I had no clue what I looked like other than I knew my jaw had dropped, and I could feel blood dripping down my face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No.” Then it dawned on him. “Hey, aren’t the U.S. Marshals the guys that handle people like you.”
“Yes, and mine is missing.”
His face suddenly matched mine. Minus the blood, of course. “You shouldn’t be alone. You definitely shouldn’t stay here. You can call Jillesa. Or come stay with me and my mom.”
Finishing up with the door, Freddie walked over and said, “You can stay upstairs. You’d be close enough to your stuff that you wouldn’t need to pack anything, and I can accompany you anytime you need to come down here.”
No, I wasn’t being run out of my apartment. “Guys, I’ll be fine. Freddie you just made it like Fort Knox in here.”
“Locks won’t stop someone if they really want in.” He sounded so ominous.
“Look, I’ll honestly be fine.” I went over to the end table near my couch and grabbed a pen and paper, then slammed it on the counter with unnecessary force. “Why don’t you both write down your numbers. If I need something, I’ll call one of you. Now, excuse me while I go clean up.”
As I walked away, I heard them whispering.
“Doesn’t it bother you to see her like that?” asked Miguel.
“No. Why doesn’t it bother you though?”
When I returned, freshly washed and shirt changed, Miguel was gone. He left his number on the pad of paper. I noticed that Freddie’s wasn’t.
“I don’t have a phone,” he answered my unasked question.
“Oh,” was the only response I had for him. “Listen, I’m still hungry, and I actually don’t want to be alone right now. Does the offer still stand?”
He smiled coolly. “Yes, it does. Let me clean up this stuff, and I’ll run and...get the ingredients. It should only take me fifteen minutes to get some real food in you.”
“Really. You that quick of a cook?”
“Clearly you like your food rare, darling. I can chop up some steak tartare in minutes.”
My bastard of a stomach growled his desire. “Sounds great. I guess I’ll be up in twenty.”
If I'm Going To Die Anyway, I Should Definitely Orgasm First.
Freddie opened the door to his apartment as I was hitting the last three steps, as if he could hear or sense me. He was wearing a crisp, white button-down shirt, untucked, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was a good look on him. Classy, yet cool and confident. The dark wash jeans showed off his impressive ass as much as the rolled sleeves gave glimpses of strong forearms. There was no place to look that didn’t send my libido sky high and singing Disney songs about princes. Well, Freddie was more like the dragons, but I knew where my drift was going.
“How on earth did you put up your tools, get dinner, make dinner, and change?”
“I’m just that fast, darling. Bet you could be almost as fast as me if you tried.” His statement was knowing. Did he not catch me attempting to keep up with him the other night? Clearly, I’m not fast and may never be if I couldn’t stop eating. Or does protein help physical performance? Hell, I’d never stepped a single toe into a gym, so I knew nothing about this shit.
“Yeah, well, I won’t be.” I sniffed the air. “Oh, my fucking god, what smells so delicious.”
He looked proud. “Got you a very special cut. You’ll love it.”
I walked into his kitchen, which had an actual table, unlike mine, and was already set with expensive looking tableware and lit candles. “Wow. You’re really trying to get in my pants, aren’t you?”
He sputtered. “I— I—”
“I’m joking, Hammerdick. Relax. No one has ever gone through this much trouble for me is all. It’s nice.” I really meant it.
He visibly relaxed at my command. “I’m only trying to feed you. You’re hungry and need proper sustenance.” He paused then added, “But if you ever want to see if your little nickname fits, you’re welcome to test it out. After dinner.”
Oh my. I was speechless. That was a definite invitation, but I’d promised myself I wouldn’t get involved with anyone. Especially not one that enticed me as much as he did.
No. I was not testing out his nickname. “Feed me, Schwinghammer.”
He pulled out a chair for me, and I settled in. It was very gentlemanly. He went into the kitchen and when he returned, he sat a delicate plate with a perfectly rounded mold of meat in front of me. It looked a bit like beef, but it smelled so much more delectable. Rich, fresh, and almost a bit spicy.
This time, I remembered to have enough decorum to grab the fork to my right-hand side. It was intricately designed and probably real silver. I gingerly slid the tines into one chunk of the tenderest flesh and lifted the morsel to my mouth. The first bite hit me like a blast of inspiration. As I chewed, my thoughts exploded and became clearer than they’d been in weeks. I could feel every cell in my body begin to wake up. To become alive. My pain subsided. My fatigue disappeared completely. I felt like myself again. No. Better than myself.
Before I knew it, I’d finished every bit of what I’d been served. I looked up at Freddie who sat across from me and was smiling sweetly, almost with pride.
“That’s good,” he said. The words implied that he agreed with my assessment of the taste and the feelings I was left with, but he hadn’t touched his at all while I ate. His tone, however, implied that he was more satisfied that I enjoyed the meal rather than that he had himself.
I stared longingly at the untouched plate that was identical to the one I had devoured. He pushed it to me across the table. “I’ve already fed,” he said matter-of-factly. His English was still so odd to my native ears, but I understood what he meant, and I appreciated the gesture and generosity.
I moved my plate to the side and took his, digging into the offered dish with even more gusto than before. It was fucking orgasmic. I watched Freddie watch me eat and could see — no — I felt the sexual tension in him tightening his whole body. Maybe he had a fetish. It would explain away every single time he mentioned food to me before. If I would even consider being in a relationship with this man, it could get interesting. He certainly didn’t mind seeing me ravenously make a mess of myself. But why? I knew what I looked like when I went to the bathroom to wash up. Miguel had an excuse. He thought I was a zombie or vampire. What excuse did Freddie have for being unbothered by the show? At least I had more control now.
Oddly, as I pushed away the second plate, I felt a satisfaction I’d been missing for a while. My hunger, for once, felt fully sated.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Something I’ve been trying to get my hands on for the last few days. It’s been elusive,” was his fucking weird-ass response.
“That doesn’t really answer my question.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his perfectly chiseled chest, the lines of it becoming visible with the move. He scrutinized me. After far too many uncomfortable seconds, he finally said, “That’s because you’re still not really prepared for the answer.” With that, he got up and removed the plates and silverware from the table.
“You are a strange, infuriating asshole. Did you know that?”
“I do. I’ve spent years perfecting the personality you seem so not fond of.”
Now that was interesting. “Why?”
“Because it keeps people away.”
“Do you really want to keep me away?” I asked, my ego deflated.
I stood and faced him as he washed the dishes and dried each one, putting them away in cabinets and drawers immediately. A neat freak apparently. So, he was obsessed with exercise, cleanliness, and keeping people away. Well, at least we had that last part in common. Except I didn’t feel that way much anymore, so why did I want this man so badly?
“Not you, darling.” There it was, that tone. That look of adoration in his eyes. That goddamn antiquated term of endearment. Those things
are what made me want Freddie. Commonality be damned. Opposites did attract, right?
He pulled out two glasses and a bottle of wine. “You drink?”
“Very little.”
“I promise not to inebriate you. I just want to have a drink and talk.” He looked sincere.
“Just one glass.”
Freddie opened the bottle. It looked old and expensive. When he poured, a dark red liquid drained into each glass. A tangy scent hit me. It’d been years since I had a good wine, but I remembered that that scent was the tannins. It was the sign of a good vintage. He swirled each glass lightly, the liquid coating the glass just slightly before running back down to pool at the bottom. “We will let this breathe for a moment. How about helping me find some music.” Yes music. That is what I needed to calm myself from the effect he had on me, not alcohol.
He led me into his living room. He had a bureau there with a record player and hundreds of records standing on either side of it. I fumbled through it. Classical. Jazz. Very old Rock. They must have belonged to his grandfather. There was no way that Freddie was into this stuff. He seemed more like the type to enjoy contemporary music. Maybe Imagine Dragons. But that wasn’t what he pulled out of the stack.
“I think you’ll enjoy this.” He showed me an album with a bright yellow cover and a single pair of black shoes crisscrossed as the art.
A flash of memories hit me. Go, Cat, Go by Carl Perkins with tons of other artists joining him. I remembered the day my father brought this album home. It was my fifth birthday, and he had thought I’d like to play it at my party. When I did, the other kids booed. They didn't have the good taste to enjoy Rockabilly. My dad just shrugged and said we’d listen to it later. We did. We listen to it until three hours past my bedtime. Dancing the night away. It was our favorite from that day until the day he died a year later.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you so.” Freddie looked concerned. How did he know. I checked my eyes for tears. Nothing.
“I’m not upset. This just brings back memories. Good ones,” I quickly added. “You’ll play it?”
“Of course,” he answered with a bright smile.
He gently pulled out the record and placed it on the player, moving the needle arm to the first song. Immediately, the guitars and drumbeat entered my soul, ramping me up even further as a complement to the effect dinner still had on me. I closed my eyes and tapped my foot along with the song, singing merrily along. I didn’t even notice that Freddie had walked away until he took my hand and pressed a glass of wine into my palm. I took a sip—it really was a good vintage—and sang to him about how all mama’s children wanted to rock and roll. He laughed merrily. I could tell it made him feel good to please me.
As the next song started to play, I felt bold enough to walk around the apartment. I sipped more wine and was aware of him following closely, but not close enough that I felt like he was uncomfortable with me looking around. Everything was old. I kept forgetting that none of this was Freddie’s stuff. It still seemed to belong to him somehow.
There were photos of his grandfather that made it clear they were related. “Jeez, you two look exactly alike. No wonder you’re named after him.” Even though the photos were in black and white, I could see that Frederich Schwinghammer had the same dark hair and mysterious brown eyes as Freddie. The chiseled jaw, the soft lips, the muscular physique...were all the same as his grandson’s.
Freddie peered over my shoulder at the group of photos. “I haven’t paid attention to these for years.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. I guess we do look a lot alike.”
I turned to him. He was close. Very close. “Is it okay to talk about him now. I mean, I don’t want to upset you. I know he isn’t doing well.”
“No. You’re fine, I’m not upset. I just would rather talk about you.” He took a long swallow of wine.
“There’s not much to say about me.” Lie. “My life is boring really.” Super big-ass fucking lie.
“How about we sit on the couch, and you tell me why you needed new locks, a security door brace, and why your friend suggested you stay with him?”
That’s the part of that conversation he locked onto, huh? I followed him to an antique couch with blood-red, velvet-like fabric and a high back that curved and swerved with intricate designs carved into the wood. It was very old and expensive looking but well taken care of, just like everything else in the apartment. It seemed as though Frederich was a neat freak as well. Another thing they had in common.
I sat on the surprisingly comfortable furniture and stalled. “Tell me about your life in Germany. Were you in school? What did you do for work?”
“Nope, Kayla. Tonight is about you.” Freddie leaned in close to me, and I looked deep into his eyes. They did that thing again where they got more and more golden-colored. “Talk to me.”
I word-vomited. “Well, there’s a lot to tell. My ex is the capo of an L.A. cartel for one. I’m under federal protection because I witnessed one murder and committed another to end the person’s suffering from torture done under my ex’s command. He’s sent people after me, though I think one of them keeps killing the others so he can have the bounty to himself. I saw him today. He may know where I live, he may not, but he definitely killed my handler who, according to Miguel, was probably working with my ex anyway. Maybe Peter was holding out the exact address to convince Jorge to pay him more money. It explains a lot, like how he found me, but not exactly what happened today. I need to call Jack and see if he knows anything. Jack’s on my squad. Those are my friends that are helping find the killer. Except now we know it’s definitely tied to Jorge and not you. Sometimes, I thought it was you, but then I didn’t. It was your runs. And the shoes. I still don’t know who sent those. Do you still want me to go on?” Lord, where the hell had all that come from?
“No, I think I have enough information. Thank you for telling me.”
“I’m not exactly sure why I did that. It’s not the best first date conversation. If this even is a date. Is it?” Why was I suddenly so nervous with him? It’s like my brain had full clarity of everything I was doing and saying, but I didn’t want to say any of it, and my heart had the major jitters.
He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed it. “It’s whatever you want it to be, love. I’m here completely and totally for you. Just say the words, and I’ll oblige you in anything.”
It was an invitation, and I knew exactly to what. But did I want it? A weird thing occurred. His eyes returned to normal as I looked into them and a sense of calm swept over my entire body. I felt better, and my thoughts felt like my own again. I was able to fully decipher the situation. Despite the feeling that there was more to him than he’d ever let me know, here was a man that I lusted for sitting next to me and lusting for me just the same. He didn’t seem to care about my past or my misdeeds or the fact that I ate meat like a wild dog. In fact, I had the sense he would protect me from anything and take care of every need, physical or mental.
I made up my mind. If Jorge or a sicario got to me tomorrow, it would not be without me experiencing one last orgasm and the PPPP just wouldn’t do for this job.
I sat my now empty glass on the coffee table and stood up. “Does your apartment have the same layout as mine?”
“Yes. Why?” He looked perplexed, but he’d understand soon enough.
“I’m going to your bedroom. I’m sure you’ll be cleaning up before joining me because that just seems like it’s what you do. But when you come back there, I’ll be naked, and you’re going to show me just how big that hammerdick is.”
I glanced over my shoulder as I walked away, and he was already palming his namesake. He never did wash those damn glasses. And his nickname is now Thor’s Hammerdick.
The Mystery Box
I awoke at some ungodly hour with Freddie’s heavy arm wrapped tightly around my waist, feeling thoroughly satiated in one way—the way that really counts—but I felt a slight twinge of hunger. He was sleeping li
ke a dead man. After a lot of maneuvering and cursing up a storm, I dislodged myself. He never even changed his extremely slow breathing pattern.
As much as I loved the blackout curtains in my bedroom, I hated the ones in his because my bare ass spent several minute shuffling around on the floor looking for where he’d thrown my clothes while he was being uncharacteristically messy while getting me naked before he began meticulously ravishing me. I finally found my underwear and tank top, which was going to have to do for my snack mission.
Entering his living room, I got a good look at the only clock in the house. One of those big grandfather types that old people loved. It was half past four according to it. The sun would be rising soon, so I figured eating a bit now would count as a normal breakfast...for someone out there.
I went into his kitchen and opened the fridge. It was not only completely empty, but it was also pristine, as if it’d never been used and seemed to be brand new. So, where did he put the food from the night before. There had to be leftovers. I hoped there were leftovers. There was a standing freezer in the corner of the kitchen. That — as weird as it was — had to be where he kept his food. But when I walked over, I noticed it was padlocked. What the fuck? Was Exercise Boy on some extreme diet where he had to lock up food so he wouldn’t be tempted to eat it? Or is there something in there he wants to keep away from me?
I had two options: I could find a hammer and get myself into that mystery freezer or I could walk my curious ass downstairs and eat some of the meat that Miguel brought me last night.
My stomach suddenly turned into Scooby Doo; my brain was Shaggy. Food first. Solve mystery later. I grabbed my keys off his counter and snuck out of a man’s apartment in the wee hours of the morning, doing the walk of shame for absolutely no one.
Kiss Me, I'm Undead Page 16