Chapter 7. Big Bad Wolf
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After returning home, we had a lot to unpack, mentally and physically. Nine and I fought for those first few weeks. There were things we needed to hash out that were unsettled. Like I said, lots of ghosts to bury, such as the girl I fucked. The guy she lied about. The loss of our baby. The idea that she’ll never be able to carry a child again. Her first two murders. The loss of Gabriel, and the addition of Francisco. I was certain at some point she would crack, revert to her old ways and run, but she didn’t. Instead, on rotation, we’d fight, then we’d fuck, and then we’d fight some more. There was still a lot of fire burning in us, despite killing Carmen. Since then, we’ve begun to move past those struggles, but what remains is this constant push and pull between us. Luckily, sex is our drug of choice, and the verbal tug of war, fucking turns us on.
“Say it,” she demands, gritting her teeth.
“I want you,” I whisper in her ear, while my hand snakes its way up her outer thigh.
“I don’t believe you. Say it again!” she demands again, as she roughly brushes my hand off.
I lick my lips, and cock my head to the side. It’s five in the morning and the kids are dead asleep. Let the games begin. I replant my hand more aggressively on her thigh this time and then I pull her into me with force.
“I said…I want you,” I repeat, assertively.
“I’m hearing the words, but I still don’t know if I believe them,” she whispers into my ear. “And, if I’m being really honest, they sound weak.” She squints at me.
I nod, fully awake and ready to play now. With one hand, I quickly grasp her throat, and I slowly slide the other between her legs. She gasps, which brings my full attention to her face. Her eyes slightly roll back and her bottom lip falls open.
“What the fuck did you just say?” I reply, as my fingers repeatedly brush against her pussy. My hand tightens on her throat. “I can’t hear you.”
Her temperature rises and the small of her back starts to buck up from the mattress. Her chest begins to rise and fall at a faster pace, and as she stares at me, I notice her eyes darken. I pull my hand out from between her legs and place it up against my nose, inhaling the scent of her on my fingers. The smell alone makes me want to set her free and then hunt her down just to ravage her for my own enjoyment. I pack that specific fantasy away for the moment and proceed with the game. I bring my middle finger up to my mouth, and with one slow suck, I wet it from base to tip while she watches. I hear a soft moan escape her lips as I insert my finger into her. I slowly start to move it in and out until her body tenses and her legs begin to shake.
“Fuck me,” she begs.
“Say it again,” I command.
“Fuck me,” she repeats a little louder.
Her body is now writhing against my hand as the pussy gods open the floodgates and she becomes well-saturated. I pull my finger out and lick her clean off me while she watches.
“I’m hearing the words, but I still don’t know if I believe them,” I say into her ear. “And if I’m being really honest, they sound weak.”
I use the same words against her which just seems to turn her on even more. She looks at me with calculated eyes and then she unexpectedly grabs my throat. Time seems to stop for a short second in this sexual standoff. My heartbeat increases while my dick strains against the fabric of these shorts. I know what she wants. To give up control. To be manipulated. To be dominated. I love taking her to the edge and bringing her back.
“If you fuck me like a God…I’ll let you destroy me like a villain,” she says, as she pushes her hand down over mine, tightening my grip around her throat. “Ruin me,” she whimpers.
The demon in me lets loose. Say less, Nine. Say fucking less.
Two hours later we are sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the broken lamp, ripped bed sheets, and torn clothing spread out all across the room. Both of us are still naked, covered in bite and scratch marks. Hickeys up and down our skin. She can barely move, and I’m pretty sure I broke my dick and threw my back out, but I’ll never admit that.
“I don’t think I can walk,” she jokes.
“You said destroy you. That was at your request. I was just following orders.”
“And you did a fucking phenomenal job because I think I’m missing my cervix,” she teases.
I chuckle and pull her naked body into me, kissing her neck up to her ear.
“I still have another round in there. If you can handle it, I can deliver it.”
She leans over and kisses me. I start to run my hand up her thigh. She smirks and pushes me away.
“No more. I gotta take a shower, you brute.”
She jumps up and slowly waddles to the bathroom, which makes my ego proud. Pussy killed. Mission accomplished. Time for recovery. The exhaustion sets in as I settle into the mattress and instantly fall deeply asleep.
It feels like I’m dreaming, but as I come to, I hear the sounds of muffled voices talking, which jolts me wide awake. I quickly sit up, confused, and grab my phone to check the time. It’s now eight-thirty in the morning. I’ve been out for hours. I stare at our closed bedroom door as more muffled words and laughter are exchanged from the other side. I jump up, slide into my shorts and grab my gun. I walk to the door, crack it open and peek out. It’s silent now as I spot a tall, lean, Hispanic man standing alone in my living room. He acts suspicious as he looks around like he’s casing out the place. He turns and reaches into his coat lining, which triggers me to run down the hall, and without thought, tackle his ass to the carpet. He screams in fear and throws his hands up in submission as I hover over him.
“Who fucking sent you?” I bark, as I place the gun to his head.
I hear the sound of footsteps running down the hallway.
“For fuck’s sake. This is Tom. The life insurance guy,” she says. I look up at her, slightly embarrassed. “We discussed this last week. I told you about the appointment. I literally just left the room for two seconds to get some records.”
I climb off of Tom, jump up, and extend my hand out as a peace offering. The guy looks terrified and is reluctant to grab it. Nine pushes me out of the way, bends down, and helps him up.
“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, Tom. This is Mr. Krackle, my husband. He suffers from post-war PTSD, especially when he doesn’t take his meds. I hope you understand.” She turns to me with the fakest smile ever. “Perhaps you can put on a shirt, hunny. Give the muscles a rest for a day, yeah?”
“Of course, Angelina,” I mock.
She turns Tom away from me by his elbow and walks him toward our kitchen table while looking back at me with a pissed-off face. I throw my hands up and mouth “sorry” to her and then make myself invisible until “the suit” is gone. I decide on my way back to our room to check on the kids even though I know those two night owls probably won’t even wake up until eleven. I peek in to see both of them in their beds, crashed out. None of that racket even stirred them. That’s impressive, yet frightening. I proceed back to my cave to hide out until the queen brings her fury.
She bursts into the room, as expected, once Tippy Tom leaves. “What in the holy hell was that?”
“A reaction to some strange guy in my house that looked like he was reaching for a gun. Nine, I don’t want any men in this house when I’m not home nor do I want them alone with you even if I’m here. I told you that already.”
“This was business. He’s an agent.”
“I don’t give a fuck if he’s the King of England, if he has a dick then I don’t want him alone with you. This is the last time I’m saying this. Period.”
She gives me a stunned look at first, as if to say, who the fuck do you think you’re talking to. She can see I’m a bit agitated. I lock eyes with her to let her know I mean business.
“Is that an order, boss?” she asks, squinting at me.
I slide my hand down my chin.
“More of a mandatory request,” I shoot back.
“Those two words don’t go together, Trig.”
“Blame it on my post-war, PTSD, un-medicated brain,” I mock.
“Are we fighting?” she asks.
“Depends on your response to my requests. Would you like to fight, Nine?”
She stands in front of me, arms crossed, eying my bare arms and chest briefly. Her eyes drop down to my meat print. She bites her bottom lip just long enough for me to notice. I motion with two fingers for her to come to me. She doesn’t budge. Instead, she switches gears, shakes her head ‘no’ and glares at me. A frustrated exhale escapes my lips. If she won’t come to me willingly, it’s my pleasure to assist her. I attempt to stand up. She moves forward, takes her foot and gently kicks me back down into a sitting position on the bed.
“If strange dicks in our house are your concern, I can assure you, this is the only one I want.” She reaches down, grabs my cock and gently massages it through the shorts. “This right here is the only one I need.”
I swiftly stand up, grab her arm, spin her around and turn her back to me. My right arm wraps around her shoulder and pins her arms to her chest.
“You think I’m worried about you chasing strange dick? I’m worried about perverse dick chasing you?” I whisper, while slowly licking the side of her neck. “You need to be careful. There’s a lot of wolves out here, little red riding hood,”
“All I heard was the word perverse,” she breathes out.
She pushes her ass into me and lets her head fall back against my chest.
“Don’t tempt me,” I growl.
“Why not? I like a big bad wolf,” she says, as she grinds her ass against my cock.
I bend her over the bed, face down, ass up, and loosen the pants she has on, letting them drop to the floor.
“You don’t listen. When I say no men in this house, I mean, no men in this house. I think you need a punishment,” I pause. “Now, beg Daddy for it.”
“Please,” she moans into the blanket.
I give her ass a good swat. She cries out in pleasure. “Again!” I demand.
“Please.”
I swat her ass harder. She groans while clutching the blanket.
“Again!” I say, as I slowly run my hand down her spine.
“Please,” she begs.
Her body tenses up, ready for it. I lick my hand, haul back, and smack her ass. The sting radiates from my palm down to my fingertips. She cries out again and arches her back. Her ass cheek turns a bright pink, which makes my dick tingle.
“Have you learned your lesson yet?”
“Yes,” she groans out.
“Perfect, because if I find you alone with another man in this house, I’ll slice his throat in the kitchen sink and fuck you right there on the floor next to his body just to prove a point.”
She pushes her ass back and grinds against my hard cock. She attempts to reach back but I grab her arm and bend it behind her, pinning her there.
“Are you going to honor my requests or are we going to have a problem?”
“Yes,” she moans.
“Yes, what?” I growl into her ear.
“Yes, sir!”
“Good girl. Now come ride this dick.”
***
Nine enters the kitchen to find me and Francisco in an infuriated state. Both of us are leaning over the glass, our elbows on the table, and hands folded the same way. His scowl matches mine, and neither of us moves an inch as we stare each other down.
“Boys, is there an issue here?”
Nine looks at me for answers. I finally break character, sit up straight, and motion to him.
“The floor is yours,” I say, utterly annoyed.
“My name is Francisco!” he barks out.
“Well, not anymore. Enough is enough. You’re getting a new name,” I insist.
“I don’t want a new name! I like mine! My mom gave it to me.”
“Well, your mom was a—”
Nine throws her hands up and cuts in. “Whoa! Let’s not go there, Trig.”
I’ve been arguing all morning with the kid and my nerves are fried. Me and Nine have been walking on eggshells since he came here in an attempt to let him adjust, and it’s been hard. We’ve catered to him, pampered him, and avoided talking about his mother. I can’t do it anymore. It’s not fair to Mya who is disciplined. It’s not fair to us, and it’s certainly not doing him justice in the long run. We need to give him a new identity. I have zero records for this kid, which means I have to call an old friend for an old favor and have him make up some. I attempt to stick to the original story when speaking to him but it comes out harsh,
“Your mom… she abandoned you. I’m your dad. I make the rules now.”
Francisco looks at me and then at Nine. He squints his eyes.
“You’re a liar. I don’t trust you. You make nothing,” he says, as he runs away to his room.
I start to stand up and go after him, but Nine stops me.
“The delivery could have been better, Trig. We don’t know what he’s been through. Natasha and Carmen and that life is all he knows. It’s going to take a lot of work and a lot of patience.”
I sit down and run my hands over my face.
“He’s hard-headed, arrogant, and won’t back down.”
Nine scoffs.
“Something funny?” I inquire.
“He’s you. That boy is all you. From his looks to his mouth, right down to his actions.”
“I think I’m in over my head with him. What if he turns out to be like his mom, with a screw loose?”
Nine walks behind me and starts to massage my tense shoulders.
“Relax, baby. We’re adjusting and he has barely begun grieving the life he once had. Something we both are very educated in.”
I nod in frustration. A boy missing his mom is something I can relate to. I understand his pain. I do. But given the situation, it’s difficult to remind myself to keep empathy when he grieves for the ghost of my enemies. No matter how hard I try, he hates me. He’s resentful. He called me a liar. I suppose I am. I’m a liar for his sanity, is what I tell myself. We have to look at that boy every day for the rest of our lives and know that we killed his mother and grandfather and took satisfaction in spilling their blood. We have to stick to the lie and repeatedly tell him he was abandoned, hoping one day it sticks, and expect in the process to gain his trust. He’s too young to understand reality. To understand the depth of adult pain. To know the degree of what has happened. I know that at this stage, it’s better to comfort him with a lie, than hurt him with the truth, even if he hates me for it. Nine leans down and kisses the top of my head. I turn in my chair to face her as she moves in front of me.
“I’m sorry!” I mutter, as I place both hands on her hips.
She looks down at me, confused. “Sorry for what?”
“For all the darkness.”
She shakes her head.
“Trig, I love you, and if that means we have to walk through the darkness together to get to the light then so be it. Everything is going to be fine. Look at me,” she says, as she grabs my face.
Just as those affirming words leave her mouth, chaos strikes again. Francisco stands a good distance away with one of my guns pointed at us. We slowly raise our hands up in the air. Neither of us says a word at first. His hand is steady and his eyes are locked in. Not a tremble in sight. He has no fear, which makes me think that he’s held a gun before. One wrong move from us and his finger would surely pull that trigger.
“Nine, don’t fucking move,” I whisper.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” she grits out through her teeth.
“Do you know how to work that gun?” I ask calmly.
He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move. The boy doesn’t even blink.
“You’re mad. I get it. I miss my mom too. I wanted revenge. I wanted to kill everybody who I felt was responsible for taking her away from me.”
Something in Francisco’s eyes changes. I slowly stand up which sets him off. His muscles tighten as he takes one step forward. His finger on the trigger starts to shake.
“Easy. We don’t want any accidents. Can you take your finger off the trigger for me?”
Francisco shakes his head. Nine looks over at me in panic.
“Look. My mom was my world. There was no one like her. Maybe that’s how you feel about yours? Maybe you had a different relationship with Natasha than I did. I’m sorry she left you, but I’m here now and I promise I’ll protect and love you the best I can. I’m not perfect, but I’m good at that. You have my word.”
Francisco starts to cry, causing the gun in his hand to shake. Right then, Mya, wearing her roller skates, barrels right down the hall, across the floor, crashing into Francisco. They both tumble and the gun goes off. Mya yelps and grabs at her behind as I run and grab him and wrestle the gun away. Mya begins to scream bloody murder.
“Oh my God! I think she’s shot.” Nine panics while ripping off Mya’s pants.
I’m squatted down holding Francisco in one hand and the gun in the other. We both watch as Mya gets stripped down. A trail of blood runs down the back of her bare leg.
“It’s just a graze,” Nine says with relief as she clutches her chest.
I aggressively pull him up off the ground and then tuck the gun into the back of my waistband. Nine runs to get the first-aid kit and a pain reliever as Mya lies there crying.
“Are you crazy? You could have killed her. You can’t run around this house like a goddamn thug, pointing guns at us because you have big feelings. You wanna be pissed at me and Nine? Fine. But no guns. No guns when you’re sad. No guns when you’re mad. No goddamn guns, ever!”
“You sound like Dr. Seuss,” Francisco replies.
“Say one more word. I dare you,” I yell. “I am this close to losing my shit and I will knock you into next week.” I pause. “Now, say sorry to Mya.”
“You said ‘not another word’,” Francisco mutters.
“Boy!” I shout.
Francisco looks down, mumbles ‘sorry’, and then shuts up. My tone has put the fear of God into him. Nine runs back in like she’s an EMT.
“That jackhole shot me,” Mya shouts from the floor, pointing her little finger at him.
“Jackhole?” three of us repeat.
“I’m not a jackhole,” Francisco yells.
“Drink this. The meds will help with the pain.” She pauses. “Where did you hear that word, Mya?” Nine says, while bandaging her butt cheek.
“Videos online.”
“It’s not appropriate,” I reply.
“Neither is shooting me right next to my cornhole,” she shoots back, while wiping her eyes.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Nine says.
“Ooooooh, Mom cussed,” Mya whispers.
“We don’t say jackhole or cornhole,” Nine responds.
“How about for fuck’s sake? You just said it,” Mya asks.
Nine looks at me and then back to Mya and just shakes her head. She turns her attention to both kids.
“All done. Try not to sit on that cheek for a while. Lay on your side or stomach.” She pauses. “Look at me—the both of you. We don’t tell anyone about this. Understand? This is bad. This never happened, nor will it happen again, right?” Both kids nod. “And Mya, no more of that talk. Please.”
“Okay. I gotta get my big feelings out. Last time. Will I be in trouble, Momma?”
Nine rolls her eyes and then waves her hand in the air. Mya stands up in pain and looks at Francisco.
“For fuck’s sake, you jackhole. Next time you shoot toward my cornhole, we are gonna square up, and I’ll take you. I’ll take you down.”
My eyes widen and my mouth drops open. Nine covers her face with her hands.
“Now, you coming, Cisco, or nah?”
Cisco?
Mya grabs Cisco’s hand and gangster-walks toward her bedroom with him. I’m in complete shock at the level of dysfunction happening right now.
“Maybe no more internet.”
“Ugh. Yeah. Definitely no more.”
We both exhale and turn to each other.
“Dude. Your son shot our daughter and grazed her ass. He could have killed us.” Nine rubs the back of her neck as she snorts in disbelief.
“I know. It’s my fault. I should have locked up my gun in the vault. I didn’t think he would find it behind the headboard. He must have seen me put it there one night. This could have ended so much worse. I’m sorry. He’s going through things and I should have known better and taken extra precautions.”
She nods as her nerves stabilize. She grabs my hands and squeezes them.
“We should go check on them. They could be planning a heist as we speak,” she says.
We make our way to Mya’s room where the kids are laying on the floor, eating dry cereal and watching cartoons like nothing happened.
“What the fuck?” we mouth to each other.
I thumb toward the opposite direction.
“While they”re busy, we should probably put up all the knives, guns, and anything sharp,” I say.
“Chemicals and drugs as well. Ya know, just to be safe,” Nine adds.
We spend hours child-proofing our house more than we have ever proofed it before by hiding or locking anything remotely dangerous away. Even pens and pencils are suspect. Our minds are temporarily fucking with us, but it seems the kids have now joined some weird unity and every time they walk by, there’s a stare-off between them and us, and then a fake smile ensues in sync. It’s fucking weird.
Later that evening at dinner, I watch Francisco stab his fork into his meat several times, probably imagining that it’s me. Every so often he looks up from his plate and glares my way. I take a deep breath, exhale, and then stand up. We can’t go on like this.
“Get up. Let’s go outside, yeah?” I say to him.
We all watch as he stands up at the speed of someone’s ninety-year-old grandma. He stalls by adjusting his clothes. I motion for him to walk in front of me. He trudges forward, head down, dragging his feet. My chest feels heavy for him. How do we get through this? How do we build a bond if he hates me? We make our way outside and then we sit down on a curb. I look over at him. He looks like I did when my mom died, or when my brother died, or when I thought Nine was going to die, and when Mya was taken. Defeated.
“I’m not going to voluntarily talk bad about your mom, but when you have questions, I’m here to answer them. I never knew you existed prior to several weeks ago, and I just want you to know that if I had, I’d like to think I would have taken you at birth and raised you myself. At least I would have wanted to. Your mom…” I stop right there. “I mean, the family that you were around, did what they had to, to survive. They lived a different lifestyle and did things that hurt others in the process, including Nine, Mya, my brother, and me. The things they did won’t make sense to you until you get older, and if you want to know, I’ll explain everything then.”
He scoffs. “What did they do to Nine?”
I don’t think he is ready to hear this but he is asking so I sit there preparing myself to answer, not just for him, but for me as well.
“They stole her… and Mya, and then separated them both. They touched Nine in places she didn’t want them to, and then they beat her and drugged her.”
I feel my chest tighten up as the words come out. Francisco looks intensely at my face.
“Nine was pregnant and she lost the baby after the beating. Because of them, her body can’t make babies anymore.”
There is a moment of silence as he takes it in.
“Did my mom hurt her?”
I nod.
“Did my mom hurt you?”
I nod.
I can see a few tears fall down his face.
“Sometimes, she’d hurt me,” he utters.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
He shakes his head, so instead, I grab his hand and try to explain to him why people do what they do.
“We are all products of our environment. Your grandfather was not very kind to people, and maybe he was not very kind to Natasha, and in return, she was not very kind to others.” I pause. “There”s an old saying that says ‘hurt people hurt people’, but we don’t have to do that. Hurt people can change the direction of the wheel at any time. You can choose to be kind. It’s a choice.”
He’s lost in thought and I just sit there thinking about my own words for a minute.
“I don’t expect you to fully understand any of this. I don’t expect you not to feel anger or pain or frustration. I’m just saying to give us a chance. Me and Nine, we have a lot of kindness to give, and maybe you can learn to at least tolerate us. We’re not that bad.”
He stares forward and doesn’t respond. It kind of feels like he needs some space.
“I’m going to go inside. If you want to come in, then come. If you want to stay out here and get a little air, that’s okay, too. Just don’t wander off.”
I stand up and slightly turn on my heel when he decides to open up.
“She used to hit me with extension cords every night—said it would toughen me up to be a man.”
I close my eyes and steady my nerves before turning around to look at him.
“I’m sorry she did that to you. Pain does not make a man. Someone who loves you will never want you to be in any pain. What she did was abuse. Do you understand what that is?”
I see his chin trembling. “She was nice sometimes, I think,” he cries.
“It’s okay to be confused. This is a confusing world. Sometimes nothing makes sense, and that’s okay.”
“Do you think she’ll ever come back and get me?”
I stare down at him, and just shake my head.
“Where do you think she went?”
“I don’t know,” I lie.
He examines my face for a long time. He’s studying me like I do to other people.
“Will you promise to tell me the truth this time if I ask you a question?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Is she dead?” he asks.
I sit back down and scoot him close to me. He’s so young and vulnerable and just all kinds of fucked up. I nod and wrap my arms around my son. He breaks down into tears and falls into my chest. My eyes begin to water at the sound of his heavy sobbing. It’s ripping out my soul right now.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I keep repeating while rocking him.
His head is cradled in my hand against my chest. He cries and cries until there are no more tears left, but he never lets go. Not once. His fingers grip my shirt tightly, like he’s afraid to let go. I smash my face into his sweaty hair.
“I love you,” I say, which sounds weird. How do I love a kid I barely know? I do, though. I love him for the shit he had to endure, some that I will never know. I love him for his bravery, for his pain, and hopefully for his recovery, but mostly because he is mine. I will spend the rest of my time on this earth showing him what it means to be loved and what it means to give love.