My face flashed hot. I hoped he couldn’t tell, but I was sure he could. “Oh,” I said snidely. “So now you don’t want to get your little feelers hurt.”
He took the one step that separated us and pressed his massive chest against mine. A faint hint of his cologne mixed with the aroma of his manly musk.
I nearly melted into a puddle at his feet.
He peered into my eyes. “If your pussy’s half as good as your tits, your ass, or your pretty little face, fucking it once isn’t going to be enough. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take.” He pushed his way past me and strode toward the door. “Don’t forget your purse.”
Chapter Nine
Devin
I’d spent the night wondering if my decision to walk away from Teddi was a good one. I desperately desired her, but I feared the aftermath. If my past “relationships” were any indication, she’d eventually get fed up with my antics and run as fast and as far as she was able.
For some men, aggressive sex followed a night of drinking. For others, it was a means of controlling their sexual partner. Slow, soft, sensual sex had never been an option for me. In fact, I couldn’t achieve an erection without having a fistful of a woman’s hair in my hand.
Eventually, my sexual requirements grew old with my partners. It wasn’t surprising. Deep within my being, I yearned to one day be normal. Sadly, I knew that day would never come.
Unable to sleep, I sat at the kitchen table, sipping my coffee and wondering why I was different from most men.
Herb entered the kitchen, paused, and gave me a confused look. “What in the hell are you doing up at the ass crack of dawn on a Saturday morning?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Surprising, considering how late you came in last night.”
“I went for a ride.”
“To where? Miami? Go to see your hooligan friends?”
“Tampa. Rode up there, got some tacos at an all-night stand, and rode back.”
“Two hundred miles for a taco?” He shuffled to the coffeepot and poured a cup. “That makes perfect sense.”
“Did to me.”
“Everything all right?”
“Not especially.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not especially.”
He sat down. “You know, early in our marriage, Midge and I had a parrot. Damned thing could only say one thing. Hello. It said it over, and over, and over. After about ten years, it died. It was supposed to live thirty. I told the missus it died from boredom, because all it did was repeat itself. Keep saying ‘not especially’ for a few more years, and I’ll predict an untimely death.”
“Go to hell, old man.”
He chuckled. “I’m headed that direction. Just give me time.”
I laughed. “Sorry if I woke you when I got home.”
“I heard you come in, but I fell right back to sleep. You’ve got distinctive footsteps. As soon as I hear ’em, I relax.”
It was four thirty in the morning when I got home. Being up all night wasn’t constructive, but I had to do something to keep my mind off Teddi.
“I need to figure out something constructive to do with my day,” I said.
“You’ve already got something to do.”
“Do I?”
“Vinnie found out about your coworker gal’s ex-boyfriend.” He sipped his coffee. “He’s in Bonita Springs, five minutes away.”
I appreciated the old man’s efforts, but I had my doubts that Herb’s card-playing buddy found the right person between card games and free cups of coffee at the clubhouse.
I finished my coffee and stood. “I doubt he’s got the right guy.”
“I don’t give a damn if you believe me or not,” Herb snarled. “But if Vinnie said it’s so, it’s so.”
I sauntered to the coffeepot. “So Vinnie’s a detective now?”
“Better detective than you,” he insisted. “That’s for damned sure.”
I poured a fresh cup and returned to the table. “How does he know it’s him?”
“Well, if you’d shut up long enough for me to finish a sentence, I’ll show you.”
Herb shuffled to the back of the house and returned with his phone. He handed it to me. “Open up the text message thing. There’s a picture in there somewhere. I know the son of a bitch is there. I just don’t know how to get to it.”
I swiped my thumb across the screen, surprised that the old man didn’t have a password. I tapped my finger against the text message icon. Two text message threads opened. The first, from Verizon, included offers for a new phone that began two hours prior and dated back years. The other was a message from an out-of-state number that must have been Vinnie’s. It had two photos attached to it and an address in Bonita Springs. The photos were of Kate and the same man.
He wasn’t what I expected. Not really. A scruffy-looking guy with a deep tan and a sparse, unkempt beard, he looked like he should be living under a bridge.
The photos were taken at two different times in Kate’s life, as her hair was colored a little differently in each of the photos.
“How do I know this isn’t her brother?” I asked.
“It’s on his Facebooks. Vin said there’s messages on there about them doing stuff together.” He gestured toward the phone. “In that one, they were at the Mercato. Vin said it was some sort of celebration. Grand opening of an Italian joint or something.”
“Josh Jackson, huh?”
“That’s what he said.” He wagged his wrinkled finger at the phone. “It’s right there in the message. I saw it late in the evening, yesterday, while you were fucking around in Tampa Bay eating tacos. You can call that phone number, and Vinnie can guide you to that kid’s Facebooks.”
“Book,” I said. “Book. It’s not plural. Facebook. Not books.”
“Well la-tee-dah. Fine. Facebook. I don’t give a shit what it’s called. Scribble down that phone number and call Vinnie. Or send him one of those messages.” He scowled. “He’s all up-to-date on that shit.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and logged into Facebook. A quick search for “Josh Jackson in Bonita Beach, Florida” produced the guy’s profile. After a few minutes of scrolling through pictures of him with other women, I reached the point in his timeline where he and Kate were obviously together.
He wasn’t her brother, that much I was sure of.
The photos—at least some of them—were seven months old, which coincided with Kate’s comment of the relationship ending six months prior.
Seeking revenge on the man who hit Kate would be a perfect way for me to rid myself of my frustrations. I turned off my phone and peered across the table. “Looks like Vinnie’s right.”
“Well, hell.” He chuckled a dry laugh. “That didn’t take long. You a computer hacker in a former life?”
“All I needed was a name.”
“You can just go to someone’s Facebook and look at everything? Just like that?”
“More or less.”
His wiry brows pinched together. “That’s dumber’n fuck.”
I laughed. “Why?”
“Be like taking the family photo album to the clubhouse and just leaving it there for everyone to peruse through. That stuff’s personal, and it ought to stay that way. Isn’t anyone’s business what I’m doing or who I’m screwing. Putting everything out there for the world to see doesn’t do anything but open a man up to criticism. Keeps denial from being a plausible option, too.” He motioned to my phone. “Just like that dumbass. If his pictures weren’t all out there for the world to see, he could deny it. Kind of tough now, ain’t it?”
“Sure is.”
“So, what are we going to do?” he asked.
“We aren’t going to do anything. I’m going to pay him a visit.” I glanced at my watch. It was six a.m. I looked at Herb with apologetic eyes. “I’ll probably head that direction right now.”
“Bullshit,” he snapped back. “Vinnie and I are going too. You go rollin
g up to his place on that raggedy-assed Harley all covered in tattoos, and the jig’ll be up for sure. We all go up there in Vin’s Cadillac, and he’s gonna wonder what the hell we want. I guarantee you he’ll open the door for two old men and an idiot biker.”
I hated to admit it, but Herb was right. I was in top physical condition and covered in tattoos. The layman’s perception of me would be that I was a thug. If I knocked on his door alone, he wouldn’t answer.
“Fine,” I said. “Call Vinnie and see if he’s up and ready. We should do it soon. Maybe try to get there by six thirty, before he leaves for the day.”
“He’s up at four thirty, just like me.”
“Well, get him over here,” I said. “And we’ll get this show on the road.”
After stopping at the Dunkin’ Donuts for a cup of coffee and a pastry, we made it to Josh’s house just before seven a.m.
I followed Vinnie and Herb to the front door. The home was a modest ranch with a one-car garage in a quiet neighborhood positioned in the center of town. Despite the faded exterior paint and damaged roof tiles, the yard was well-kept and landscaped beautifully. The garage door was closed, and no cars were parked in the drive, leading me to believe there were no Friday night visitors still occupying the home.
Herb was dressed in a pair of khaki-colored old-man pants and a powder-blue, short-sleeved button-down shirt that was tucked tightly into his waistline. He looked like every other eighty-year-old man in Southwest Florida.
Vinnie wasn’t quite what I expected. In his mid-sixties, by my guess, he was five-foot-six or so, built like a semi-retired weightlifter, and had a thick New Jersey accent. He wore his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, and he walked with a noticeable “don’t fuck with me” gait.
He was dressed like he was headed to a nightclub. Two gold chains dangled from his thick neck, one of which had a large, diamond-encrusted crucifix. A gold Rolex watch was on his left wrist, and his right was adorned with a gold chain. Several of his fingers, including his right pinkie, were fitted with gaudy gold rings. Wearing a pair of olive-colored slacks, black dress shoes, and an untucked black silk shirt, he looked the part of a stereotypical East Coast mobster.
When we reached the front door, Vinnie nudged his way in front of Herb. He glanced at me. “Pay attention.”
“To what?” I asked.
We’d agreed the two old men would lure Josh to answer the door, with me hidden out of view. Once the door was open, I’d take it from there, pushing him back inside the home to take care of business. After I made myself clear, we’d depart with a stern warning of retaliation if he spoke to police regarding the incident or to Kate about anything.
Vinnie slammed the backside of his thick fist against the door like he was a detective serving a warrant.
“What’s with the cop knock?” I whispered.
He glanced over his shoulder and shot me a glare.
He knocked again. This time it was much harder than the first.
“Jesus,” I said.
The same “go fuck yourself” glare followed.
Herb teetered back and forth on the balls of his feet nervously. I felt like an extra in a scene from a Martin Scorsese mobster movie, with Vinnie playing the lead, Herb along for the ride, and me as a stand-in.
The door opened a few inches. From my position, I couldn’t see a thing.
“What, umm,” a tired voice stammered. “Is there something—”
Vinnie planted the heel of his shoe against the door with such force that it slammed against the face of whoever was peering through it.
“Fuckin’ piece of fuckin’ shit,” Vinnie seethed, storming through the opening.
I edged my way past Herb and stepped inside the home. Josh’s left hand was in front of his face, covering his eye. Wearing sweatpants and a wrinkled T-shirt, it was obvious he’d just crawled out of bed.
He looked at Vinnie through one extremely wide eye. “What the—”
“Fuckin’ stronzo. I ought to cut yah fuckin’ hands off,” Vinnie snarled. He kicked the toe of his shoe against Josh’s shin, just below the knee.
Josh fell to the floor like someone had pushed him off a cliff. “Goddammit,” he whined, looking up with his one good eye. He glanced at me and then Herb. “Who the fuck—”
“Hit a fuckin’ woman?” Vinnie asked. “In the face? Che palle?”
Josh’s eyes shifted from Herb to Vinnie.
The heel of Vinnie’s shoe came crashing down against Josh’s stomach. Repeatedly, Vinnie stomped until Josh was wadded into a tight ball.
Assuming it was over, I nudged my way to Vinnie’s side. He looked at me with anger-filled eyes. Holding my gaze, he stomped his heel against the side of Josh’s face.
Blood ran along the side of Josh’s face and pooled on the floor. A large gash on his upper cheek would require a dozen or more stitches. The ugly scar would act as a reminder of the mistakes he’d made.
“Katelyn Winslow,” Vinnie said. He tapped the toe of his bloody shoe against Josh’s temple until Josh looked up. “Ever talk to her again, I’ll come back here and cut yah cock off, yah fuckin’ medigan.” Satisfied that he’d done the damage he’d come to administer, Vinnie leaned over Josh and spat onto his bloody face. “Vaffanculo!”
He looked at me. “He’s all yaws, kid.”
It had only taken Vinnie thirty seconds to take care of Josh, but he’d done so quite authoritatively. I really had no idea what I could add to make our visit any more memorable.
“This happened because you punched Katelyn in the face,” I said. “Don’t ever approach her, message her, talk to her, or attempt to make contact with her in any way, shape, or form. If you do, I’ll be back. If you talk to the police, I’ll be back. If I ever hear of you touching another woman in a derogatory manner, I’ll be back. The next time I come back, I’m not bringing two nice old men with me. I’m bringing a dozen outlaw bikers.” I raised my brows. “Are we clear?”
Peering up at me through the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut, Josh nodded his bloody head.
I raised my right boot over his crotch. “Are we clear?”
“Yes. Understood,” he blurted. “I understand.”
I stomped the heel of my boot into his crotch. I couldn’t leave without doing something in retaliation for what he’d done to Kate. It seemed minuscule in comparison to Vinnie’s violent rampage, but it would have to suffice.
“C’mon, fellas.” I turned away and stepped through the door. “I’ll buy the coffee.”
Herb pushed me out of the way and shuffled to Josh’s side. He kicked him in the ribs. “Don’t.” He kicked him again. “Hit.” He kicked him again. “Women.”
He spat on the floor beside him and turned toward the door.
I patted Herb on the shoulder. “Good job, old man.”
We got inside Vinnie’s Cadillac. With me seated in the back seat and Vinnie and Herb in the front, we pulled away from the curb like we were leaving a funeral. Seeming to be completely over his fit of anger, Vinnie crept up the street at a snail’s pace.
He adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see my reflection. “Herb tells me youz got an Italian home on the beach for sale.”
“We do. It’ll be finished next week. It’s more of a mansion than a home, though.”
“When can we see it?” he asked.
Vinnie lived in Herb’s neighborhood, Pelican Bay. It was a gated community that butted against a private beach. A mixture of condos, single-family homes, and duplexes intended for the elderly, it was an expensive place to live by anyone’s standards. It wasn’t, however, sixty million dollars’ worth of expensive.
“Did he tell you what we were asking for it?”
“Sixty?”
“Million,” I said.
“Yah don’t fuckin’ say,” he said in a snide tone. “I thought youz were gonna take sixty bucks for the bastahd.”
I shrugged. “Just thought I’d make it clear.”
He glanced into the mirro
r. “Yah think I’m a fuckin’ gidrul?”
I didn’t know what it meant, but I was sure it wasn’t good. I shook my head. “No.”
“I know people who know people who might have a little fuckin’ money they need to spend,” he said. “Set up a time for me to see the fuckin’ place, would ya?”
I laughed at the thought of Teddi meeting Vinnie. “Sure thing, Vinnie,” I said with a laugh. “I’ll set it up.”
Chapter Ten
Teddi
Monday mornings were bad by design. Monday mornings filled with thoughts of rejection were much worse.
I’d spent the entire weekend sobbing. Although Devin inspired my emotional meltdown, it certainly wasn’t his fault. His decision to deny me sex was merely the straw that broke the camel’s back.
A lifetime of trusting the wrong men, being used, and putting faith where it didn’t belong came to an ugly head. To cope—or to keep from coping—I guzzled wine and binge-watched rom-coms on Netflix for the entire weekend.
Convinced my relationship woes were by my own making, I stumbled into the office hungover and tired. Wearing sunglasses to hide my puffy eyes, I strolled toward Devin’s workstation, convinced I could walk past without so much as looking at him.
Just through the door, I looked up. Devin was standing at his desk, stretching his arms. A few days’ growth of beard covered his angular jaw. His pressed shirt clung tightly to his wide chest. The outline of his muscular biceps was draped by his shirt’s sleeves, but little was left to the imagination.
I admired him as I strolled toward his desk, wondering if his weekend was as gut-wrenching as mine.
“Good morning,” he said as I approached. “How was your weekend?”
My lips parted slightly. I wanted to speak. To tell him how much it hurt to be rejected. Explain what it was like to feel there was something wrong with me. To know deep within my heart of hearts that when I decided to give myself to a man, it would only be a matter of days, weeks, or months before I was reminded that relationships, for whatever reason, simply didn’t work out for me.
Misadventures of a Biker Page 7
