26. Give it to me Straight
Give it to me Straight
Knox
I woke up feeling like I had been sleeping on a cloud, but that euphoric feeling disappeared as soon as I rolled onto my side and realized the angel who should have been sharing the cloud with me was missing.
“Tori?” I called out, thinking she might be in the bathroom.
I reached for my cell phone when she didn’t answer and tried texting her, only to be interrupted by notification after notification from Instagram.
I despised social media; however, Polly Pocket insisted that Victoria and I were “accessible” to the public in a poor attempt to control the narrative.
Victoria and I didn’t give a damn about the narrative.
We were alive with all our faculties and in love.
We didn’t need to pander to the nosy masses who thought they knew our relationship better than we did.
But here we were, posting pictures of homemade pizza and aged wine.
The comments were nonsensical, and I imagined I lost more brain cells scrolling through the comment section than from the snake venom that nearly ended me.
I gave up and swung my legs over the bed, planting my feet firmly on the hardwood floor.
I winced when I put my full weight on my injured leg, but eventually made it out of bed.
I relieved myself before completing the remainder of my morning routine and found a suit that I’d picked up in California meticulously laid out for me with a coordinating dress shirt, tie, cuff links, watch, and dress shoes.
I boarded the elevator twenty minutes later with my cane and suit jacket before making my descent to Hell to come face-to-face with the devil.
“Good morning, my lovely wife,” I said, greeting the she-devil who appeared to be putting her finishing touches on breakfast.
“Good morning, Gio. How did you sleep after waking up in the middle of the night and finishing the movie on your phone?” she asked sarcastically.
“Like a fucking baby. Not everyone had a happily ever after, which made the movie even more realistic. Have you seen these comments from last night?”
“Nope. After being without Wi-Fi for three months, I’ve learned that the Internet is nothing but a brain-draining cesspool.”
“I agree, but it makes me wonder if some of these people should be locked up at Arkham Asylum.”
Victoria snorted as she plated breakfast and said, “Okay. I’ll bite. Read me some of the comments.”
“Shit. Where do I begin?” I muttered, scrolling through the feed. “Here. This maniac wrote, ‘I printed this picture and licked it. I have no regrets.’”
“That’s not that bad,” Victoria responded. My eyes nearly bulged out of my head.
“Not that bad? Okay. What about this? ‘I want Zaddy Knox to knead my pussy like he kneaded that dough.’”
Victoria shrugged and hummed. “Also typical.”
“Typical, she says. I’ll show you. This future Arkham patient said, ‘The toppings on the pizza spell out ‘Help.’ I cracked the cipher. Victoria is clearly being held against her will.’ And if that wasn’t enough, another user said, ‘I zoomed in and enhanced the reflection on the wine glass. That is not Victoria. It’s a clone. ’”
Victoria sucked her teeth and set two plates on the table.
“That’s what they always say when people lose weight. They did it to Gucci Mane and Fat Joe.”
“Gucci who?”
Victoria rolled her eyes, tapped at her screen, and soon rap lyrics about a “very freaky girl” blared from the home’s Bluetooth speakers. My head bobbed as my wife rapped and swayed.
“Dance with me, Gio,” she suggested, offering a hand.
“I am talented and skilled in many things, but dancing is not my forte,” I argued gently.
“Boo,” she protested before turning off the song.
“It is for the best. I would’ve trampled all over these pretty pink toes of yours,” I said, gathering her into my arms.
“Shut up.”
“Make me,” I murmured, caressing her jaw. Her lips graced mine, and my hand slid down to her ass. I cupped her harshly, lifting her onto her toes. She gasped, and I didn’t hesitate to taste her tongue. It tasted like honey and reminded me of another sweet flavor I was missing.
I picked her up, maneuvering to the kitchen table.
“Gio, p-put me down. You’re not supposed to—”
I silenced her with another kiss and sat her on the table. I kissed her fervently like a man starved for affection or like a man lost at sea. I pushed myself between her thighs and laughed when she mewled like her childhood feral cat, Nala.
“You feel that, Tori?”
“Fuck, Gio. Don’t do this to me,” she moaned pathetically.
“I’m gonna tell you how this is going to go, Mrs. Ramsey.
I’ll have you for breakfast,” I said, sliding a hand underneath her dress shirt.
I didn’t stop until I reached her slick center.
She hissed and jerked on the table when I slid a finger into her.
She was so wet that I promptly added another.
“And then you’re gonna fuck me tonight for dessert,” I demanded, slipping my fingers out of her.
“Knox, you can’t—”
“ I can’t participate in any strenuous activity, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t.”
That made her smile. “You’re always looking for loopholes.”
“No, that would be my accountant.”
“Fine. How do you want it?”
“Oof. Tough call. No, it’s not. I want to see that ass.”
She giggled, saying, “Then ass you shall see. Now, are you gonna eat this pussy or what?”
“I’ll take Eat the Pussy for $200.00.”
“Make me squirt, and it’s a Daily Double.”
* * *
My cheeks hurt from all the fake smiling, and I felt I would be in a sling tomorrow from all the waving at my welcoming employees.
I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep up the charade. I want to be home, annoying my wife, not shaking hands and accepting bone-crushing hugs. I wonder what she’s up to.
I had my phone out, ready to text Victoria, when I passed her office.
The door was slightly ajar, and the light was off.
I pushed the door open and switched on the light.
The room was untouched. Her chair was pushed in, and a coffee mug I bought her as a joke that said, “Best Worst Employee” still rested on a coaster in front of her desk phone.
It was quiet. Too quiet, and I wondered how I’d function without her if she never returned as my assistant.
Victoria lit a fire under me like no one ever had, forcing me to strive to be better every day.
But as I stood in that cold, desolate office, it became perfectly clear that she was the pulse of the office, and without her, I felt hollow.
I approached her desk and swiped the stapler off.
“Say one more word, and I’ll staple your lips shut,” I mimicked in a falsetto voice while clicking the stapler several times.
A throat cleared behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder to find a severe gentleman in an expensive charcoal suit. He stepped into the office like his name was on the fucking building, not mine. His suit was tailored, and his shoes were so polished I could see myself reflected in them.
His jaw locked, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He was furious. It was controlled, but barely. His eyes flicked from the stapler, then back to me.
“The tabloids claimed you lost your mind on the island. I thought I’d come see for myself before passing judgment, but it seems they might be right.”
I set the stapler down and shifted my body to face the mysterious man head-on.
“Well, it’s like they say, a broken clock is right twice a day.”
The man’s jaw tightened, and I quickly scanned to see if he had a weapon holstered to his hip. I was only slightly relieved when I didn’t notice one.
“May I help you?” I asked, taking control of the confrontation.
“I wanted to talk to you about my boy.”
“Your boy? Who is your boy? You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
The man’s fists clenched at his sides as a flush of red climbed his neck, rising to his face like mercury in a thermometer.
“First Officer Joshua Lancaster.”
* * *
“Tell me…everything,” Mr. Lancaster demanded in a flat, unrelenting tone.
We’d moved our impromptu meeting to my office with security on standby in case Mr. Lancaster considered avenging his son’s death.
I need to speak with my Head of Security because some incompetent son of a bitch allowed Mr. Lancaster free range of my building.
“Everything as in?”
“From the time you boarded the plane until my son’s demise.” We locked gazes, and I could see it in his eyes—the hint of grief and vulnerability masked by pain and rage. “You’re going to tell me everything,” he said, voice tight, almost shaking. “From takeoff to the moment my son died.”
I had a choice. I could tell the truth, or lie and tell the man his son died a hero swimming back out to sea to rescue the rest of the crew, and had gotten swept away.
But I could tell from my brief interaction with Mr. Lancaster that he was a man who could see through bullshit like an X-ray machine.
“Are you sure you want the truth?”
“I didn’t come here for comfort,” he snapped. “I came for answers.”
I nodded slowly before delivering the truth.
“The first leg of the flight went without incident. There were three pilots—Captain Lowell Charleston, your son, First Officer Joshua Lancaster, and a relief pilot, First Officer Brendan Holt. Captain Charleston and First Officer Holt completed the first leg of the journey. First Officer Holt did not return after our overnight layover, leaving Captain Charleston and First Officer Lancaster to complete the last leg of the journey. I felt turbulence. They weren’t alarming at first, but I became concerned when the turbulence became more violent.
I entered the cockpit to see what the hell was going on.
Captain Charleston collapsed. Your boy said he suffered a seizure.
Upon investigation, I found that Captain Charleston was deceased.
Your son alerted me that there were catastrophic mechanical issues, and it was then that I knew we needed to prepare to land. ”
I paused to gather myself before continuing.
“I returned to the cabin and assisted Victoria into her life preserver before fastening mine. By that time, we were falling from the sky. The next thing I remember was swimming to shore with Victoria. Your son joined us shortly on land with a life raft and some staples and supplies. But the truth is… your son died because he was inexperienced, stubborn, and hardheaded. I’m not trying to slander his name, but that’s the fact.
The first several hours on the island were crucial.
We were trying to scavenge for supplies, find water, and food.
Victoria tried to guide him, but he panicked. ”
Mr. Lancaster’s fists curled at his sides. “He was scared?”
“He was reckless,” I said, voice low. “She warned him not to eat the berries that he had found. She told him they were toxic. He didn’t listen. I guess he thought he knew better, and… welp.”
A thick, suffocating silence stretched between us.
“Joshua was inexperienced, and he wasn’t ready. And out there, not being ready gets you killed.”
Mr. Lancaster’s face twisted—grief, rage, disbelief all fighting for dominance. “You think he was a coward?”
“I think he made a fatal mistake,” I said. “And I think you deserve to know that it wasn’t anyone else’s fault.”
He stared at me like he wanted to swing, or scream, or collapse. But he didn’t. He slouched in the leather armchair and looked as if he had aged ten years in front of me.
“Do you have anything to drink?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” I said, opening a desk drawer and retrieving a small unopened bottle of scotch Victoria had gifted me. I slid it towards him. He twisted off the cap and took a swig from the glass bottle, gaze dazed and nostalgic.
“The way you say he died-” Mr. Lancaster paused and shook his head.
“-it’s no surprise to me. Josh was always a coward and never took responsibility for anything a day in his life.
His mother overindulged his every whim. And when he said he wanted to be a pilot, she wanted to be Mom of the Year and throw all her support into him.
I said it was a bad idea—a bad fucking idea.
Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Ramsey—I love my boy so much, but the boy had the attention span of a tumbleweed.
He had no business flying a plane. But it was two against one, and I knew I was fighting a losing battle.
So, what did I do? I wrote a check to the best aviation school in the country, and miraculously, he graduated with his pilot’s license.
He’d finally proven me wrong. Your flight was officially his first international flight. I wish I’d known it’d be his last.”
I swallowed around the lump in my throat and wished I had one of those nifty pain pills to dull the edge of reality.
“How is your wife holding up?” I asked.
“Horribly. She hasn’t been the same since the plane went missing. Sedatives have become her best friend,” he replied, locking his watery blue eyes on me. “I lost them both on that day.”
“I’m sorry,” I croaked, incapable of reining in my emotions.
Mr. Lancaster lifted a brow.
“You’re sorry for what?”
“For returning with less than favorable news.”
“No need to apologize,” he replied, climbing to his feet. “Take that $1 million you offered to settle and donate it to a charity for underprivileged aspiring pilots in Josh’s name. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ramsey.”
I stood and shook his outstretched hand.
“You’re welcome. Please take care.”
Security escorted him away just as Blakenship entered my office.
“Welcome back, Knox.”
I smiled softly, leaning on my cane with both hands.
“That’s five times already, which leads me to believe you’re not thrilled about my return.”
Blakenship sighed, and his shoulders slumped. His eyes guiltily landed on his loafers.
“I’m thrilled that you are safe—make no mistake about that.” His eyes snapped up, along with his posture. “I love this job more than I thought I would, and it has been my pleasure to serve as the acting CEO during your absence.”
I leaned harder onto my cane and smiled.
“The company has continued to flourish under your leadership. It was as if I never left,” I said, tapping the handle with a finger.
I glanced around the room I had spent years of my life in, and realized the accolades and awards, panoramic view, and designer furniture didn’t mean shit.
It was all bullshit that I could live without.
Is this my out? Can I walk away?
“Right. We have the meeting with the board,” Blakenship reminded me.
“Yes, we do. Let’s get this over with.”