Pet

by Lesli Richardson

  “Okay,” Jace calls out.

  We rush into the garage where Cunningham lays facedown and unconscious at Jace’s feet. He won’t be out for long, so we have to work quickly.

  I get the hair samples and press his fingers to the second glass, the box of condoms, bottle of lube, and to the outside of the champagne bottle, including around the neck.

  Then I hurry inside and put the hair on one of the pillows in the master bedroom and on the damp towel. I leave the condoms and lube in the bedroom—both packages now opened—and carry the bottle of champagne to the kitchen, where I open it, pour it into the glasses, then dump their contents into the sink and let water run to clear the trap. I leave the glasses in the sink and the half-empty bottle on the counter.

  Meanwhile, Carter and Jace load Cunningham into the back of the SUV, from which we’ve already stripped the carpet and laid down tarps. The inhalant Jace used on Cunningham is effective for about fifteen minutes, at the most.

  Once I’m finished, I return to the garage. “Done.”

  Carter hands me Cunningham’s keys.

  Those I leave on the kitchen counter.

  I return to the garage. “Done.”

  Jace points at me. “Move out.”

  Returning to the house, I shut off all the lights inside, strip the bunny suit at the front door, change my shirt, and pull on a realistic latex mask that makes me look much older than I am, and flesh-colored latex gloves. I exit through the front door, locking the knob behind me, and then walk hunched over and limping to the car we arrived in and drive off. Carter will lock the deadbolt behind me, and they will use the clicker to close the garage door upon their departure.

  I can’t falter. I drive to the first waiting spot, where I pull over.

  Ten minutes later, Carter and Jace pass me in the SUV. Jace taps the brakes twice, our signal that everything’s clear.

  I wait two minutes, head the other way, then take an alternate route to intersect with their route. I leave the car in a movie theater parking lot and go buy a ticket.

  Inside, I enter an empty theatre, exit through the doorway at the front by the screen, and walk to the back of the parking lot there.

  It’s a quick walk through a narrow, wooded swale, where I remove the mask and swap shirts again, adding a plain black ball cap and hoodie jacket to my outfit from where they’d been stashed under the other shirt and added extra weight to my appearance. I emerge from the woods just behind a dumpster at a recreation field, where several kids’ soccer games are underway and the parking lot’s crowded.

  I walk like I’m on my way to my car and climb into the backseat of the SUV.

  “Clear?”

  “Yeah.”

  Still, I watch behind us as Jace drives, just in case.

  Twenty minutes later, there’s still no tail.

  It’s nearly eleven when we reach the kill site. Deep in woods, we don’t intend to be here for long. We’ve staged supplies to create a barbecue fire pit, so if anyone was to stumble across it, they wouldn’t get suspicious. It’s a hunting camp property we leased—online, thank you, technology—for six months.

  Before they left the house with Cunningham, they dosed him with an injection of sedative. Now, we don the bunny suits again, and gloves, and drag him out to unceremoniously dump him next to the prepared hole where we strip him before Jace administers the reversal drug.

  Cunningham comes to and sees the three of us standing over him.

  “Remember us?” I say. “I told Elsa payback was a bitch. She’s dead now. Guess she never passed that warning along to you.”

  Carter darkly smiles down at him. “This has been a long fucking time coming. Recognize us? Two Wilson brothers you didn’t kill, and one you didn’t fuck over your desk. And friend.”

  Horror fills the man’s face. “Wh-what are you going to do to me?”

  “Something that should have been done decades ago,” Jace says as he hands me the knife. “You get the honors, buddy.”

  Cunningham pisses himself. “No! I-I’ll give you whatever you want!”

  “Give us back our fucking brothers, you fuck,” Carter growls. “Give me and Eddie back our memories without you using us. Give me and Eddie back pain-free days, where we didn’t almost get killed because you had our unit deployed to cover your fucking ass.”

  I grimly smile. “Go to fucking hell you miserable old bastard.”

  I show exactly the amount of mercy he showed us—

  Not a single damned bit.

  We drag him into the hole we dug, but before we set his body on fire, Jace stops us. “Hold on.” He unzips his bunny suit, whips out his cock, and pisses right on Cunningham’s face, making sure to get plenty of it in his gaping mouth and sightless eyes.

  Carter and I follow suit, and I don’t know if I start laughing first, or Carter does, but it feels damned good. Later, once his body’s well-consumed by flame, we break up the bones and remains with shovels and then bury him at the bottom of the hole.

  We fill it partly in, create the fire pit, light a fire in it, and burn our bunny suits, making sure they’re completely consumed. An hour before dawn, we’re driving away in pleased silence.

  When Jace and I finally return to our rental condo, we take a shower in silence and then, exhausted, fall into bed and crash into sleep.

  Hopefully, I won’t have any new nightmares.

  Even if I do?

  Worth it.

  Part IV

  Peace

  “True peace is not merely the absence of tension; it is the presence of justice.”

  - Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jace

  Standing on the back porch with a steaming mug of coffee in my hand, I stare out at the bayou stretching beyond our spacious backyard. Just before dawn on what’s sure to be a beautiful late-spring morning here in the Florida panhandle, I listen to the last of the night sounds giving way to the day crew in the cypress woods surrounding the rest of our property.

  At my feet, Eddie maintains his perfect bow, his forehead resting on the top of my right foot. It’s the position he assumed several minutes ago after preparing and bringing me my coffee as he does every morning. He thrives on routines like this.

  Won’t deny I enjoy it, too.

  He’s naked, so thank god I insisted on rescreening the wrap-around porch when we bought the place, or mosquitoes might have carried us both off by now.

  I love staring at the pink scar on his back. It’s perfect and completely obliterates the old one that was there.

  Not a hint of her remains on his body.

  Only me.

  We own fifteen acres, much of it wetlands, and it backs up against a nature preserve. A very stout wall and gate protect the head of our driveway, which sits at the end of the quiet gravel road we live on. There, I have IR cameras mounted at the gate intercom. Our closest neighbors are over a mile away, and the only people who ever come down our road to our driveway are the mailman, deliveries, the garbage pick-up for the dumpster we rent, and the occasional expected repair or maintenance workers to do something at the house.

  The chances of someone sneaking up on us are few and far between. Not to mention, I put the property in the name of a landholding trust controlled by one of my aliases that my old handler didn’t know anything about.

  Contingency plans are good.

  Over the month we’ve lived here, while I can’t speak for Eddie’s peace of mind, I know I’ve never felt more contented in my entire life than I do now. Eddie hasn’t had a nightmare in weeks, so I guess that’s good, right?

  Eddie is also legally dead. Amazing what money will buy you. Including a body.

  I paid for a cremation and death certificate in Slovakia.

  That all happened the week after we took out Cunningham. I left Eddie in a rented beach condo in Pensacola while I returned to Europe for a week to arrange his “death,” clear out my Paris flat and sell it, and finish what little business I
had left to wrap up. Carter helped me out by spreading the word amongst the guys they served with and holding an impromptu memorial service for Eddie.

  Legally, the pet contentedly kneeling at my feet is now known as one Thomas Peter Wilson née Dorsey. It’s Mom’s maiden name and I liked the symmetry. I call him “Topper” in public, and it only took me a week or so to train him to automatically answer to that.

  I never address him as Eddie anymore. He’s either pet, Topper, good boy… or mine.

  Why “Topper?” When he’s anything but a Top?

  It’s Tom and Peter smushed together. And it sounds like what you’d call a dog.

  Perfect homage befitting my perfect pet.

  Hey, Topper loves it, and that’s all I give a shit about.

  We got married in Pensacola immediately upon my return from Europe and we’re both officially retired now. After combining Eddie’s assets into my accounts, I cashed in all our Bitcoin, because I don’t like how vulnerable they can be, and pumped nearly all of those funds into a software company based in Singapore that one of my aliases has owned for several years.

  Guess you could say I’ve been actively planning my retirement for a while now.

  We both draw nice salaries from that company and legally pay taxes. In a year or so, I’ll “sell” the company to another untraceable holding company I own and completely cash out, leaving us free to do whatever we want with the money.

  Apparently, interest in Cunningham’s disappearance waned once dozens of men started coming forward with horror stories about being abused by the man throughout the years. Then, a string of unusual deaths of men formerly in Cunningham’s command, and likely abused by him, started being uncovered by a particularly tenacious WaPo reporter.

  Who might have received a tip-off from me.

  Typically, the Army wasn’t so eager to locate Cunningham after that, and it was assumed he fled the country to escape justice and will turn up eventually.

  Maybe that assumption came about because I had a friend of mine in the Ukraine use Cunningham’s passport at a checkpoint there three days after we killed him. So that trail has been laid.

  In other words, no investigation will reveal any information that can be tied to me or my pet. What I did for the last ten years of my career was total black ops, completely off the books. No FOIA demand will ever reveal my actions regarding Eddie. My retirement paperwork indicates I held down a desk post in Paris for the past ten years, interpreting intel.

  We won’t get complacent or totally let down our guard, but with Cunningham dead and no longer able to pull any strings—and even better, his memory and reputation demolished—there’s little risk to us now.

  Not out here, in the middle of nowhere.

  I’ve always wanted to learn how to fish. Wanted to be able to relax in a shaded hammock with the man I love napping next to me.

  Wanted to own a dog, and enjoy spending time with my extended family.

  We’ve made a few trips to the local animal shelter and are still discussing that. As far as time with my extended family, I’m still trying to figure out that part. Carter won’t disown me for being gay, at least, but I haven’t spoken to him in person or on the phone since that night, and he hasn’t reached out to me since I exchanged encrypted texts with him about helping me spread the word about Eddie’s “death.”

  Whether or not he’ll come to grips with my husband’s place in my life is another matter. It would be nice to not spend Mom and Dad’s last years in the closet, though.

  I tap my right foot and my pet sits up and nuzzles his face against my hip so I can ruffle his hair. “Good boy. You may get your coffee and bring it out here.”

  “Thank you, Master.” He scrambles to his feet, kisses me, and hurries back into the house.

  Yes, I turn to watch him. Why shouldn’t I? He’s got a great ass. His limp and scars don’t detract from who he is or how he makes me feel. Maybe we were thrown together by a cruel twist of fate, but I’m not complaining.

  What other man could be more perfect for me than Eddie? He literally understands me in just about every way. When I look back on my life, I suppose it was worth spending so many years alone. The irony that my little brother is the one who helped train him so perfectly isn’t lost on me, either.

  I settle in one of the Adirondack chairs out here and prop my feet up on a stool. I know we’ll spend the rest of our lives living here, and I don’t feel like traveling. Not right away, at least. And if we do travel, I want to stay in the United States.

  Many reasons for that, including I don’t like tempting fate by going through passport checks with my pet any more often than necessary. But also because I’ve seen too much of the world already. I’d rather focus on exploring this country for a change, including the land surrounding our new home.

  Always able to return here, to our safe, private nest.

  Able to relax around each other, shed all our masks and disguises, and just be who we are.

  And be happy together while doing it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Eddie

  I catch myself humming while I prepare my coffee and it takes me a moment to process that I’m…happy.

  Not just happy—I feel content.

  This is not something I’ve ever felt before. Not that I can remember. Even my times with Carter were just temporary interludes I knew couldn’t last, so I never allowed myself any kind of deep emotional vulnerability.

  Which, to be honest, was a huge part of my problem and became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  I’m still not used to seeing Jace lying next to me in bed when I awaken. He looks and sounds so much like Carter it’s eerie. But his personality is different, and their Dominance is different. I think Carter was afraid to give me too much for fear he’d enjoy it for too long and grow hard and cold. I know there’s a soft place in Jace’s heart for me, but he’s not afraid of what he can do, or afraid to give me what I need and can take.

  He relishes giving it to me every bit as much as he relishes training me from the ground up in healthy ways I never understood before.

  I don’t know what kind of sadist Carter matured into, but we got our start with the same toxic wellspring that tainted both our souls.

  Jace didn’t.

  It’ll take some getting used to, this positive reinforcement he uses on me. But as long as he’ll still give me the pain and control I crave and relish, I will humor my Master’s every whim.

  Because I love Him, and He loves me.

  He killed me to save me, and legally made me His.

  I don’t take that lightly.

  On my way back to the porch with my coffee I hear the intercom chime indicating someone’s at the front gate. Before I can even walk over and check the camera feed, Jace has literally rushed into the house with a gun in his hand, and I don’t even know where he grabbed that from.

  The cold calculation on his expression scares even me. “Get dressed, pet.”

  I pivot mid-stride and hurry to the bedroom. I’m yanking on pajama pants when he calls out, “Stand down. No weapon—it’s safe. Pants and shirt.”

  I grab the T-shirt Jace wore yesterday from where it ended up on the floor by the bed last night and pull it on. I do that sometimes, smell His clothes or wear them so I’m bathed in His scent.

  When I return to the kitchen, he’s tucked the gun into a holster clipped to the back of his waistband.

  “Who is it?” I ask.

  “I have a feeling he’s here to talk to you. Maybe not so much me.” Before I can ask about that comment I hear the crunch of tires in the gravel driveway out front. “Answer the door, pet. It’s okay.”

  I’m aware of him fading back as I make my way into the foyer, peering through the viewfinder first.

  Carter steps out of the Mercedes SUV, dark sunglasses shading his gaze as he no doubt sweeps his focus around the yard before walking up to the front porch.

  Some of those many nights so long ago flash into my brain. O
f Germany and me sneaking into his room, and our time in-country, when we stole any private moment we could anywhere we could.

  Hating that my pulse races and my heart pounds in my chest, I watch him walk toward me, the expression on his face liquifying my guts the way it always could.

  But when he stops on our front porch and removes his shades, I see an older, wiser Carter, one who never would be the man I need him to be now. Mainly, because he’s not capable of it due to promises he’s made to others.

  And that’s mostly my fault, for pushing him away back them.

  Those could have been promises to me.

  “Hey,” he says.

  I swallow. “Hey.”

  “Can we talk?”

  I nod and step aside. Still, I want to drop to my knees in front of him but I let my thumb rub the smooth, warm wedding band on my left ring finger.

  I belong to that Wilson brother now, not this one.

  It’d be a lie to say I don’t still love Carter, though. Even this many years later.

  How do you forget the first person you truly fell completely, madly in love with? It wasn’t Elsa, even though I thought it was, back then.

  No, it was Carter, and all the little things. Him teaching me German phrases so he could talk to me when she ordered no English. Him consoling me and giving me what Elsa wouldn’t and couldn’t. Him being patient and opening his arms and bed to me when Elsa tortured me in the wake of his departure.

  It was knowing he looked after me as best he could—as best as I’d let him—and how he kissed me that day when he left Elsa.

  Defying her to take me from him.

  My heart belonged to him then, even if I couldn’t admit it to myself, much less anyone else.

  I close the door after him and he waits for me to lead him into the living room. “Did you want coffee or anything?”

  “No, thanks. Jace here?”