Matteo
The wood chipper roars loud enough to shake the orchard.
Limbs grind through the chute, splintering into mulch that sprays into the bin behind it.
But instead of the smell of lemon bark and sap filling the air, blood and bone take its place.
They cling to the mulch, coloring it as well as one of the workers’ faces shone when I arrived to make him pay dues for his penance.
Nico feeds the fool’s left shin into the machine. “I still don’t get it,” he shouts over the noise of his leg splintering into millions of pieces. “I thought Azra was fine with having your antics watched.”
I look toward the house, where Azra went an hour ago to freshen up for lunch, and grunt. “She seemed fine.”
I’m grateful we went for an industrial-sized chipper when the silence of its quick demolition rings in my ears.
“But?” Nico presses.
I glance down at the headless, limbless torso of the man who watched me squash Azra against the tree after the chase and make her come all over my cock, and again, a sense of calm washes over me.
It wasn’t the thought of being busted milking my cock of cum that turned Azra on.
It was everything the interruption would instigate.
The way she shooed away the admirer while still in a lust cloud announces this, not to mention the questions she asked me afterward.
We’d stayed in the orchard long after our game of chase ended, and long after my itch to kill weakened.
With her head resting on my pec and our eyes facing the cloudless sky, she asked about my life.
For once, I was genuinely interested in participating.
I told her everything. How being the middle child made me feel overlooked, and that I acted out because I thought it was the only way to be seen.
I even told her how I argued with my mother the day she died, and that I still blame myself for her death.
I’d been arguing with her about something I can’t even remember now. Something petty and childish. I noticed a handful of times she’d rub her temples like she had a headache, but I kept pushing, believing she was invincible.
She stopped talking mid-sentence, and her eyes went unfocused. Her hand slipped from the counter, and she swayed. I remember shouting her name as I sprinted to her side to catch her before she fell, but my help came too late. She died in my arms.
The doctors said it was a ruptured aneurysm. Instant, unpredictable, and unpreventable.
A freak of nature.
But try telling that to a son who watched his mother die right after he screamed at her.
Part of me still thinks if I’d just shut up, maybe she would still be here.
Azra said the same thing my brothers did when I confessed my guilt after our mother’s funeral. Aneurysms don’t wait for perfect timing, and her death wasn’t my fault. But she said it in a way that resonated with me on a personal level I can’t explain.
I believed her.
I’ll always regret the last words I spoke to my mother, but I don’t see it as a burden anymore. I won’t stop until I’ve done enough good to be granted one final time in her presence. That can only be seen as noble, right?
Don’t look at me like that.
Yes, at my feet, there’s a dead body currently being fed into a wood chipper, but my mother always said I’d measure love by the extent of my jealousy.
For all we know, she’s smiling down at me now, proud of the man I’ve become.
I sure as fuck know I’m proud of him.
Smirking, I toss the bloody and bruised torso into the wood chipper before snagging the bloodstained tarp from the ground to toss in with it.
“Don’t wanna burn that?” Nico asks, reminding me that he’s here, helping me clean up my mess.
I quirk my lips. “Nah. I can’t be fucked taking it to the crematorium. I’m tired.”
While I’m being honest, I’ll admit I also killed the worker because the thought of him going home and stroking his schlong to my wife’s moans was more than I could bear.
“You? Tired?” Nico snorts. “More like different.”
I stiffen. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He lifts his bloodstained hands in the air. “No offense. I’m liking the changes. Though you’re a little softer than I thought you’d be once Cupid finally caught you.”
I issue him a menacing look. “I am not soft.”
“Bullshit. You’re as soft as a marshmallow… for her.”
He should thank God for his last two words, because they’re the only reason he’s still breathing.
He’s right. I am fucking gone for Azra.
Won’t let him know that, though.
“Tell that to his family when they’re still searching for those decades after I bury them.” I nudge my head to the glass jar housing the seasonal picker’s teeth.
“I don’t know,” Nico murmurs. “I probably would have sent them a tooth each year just to keep him in their thoughts. He seemed pretty unmemorable.”
I grunt, nodding. Watching Azra and me fuck wasn’t his only crime, but since I’d rather my wife believe his death was solely to maintain her modesty, I’ll keep the details to myself.
Nico props his ass on the wheelbarrow that carted the body to its dumping ground. “You’ve got me wondering if I should try it.”
“Try what?”
“You know… feelings.” I erupt in laughter when he whispers, “Might have to tape Alora to a tree, though. I don’t see her staying willingly.”
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit.”
He scoffs. “Please. I know exactly how much she loves my dick and for exactly how fucking long. I just don’t trust her not to saw it off when I fall asleep from sexual exhaustion.”
“And that’s scary because…?”
When he stares as if I’m a freak, I nod, agreeing with him before giving him some of the honesty he’s given me over the years.
“I’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks you’re not looking.
She was about ready to murder half our wedding guests.
Women don’t act like that unless they’re tits over cunt in love.
” If only I had remembered that before believing Azra’s claims that our time together was an act.
She peeled the blonde off me at the gala with the viciousness of a bear.
Nico freezes. “You think?”
“I don’t think. I know.”
He twists away, ears turning red. “Hmm.”
“You’re welcome, fuckface.”
“What the fuck am I thanking you for?” he asks, brow cocked. “We all know your best advice comes from reruns of The Jerry Springer Show. I should not be listening to you.”
We’re still laughing when screeching tires cut through the orchard. A black SUV skids to a stop halfway down the row, dust exploding around it. The driver’s side door flies open, and Dante stumbles out.
He usually impenetrable composure has been left for dust.
He’s pale and shaky, and his eyes are wide and unfocused.
Anyone would swear he just crawled out of a war zone.
Thirst for a bloodbath thickens my veins when he finds my eyes across the lemon grove. Before he speaks, I know what he’s going to say will kill me.
“They got her.”
The world wobbles as fury rages through me.
“Who?” I demand. It can’t be Azra. She’s inside, cleaning up for lunch. She’s safe. No one would touch her here. Not if they want to live.
“Azra.”
I jostle my head, clearing out the gunk of bone and skin splinters. I must have heard him wrong. Surely.
“Who?” I ask again.
Everything inside me goes silent.
Then it explodes.
“Azra,” he repeats. “They just took her. In town.”
The comforting heaviness in my chest switches entirely to violence, and my vision narrows as my hands curl into fists.
Someone took my wife.
Someone touched what’s mine.
And now, that someone is going to die.