Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Goldie
My belly full and my body clean, I sleep like a baby in this bed.
I don’t know anything about high thread count sheets, but I am guessing that’s what these are. It’s the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in.
Slam!
My eyes fly open as I sit up straight in bed, my arms over my face in an automatic defense posture as the bedroom door leaps off its hinges and crashes to the floor.
A man is shouting at me like an angry grizzly bear. “Who the fuck are you?!”
I’m so disoriented, I couldn’t even say my name if I wanted to.
How long was I asleep?
Longer than I should have slept; that much is clear now.
I got caught squatting, and not by some kindly person in the woods.
Daring to open my eyes, I make out the shape of a man.
The phrase “brick shithouse” comes to mind.
As my eyes focus, another phrase comes to mind, along the lines of “buck naked and brandishing the scariest-looking knife ever forged.”
The severe, stoic face might be scarier than the knife in his massive hands.
I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.
And then, the thick organ between his legs compounds my inability to speak. That thing is as alien to me as anything, and I’m in shock. It’s just…there. And it’s…not what I expected.
I’ve never even seen a picture of a man’s penis before, so I never knew what to expect.
Based on the altered history books and the Bible lessons about the Garden of Eden, I half expected to see a fig leaf down there instead of this… monstrosity.
This very fascinating monstrosity.
“Well? Answer the question!”
Is it me, or did the shouting lessen by a decibel or two that time? And did that scary face get slightly less scary?
I pull the blankets up to my chin and bat my lashes. “Please don’t stab me!” I finally squeak.
His heavy brows draw together.
“I’m going to ask slowly and nicely this time,” he says with an edge of annoyance. “Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing in my house?”
“That wasn’t any nicer,” I point out before I can think twice about it. What the hell did I say that for?
The man tilts his head and grunts. It’s a strangely alluring sound. I don’t understand why I like it, but it causes a stir in my tummy nonetheless.
“Keep talking,” he says with an even, non-shouting tone that I very much prefer.
My body relaxes slightly. “I’m Goldie. And I…” I have to think fast. “I rented this cabin, but I must have had the date written down wrong. I’ll go now.”
I make a move to get out of bed, but that shiny knife in his hand is pointed at me in a way that I’m guessing means I shouldn’t move.
“Try again, blondie.”
I huff. “What do you mean?”
“That’s not your real name, but nice attempt.”
Studying him for a moment, I admire how his jaw ripples when I say something he dislikes. I also find his incredulous stare to be oddly endearing.
I shouldn’t provoke someone who’s naked and pointing a knife at me, but then again, I do have a gun.
Wait…where is my gun, exactly?
In my backpack, on the floor next to the bed.
If things go sideways, I don’t know if I’ll have time to grab it. On the other hand, I don’t think this man will actually hurt me. His eyes are too intelligent to do something that rash over a little oatmeal theft.
“That is my name. And I find it pretty rude that you still haven’t introduced yourself.”
Yep, I’m sticking with the backstory that this is all a misunderstanding. That’s the most likely explanation to keep me out of jail and prevent me from being gutted like a fish if this guy is as psycho as he pretends to be.
I manage a smile as I let my eyes travel over his broad chest and down his abdomen. He breathes heavily, making the tight muscles evident under a pleasingly beefy stomach.
Too bad I have to leave soon because I’m enjoying the view, even though I know I should keep my gaze away from the…
Oh. Oh my gosh.
Did that thing just…twitch?
“Barrett,” he says through gritted teeth.
I tear my eyes away from that organ that, until now, has been a complete mystery to me. It’s no longer just hanging there like a thick length of rope. It’s now red, and it moves. If I use my imagination, I might say it’s pointing at me.
This time I smile widely. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Hard. Ha!
“Clearly, we got our wires crossed. I’ll pack my things and go if you’ll be so kind as to put that thing away.”
Obviously, I mean the knife, but he unconsciously glances down at his pecker.
“Fine. Goldie ,” he says, emphasizing my name to make it clear he doesn’t believe it for a second. “You kill that guy?”
Frisson explodes over my skin, but I don’t know if it’s his words that thrill me or the depth of his gravelly voice. Pleasure and fear are indistinguishable at the moment.
“Kill…” I say slowly, swallowing. “…what guy?”
All my life, I assumed something was unusual about me because I never had any interest in sex. In fact, I’ve had way more interest in strangling my enemies to death than ever getting busy with the downtown areas of another person’s anatomy.
Yet here I am, with a flesh-and-blood man standing over me, threatening me and accusing me of murder—of all the things!—and I’m finding myself completely fascinated.
“I’ve been with the cops all evening, giving a report of a dead dude in the creek. Someone put two in the back of the head, and I have a good reason to think it was you.”
Maybe television really is of the devil, and that actor on that show was just me letting Satan in the back door.
This man wants to eat me alive, and I might just let him.
“Obviously, it wasn’t me. I’ve been asleep in your bed. Eating your food. Hanging out on your sofa and having a grand old time.”
The sound coming from his chest is another new experience for me.
The further movement of his cock is irritatingly pulling my attention away from his face now.
“He’s been dead for a while.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Little girl, I don’t know what you did, but that man looked like a melting popsicle when they found him.”
That’s horrible.
I didn’t mean to kill him. I just wanted him to get sick long enough so I could run off. I didn’t mean for my old-ass husband to chase me, only to die in the creek!
So many emotions flood me that I can’t distinguish one from the other.
I don’t mourn the man. I mourn everything that led to this. I mourn the state of everything our little tribe has become under the rule of a dictator. Everything that made me choose violence.
Neglect. Abuse. Forced marriage. Forced childbirth. Unchecked power. Overwhelmed parents. Child labor. And now, I’m a murderer. When I hadn’t even meant to be. Not like this!
I mourn simply everything.