Chapter 10
TEN
Val put her laptop to sleep, peered angrily at the empty mug on her desk, and cursed; she remembered that her box of Nantucket Blend K-pods was empty, so there would be no more coffee for her until she got some more.
“Shit,” the grumbled. She meant to make a Walmart Grocery order for delivery, but she got so caught up in coding a Roblox game—for fun, because she was a nerd—that time passed her by. And now, it was going on 1 PM and she knew from experience the only time slots left for delivery that day would be around 8 PM or later. “Shit,” she grumbled again. She didn’t want to deal with answering her door to a stranger once it started getting dark. She was an idiot when it came to relationships, but she was street smart enough to know that once the streetlights came on, Stranger Danger was too real. So, she’d set up an order for tomorrow afternoon.
Until then…she’d starve and die of caffeine withdrawal. Probably.
Grabbing her mug, she left her office and headed to the kitchen, depositing the mug in the sink where the old bowl of cereal was still sitting. She wrinkled her nose at the murky, once colorful mush that was her breakfast from two days ago.
Not having eaten in several hours, her stomach was gnawing on her liver. She began her mental list of things to buy.
Chicken taquitos, pork egg rolls, mini tacos, K-pods, white cheddar popcorn….
None of those things were going to feed her now, though.
“What am I in the mood for,” she asked the kitchen, her voice raspy from disuse…because she hadn’t spoken to anyone in days.
She hadn’t spoken to Redtube in days, and since she was a hermit without any real-life connections, she didn’t converse with anyone else via vocal cords. She emailed and texted plenty, but actually using her voice?
God, I’m such a friendless loser, aren’t I?
And she was dying—her heart had no idea how to beat without him being a constant part of her life.
How do you expect to move on if you can’t even survive a day without getting a migraine from crying so much?
Since they’d first connected via DM, there hadn’t been a single day where they hadn’t reached out to one another. Yes, in the beginning, it was one-sided as Red was bombarded with DMs from all his fans, but he never failed to respond, even if it was just a smirking face emoji or a heart emoji. It didn’t take long for him to initiate conversations, and not long after that, they were chatting like long-lost friends—every day, every hour, and for everything. There wasn’t anything Red didn’t know about her…other than what she looked like from the waist down. Or her address, which she kept from him because she was a chicken shit and didn’t want him to pop in and see her without warning—because she was self-conscious about her looks, right down to how she always wore old t-shirts and men’s sweatpants. Now that he knew what she looked like, and she’d cut all ties with him, there was no chance he’d ever just “pop in” anyway.
As for him, though, it was obvious she hadn’t known all there was to know about Red, like how he was a liar and a coward.
Stop this! Stop thinking about him! Get over him! Who cares if he inked your name on his dick like some kind of goth jewelry, he still betrayed you.
Before she knew it, another voice chimed in, but you didn’t let him explain—you’ll never get closure if you stick your head in your ass and act like nothing happened.
Ugh.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she blinked back the burning tears, sucked in a breath, let it out, then pulled her cell from her bra where she’s stashed it that morning.
For a practical woman, having big tits was only good for one thing: storing small items. She hated carrying a purse and a wallet, so she just didn’t. She used her pockets for most things, but not everything had pockets, which was the bane of women’s fashion. She could buy things—without carrying cash or credit cards—by using Google Pay on her phone, and she used her boobs to hold everything else. Not recommended for chocolate, though—she’d learned her lesson about that—but it was perfect for car keys, cellphone, small change for parking meters, USB dongles, and even travel-sized bags of tissues, like that one time she had a cold and needed to leave the house for a meeting. She’d shoved the tissues in the crease between her tits, and just went about her day. When she needed to blow her nose, she discreetly pulled a tissue from her bra.
Rolling her eyes at her train of thought, she clicked into the Walmart Grocery app—using her own proprietary data management software, and made an order for delivery tomorrow afternoon. She ordered from the Walmart a few towns over…just because.
Once that was done, she rummaged through her kitchen for something to eat, and after several minutes of mentally whining about her lack of variety, she finally decided on ramen.
After putting a pot of water on the stove to boil—yes, she made her ramen like a heathen—she leaned against the counter and held her thumb over the Instagram icon.
No…don’t do it…don’t fall into the thirst trap again….
But how was she supposed to know what was going on? Fuck, her curiosity was like a living, breathing thing she just couldn’t cage. She missed him like crazy, her heart ached for him…what would it hurt, really, to just check and see what he was up to?
What if there’s a new Reel of him “playing” with another “hair tie?”
Pinching her eyes shut, she bit back a sob.
God, why did this have to hurt so much? She missed him, missed their connection, missed the possibility of a future together…one she’d been holding on to since she’d first “met” him online.
She was such a mess—her lock screen was still the image of him, bare-chested, wearing a black balaclava, leaning against a doorjamb, his hand cupping his junk through his jeans, his eyes intense, his entire presence like sex and menace poured over badassery.
There wasn't a day gone by where she hadn’t spent far too long staring at that picture, wondering why she didn’t just delete it—delete him—forever.
She hadn’t been back on social media since she’d first seen Red’s posts about the tattoo, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t seen the images in her mind, or remembered how he called her beautiful…and the comments from the online vipers.
“Fuck it,” she croaked, slamming her thumb onto the Insta icon and bringing up her feed. Since @RedDevilDog was one of only three accounts she followed, his Reels, images, and stories popped right up.
Furrowing her brows, she hummed.
There were no updates; nothing new had been uploaded in days, not since his tattoo.
“Huh. What the hell?” Shaking her head, she scrolled, thinking there was a glitch and the feed was broken, but…. No, there was nothing new. “What does that mean?”
Had he…?
No. Not possible; the man thrived on praise from strangers, he couldn’t go a day without posting something that would get him likes and comments.
Speaking of comments….
She returned to the two pictures of his tattoo, and the comments had exploded. There were 2,000 plus people trolling the comments—many were thirsty women commenting on his body, many were bitches talking shit about her, a woman they didn’t even know, and there were some who’d actually boasted about being the women in his previous videos. Those were the ones she couldn’t peel her eyes from—because of her stupid ability to remember things she’d seen, she recognized the women…and she knew exactly which hair tie belonged to each one.
God, she was a fucking looney toon, using her mutant mental powers for evil.
Shaking her head, she tried to pry her eyes from the comments, but she couldn’t stop her mind from connecting the dots…err…hair ties, and with each dot connected, another pang hit her chest.
Each of those women got a piece of cake that was meant to be hers, a piece he’d gladly given away.
I’ll wait for you, my Daisy….
Why couldn’t she get over him?
It’s only been a few days, it’ll take time….
How much time?
She didn’t know, she had no experience suffering and then healing from a broken heart—she was still dealing with her mom’s death. She did know, however, that cutting him off had been the right decision. Right?
You should have made him beg for forgiveness…on his knees…in broken glass…naked….
Shuddering at that thought, she closed out the app and tossed her phone on the counter.
No, it was better to never speak to him again…even though it felt like she’d pulled out her fingernails one by one, then peeled lemons.
That stupid voice returned, aren’t you being a little unreasonable? Yeah, he hurt you, but did he really betray you? You weren’t together, not a couple…and you only have yourself to blame for that. You let your fears keep you from being with him IRL.
Her stomach churning, she turned off the stove, ignoring the boiling water and unopened packet of ramen.
She’d lost her appetite…and apparently her mind.
He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought about it before, but it took driving all the way into Dalton, a forty-minute ride from the clubhouse, to remember something Val had mentioned during one of their first conversations. His woman loved the convenience of ordering her groceries online and then having them delivered. She said it made her feel like royalty to have someone wait on her, hand and foot.
“Yes, they’re paid to do it, but I feel like a grocery VIP when I have them bring me garbage bags and tampons at 6 AM.”
If he knew Valentina—and he fucking did—she was scatter-buying, which meant she wasn’t making lists and buying her month’s groceries in one order; she was shopping purely by immediate need. Why? Because she was stressed by what he’d done, and when she was stressed, she purchased random items. It was a quirk of hers he’d gladly encourage, if it made her happy.
He could remember an instance when she got stressed about something she was working on, and ended up buying bean dip, Fritos, orange soda, and baby powder one night, then another instance where she ordered Doritos, ground beef, tater tots, and paperclips two nights later—she bought what she felt she needed in the moment, leading to some seriously weird shopping lists.
It was easy enough to power through the firewall in the corporate server, find the store location, then search through the delivery orders. Her address was right there, but, for some reason, he didn’t want to just slide over there, he wanted to be absolutely sure it was her address, and the only way to do that was to see if she was the one who came to the door for her groceries.
No, not a whole lot to go on, but it was better than sitting around on his ass, waiting for her to contact him, especially after that clusterfuck of an Instagram post about the tattoo. Still, days later, people were leaving shitty comments about, “Who is Valentina?” “She’s probably a bitch!” “He’s too much of a slut to stay with one woman.” And on and on and on—and with each one, the angrier…and guiltier he felt. Angry that people could be such assholes, and guilty because something he’d meant for good had been tainted.
Also, all the women commenting about him and what they’d done together after the cameras were off…well, that certainly wasn’t going to help his cause with Val. She already knew all about that bullshit, but having it smashed in her face? That was disgusting.
You only have yourself to blame, dumbass dick boy.
Yeah, he could take the post down and stop the dripping poison, but he was holding out for Val—had she seen it yet? Was she curious? Did she care about what he’d done for her? Had she read all the comments and been scared away?
Fuck. Even now, the fresh ink was irritating his skin, especially since it was in such a…sensitive place. Buck, the artist who inked it, had grimaced almost the whole time, not too keen on having to use his left hand to keep Red’s cock down and out of the way. They’d laugh about it in the future, but that day, it had been awkward as fuck.
Just one more piece of my self-punishment.
Too much deep thinking—he needed action, so that’s why he was in the truck he borrowed from Horde, parked in the parking lot of Walmart, waiting for the delivery driver with Val’s order to finish packing the bags of groceries into their Kia. The scents of fried rice and garlic wafted through the crack in his window from the Chinese food place a block down, which was actually impressive.
The parking lot was moderately full for the hour just before lunch, so he wasn’t worried about being seen, and with his ops training, he knew how to tail someone without being spotted. Once the lady left the parking lot, he’d be right on her trail, following her right to Val’s place.
And once he knew where his Daisy lived, he’d take the next step.
What that was, he couldn’t decide—there were too many; break in, install hidden cameras (an idea he’d stolen from Locust), or break in while she was sleeping, tie her to the bed, and then pleasure her until she forgave him. There was also the possibility of straight up kidnapping her and taking her to one of the club-owned rental properties until she gave him a second chance. No, none of those ideas were ideal, but the bottom line was he had to get her to listen to him, to hear him, to give him a chance to explain, to beg for forgiveness, because any other option was unacceptable.
The delivery lady, Rosie, closed her trunk, slid into the driver’s seat, and headed out the parking lot, through traffic, to the on-ramp for Highway 6 & 11, headed through the Notch toward Chinchilla.
Huh. Did his Daisy live in Clarks Summit or maybe Tunkhannock?
For twenty-five minutes, he followed the driver, until they turned into a neighborhood near the State Trooper office in downtown Tunkhannock, the street lined with small houses, just the right size for a single woman.
She wouldn’t be single for long, though.
Once I’ve claimed her, I’ll buy her a bigger, better house, one we can christen for a month straight, before I fill her to the brim with my babies.
Fuck! The idea of his luscious Valentina ripe with his baby….
He reached down and gripped his throbbing cock, squeezing it to alleviate the ache. Filling her with his babies was only one of the many fantasies he’d had of her, even before he’d been blessed with the revelation of her face—her voice alone could get him hard as fuck.
The grocery delivery driver slowed to a stop in front of 1981 Forand St., and got out.
Red pulled to the curb across the street and one house up, putting the truck in park, and peering out the window with his forehead pressed to the glass like a goddamn weirdo.
He couldn’t miss a single detail of what was going to happen. His heart and soul depended on this being her house.
The house was small, one car garage, painted a light brown with dark brown trim. It looked well maintained but old, like Val had taken care of it but couldn’t completely erase the wages of time.
The driver gathered two grocery bags and carried them to the door. She placed them down on the porch, then knocked. Not even a minute later… there she was .
His breath caught in his lungs as his eyes landed upon the woman he loved for the very first time—no screen between them, just the glow of the setting sun, the shadows cast by the eaves, and the glittering beauty of the smile aimed at the driver.
Fuck, she was so goddamn beautiful!
Red’s own smile split his face, a slow, wicked, victorious smile. His off-chance idea had paid off, he finally knew where Valentina lived, and after too long without her, he was vibrating with the need to stride across the street, smash through her door, and devour her.
No. Need to wait. Must plan, his logical mind said as it worked to calm the beast roaring for its mate.
His voice, a dark mix of gravel and grit, hammered the air as he growled, “I’ve found you, my Daisy….”