Hi, my name is Natasha. I’m trying find someone who can do some work for me and my boyfriend—we have a problem. You see, I’m married and would like this problem fixed permanently, if you catch my drift. Please call me back so we can chat in person somewhere secluded.
I’m not quite sure what this Natasha chick thinks my cases involve. I’m not a hit man. That call really took me by surprise. Where had she obtained my number from? I felt slightly offended; I defended women’s rights, I didn’t murder innocent people. I had a mind to call this chick back and abuse her. If she didn’t love her husband anymore, then by all means, she should leave him. I totally understood why abused women felt it was so hard to walk away from their marriages, but surely leaving was easier than murder. And don’t get me started on adultery, that subject that should be left alone.
The next message lasted for about five seconds. It consisted of Hello, umm… errr. Then the lady hung up. I hoped that one day she found that inner strength to call me back or seek help.
The next phone call was the one. This lady was clear and concise. Hello, my name is Mandy. I would like to speak to you about my marriage and get some help. Thank you. I scribbled down the phone number on a piece of paper and stuffed it into the back of my phone case. I would ring her tomorrow and make arrangements to meet in person. Hopefully, being the weekend, it would make it easier to contact her.
I held my hand over the flashing button. I wanted to press play to hear the next one but I didn’t want to take on more than I could handle. I liked to dedicate 100% of myself to these women, and having more than one case at a time with Nate and Connor watching my every move was going to be hard.
Chapter Eight
Indy
I only had to endure a few days at school this week and was glad when the weekend finally came around. I relished sleeping in and came down to Max carrying on about not having any cookable food in the house. What did he expect? Connor lived on Pop-Tarts and I snacked on pretzels. But I had to support him in this bitching session—it might mean a trip out of the house.
Nate had ummed and argued when Max told him he was going by himself to grab groceries. I needed to get away from the hormone-charged males. Nate and Connor’s constant arguing was doing my head in. I offered to go. This annoyed Nate even more; he insisted on coming along.
“We’re only going to the supermarket, it’s two minutes down the road,” I protested loudly.
“So, I’ll sit in the car.”
There was no point in even trying to make a valid point; like a happy little family, we all piled in the car.
As promised, Nate stayed in the car. Max grabbed a cart and we headed down each aisle. When we came to the vegetable aisle, I scrunched my nose at the various greens thrown into the cart. Once the broccoli and cauliflower were thrown in, I couldn’t help my groans of protest.
“What, Indy?” asked Max.
“I don’t eat veggies.”
“How old are you, anyway? By the time I’m finished, you won’t recognize them.”
Horrid images of over-boiled mush plagued me, chills ran up my spine. I had better grab a few packets of pretzels just in case.
We had been shopping at a good pace when a family cut us off. A young man with stale BO pushed a cart with a snotty-nosed kid in the toddler’s seat. His wife and two other daughters walked beside them, holding hands. They were dressed nicely and well-presented. Total cliché.
There was something not quite right about this woman, she was tense and had a slight shake in her shoulders. I nearly missed it. The mother grabbed twelve mega packets of two-minute noodles, followed by five packets of pasta. She attempted to grab other items in the time we trailed behind them. Each time she reached for something, the man glared at her.
We were approaching the cereal aisle. This week there were specials galore. I grabbed the usual for Connor, while Max grabbed Co-Co pops, Fruits Loops and Nutri-Grain. The mother in front of us tried to grab some the seriously discounted goods but her husband shook his head.
“But they’re on special, Bob,” she pleaded.
“No.” Her husband sounded firmer this time.
“The kids can’t live on noodles.”
Her husband moved directly behind her, grabbed her arm tightly, and whispered as softly as he could so the kids couldn’t hear. I could hear what was being said with my angel hearing, ‘Put them back, you worthless slut.’
I shook to the point that I couldn’t move. These were such harsh words for a mother just trying to feed her children. The large quantities of noodles and pasta now made sense—this family ate nothing else.
The mother ignored the nasty comments and continued down the aisle. Every few feet he made snide comments to her.
Max put his arm around me and whispered into my ear, “Indy, relax. There’s nothing you can do around these children.” I took comfort in his hug.
I contained my rage. I didn’t throw any more items into the cart after that, but Max surely made up for my lack of participation. The last aisle was the medical department. Max grabbed a pack of feminine sanitary pads. What the hell was he thinking?
“Hello, I don’t need them.”
“They’re not for you, Miss Indy. You do, in fact, have female friends, and you never know when they may be needed.”
I was a little shocked. Since when did men care about these things, especially periods and that jazz?
We reached the checkouts before the family did, but Max insisted they go first. I think he was worried I would want to follow them home. I didn’t even know how that would be possible with Nate driving.
The mother started the unload the groceries onto the checkout counter and the father leaned in and whispered into her ear. “This is the only job you’re good at, whore!”
I took one step towards, but Max grabbed my arm. He repeated his earlier words. “Not in front of the kids.”
Pushing down my anger, I picked up one of the magazines displayed at the register and started to read about some celebrity’s marriage breakdown.
The father started to walk away from his family towards the side door, which led to the opposite side from where our car was parked. He turned to his wife and yelled out; “Buy me some cigarette paper and a carton of Longbeach.” The tone he delivered was void of any caring tones.
Max’s words returned to me, Not in front of the kids. Well, I wasn’t going to have to wait long now. I followed Father of the Year out the side door. I looked down at the ground, listening to the words he delivered into his mobile phone.
“Eh bro, I want to get a stick. Pick it up in ten minutes. Yeah, I’ll have your money, man, just wait another ten.”
This guy was a real champ. He refused to buy good food to feed his family but could ring a drug dealer to get some pot.
He leaned against the wall and pulled a cancer stick from his pocket, flashing me a yellow-tinged, rotting smile.
“Hey, baby,” he sweetly said.
This man was foul. Did he honestly think he could pick me up with a mouth like that? He was a good candidate for a shower and a cake of soap. Those things must have been foreign objects to him.
“What?” I responded.
“I saw you following me around inside. I can ditch the wife later and we can meet up.”
Bahahaha, what the hell. This dick had some real tickets on himself, his ego was sky high.
“Fat chance of that happening,” I responded, trying to not laugh. Why was I even talking to him? My negative comment brought out his inner filthiness to match his outside appearance.
He grabbed his package with both hands and thrust towards me. I wanted to vomit.
“You ain't never had a man like me before.” This guy spoke with a nasty confidence.
“Toothless, smelly asshole. No, I haven’t.”
This guy was about the do a truly disgusting act, he attempted to undo his zipper of his jeans and flash me his penis.
Somehow my sneaker ended up in his mouth, covered in bloo
d. Whoops! He spat his blood in my face, the thick, sticky liquid clinging to my hair. This dickhead had made the wrong move. Now I had to go home and wash my hair. My rage vibrated through my fingers. I’d probably have more blood on my face by the time this was over. I pulled back my arm and aimed right between his eyes.
Intense pain ripped my arm apart, ligaments were rearranged and torn into fine pieces. Damn, I could cry, the pain was so bad. Nate was standing behind me, still holding onto my arm. I tried to throw the other arm at him but failed. He dragged me to the car and threw me in the back seat, but not before giving this butthead an empty threat.
Nate sat in the front seat, yelling at me for the next ten minutes. I hardly heard him. He had really done a number on my arm. I felt like the victim now.
“Indy!” Nate yelled.
“What?” I yelled back.
“Did you hear anything I said?”
I was going to ignore him for the rest of the day, he could get screwed. Nate leaned over the back seat and touched my face gently.
“I’m really sorry to hurt your arm so badly, but his kid saw all of that. She was watching from the door.”
Oh my God… I hadn’t realized my stupid mistake… Nate was justified in hurting me. I kept thinking of that poor little girl. If Nate hadn’t come when he did, I could have seriously hurt her father, giving the little girl a lifetime of nightmares.
Chapter Nine
Indy
The next morning I woke early to the smell of bacon. Wow, did it smell fantastic. I can’t remember the last time this had happened, if ever. I changed quickly into my black harem pants and a blue tie-dyed crochet top that sat above my midriff. I had a white singlet underneath. I knew I’d be hauled into the principal’s office otherwise. I had, on occasion, pushed the dress code to its limit, but Corrina was far worse than me.
Putting on my thongs, I headed down the stairs. Both boys were up and eating. Max pushed a large plate of bacon, eggs, sausage, and two pancakes in my direction. I could get used to this, I felt like a princess. It wasn’t often that someone spoiled me. Well, the only time it usually happened was when some jerk tried to get into my panties. Try as much as they liked, these particular sexy undies weren’t coming off for anyone.
I started to stuff the food into my mouth. The boys were arguing over pumpkin and lamb ravioli and Italian-made lasagne with Greek feta salad.
“Boys, I can make the other tomorrow night,” said Max.
Now I understood. Max was going to cook dinner and they were arguing over the choices. Dumb boys. I’d be happy with anything. We didn’t have the healthiest of diets.
I ate my breakfast fast and was going to head to school alone to get some time to talk to Mandy, but Nate had other ideas.
“Indy, I’ve been thinking… why you don’t teach self-defense for women? You could have a big impact on many lives this way and make money at the same time.”
I thought about it for a minute. It was a good idea and would help lots, but it wasn’t what I wanted to achieve. I didn’t wake up each morning with a burning desire to teach a class to some chicks. I didn’t see it as a proactive step.
As selfish as it was, I loved the satisfying feeling I got when I concentrated on using my strength to dissemble some dude’s face by using either my fist or foot. I preferred using my fist these days—it was always a lesson well-learned and very effective.
I walked towards the front door, both boys grabbed their bags and joined me. Damn it, this was going to be harder than I’d thought.
“Indy, what are you doing? We’re driving today. We don’t have to leave for at least another fifteen minutes,” said Connor.
Hmm, maybe this was my opening. “No, I want to walk. You drive.”
“We can meet you there, Connor,” said Nate.
Oh, God. Either I walk to school and hear Nate whine on about one of his famous topics which involved me behaving myself or drive in the car with both boys.
I walked towards the car. At least it was only a few minutes’ drive instead of a ten minute walk with Nate gas bagging in my ear the whole time.
Surprisingly, the drive wasn’t too bad, except for the smell. Both boys needed to wear some deodorant. The BO was bad, and at one point, Connor lifted his arms and smelled himself, then smiled. Gross. Disgusting. Feral.
Luckily, my first class was Recreational Studies. I went to the change room and sat down to ring Mandy. The call went nowhere. It didn’t go to voicemail or say the number was out of use. Maybe I had copied the number down wrong. I checked that it had ten digits and it did. I decided to double check it after school.
I walked out of the change rooms towards the large group of teenagers standing in a mixed cluster.
“Okay, what did I miss?” I whispered to Nessa, who was about to walk away from me. She turned and spoke in a normal tone.
“Grab Nate. We’re about to learn the dance for graduation.”
“Oh.”
I wasn’t too happy about that. I was aching to run around and play some contact sport and test Nate in a competition of skills, not hold him close and feel his breath in my hair in a romantic dance. I wasn’t up for that at all.
“Ahh, miss? I don’t feel well. Can I go see the nurse?” Any excuse to get out of this would be good.
“Ahh, come on, baby. I’ll look after you.” Before I could move, Nate swept me up into the dancing pose the teachers modeled.
I wanted to drive my foot through his balls. How dare he call me baby! Did I look like an infant who crapped themselves and drank from a bottle? Instead I stomped on his foot, quite hard.
“Ouch! We haven’t even started to dance yet,” said Nate.
“That was the start of it, mate.” I emphasized the last bit.
“I would have thought you’d be able to dance; you’re ancient.” Nate smirked.
Ha. He thought bringing up how old I was might piss me off—he’s an idiot. I leaned forward and got extremely close. I was a breath away from his lips. I expected him to squirm, but he seemed very comfortable.
“You know I’m the hottest girl here, and you would love to get into my pants.” I rubbed against him; I swear he got hard. I moved back slightly, very proud that I’d shut him up.
The teacher pressed play on the old style cassette player; a song I was very familiar with rang out loudly, setting the mood for the students. I watched as everyone clumsily attempted to copy the teacher, they were not very good themselves. I didn’t moved at first, I let Nate watch the sequence of movements. I could hear him counting steps, taking it all in.
“Nate and Indy, can you at least try?” said one of the teachers.
Nate stepped forward, unsure where to place his feet next, he tried to lead me around slowly, after two rotations he became confident with the steps I trusted his lead as I knew the steps to this dance of love. I was fluent in all modes of rhythmic movement. As my age was mentioned before, I’ve had plenty of time to learn.
The other teens watched us and ignored the teacher. Corrina and Mark were having a fun time. They were being a little inappropriate. She sashayed her hips to the side as she waltz around. It honestly look very sexy and a bit like the tango. That pair were telling a story, and neither of them realized it. Corrina was the sexy siren who had captivated the heart of a young handsome man. She wanted him sexually, but he was being smart and trying to make the relationship last. Corrina lowered her hands to Mark’s bottom and gave it a tight squeeze while moving her hips in a circular motion. Mark moved back, repositioned her arms, and tried to dance again. Every time she moved her hands, he moved them back up. I could see he wanted her, but this wasn’t the time nor the place. I was starting to wonder if our little Corrina was too fast for him.
Dancing with Nate was taking me back to the time I learned to dance. It wasn’t long after the death of my noble friend in medieval times. I didn’t venture too far away, only a few counties over. I had friends there and was comfortable in England in that time period. I had
heard a few rumors about a father named Edward who was raising his three teenage daughters by himself.
One of the daughters was quite mad and was forced to move onto a farm which took in crazy women. The second daughter was heading in the same direction. I had witnessed the slow decline of these girls over a few years. In my opinion, all three were healthy children, but when they developed womanly parts, they’d started to show signs of craziness. There had been whispers between the stable boys and servants about this father, so I decided to do some investigations of my own.
As this man was part of high society, I thought the best way to grab his attention was to dance with him. While the rich and powerful held their dances in the big fancy halls, the poor folk hid out in the barns, having celebrations of their own. These caring, down to earth people were more than willing to teach me to dance. I spent weeks learning a true appreciation for the steps and felt the time was coming that I could introduce myself to Edward; this time I kept my plan to myself and involved no one.
Within no time I was a talented dancer and had managed to acquire a fancy ball gown with elaborate trimmings to stand out amongst the ugly hags representing high society. Well, not all were ugly, but they certainly were inbred, which is totally foul. How they didn’t end up with six fingers was beyond me.
The March Ball came. This was the event of the season. I was fully prepared and ready to go. I stood in the front, fanning myself to gain all of the young men’s attention. My dress was done up so tight my waist was practically non-existent and my breasts were overflowing out the top of my dress. Wow, that must have been the first type of push-up bra, except you came tumbling out if you weren’t careful.
Edward stood forward from the line of men and looked at all the women. He bowed at the crowd and took a young lass by the hand, led her to the dancing area, and stayed with her till the song ended. I hadn’t tried too hard to gain his attention but as he looked for his next partner, I vamped up my game. I jiggled my breasts up further to gain his attention as he looked from one lady to the next. His eyes gleamed as he took in my body. He turned his back on the rest of the women and extended his hand to me. For the rest of the night, we twirled round and round. He expressed his wishes to court me and I accepted.
Heavenly Hunted Page 4