shake my head.
“Coffee?”
“Yes, please,” I nod, totally feeling the irony of them offering me food and drink in my own kitchen.
“How do you like it?” James asks as he walks around the island and begins opening my cabinets.
Watching him root around in my stuff annoys the hell out of me, especially because he acts as if he has every right to do it. This is my house and these are my things, dammit.
But what can I do about it?
Stomp my foot and throw a tantrum?
“The mugs are in the cabinet above the dishwasher,” I tell him after he fails to find them on his own.
He flashes me a grin, “Thanks.”
He pulls down two mugs. One mug reads, World’s Greatest Mommy, while the other says Coffee Makes Me Poop.
“How do you like your coffee?” he repeats, walking up to the coffee maker and filling both cups from the carafe.
“Black.”
He pushes the World’s Greatest Mommy mug towards me, across the counter. I’ll have to get closer to them if I want it. Lifting the other mug up to his lips, he watches me with interest before taking a sip.
“Hey, where’s my cup?” Peter asks.
“Pour your own, I’m not your bitch,” James smirks at him.
Grumbling, Peter walks over to the cabinet, pulls a mug down and fills it from the carafe.
I shuffle forward, pick up my mug and shuffle back, cradling it in my hands.
James grins at me, looking amused as I finally take a sip of it. “The movers are on standby all day. Just tell them want you want boxed up and they’ll take care of it.”
I take another sip of my coffee, savoring the warm, bitter taste. I’ll need all the energy I can get to get through this.
“What exactly should I be packing up?” I ask.
Seriously, what’s the point of all of this?
“Anything you want to keep.”
James’ dark eyes harden towards me as I say, “This is my house and I want to keep it.”
He shakes his head and lowers his cup to the counter. “Lucifer wants you to pack your things. His orders are final. You will not be coming back.”
So far, I think I’ve been holding it together pretty well. I mean, a stranger has entered my house, forced my husband out, and thinks he now owns me and my children. Given everything that’s going on, I’d say I’ve been pretty damn level-headed about all of this.
But having James, another stranger, tell me I will not be coming back to my own house just makes me snap. Maybe it’s the way he says it, like he doesn’t expect me to protest or put up a fight about it, like he’s taking my cooperation for granted.
Or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s walking around my house like he owns it that pushes my last button.
I launch my cup of hot coffee at his head and he ducks just in time. The cup goes soaring over his head and smashes against a cabinet.
“Fucking hell,” he curses and straightens back up, staring me down.
I’m frozen, rooted to my spot. Did I just do that?
Our eyes meet and I’m so upset, so freaked out about everything, about what I just did, my chest is tight and I feel like I can’t catch my breath.
Are they going to hurt me now?
Why the fuck did I just do that? Why am I so stupid?
My eyes prickle with tears but I don’t want to cry, dammit. I don’t want to give these assholes that satisfaction. They’re so not worth it.
I manage to suck in a big breath and just hold it, keeping it all in.
Peter erupts into loud, booming laughter and a moment later James joins him.
All at once I can move again.
I take off running, as fast as my feet will carry me. I fly down the hallway and hit the stairs that lead to the upper floor.
Behind me I can hear James laughing and cursing. “Fuck, that shit burns.”
Peter laughs even louder. “You better ice that.”
“Shit. I didn’t see that coming. That was close.”
“Yeah, she almost took your head off. Looks like Lucifer has got himself a little hellcat.”
* * *
I spend the morning locked in my bedroom. I consider changing my clothes and putting makeup on, but fuck it. I don’t care what people think, and I sure as hell won’t go out of my way to make myself look good for him.
I keep expecting Lucifer to come knocking on my door at any minute, or one of the guys to try to pay me back, but thankfully the house remains quiet. They seem to be leaving me to my own devices.
I dig into Marshall’s side of the closet, searching for anything that he may have kept hidden. If he borrowed five million dollars from a guy like Lucifer, he must have been into some pretty shady shit.
I spend at least a couple of hours dumping out all of his things. Boxes from high school. Drawers full of odds and ends. I search through his clothes, checking all his pockets. I even lift his side of the mattress.
In the end I come up empty-handed. If there’s anything in this room he has it well hidden.
The house is so quiet that by the time my stomach starts to rumble for lunch I have enough courage to open the door and peek out my head.
The hallway beyond my room is empty.
I tiptoe down the stairs. I can hear quiet voices coming from the kitchen.
“I can understand why he decided to keep her, she’s fucking hot. What I can’t understand is why he’s keeping the children,” Peter says.
“He can’t rightly kill her children and expect her to deal with it.”
“I guess so, but shit, this whole thing is messed up.”
“Yeah.”
“If he wanted to keep a woman, he could have kept that blonde of Hammond’s. She didn’t have any kids.”
“I don’t know what he’s thinking, but he’s the boss. He knows what he’s doing.”
“Still… it feels like an awfully big risk just for some pussy. I’d feel better if we just stuck to protocol and killed them.”
“It’s not up to us, so quit fuckin’ talkin’.”
“Do you hear something?”
I try to creep quietly back up to my room but James appears at the bottom of the stairs.
Our eyes meet and he grins. “Hey.”
My heart quickens with panic and I almost trip trying to walk up the stairs backwards.
“Hey, no hard feelings, okay?” He takes a step up the bottom step. “We’ve got lunch in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Ordered out some sandwiches.”
I shake my head.
These men are complete psychopaths. One moment they’re talking about how much easier it would be if they just killed me and the next they’re offering me sandwiches.
He frowns and casts a look behind him as Peter appears behind his back.
“Listen, if you don’t start packing up soon, everything is going to be left behind,” Peter says.
“Yeah, take it or leave it. We’re not coming back.”
I continue to walk backwards.
James’ face hardens with frustration and he growls out, “I mean it. You’re going to lose all your shit.”
Is there anything I want? I was planning on leaving it behind anyway, it’s just stuff. Why do they care anyway?
I reach the top of the landing and keep on walking.
Peter snorts and James nods his head at him. “Yeah, she’s planning on making a run for it.”
My stomach feels like it just dropped right out of me.
“No, I’m not,” I gasp, turning back.
James smirks smugly at me. “Only a person planning on running wouldn’t care about all of their things.”
Peter nods at James and threatens, “I’ll put in a call to Lucifer.”
Dammit.
“All of it,” I croak as Peter starts to walk away.
James’ smirk sharpens. “What was that?”
I take a deep breath and then say more clearly. “All of it. I want all of it.”
Bastards. They are so getting a kick out of this.
Peter stops and turns back. He grins triumphantly. The two assholes just played me well. “I’ll get the movers in here so they can get started.”
I take another step back, planning on hiding out in my bedroom again.
“You’ll need to stick with us while the movers are in here,” James says.
My first reaction of course is to shake my head.
Peter’s grin is downright feral as he says, “We wouldn’t want anyone to have an accident.”
What the fuck does he mean by that? Is he implying I could have an accident? Or one of the movers?
James takes another step up and holds out his hand. “Come on. Come have some lunch with us. You look like you need it.”
My stomach chooses that exact moment to growl loudly and I can feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
I want to ask him if he’s going to kill me but I don’t want to give away that I eavesdropped on their conversation. From what I heard, it sounds like at least Peter would prefer to kill us but he can’t.
James nods at me encouragingly and Peter disappears back into the kitchen
I suppose starving myself isn’t going to do me or my children any favors. I take another step down the stairs and tense up. When James doesn’t jump at me and backs up instead I feel comfortable enough taking another step.
“I’ll even pour you another cup of coffee, just don’t throw it at my head again, okay? Wasting coffee is sacrilege,” He grins as I reach the bottom, obviously trying to make me feel more comfortable with him.
I envision doing just that and feel my lips pull into my own feral grin.
“Shit,” James grins right back. “You’re getting your coffee in a sippy cup for that.”
* * *
I spend the rest of the day in the kitchen, munching on sandwiches and pretending to mind my own bus
iness. The movers flow in and out of the house, and each box that is removed feels like they’re taking a little piece of my soul with it.
At one point there’s a loud crash in the family room and I can hear one of the movers cursing angrily. James, Peter, and I head into the room to investigate what happened. The family portrait I had hanging above our fireplace was dropped and the glass of the frame shattered.
“Stay back, ma’am,” the mover warns me. “There’s glass everywhere.”
Seeing the last portrait of Marshall, me and the children I had taken fractured into pieces on the floor feels like an omen.
I cover my mouth with my hand and take a step back.
“I’m real sorry about that, ma’am. The company will make it right,” the mover apologizes.
James and Peter both look at me and take in my distressed state.
James curses under his breath, “Fuck.”
It’s obvious that me being upset has pissed them off.
Peter takes a threatening step towards the mover and I just know he’s going to hurt him or something.
“No!” I cry out and jump forward, grabbing him by the arm.
Peter glances back at me sharply and I plead with him, “Please, don’t. It was just an accident.”
The mover shifts uneasily. “Yeah, it was just an accident…. I’m real sorry. The company will pay for this. It will come out of my check.”
“No, no, that’s okay. Just throw it in the trash.” I drop my hand from Peter’s arm and cross my arms over my chest. “I didn’t want to take that portrait with me anyway.” I shrug my shoulders and try to look as nonchalant as possible. “Seriously, where would I even hang it?”
The mover lets out a relieved breath. I force a smile at him. “I was just worried that you were hurt.”
The mover shakes his head. “Nah. I’m fine, ma’am.”
This seems to satisfy Peter and James. We all turn and head back into the kitchen together without incident.
My heart, though, races for another couple of minutes and I feel like I’m going to be sick. It’s a long time and a lot of steady breathing before I feel better again.