Chapter 15 Everett
Ring of Fire, Johnny Cash
My pulse is pounding in my ears as I watch this shit bag call Brielle a whore . How fucking dare he? It takes all my willpower to not march over there and rip his spine from his body, but to my delighted surprise, my girl pushes this twat down the fucking stairs.
Good for her.
She is slowly opening up to her true self, accepting her real nature and beginning to stick up for herself. I wait to see her next move. She manically runs down the stairs to check a pulse point on the body, as I hear Piggy barking from the back yard. He can tell something is wrong as well .
She races up the stairs toward her room as I move to watch her from that vantage point.
She sits on her bed and places her hands on her face. Then, as she takes in a large exhale, she reaches for the phone and mutters, “I should call Bobby. Bobby will know what to do.”
What? No!
No, no, no. Goddammit, no! Now I must place my hands in my trouser pockets and claw my thighs from wanting to march over there and cease my urge to pound on the wall and tell her, Wrong person to call! I couldn’t imagine the betrayal on her face if she found out how I have been watching her.
I impatiently wait for her next move as time seems to slow. I can hear the clock ticking from her room as she reaches for the phone and dials a number. My leg begins to silently twitch as I fidget within my pocket.
Her sweet voice fills the room. “Hi. Um. Hiya, I was hoping to speak with Mr. Everett. Mr. Everett Afton please?”
Good girl.
She sits back on the bed, knees clutched to her chest as the phone stays pressed to her ear.
“All right. Yes. Please let him know I called. Thank you,” she responds with a shaky voice to whomever is on the phone.
I study her face, the worry etched across it.
She looks like she wants to cry. My goodness, the urge to hold her folds my system.
To hold her tightly in my arms and let her know everything will be all right.
I wait several minutes to avoid suspicion before heading downstairs to her front door.
It takes a few moments for her to answer it after I calmly knock. Her beautiful eyes fill with relief as she opens the door. Feigning nonchalance, I ask, “How may I help you this evening, dove? Did you get stood up by Dr. Shit Bag?”
She huffs in frustration as she grabs my forearm and pulls me inside.
Well, isn’t this exciting?
Peering down, I act like it’s the first time I’m seeing his annoying body on the floor. I raise my eyebrows. “I see your date didn’t go well, rather fell through…” I state dryly, fighting every bit inside of me to manically laugh while kicking his stupid body .
Lord have mercy, she is turning me into a dubious idiot.
She places her hands atop her hips, her periwinkle skirt flowing with the movement. Her annoyance with my statement is completely adorable.
“THIS ISN’T FUNNY!” she sneers. Her eye color is made more prominent by her complementing ivory button-up shirt and wavy brown hair.
“I wasn’t laughing, just making an observation,” I state, still holding back a chuckle over this win of mine. “What do you want from me, dove?”
She hesitantly looks between Dr. Brendon’s body and my towering stature.
“I…” she starts, then exclaims, “Are you going to blackmail me?” Her piercing eyes narrow and a small piece of my icy heart cracks from her question.
“Heavens no. I’m disappointed about that thought coming to your beautiful mind. You think I’d do that to you, love?” I reply, watching as her facial features change from accusatory to conflicted.
She just doesn’t know what to do in this situation, so I need to have patience and guide her. Taking in a deep breath, I catch her scent. Cracking my knuckles, I let out a small exhale and focus before I decide to break and take her on the stairs.
She speaks. “I need to fix this. How? How do I fix this, Everett?” she mutters, her delicate hands gesturing to Dr. Brendon’s body.
God, the way she says my name. I have to bite my lip, careful of my own gestures and words.
Placing my hands in my pockets, I fight the urge to reach for her then take a step over the body and stand in her space.
I look down at my beautiful, murderous creature.
“I’ll always clean your messes, my dear.
I would be honored,” I state, leaning toward her.
I take a small inhale of her perfume and give a tiny shake of my skull.
“Hell, I’m proud you finally made one and embraced your true nature…
” Before I begin explaining our next steps, and while fighting my urge to kiss her, I ask, “Where’s Piggy boy? ”
She cocks her head in confusion, looking down at Dr. Shit Bag’s body, as if I’m referring to him. “What?”
Then her beautiful eyes go wide as she looks back at me. “Oh, shite, I left him outside! Oh God!” She stumbles over her own feet to run toward the back door, letting the ginger brute back in. He comes barreling down the hallway, bypassing me and heading straight toward Dr. Brendon’s body.
Pig immediately latches onto the lower leg of Dr. Shit Bag, pulling on the trousers. Then Piggy does something utterly entertaining that I have only seen a honey badger do, called ragging: he violently shakes Dr. Shit Bag’s pant leg between his giant jowls. Of all things, this makes me break.
Bringing my scarred fist to my mouth, I try to act like I’m coughing, but fail to hide my laughing. “I see Piggy wasn’t a fan of him either.”
“Oh hush! Tell me what to do, knobhead!” she sneers in an adorable fashion, hands still atop those delectable hips.
I begin. “First instruction, kick him in the balls.”
I didn’t think she could furrow her brow more.
“What!? Everett, for fuck’s sake!” she exasperatingly huffs, then panics. “I’m not kicking a dead man in the balls!” As she states that, a moan comes from Dr. Shit Bag’s body.
“Oh, fuck!” she shouts.
Piggy begins shaking the leg even more aggressively.
Another moan escapes the body.
I roll my eyes as she continues to panic. “Oh God, oh no. What am I going to do? This is awful!” She places her hands over her face, pure turmoil etched across her features.
Standing straighter, I palm the pistol in my pocket. “Pity. He isn’t dead,” I remark, then hear Piggy grunt as he juts back a couple times, causing Dr. Shit Bag’s body to slide across the ground.
“Piggy, stop!” she yells.
“No, keep going. It’s funny,” I state. I think the dog gives me an agreeing snort as he persists with towing Dr. Shit Bag’s body slowly down the hall. I gesture at the moaning meat bag. “Will you kick him in the balls now? He isn’t dead and he deserves it,” I mention.
She lowers her hand. “Everett, I can’t, he’s already down and—”
I raise my palm in the air. I cut off her next words for her own good.
“With all due respect, dove, what about all the people that kicked you when you were down? Hmm?” Moving ever so carefully toward her, I invade her space.
Leaning forward, my face next to hers observing her body language, I close any gaps.
I watch her eyes follow my arm as it loops around her waist, pulling her closer.
Nuzzling my nose against her soft cheek, I state, “Stop showing mercy to those who don’t deserve it.
Stop diminishing yourself and giving others excuses to keep peace.
Hurt those who hurt you.” A pregnant pause settles between us.
There is a charge of electricity from our bodies being at such close proximity.
I can barely stand it.
I’m drunk on her essence and I’ve not even kissed her. This is dangerous.
She whispers, “I don’t want his blood on my hands. Please.”
I give her cheek a small kiss. “You don’t need to beg or barter. I’ll take care of this, on one condition.”
Gently, I caress my finger down her nose as she stares up at me with wonder in her eyes. A longing grows within me as I trail two fingers over the bottom of her soft lip. Her mouth parts as I feel her exhale on the tip of my finger.
“I need you to defend yourself. I may own this town, but it’s dangerous. I need them to underestimate how dangerous you can be.” Slowly, I grasp my hand softly around her throat, making sure not to squeeze, not to scare her. Her breath hitches as her pupils dilate.
“How?” Her cracking voice bobs under my palm.
I lean in closer, gently kissing the top of her head.
“I need…” I move my lips down the side of her face, feeling her skin prickle beneath my fingertips.
“For you…”
Hovering my lips over hers, I state, “To trust me. To train.”
Feeling her breath upon my lips she asks, “That’s all?”
I smile. “And to kiss me.”
I can feel her rise onto her tiptoes as her lips collide with mine.
Tightly wrapping my arms around her waist, I pull her closer to me.
The heat of her body licks down my spine, melting my nerve endings and igniting my soul.
Her scent fills my senses and I’m flooded with endorphins.
I want to stay here, in this moment. She makes me feel.
For so long I carried a wall of ice around me, focusing on work and maintaining an unfulfilled lifestyle.
This.
This is what I have been missing.
This makes me feel truly alive for this first time in my pathetic life.
I need her .
Her tongue delves into my mouth as one hand climbs up my chest and the other grasps my hair. I feel tension of our souls pulling against one another.
The electricity from our bodies dances across my veins.
I need more.
Sucking on her bottom lip, I cause a throaty moan to escape her.
She grasps my locks harder as I sear our bodies together.
While our passion is igniting, we are interrupted by Dr. Shit Bag’s increasingly frequent groans and moans.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter onto her lips, trying to extinguish my annoyance as Brielle sighs. “I’ll take care of this.”
Whispering, she replies, “You can’t take care of everything for me. My landlord, my apartment, now this?” She gestures with one finger toward Dr. Shit Bag as my eyebrows draw toward my hairline.
“So, you have a farm where all the bodies of your enemies go?” I ask.
She playfully pushes my shoulder, then realization sets into her features. Her eyes soften with sadness, and her shoulders sag.
“I nearly killed him. Am I a terrible person?” she quietly asks.
Placing her face between my hands, I stare into her eyes confidently. “Love, we are all terrible people one way or another. It depends on the day, it depends on the event. But if we had to be honest, Piggy is the most terrible here. Look at how savage he is.”
Both of our heads turn toward the scene.
Piggy’s large ginger body lies on the floor, all four paws sprawled out, completely exhausted. But he relents holding on to Dr. Shit Bag’s pant leg, intermittently shaking his head, trying to keep his aggressive demeanor.
Blood slowly pools onto the wooden floor from the bite mark he delivered to the limb. Piggy boy is trying so hard to be a fierce protector, but in the end, he has the stamina of a lazy-ass walrus.
“I’ll deal with this.” I state, drawing her closer to me and inhaling her perfume. “I don’t mind taking care of things for you.”