Berserk

by K. S. Adkins

  “A homeless girl?” she asks, looking from him to me and fuck if I even know who he is. “How charitable.”

  “Max always did have a soft spot for the less fortunate. I mean, he owns a club in the ghetto,” he says, babbling. “What do you do, Jules?”

  Smiling at him as she prepares to answer, I go mute. I also realize bringing her here was a huge mistake. Fuck that, my ever coming here was a huge mistake.

  “I work for the government,” she says sweetly. “What do you do?”

  “Finance,” he says, waving it off. “Tell me more. How did you two meet? What branch of the government, exactly?”

  When she leans in and cocks her head I grab my napkin to cut in. “If you’ll excuse us, we are here on a date.”

  “Oh no, Maxwell, honey, that’s all right,” she says, waving me off but looking directly at him. “He found me picking trash out of a dumpster and took pity on me. That’s Maxwell, he really does care for the less fortunate. I’m proof, look at me sitting here in a dress getting ready to order a decent meal in a fancy restaurant. I’ll be right back to sleeping on cardboard in a few hours but, I’m going to soak up every bit of his good charity before I go back.”

  Clearly finding this a hilarious joke, he plays right into it. “Maxwell she’s a charmer! Where have you been keeping her?”

  “As far away as possible, apparently,” she says, losing her smile. “I didn’t catch your name, sweetness.”

  “Well now, my name is Braden Whitmire, and your full name, darling? I have to know who I’m going to brag about this evening.”

  “Jules Allen,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Maxwell’s wife.”

  “Wife?” he asks, confused. “You’re the homeless girl?”

  “Do I look homeless to you?” she asks. “I shouldn’t; I made it a point to pick the trash out of my hair and everything.”

  “You need to leave, Braden,” I advise him. “We were just getting ready to order.”

  When he continues to look back and forth at us, Jules says her piece. “Braden Whitmire in finance,” she says making a note in her head. “I’ll run your name in the database and if anything comes up on you, I’ve got a face to go with the name now.”

  “What branch did you say you worked for?”

  Lifting her wine glass, taking a huge gulp, she simply says, “I didn’t.” Then opens her purse to reveal her 9mm that’s sitting next to her lipstick and cell phone.

  “Maxwell,” he says, standing. “Always good to see a familiar face, and Jules, it was memorable.”

  “For both of us,” she agrees, nodding her head. “Good luck in finance.”

  He quickly exits the table. I want to apologize and punch that cocksucker in the mouth, too. Reaching for her hand, I mutter, “Let’s go home.” When she stays seated I look down at her and repeat myself .“Jules, I messed up. Let’s go, all right? I don’t want to fight here.”

  “I’m hungry,” she says. “Are we going to order or not?”

  “You’ll stay?” I ask, sitting back down. “Here? We can eat anywhere, Jules. I don’t want you upset.”

  “This is going to be one of those situations that doesn’t seem funny now, but twenty in years, when I’m telling my own daughter of my first date, this is going to be hilarious. I don’t care where we are, Max; I want to be with you. I’ll stay on the promise that you’ll be you, is that fair?”

  Nodding my head in embarrassment, I realize she’s right. I don’t know if I thought bringing her here would impress her or what, but as usual she impressed me instead. Showing off won’t win Jules, and I know better.

  “Old habits,” I mumble. “Sorry, Blue.”

  She laughs at that, which makes me smile. When the waiter comes we order, then we sit back and get on with our first date. Not one person in the room compares to her, but every single one of them notices her. This is what I grew up with; it’s what I know. I may not embrace it like I used, to but at the same time, outside of the club, I don’t really fit in either. I’m too old to be searching for a place to fit, but being with her, I know I fit anywhere as long as she’s there.

  Excusing herself to use the restroom I watch her walk away, as does every male in the room with a pulse. Sliding my phone out I text Tony again, letting him know he’s needed here. Looking around the room taking in the various faces I ask myself why I ever came here. These people and I are strangers. Not a single soul in this room is recognizable to me. I really don’t belong anywhere. God, I am fucking pathetic.

  When she reappears I wrap her in my arms, lean her back, and kiss her as deep as she’ll allow. Wrapping her arms around my neck she gives it right back to me. Breaking the kiss and breathing heavy, she speaks first. “Thank you for dinner, Maxwell,” she says in her sultry voice. “Will there be dessert this evening?”

  Growling down at the woman in my arms “You are the dessert,” I tell her, pulling her from where we stand and drag her to the car, all but shoving her in so we can get back to her hotel where no dipshits or anyone else can bother us.

  He comes out of nowhere, slamming me against a wall. He wraps my hair up in his hand and pulls. His breath is wretched, he’s high, and in a minute he’s going to be praying for death.

  “Little bitch,” he growls in my ear. “I’m supposed to warn you off, but I could play with you a little first. He wouldn’t care.”

  With the brick biting into my back I bite my cheek until I can free my hands to destroy him. Fucking Hank needs to do better than this, seriously.

  “I need my hands, sugar,” I coo at him.

  “Hands right,” he says, smiling.

  The second I get one free I don’t even need the other to drop him. Just then Duffy clears the corner.

  “Boss!”

  “Get him out of here, Duffy,” I growl, kicking him away from me.

  “What the fuck? You’re letting him go?”

  “Let him run back and tell him he failed,” I mumble. “Let them finish him off.”

  “This is getting outta hand,” he growls. “Tell me the truth about your past then put an end to it, or I will.”

  “Oh I’m putting an end to it,” I tell him, smiling. “Trust me.”

  Driving back at warp speed I decide to use that time to sort out the murderous thoughts running through my head. I’m wearing a god damn dress that cost fifty bucks because he said ‘go comfortable.’ Taking me to Shenandoah Country Club is not comfortable, it’s dinner formal. I may not dress up as a rule, but I’ve dined at the White House, had cocktails with senators as well as various others in command, so I’m not so ignorant as to wear a cotton dress with ballet flats to a god damn country club. Knowing he has a membership doesn’t bother me; it was the about-face he did once we got there.

  You can’t blame that idiot, Braden either; clearly Hank likes to talk and people like to listen. My background doesn’t embarrass me, but nights like tonight make me wonder if it bothers him. In that environment he was just different. He was refined Max, cultured Max, and he cared what people thought. He comes from money and even owning Lush he has that way about him that reminds you where his roots are.

  I’m not angry, I’m disappointed. Did he think taking me there would impress me? I’ll admit, I liked it at first. Being there with him, semi-dressed-up, but it was the looks and the way he couldn’t relax that had me questioning his motives for bringing me. Deciding not to let Braden or anyone else ruin our night, I asked to stay when in reality I was ready to crawl out of my skin. At one point I even tried to make light of it with a joke, because twenty years from now it would be funny. Once we both relaxed I excused myself to go to the restroom and regroup. Coming back out he kissed me and short circuited my brain, and all thoughts of being upset with him vanished.

  Until now.

  “Why, Max?” I ask him, wondering what in the hell he was thinking. Does he not think the second we left that Braden fucking Whitmire wasn’t going to call Hank? I don’t need this additional headache right now, and Han
k doesn’t need the extra ammunition.

  “I wanted to take you someplace special, Blue,” he says. “Someplace outside of the city, and a place that was a small part of me.”

  “Then why did it feel like you took me there to show off? Why didn’t you warn me so I could have dressed for it?”

  “You look beautiful,” he says, touching my arm. “You’re prefect.”

  “Bullshit,” I argue. “I’m wearing a cheap dress from H&M because you left out our destination. Do you think I am so uncivilized I couldn’t dress myself for dinner?”

  “What are you talking about?” He growls. “I just said you look beautiful. What the fuck?”

  “What the fuck is right,” I start, turning toward him. “I’m not poor anymore, Maxwell. In fact, had I known, I could have gone to Nordstrom and bought a dress with heels and rivaled any woman in that room. Why did you blindside me like that?”

  Staying quiet for a moment, we pull into the hotel lot, but neither of us moves. “You shouldn’t have to compete, Blue. Jesus, I just wanted to take you to dinner. What everyone else was wearing means nothing to me, all right?”

  “It’s not all right,” I growl. “You dressed for dinner formal, I dressed for a god damn hoedown! Please correct me if I’m wrong here, but I swear it feels like you want me one step beneath you. You already outclass me, Max. You didn’t have to parade me in front of a group of rich people to remind me of that. I’m reminded every time your father speaks to me, every time you speak to me.”

  “It’s not like that,” he argues. “I don’t talk down to you, god dammit!”

  “Jules is your name, isn’t it? Do you want me to call you Blue in public?” I sneer at him.

  “You can order whatever you like, as if eating out is new for me. I am me wherever I go; you are yourself sometimes. I don’t know who that was back there, sitting back letting that idiot run his mouth like that. The guy who owns a kick-ass club that has kick-ass friends and treats me as an equal, introduce me to that guy.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, looking out his window. “I didn’t want that to happen.”

  Opening my door and stepping out, I level him with the truth before I slam it shut “But it did happen, and you allowed it.”

  Getting out of the car he follows me into the lobby; once in the elevator he pulls me to him. “I’m sorry,” he says, kissing my neck. “I’m trying, Blue, really fucking hard.”

  Closing me eyes while he continues to nibble on my throat I decided to let it go. He’s right, he is trying. I need to stop looking for reasons to push him away, so yeah, he’s forgiven. Besides what he’s doing feels really fucking good.

  Running my fingers through his hair I turn my head to suck his earlobe. When he moans I whisper, “You kissed my neck; it’s official now you have to fuck me.”

  When his hands lift my dress and his right hand finds me wet he walks me two steps back into the wall of the elevator. “I’m still hungry for my dessert,” he growls. “I plan on using my tongue to eat it, all of it.”

  Saved by the ding of the elevator, he pulls me out practically running down the hall to my room, swipes the card, and proceeded to show me how much he wanted his dessert. In fact it was so good, we both had seconds.

  “She took another mission,” Gallo says, sitting across from me. “She’s been at her apartment twice in the last six months.”

  “Christ,” I groan. “Missions where?”

  “Everywhere,” he says. “Look, maybe it’s time you let her go?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If she wanted you, don’t you think she would call, or I don’t know, show up?”

  “I’m not giving up on her, god dammit!”

  “Your call,” he says, standing up “But the only thing your wife does is whatever the government tells her to do. If she wanted to be married, she’d be here, not in a third-world country.”

  “This is my fault,” I say to myself.

  “I agree,” he says. “It is your fault, but neither one of you has made a move. I’m just asking you to consider it. You both deserve a life, Max.”

  While she showers I order room service and try calling Tony. It goes straight to voicemail as usual, and I leave the same message. Fucking call me, I need your help.

  I’m fortunate she let my fuck-up go last night. When she slammed the door I was positive I was going to bed alone. Apologizing worked, thank god. After that we were able to salvage the rest of the night, and I was able to give her two solid orgasms. She says we have a busy day today. Once the food arrives we eat. She calls to check on Bishop, and then we leave to start training.

  Pulling up to the range she grabs her gun bag that probably weighs more than she does, and we head in. Several times I try taking it from her, but every time she slaps my hand away, telling me “I got it.” Never one for guns, when we walk in, it’s overwhelming. There are thousands of guns in the store. While she turns our forms in and gets targets I glance out through the glass to watch others shoot. Mostly men, a few women, but none them come close to my teacher. She instructs me to put on glasses and ear protection, and then we head to lane six.

  She takes five pistols out, arranges a rows of ammunition, loads several magazines, and then pushes a button and then the target heads down range. It seems like a long shot to me but she assures me fifteen yards isn’t far. Trying to grasp her instructions while guns are being fired isn’t easy, but I get the basics. Safety, point the barrel down range, slide to load, and pull to fire. She also explains what the sights are for, but informs me she target shoots; I don’t bother to inform her I have no idea what that means.

  Going first she balances her weight evenly on both legs, stretches both arms, her thumbs meet, and then it’s a series of boom, boom, boom, boom, boom. When she lowers her pistol I look at the target. Five shots, all in the heart. Damn.

  Letting me have my pick, I go for the 9mm she just used and following her moves, I do the same. The first trigger pull startles me, but in a good way. So I fire again, then again and again. Removing the magazine, setting the pistol down, I look down at her and I see a surprised but happy look on her face. She shakes her head, presses the button and brings the target back. My shots, each of them, are almost on top of hers. No shit.

  After that she lets me try out each pistol, and my favorite is the .40. I tell her as much and then she smiles and says, “Then it’s yours.”

  Blowing through hundreds of rounds she calls it quits, letting me know I’m good on the guns, but advises me moving targets are much more challenging. She may have said fun, not challenging, but as much as I enjoyed the range, my shooting a person in real life doesn’t seem possible.

  Breaking for lunch she fills me in on exactly what she’s heard about the club, and no doubt my shock about hearing it is written all over my face. I knew I had some problems, but I didn’t know this.

  “Tomorrow when you talk to Hank,” she says, shoving chips in her mouth, “you can three-way it or put it on speaker, but either way, I’m on that call.”

  I nod my agreement and the rest of lunch is spent explaining to me the next phase of my training. Hand to hand is next. I’m looking forward to having my hands all over my wife, but the thought of her hands on me in this case scares me shitless.

  “Max?” she asks, stealing my fries. When I look up she asks me a very difficult question to answer. “When this is over would you visit me in DC?”

  Swallowing the bite I just took is a struggle. Visit her? “No,” I say forcing it down. “I’m not visiting you, Blue.”

  “I see,” she says, setting her own sandwich down.

  “I don’t think you do,” I tell her. “Whether you stay or go I’ll be with you. There won’t be any visiting, not anymore.”

  Blinking at me then closing her eyes, she whispers, “Okay, Max.” And just like that we were back on equal footing again.

  “How’s single life?” I ask her.

  “How’s married life?” she asks
back.

  “I don’t see him enough,” I complain. “I feel like we’re becoming strangers.”

  “That’s why I fuck strangers,” she says. “Then afterward I don’t have to see them at all.”

  “Well that’s depressing,”

  “Try being on this side of the phone.”

  Advising Max to stretch, I follow suit, watching his muscles flex and finding myself drooling. He really has no idea how gorgeous he is. Max is extremely tall and lean in some places, yet bulky in others. When I first saw him on his bike I wondered which country club he’d just come from, but years of living in the city has relaxed him and his style. He’s a Detroiter now, and it looks hot on him.

  Crooking my finger at him, he lops over and stands there towering above me waiting for instruction. “The difference in our size may throw you, but considering you’re bigger than most anyway, you’ve got to learn to use your size to your advantage. I’m smaller and built for speed, whereas you have super strength. So first I want you to grab me.”

  “Grab you where?”

  “Anywhere.”

  He stands there staring at my tits with such focus I want to roll my eyes at him. When his male instincts are telling him to fuck instead of fight, I roll my eyes again because men really are simple creatures. Think of all the wars that could be won if women stood on the front lines popping their tops? Lightly slapping him in the face his eyes snap back to me. “Eyes up, Romeo.” I tell him “Grab me anywhere except my tits.”

  “You’re taking the fun out of this.”

  “Max.” I warn, and then he reacts pulling me to him by my shoulders and pinning me there. I love the solid wall of his chest, but it’s learn first, lick later. I break his hold easily by using pressure points, and if he’s shocked I did it, it doesn’t show. He looks impressed, which has my thighs warming up.

  “Again.”

  This time he goes for a full-on tackle, and fuck me he’s a lot faster than a guy his size should be. On my back with him on top of me my body says invite him in for a spell, but I don’t. Instead, I free my left hand, my index and pointer into a hook, and press down and in to the hollow of his throat. He rears back grabbing his throat, fighting for air. Taking him back in a tackle I’m now on top of him with his right wrist in a full lock, and if I apply any more pressure I’ll break it.