by Webster, K
His slap doesn’t help my already busted lip.
“You know what? No more Miss Nice Girl. I’ve tried to keep my manners, but you’re simply one rude and disgusting man. Your mother should be ashamed of herself with that mouth of yours.”
His evil laughter once again sends chills down my spine. “I killed my mother for making me the wrong sandwich and used the money to build a casino. I don’t give a fuck what she would have thought.”
“Yikes, was it the wrong peanut butter or something? I had that happen to me once. I prefer crunchy but sometimes if you make it with creamy, I don’t really care—oh gosh!”
He pops a knife out of his boot and takes it to my shirt, slicing it open. “I’m gonna fuck this stupid mouth to shut you up. How the fuck your daddy went through all this trouble for a nitwit like—”
“Get the FUCK off my girl!”
Rossi freezes at the deep booming voice of my father.
Oh, thank God.
His hand still holding the knife, slowly bends so the blade is pointing between my breastbone. “Now, now, old friend, is that any way to talk to your ex-partner?”
“You were never a friend nor a partner. And the way I see it, you’re soon to be dead and splattered all over this warehouse, so I suggest slowly getting off my daughter, and maybe I’ll take pity on you when I slice your fingers off one by one.”
“Not gonna happen. This is an eye for an eye.” He raises his hand quick and plunges down.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Before the knife plummets into my chest, Rossi’s body quakes as he’s riddled with bullets. His arm freezes, his eyes wide, staring into mine. With any life still pumping through him, his hand plows down. But not before a bullet ricochets through his skull, sending half his brain splattering across my face.
“Well, this is quite disgusting,” I say and pass out.
Luca
Billy, Get Your Cockblocking Posse Out of Here!
“Frannie!” I roar, my heart leaping out of my chest. With blood and brains splattered all over her and her body not moving, I’m about to lose my fucking mind.
“The grand finale,” Paul utters from nearby, pride evident in his tone.
Death—or her goddamn dad—rushes forward and kneels beside her. I struggle until a hand clutches my shoulder.
“I’ve got you, outlaw,” an elderly woman says as she starts to work the knots behind me.
A dog jumps into my lap and it takes all of two seconds to realize it’s my dog. “Bingie boy,” I choke out, overcome with emotion as the cute fucker licks my bruised face. “That’s a good boy.”
My hands loosen and I pull the dog to my chest, nuzzling my nose against his neck as I rise on shaky feet. Frannie is sitting up now and as soon as she sees me, she jolts to her feet, pushes past Death, and nearly knocks me and my dog over. Chandler yaps happily between us as we hug. She sobs and it breaks something inside me. I don’t know what kind of crazy strings my girl tugged on to pull off this mega shenanigan, but I swear, the moment I get her out of here, she’ll never have to worry about danger again.
I feel eyes on me and when I look up to see Death glaring at me, I lose it.
“Hold my dog,” I tell Frannie, pushing my prince into her arms.
She squawks and Chandler yaps when I storm over to Death. He squares his shoulders, ready for me. I get right in his face and poke his ridiculously hard abs.
“You’re a weak little bitch for what you did to my girl,” I snarl, my spit spraying his face. “Weak. You left her to the goddamn wolves.” I wave my hand in the air. “And then you played me to do your bidding. So much could have gone wrong and yet…” I choke on my words, hating to think of anything bad happening to her. “You let others protect what you should have taken care of.”
He winces and frowns.
“But don’t worry, buddy,” I tell him lowly. “I’m taking care of her now. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone—even you—get in my way. I may not be a murdering mobster, but I can fuckin’ Google it and learn. Capiche, Dr. Death?”
“Mr.—”
“Dad,” Frannie cuts him off. “Just say okay.”
Death looks murderous, but one quick look at his daughter and his evil glare melts away to one of love. It annoys me, but I know Frannie has that effect on everyone. Even mobster fuckfaces.
“Okay,” he mutters.
That was easy. I want to poke at him some more, but my girl has Rossi’s fucking guts on her and I’m desperate to get her into the shower with me so I can scrub it all away.
“Oh no,” Frannie whines. “We have to get out of here now!”
My heart stammers in my chest as I follow her gaze, expecting to see a bad guy with a gun. What I see is worse. Way worse.
“Bing! Close your eyes and run!” I grab Frannie’s hand and we get the hell out of there.
No one, and I mean no one, wants to watch an old lady and Van Damme play tonsil hockey. Fucking sick.
My mom sucked.
Bad.
She made family dinners awkward as fuck as kids.
But nothing, not even my mother, could outdo Death. He takes the cake. Fucking weirdo. Frannie is happy, though, and I suffer through it for her.
Death stands, tapping a butter knife to his wine glass to get everyone’s attention. “I would like to make a speech before we eat,” he says in a solemn tone. “Everyone at this table was brought here because of one person. And that person is my daughter, Frannie. She is the center—just as her mother was—of everyone’s world.”
He gets murmured agreements from everyone, including me, and a yap from Chandler. It’s been a few days since the shakedown at the warehouse. I slept off my injuries with Cala and Frannie looking in on me as my personal nurses. Death stayed away to deal with cleanup and arrived back today. The house has been lively thanks to three elderly visitors from the East Coast.
“So because she is the heart of us all, and she considers you all family in some way, then you are under the Lamberto protection now.” His eyes cut over to mine. “I’m sorry to those I’ve hurt along the way, but especially to Frannie. I thought I was keeping her safe, but all I did was break her precious heart. I’m going to put it back together one day at a time.”
Ah, jeez. The fucker is a poet and his words have their intended effect. Frannie preens.
“This ham’s dry,” the one I learned is named Beatrice barks out, not at all concerned that a mobster is trying to have a heartfelt moment.
“Your ham’s dry,” Mabel barks at her.
“Actually,” Henry pipes up, “it’s not—”
“La-la-la,” Frannie says, covering her ears. “I don’t want to hear about geriatric bedroom sports!”
Chandler yaps in agreement.
“Dearest Mabel,” Van Damme, er Paul, croons. “Would you like some gravy?”
“Gagging!” Frannie cries out.
The old ladies start swatting and Cala giggles from beside me. I turn and give my adorable niece a silly grin that makes her laugh harder. My eyes skim over to Lindsay’s and for the first time in years, she seems happy. At peace. When I dart my eyes up to Death, he’s watching me like a hawk. Then, as though he can’t help it, he drags his gaze to my sister, his features softening.
“Pappa Death, can we have ice cream? This ham is yucky,” Cala says, poking at the rubbery piece on her plate.
“Cala!” Lindsay scolds. “That was rude. Pappa Death worked hard on that!”
Chandler yaps from Cala’s lap and when Lindsay looks away, my niece slips the dog the goods. I’m wondering if I can con Chandler into my lap to handle my plate too.
Everyone is babbling and talking over each other, but rather than feel like chaos, it feels comfortable now. Death gives up and sits down, getting sucked into Henry’s war stories. Beatrice and Mabel argue loudly while Paul attempts to play peacemaker. Lindsay and Cala talk to Chandler, all smiles.
I lean in to Frannie and nuzzle her
ear. “This ham sucks. Want to get out of here? I know a quiet place.”
She turns and accepts a quick kiss. “Let’s get out of here.”
We sneak away from the lively table and the moment we’re out of the dining room and outside, I scoop her into my arms. She lets out a peal of laughter that sets my soul on fire. God, I love this woman.
“Where are you taking me?” she asks, her fingers brushing through my hair.
“Somewhere romantic.”
“Ooh, I love romantic somewheres. Run faster!”
I playfully nip at her cheek as I carry her down to the same barn I was held in not too long ago. I’m sure there’s a pile of hay we can roll around in. The barn is lit up from the setting sun, but I find us a spot in the corner that’s private. Frannie giggles as I set her to her feet and attack her pouty mouth with mine. I steal her panties and pocket them before grabbing her ass to lift her up. Pressing her back against the barn wall, I take my time kissing her deeply. My dick is hard as fuck in my jeans and I take pleasure grinding against her naked pussy.
“I need you,” she begs. “Please.”
As much as I wanted to play naughty nurse with her, we couldn’t. We had a four-year-old breathing down our necks like a miniature Daddy Death.
“I want to take my time with you,” I tell her, nipping at her bottom lip. “I’ve missed you.”
“And you’re gonna miss me some more if you take too long. They’ll find us eventually and I’d rather it not be with your tongue on my hoo-haw!”
I snort. “Hoo-haw?”
“Put your bad boy in it.”
“Maybe he’s a good boy.” I unbuckle my jeans and pull out my dick.
“Ohhh,” she moans when I push into her wet hoo-haw. “Definitely a bad boy. Like super naughty. Devilish even. Oh God!”
I drive into her hard, loving the way her moans echo loudly in the barn.
Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp.
Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp.
Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp.
“What’s that?” I mutter, pulling my mouth from hers.
“No one cares!” she cries out. “Keep stabbing me with the bad boy!”
“Sexy, babe. Super sexy dirty talk.”
“Right?”
“Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a!”
“What was that?” I grunt, fucking my wife in a hard, claiming way.
“Billy—”
“Luca—”
“Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a!”
“And Juniper!”
“What the—” I bark out, stalling in my thrusting to look over my shoulder.
Like some creepy Stephen King shit, we have five goats standing there staring us the fuck down.
“Oh, hell no!” I bellow. “Billy, get your cockblocking posse out of here!”
“Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a!”
“Billy!” Frannie admonishes. “Don’t talk back to your brother-in-law!”
“What? His what?”
“Keep going, husband! Destroy the hoo-haw!”
“Fuck, babe, I can’t work in these conditions!”
“For better or worse, Luca! You promised!”
“Not for better or fucking traumatizing!”
“Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a!”
“Shhh,” an old lady whispers loudly. “Henry, let’s hide in here. You can practice your choke hold…naked.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I hiss.
Frannie giggles. “Beatrice! Get your own room!”
“That hussy already claimed the barn,” Beatrice complains loudly to Henry.
“My dick is soft now,” I grumble. “I’m pretty sure Billy just shit himself in fear of seeing those two old fuckers go at it.”
“Ew,” Frannie whines. “That’s a Juniper poop. It has a hint of boysenberry. Ever since Gordon’s attack, she has a special diet—”
“Shoo!” I yell to the goats. “Get lost! I’m trying to fuck my wife here!”
“Ba-a-a-a-a-a!”
“Especially you, Billy! Don’t get mouthy with me!”
Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp.
Those fuckers finally leave and Frannie giggles. I kiss her deep, thrusting hard into her. We don’t have much time. Those goat stalkers will be back.
“Luca,” Frannie moans, digging her heels into my ass. “I love you.”
“I love you too, babe. Every part of you. Even all the crazy mobster father, old lady besties, goat herder baggage you have.”
I make her come, because it’s my husbandly duty and I’m damn good at it, and I follow behind.
Just in time for round two of the old fucker horror show.
“I will be Jean-Claude Van Damme and you can be Madonna,” Paul rumbles from nearby.
Fucking crazy fuckers.
I open my mouth to yell, but Frannie shushes me with a kiss. The creepy elderly roleplaying kinkfest is cut short when Beatrice tattles.
“The barn’s taken, old bird! Go sow your wild oats in a field like the rest of us!”
“Me? Old? You’re the one with an old man! I have a young lover, thank you very much!”
“Mr. Henry may be old in body,” Paul interjects, “but he is young in spirit.”
“Okay, Chuck Norris,” Mable grumbles.
“Should I play him next?” Paul asks.
“NO!” Beatrice and I yell at the same time Frannie asks, “Has he ever played Richard Simmons?”
How is this my fucking life?
As goddamn weird as it is to be in a dark corner of a barn with my dick still in my wife as we carry on a yelling conversation with four old people nearby—and five goats who decide to come back for a fucking encore—I’m content.
Better than content.
I’m happy.
And, of course, Frannie, the crazy ass woman I first met wearing a spandex nightmare, is at the center of it all.
Chandler
BROS BEFORE HOES!
Where are my pets?
I look under the bed. Nope, not there.
In the closet? Gone.
Hmmm…
They were just here, but then my new baby human pet distracted me with delicious ham and a promise of more cold sweet French toast sticks when she can slip away from her mother. And now, I can’t find them. My favorite pets.
It’s up to me to protect them and I’ve lost them!
I gallop down the hallway and pound on the door with my meaty paws, demanding Dr. Death, the sucker, to let me out. He rushes over to me and scratches behind my ear. I’m supposed to hate him, but I’ll forgive him this once because he gives the best scratches.
“You need to go outside and take a wee-wee?” he coos.
“I NEED TO TAKE A SHIT, YOU BALL-LESS CUNT!” I bellow at him.
He grins. “You’re so cute when you yap.”
Why do all my pets call it yapping?
As soon as he opens the door, I sprint down the porch and into the grass. I screech to a halt to sniff the air. When I get a whiff of my pets, I take off in that direction.
“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice says, making me stumble to a stop. “If it isn’t the Chandler Bing.”
This fucking guy.
“BILLY, YOU WHORE! YOU HAVE A WIFE!”
Billy, the smug goat, trots my way. “We’re not exclusive, handsome. Juniper and Crayola hook up all the time. That’s life.” He sniffs my butt, distracting me. “I always have time for you.”
“NOT NOW!” I growl. “I’M LOOKING FOR MY PETS!”
Billy licks under my tail and I fall over, succumbing to his charms.
Bastard!
“HOW YOU DOIN’?” I say, drunk on pleasure. I always thought I was a better Joey than a Chandler…
Billy’s magical tongue has me seeing stars until I hear my favorite pets laughing nearby.
“DAMN YOU, BILLY, FOR DOING THAT AGAIN!”
I scramble away from my relentless pursuer and race over to my people. They smell suspicious, but I climb up the small one and lick her face. She kisses me and praises me and tells me she loves
me.
“Bingster,” my favorite pet says, grinning at me. “Come to Daddy.”
“CALL ME JOEY!”
“I’ll call you Joey,” Billy offers, licking his lips.
I hate that goat.
“Do you think they’re talking to each other?” my pet Frannie Bananie asks my favorite one.
“Nah,” Daddy pet says. “The sketchy goat is probably fucking annoying him too.”
“EXACTLY!” I agree. This is why he’s my favorite. Even if he calls me everything but Joey. He gets me. We’re bros.
“You like it,” Billy says.
I leap out of Frannie Bananie’s arms into Daddy’s. He snuggles me and tells me to watch that sketchy goat and that he has my back.
“CAN WE KILL HIM?” I beg.
“We’re going to bail this loser farm, Bingboo,” he whispers. “Get the hell out of this zoo and back on the road where we belong. Your mommy loves an adventure.”
She’s not my mom, she’s my pet, but I don’t correct him.
“FUCKING FINALLY!”
“I’m free next week,” Billy offers.
“Dude, stop rubbing on my leg,” Daddy pet grumbles to the annoying ass goat. “Go on. Shoo. Go find the Goatfather and leave us alone.”
“YEAH!” I bellow in agreement. “YOU HEARD THE MAN!” I don’t care how nice Billy’s tongue is, I’m not interested. Freaky goat bastard.
“You’ll be back,” Billy says in a smug tone. “They always come back.”
I lick Daddy pet’s furry face and I wonder if he’ll soon have hair like me. I sure hope so. He’s not exactly handsome like yours truly, but I think if he keeps growing his face fur out, it’ll be a good start.
“Sometimes I think Mr. Bing likes you better,” Frannie Bananie complains as she leans in and gives me a sad face.
“I DO!” I agree, but lick her face so she won’t feel so bad. “I LIKED YOU BEST UNTIL HE SURPRISED US ON RICHARD SIMMONS NIGHT! INSTALOVE, FRANNIE BANANIE! JUST LIKE IN YOUR BOOKS!”
“I think he’s saying he loves me more,” she says, scrunching her nose and cocking her head.
“Of course he is,” he placates.
I lick his face and say, “LIES! BROS BEFORE HOES! DON’T GIVE HER FALSE HOPE!”
