Gun Shy

by Lili St. Germain

  Teresa Carlino was funny. She was generous, she was kind. She was the sort of person who really listened to you when you talked. And she was such a good mother. And later, she was such a good wife.

  Until she wasn’t.

  It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been spying on Cassie as she showered. And I definitely shouldn’t have had my cock in my hand while I was doing it. But it was hardly hurting anyone, was it?

  Then Teresa came home early from work one day, and the sound of the shower drowned out the noise of her footsteps.

  My wife caught me peeping on her daughter like a dirty pervert, and I had to do something. She started saying words like underage and divorce, and I wasn’t about to lose my life a second time.

  I always knew I’d kept Ray around for a reason. After Teresa kicked me out of the house, I drove straight to Ray’s place. He’d know what to do. He always knew what to do.

  “I need to do something before she outs me,” I said, pacing the length of Ray’s tiny kitchen in Reno. Ray leaned against the counter, drinking Pabst, watching me wear a hole in the linoleum.

  “You think you can convince her she imagined it?” Ray asked slowly.

  I shook my head. “No. Nope. She’s too sharp.” I tapped my head with my index finger. “She’s too fucking switched on.”

  “So you got to get rid of her,” Ray said. “Simple. Just you and the kid, like you always wanted.”

  I stared at him, disgusted. “She’s not a kid. Don’t call her a kid.”

  Ray made a face, seemingly amused by my disgust as he put his hands up in surrender. “What are you gonna do about the boyfriend? By the sounds of it, those two are fucking like rabbits in that damn car of his every second they get.”

  I stopped pacing. “Fuck. I don’t know. One death I can explain. Two is gonna be fucking impossible.”

  Ray shrugged. “Well, you know what they say about two birds and one stone. Or two birds and one car.”

  “I’m listening,” I replied.

  Ray got excited. Ray wanted to help me get rid of Teresa and Leo.

  And I wanted to let him.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  DAMON

  Two birds and one stone.

  That’s how Ray and I approached the problem with Teresa and Leo. Except neither of them fucking died, did they? It was always a risk, doing something so messily. But Teresa’s survival was probably a good thing, in the end. It kept Cassie locked to me, to the house, to her mother. She was too guilty to leave, even after all the things I did to her. I would say with her, but it was pretty apparent that she was not a willing party to our relationship. Not at first, anyway.

  We managed to get rid of Leo for eight years, though. God, was that fucking blissful. By the time he was up for parole, I was dealing with another problem: a problem with a tight pussy and a mouth like a Hoover.

  Jennifer Thomas.

  What an injustice. Getting out after less than half of his sentence had been completed? Before I’d managed to get Cassie pregnant with my baby, ensure she’d never leave? I mean, eight years goes past in the blink of an eye, and I should have moved faster, focused on the task, hell - even moved her and her vegetative mother out of town where Leo Bentley could never find us. But I was greedy. I wanted it all. I wanted my town and my stepdaughter and Jennifer’s golden pussy. And I never, not in a million years, thought that Leo’s parole would go through so soon.

  Leo fucking Bentley. I should have killed him the first chance I got. I should have worked harder to pin Karen’s murder on him. It was all set up so damn perfectly. She was in his well! He would have gotten death row, or at the very least, life without parole.

  But I was soft. I faltered. I saw how much Cassie loved him, the way her eyes went soft every time she looked at him. Like he was the sun. I should have blacked out the sun and kept her in the dark, with me.

  I USE PEOPLES’ weaknesses against them.

  Leo’s was alcohol. Cassie’s, her mother.

  Everybody has a weakness waiting to be exploited.

  I tried to do it to Jennifer, but it doesn’t work on everyone. Sometimes people aren’t damaged enough to fall for the bait, and other times, they’re too far gone. I should have known that when Jennifer sat on my desk, spread her legs, and told me she’d always wanted to be fucked by a police officer. She had me wrapped around her little finger. Bitch.

  Occasionally, people just can’t be blackmailed. Most of the time, though, they can. I should know. I was taught by the best. My self-proclaimed father, the one who raised me from perdition. His words, not mine. The one who stole me from everything I’d ever known and then turned me into the thing that I am.

  “I need five hundred dollars,” Jennifer said to me, and then I finally had a weakness to exploit.

  Jennifer, sixteen-year-old Jennifer fucking Thomas, needed five hundred dollars.

  Because she was pregnant.

  With my baby.

  And she needed me to pay for an abortion.

  RAY WAS THERE, as always, his thirst for bloodletting second only to his loyalty to me. I told him my problems, my two threats, and he sat back in his recliner. “Two birds and one stone,” he said.

  THE THING IS, I don’t even like brunettes.

  But Jennifer fucking Thomas swore black and blue that she was a natural blonde, and when I wouldn’t believe her, she sat her ass up on my desk and spread her legs, no panties, cheerleading skirt hitched up around her hips, and that girl was telling the truth. She used L’Oreal to make the hair on her head a glossy brown, mascara to turn her blonde eyelashes a plump black, and my desk to prove that she was lying about it all. I always found it strange; I mean, the girl was smart. I think that was her whole problem with being blonde, though. She knew she was smart, and she wanted everybody else to notice, too. Hence the L’Oreal and the Max Factor mascara. I know the brands because she had them both with her when I took her. Who packs a box of hair dye to touch up their roots when they’re going to get a fucking abortion?

  I had some giant fucking warning flags when it came to Jennifer fucking Thomas. I didn’t choose her. She chose me and pursued me, and that should have been my first warning to stay away. I should have known better. But the cock wants what the cock wants, and when what the cock wants is presented on a silver platter — or a Formica desk, as it turns out — the cock takes.

  She was a virgin. That surprised me. I didn’t find that out until I was balls deep in her and she started crying. That really pissed me off, you know? You want your first time to be special. My first time with Cassie was special. My first time with Jennifer was decidedly not special.

  Warning signs. Fucking neon signs. The girl was unhinged. But she was persistent. She chose me, is what she’d said. I already had Cassie, but I could see that Cassie was struggling, and I’m not a total asshole (even though you think I am). I fucked Jennifer on the side, it gave Cassie some breathing room, and things were going swimmingly well.

  But here’s the problem with someone pursuing you. When someone chooses you, it inevitably ends up on their terms. That’s why I chose Cassie, see? I chose her.

  My rules.

  My terms.

  My needs.

  My wants.

  Jennifer fucking Thomas.

  Pregnant. The bitch told me she was on birth control, and of course I believed her. Another warning sign. I came in that girl so often, I’m surprised there wasn’t a whole litter of babies up in there. I think that thrilled her a little bit, to have that power over me. To have a part of me inside her. If we’re talking about sociopaths, let’s talk about this baby sociopath, this teenage fucking dream. Let me tell you right now: she sucked dick like a champion, but not enough to make me forget that she was not the girl I really wanted.

  Don’t get me wrong, she was a beautiful girl. You think I’m a monster, but I cried when I watched Ray pour dirt over her dead body, down the throat of the girl who was broken and bleeding but who might’ve been saved if she’d gotten a goo
d doctor, a hysterectomy and about ten bags of blood. Yeah. I know all about that miscarriage stuff. My own mother nearly died once, when I was four years old. She was almost dead when I found her in bed because she wasn’t up and pouring my Cinnamon Toast Crunch when I woke up. I went to her room to find her, my stomach growling with hunger, her hands and the blankets all covered in red. Her blood had soaked through the sheets, and there was a blue tinge around her lips. I thought she was dead, but she wasn’t. A good doctor, a hysterectomy and about ten bags of blood saved my mother, and at the same time, ensured I would be the only child she ever had. But that was different. It was so very different.

  Jennifer fucking Thomas. She had to get pregnant, didn’t she? Pregnant and sixteen, and the bitch insisted on getting an abortion.

  I pretended to concede to her wishes if she’d only let me take her to the clinic myself.

  She wanted to let a stranger stick his cold metal speculum inside her womb and murder my unborn child so she could forget about it and go off to fucking college. I don’t think so, honey, is what I said to her when I dragged her up to the attic and threw her inside my wooden box, the same one I’m in now, bound and gagged and bleeding from where I’d punched her in the nose.

  An abortion. That was never going to happen. As if, after everything, I’d just let some punk kid throw my baby away like it was trash.

  I mean, I know, it was less than ideal. I’m not an idiot. The town sheriff knocking up a little sixteen-year-old cheerleader is bad fucking news. It’s technically not illegal — age of consent is sixteen in Nevada, don’t think I didn’t Google that shit to double-check as soon as I’d fucked her that first time — but a cop and a high school student? She could have ruined me. I’d lose my badge, my job. I’d lose my town, and most of all, I might just lose my Cassie.

  TWO BIRDS AND ONE STONE. This time it was Jennifer and Leo. I promised Jennifer I’d give her the five hundred dollars for an abortion if she’d just do one small thing for me first.

  Okay. Not that small. All she had to do was get some of Leo Bentley’s DNA. Not that hard for a girl so pretty, so seductive, so manipulative. Walk in the park. Or a drive in the forest, in her case.

  “What’d you do with him?” I asked Jennifer, still stinking of sex after I’d picked her up from the road in front of her house.

  Jennifer shrugged.

  “Jenny.”

  She squirmed. “I did what you said.”

  I thought of Leo Bentley putting his dirty hands on the mother of my child and I felt nothing. I thought about Leo Bentley putting his dirty hands on Cassie and I wanted to smash the whole world until everything bled.

  “You know I have to ask—”

  “My panties,” she said dully. “I wiped his… stuff on my panties. There’s enough DNA there for— Jesus, I don’t know. There was a lot.”

  “Mmm,” I said. “Eight year’s worth.”

  She scrunched her face up. “You think he hasn’t come in eight years?”

  I couldn’t believe I used to think she was smart. “Not inside a sixteen-year old’s cunt, no.”

  She leaned back; she seemed stressed. “You’re not going to do anything bad with it, are you? His DNA?”

  “Why?” I asked slowly. “Would that upset you?”

  “Damon!” she said sharply. “You told me it was just to keep him away from Cassie.”

  “Exactly,” I grinned. “Very far away.”

  “But… how?”

  Fucking idiot still hadn’t connected the dots. For a moment, I wondered if I wanted my offspring to have half her DNA, because how could she not understand what was happening?

  “Never mind about the details,” I said, leaning across the center console of my car to press my forehead to hers. “What can I do to thank you for your hard work tonight?” And Jennifer didn’t melt into me like she always did, a girl with daddy issues as far and wide as the days she’d been alive. No, this time she gave me the look. I knew that look. It was the look that said, I’m done with you.

  I knew that look.

  I’d seen it on my father’s face.

  I’d seen it on Teresa’s face.

  I’ve seen it on Cassie’s face.

  I’d been expecting the look from Jennifer, but I can’t say it didn’t hurt.

  We’d spent many a night in my car, my fingers in her pussy, her mouth on my dick; but she’d never turned away from me before.

  “You can thank me by giving me my money,” she said quietly, looking straight ahead. Her casual indifference — give me the cash so I can pay for our baby’s murder — made my eyes ache. But I had to make sure I didn’t scare her. There was still some small shred of me that believed, even then, that I could talk her into doing the right thing and carry that baby willingly to term.

  I know; I was a fool. A blind fool.

  “Why are you even asking me?” I snapped. “Poor little rich girl. Your daddy would carry more than that in his wallet any day of the week.”

  She glared at me. “Because he didn’t come inside me after he promised to pull out.”

  I snickered. “Oh, your daddy pulls out every time?”

  “You did this to me,” she accused, ignoring my jab at her obvious daddy issues. “You said you’d pull out. You didn't. I'm pregnant. Asshole.”

  “You said you were taking birth control,” I replied.

  “I-had-a-fucking-stomach-virus!” she hissed. “How was I supposed to know throwing up makes the pills useless?”

  It seemed perfectly logical to me how throwing up a pill could make it ineffective, but again, I was starting to realize how stupid my pretty little Jennifer was.

  “And what happens if I don’t give you the money?” I asked, feigning boredom. In reality, my blood was simmering, my eyes bloodshot. I regretted getting into this conversation before I got my dick sucked. I tried to forget that, to focus on the fact that I now had everything I needed to cover my tracks, to kill two birds with one stone. Make Jennifer disappear, pin it on Leo, and kick back with Cassie while the chips fell. I still hadn’t figured out how I would explain the brand new baby that would arrive in about six months time, but I still had plenty of time to start constructing an elaborate story. I’d invent a long-lost sister, or maybe a cousin, somebody who was sick or drug-addicted or just a fucking mess. I would ‘rescue’ their child from them and everyone would think me a hero, and I’d be the best daddy there ever was. Cassie would finally forget about Leo Bentley because my child would steal her heart instead. She’d be a good mother. We would be a family. Jennifer could have had this, but Jennifer was a selfish cunt.

  I knew I’d have to kill Jennifer once the baby was born. It’s so sad; I had a real affinity for the girl, but I had a far greater affinity for my own son or daughter she insisted on holding hostage inside her womb.

  “You can’t ever come back from a decision like this,” I said to her. I already knew in my heart that Jenny was too far gone. She didn’t want to be a teenage mother. She didn’t want to let her family down. She didn’t want to shame her famous football star brother.

  “I stole one of my brother’s credit cards,” she said. “If you don’t give me the money like you promised, I’ll take it from his account. He won’t even miss it.”

  “There’s nothing I can do to change your mind, is there.” I was stating a fact, but she felt the need to argue anyway.

  “You think I wanted this to happen?” she yelled, tears in her eyes as she slapped my hand from her shoulder. “You did this to me, Damon. You told me it would be okay. And now look what you’ve done. I’m ruined. You ruined me. And I’m not having a baby so I can be like every other girl in this town. I’m not going to give my life for some ungrateful fucking kid to destroy. I’m not going to live and die in Gun Creek because you’re too much of an asshole to wear a fucking condom. This is my life. Don’t you care about my life?!”

  I ground my teeth so hard my jaw ached. Black dots swam in my vision. I wanted to beat her fucking skull
in, and I would have were she not carrying my child.

  She pulled out her midnight-black Kate Spade purse, the one her daddy bought for her for her sixteenth birthday, and I thought it so ironic; That I gave her a human being for her sixteenth birthday and he gave her this wallet and she hated the thing I gave her but the piece of dead animal, the shiny leather, is what made her eyes light up every time she took the damn thing out and stroked its slick surface.

  I thought of all the times I’d politely smiled and nodded along with women’s rights protests, of course women should be able to choose because I lied. I’m not pro-choice at all. I’m pro-me. I’m pro don’t fucking abort my kid, you stupid little girl.

  I’m so sorry, Jenny, but that was the end of the line for you and your tight mouth and your expensive little purse.

  Never choose somebody who worries about their appearance more than the things that matter. It’s impossible, isn’t it, because we all want the beautiful.

  We all want the young. But in that moment, staring at the mother of my unborn child as she held her perfectly manicured hand out for five hundred dollars, I realized how inherently ugly Jennifer Thomas really was. Peel away the surface and I could see her skull and her bones and the way she’d fit neatly into the earth when it came time for me to bury her.

  I smiled because at the end of it all was blessed relief. I’d take her home and put her away and make her do as she was told. I had regained control. I was the hero. I would rescue my son — I was so sure it was a boy. She would push him from her body with no painkillers, no doctors, just a towel to bite down on and rope to keep her from trying to run. And when I finally murdered that bitch I’d spend the five hundred dollars she so desperately wanted on a fucking pine box to bury her in.

  “Fine,” I said, reaching into my pocket. She calmed instantly — here comes the money — but it wasn’t money that I took out of my pocket. It was a rag covered in chloroform, and I shoved it over her nose and mouth before she could so much as draw a breath.