Marked

by Charisse Spiers

  "Watch my back," I say, while pulling the black, latex gloves on my hands. I open the door, stepping out. I stalk toward the end of the alley without making a single sound, watching him. He stumbles into the dumpster and props himself up on it, pulling a flask from his suit pocket before pressing it to his lips. Not only is he a sick bastard, but he's also a fraud, disguising himself as a normal human being.

  My mouth twitches as he tilts his head back, letting the liquid fire run down his throat. I close my eyes and envision the scene from three days ago, letting the anger and hatred devour every cell in my body. I stop in front of him and turn my body, now standing face to face with my arms by my side.

  His heavy eyes scan me. "You look like shit. Did a bar fight get the best of you? I'm guessing you were on the losing end." He laughs sadistically.

  I tilt my head, a smirk playing out on the lower half of my face. Looking him in the eyes is like lighting a trail of gasoline. "I never fucking lose."

  He glances at my covered hands and his eyes slightly widen. "Who the fuck are you?"

  "You took something that was mine, something that I can never get back. For all intents and purposes you can call me a grim reaper. I'm only here to collect what's due. Hell's gates are open for you."

  He pushes off the dumpster and stumbles forward, trying to push past me. "Fucking psycho. I don't have time for this shit."

  I grab him by the neck and squeeze, hard. "Awe.... Trying to leave so soon?" I tick my tongue to the roof of my mouth. "I don't think so." He grabs my hand, trying to pry it from his neck, but I'm stronger than him. I walk forward, toward the back wall of the alley, before slamming him against the brick wall.

  "What do you want from me? How the hell could I take something from you? I don't even know you."

  My teeth steel together. "You may not know me, but you knew someone important to me. In fact, you were the last person to see him alive, so look into my eyes and see if you can remember," I growl out. He looks away from me. I pull him back and slam him into the wall, harder this time. "Fucking look at me!"

  He does as I say, studying my eyes as if he's trying to focus. The alcohol is inhibiting his memory. As if a light switch just got flipped, his eyes widen further. "I guess your itinerary from three days ago just came back to you?"

  "He tried to kill me. It was self-defense. What else was I supposed to do? Who the hell was he to you?"

  That's the thing about a fucking pathological liar. They lie so much they actually believe their own lies. Sadly for him, I'm not a dumbass. I close in on him, bringing my lips just outside of his ear as I dig my fingers into the sides of his throat, wanting like hell to rip it out. He coughs. "He was my fucking father. He may have tried and failed...this time, but I'm going to finish what he started. I'm cleaning up the trash on the streets. Your days of raping and killing innocent women are over. Since I just had to lay his body in the ground, you're next. Blood for blood."

  "He-" I cut off his words by pressing into his vocal chords.

  I pull back and turn him around, his back against my front. "On your knees."

  He tries to beg as he follows instructions, but all that comes out is a gargled sound. "It doesn't feel good when you're on the opposite side of the line, does it? If you scream, I'll have my partner shove something so far up your ass you'll feel it in your throat, so you can feel what the women you raped felt. If you stay quiet, I'll make this as painless as possible."

  His breathing becomes uneven, quickening by the second. I cup one hand around the back of his head and the other on his chin. Adrenaline starts to spread through my body. "You have about five seconds to say your prayers and hope to God that he forgives the shit you've done, because if not you're about to bust Hell wide open. Five...Four..." He whimpers. "Three...Two...One." I swiftly twist his neck to the right, snapping his spine in two, just like he does to the women that have fallen victim to him. His body goes limp as I release him, letting him fall face first onto the concrete.

  Something breaks free inside. I don't truly understand it, but I feel completely high right now. Maybe it's knowing that there is one less woman to be hurt in the world, but I feel like I'm on top of the world; untouchable.

  I turn to the SUV and wave Jose toward me. He nods and steps out of the vehicle, grabbing something from the back before making his way toward me with a gas can in his hand, setting it down beside us. Flipping the lid to the dumpster open, we both grab one end of the body, tossing it inside. Jose grabs the can full of gasoline and starts pouring it in the dumpster, drenching everything inside.

  I pull the small matchbook from my pocket with Dad's company logo on the front. He used to carry them around everywhere, stating they were great for business marketing with all of the smokers out there. The best business is always done over scotch and a cigar he would say. Opening it, I tear off a matchstick and swipe the red end against the starter strip. It lights instantly, quickly burning down the wooden stick.

  Throwing the match inside the dumpster, I turn and walk away as the accelerant causes a combustion and heightens the fire, consuming the entire inner contents of the dumpster. I hear Jose's footsteps behind me as we make our way back to the SUV. "Rest in peace, Dad," I whisper. "It's been done."

  I grab the door handle and get in the vehicle at the same time Jose does. "Do you need me to take you to the airport, boss?"

  "No, Jose, you can take me home. I think I'll stay awhile. There are things that need to be sorted before I return to the states. Drive. I can't talk right now."

  He quickly backs out and drives at a rapid speed, us both freeing the world from one bad soul. Now, it's time to find out what's next...

  Sixth months later...

  I throw the strap of my gym bag on my shoulder and close the door to my beautiful, silver Porsche. I smile as I look at the black Lamborghini parked beside me that cost an ungodly amount of money. I love that car. I guess someone wants to play.

  Locking the doors, I walk toward the entry of my apartment building. Two seconds up the sidewalk and already the whistles and catcalls start from the balconies around me. A little bare midriff and cleavage and they're ready to stroke themselves off in front of you shamelessly. "Come on, sweetheart. 2A. If you want a workout come see me. I'm sure I can make you sweat more than the gym ever could."

  With my phone in hand, I raise it into the air and flip them off in passing. Fucking college guys are all the same. I don't have time for that shit. They're moochers, lazy, and do nothing but drink and throw around any lame line they can find to try and get a little pussy. I don't need an immature boy, I need a man, and one that can actually give me something in return, because call me crazy but dick just isn't worth a five-star review.

  "Not a chance, sweetheart. It looks like you're stuck with your hand again tonight. You better grip it extra tight if you're going to be picturing me when you blow. You might as well get the feel right. Just a little food for thought." I wink and continue on my way, disappearing into the building.

  I make my way to the stairs instead of taking the elevator. I don't workout seven days a week to keep this body to start taking the elevator now. I reserve those rare rides for when I'm avoiding sweat like a dick that has something Ajax won't wash off.

  Crossing my bag over my chest, I start climbing the stairs in a run, breathing through the burn. It's only five flights. I got this. My phone starts vibrating in my hand at the beginning of the third flight. I glance down and cringe. Fuck. What the hell does she want?

  Leaning my back against the wall, I answer the call while trying to catch my breath. "You know not to call me. Stick to the plan. You never know who I'm with. Damn, what do you want?"

  "Don't be a bitch to me, Lux. I'm your mother. I fucking raised you instead of taking the easy way out and dealing with that little problem when it arose. You may not have been sprinkled with money and designer things, but you had food and a place to lay your head. Don't you dare fucking bitch at me."

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I
must have gotten the rotting trailer in the rundown trailer park confused with an actual real place to live. You know, if you're going to spread your legs for cash you could at least be picky like me and go after the ones that could make your life better instead of the nasty fucks you make come for a McDonald's meal and a sliver of the power bill. You embarrass me. The bad thing is you don't have to live this way. Move the fuck on and do better for yourself. Men will do anything for pussy and a pretty face to look at while they come. Scream their name and you're locked in. You're a beautiful woman. Use what God gave you. I'm not smarter than you, I just used my brain to get to where I am."

  I take a deep breath. "I have to go, Mom. What do you want?"

  "They shut the power off again. I need you to fix it." My head falls against the wall. I swing the backside of my fist into the wall. This shit gets old. Same shit, different day.

  "It's a little late to fix it tonight and I have plans. It's Delta's birthday. I have to work tomorrow. Go to The watering hole and tell Ella I'll pay your tab tomorrow. Stay with her unless you meet someone that is worth a damn and not managing the local Piggly Wiggly, someone that will get a hotel for you to sleep in instead of fucking you in the alley out back. If he is not wearing a suit and tie - Leave. Him. The. Fuck. Alone. That is the only way to ensure you won't fuck up."

  She breathes out, defeated. Am I a bitch to my mom? Yes. Sometimes a person needs tough love. If I don't give it to her straight then I don't love her. There is more hard evidence in a person's actions than words. Do I love her? Absofuckinglutely. She's my mom. She raised me, she fed me, and she did immoral things to scrape enough together for us to survive. I don't use that word lightly either. Survival to me means something entirely different than the Cleaver wannabes a few blocks across the tracks. After twenty-five years though, it's time to move on, no matter what haunts you everyday. I have.

  "Okay. I'll go now. Bye, Lux."

  "Mom."

  "Yes?"

  A tiny spec of hope fills her voice. That's fucking sad.

  "I know I don't say it a lot, because it just makes me feel like I'm covered in flesh-eating bugs, but I love you. Get your shit together, Katherine, because unlike most things I need you in my life. See you tomorrow."

  I disconnect the call and remain leaning against the wall as I stare down at my phone. I need a damn shot after that. I can't deal with feely, lovey dovey shit. For a girl I must have missed out on that gene.... or.... never mind. Soft and sweet emotions give me the damn creeps. I scratch my fingertips up and down quickly on the back of my neck, as if something is crawling on my skin and causing me to itch. "Fuck, I can't deal with this. I hope Delta is ready to do some celebrating."

  Needing to burn some adrenaline, I push off the wall and take off up the remaining flights of stairs, taking them two at a time. Fifth floor - my floor. 5D - my door. I fumble with my keys until I slide the right one in the lock, turning it. I push open the door to a specially tailored suit jacket staring me in the face.

  "You're late," he says as he picks up the glass of whiskey and takes a sip.

  I narrow my eyes as I speak to the back of his head. "You never said you were going to be in town."

  He turns around as I place my bag on the floor and shut the door, draining the last of the liquid in his glass as he takes me in heatedly. He sets the glass down on the marble countertop, the crystal making a dinging sound as it connects with the stone. He remains silent. I blink my eyes calmly. His power trips don't faze me.

  We stand here in a stare off; each waiting for the other to cave and get on with what we both know is coming. He wants me to submit to his dominant nature and I will say fuck you every time. He knows it. Perhaps it's what keeps him coming back for more, bringing a new present each time he does.

  "It's Thursday. I always come on Thursday. You know we have limited time with each other, Lux. Where have you been?"

  I roll my eyes. Men. No matter how much fucking money they have, they still get paranoid and suspicious about every damn thing. "Oh, you know.... You weren't here and I was horny so I made do with someone else. What can I say? One time a week just isn't enough for a girl my age."

  His jaw steels. He's pissed. Good. He fucks better when he's aggravated. He hates when I make age comments, even though we're only ten years difference in age. I wouldn't really classify thirty-five as old, but when you're going after rich, usually you have to sacrifice the hot, young ones for the sexy of the older generation, the ones that's had time to marinate in their careers for a while. This one is a catch though. He's sexy, has a nice body, and fucks like he's my age. I choose to think of my men like a fine wine. They taste better and become more appealing with a little age on them.

  I met Callum at work. I work for a high end catering company, meeting the needs of the rich and famous. When I'm on the prowl for a new friend with benefits, I slip into a dress and mingle with the crowd...for research purposes of course; at least that's what I tell my boss. I'm about one hundred percent certain my version of benefits and yours are completely different.

  Callum met all of the requirements on my initial checklist: Armani suit, Rolex watch, shiny black shoes, five o'clock shadow, and that natural asshole, I can have any pussy I want, mentality. It makes it that much better when they find out they don't have that much control after all. I don't want to pine after a sexy, single, and wealthy bachelor so that he can leave me on the verge of emotional suicide when he's had his fill. I'm after his wallet, nothing more and nothing less. If he ends up being a good fuck, then that's just a plus, because I prefer a monogamous relationship.

  We flirted shamelessly and ended up in a hotel that night. That was about six months ago. We have established a schedule since then that works for us since he's not from around here. We have a mutual understanding of what each other needs. We haven’t had any problems to date.

  "Don't fuck with me, Lux."

  "Or what?"

  He never takes his eyes off of me. Pulling his jacket over his shoulders, he lets it slide down his arms, catching it in his hand. He walks forward, laying it on the back of the barstool on the way. He stops in front of me and starts removing his cuff links, before pulling the shirttail from his pants.

  He runs the tip of his index finger up the front of my neck, pushing upward as it comes to a stop on the underside of my chin. "Why can't you just answer the fucking question?"

  "Why can't you ask intelligent ones and then maybe I will. I'm wearing fucking gym clothes. Where else would I wear this? Prostitution really isn’t my thing."

  He growls and tangles his large hands in my hair as he slams his lips against mine, now in frenzy to get my clothes off, but he waits. Pressing his body against mine, I fall into the door, my only support. My breathing becomes heightened as he slides his tongue inside my mouth. I moan as I start to become needy for his touch.

  He kisses the corner of my mouth and runs the tip of his tongue along my jawbone. I tilt my head back, elongating my neck for better access. "Damn, I've fucking missed you, and this body."

  I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of his lips against my skin. "Shut up and use that mouth for something other than talking. We can talk after you've given me a beautiful orgasm. You've got me horny as hell. This once a week thing really sucks."

  He smiles against my skin and grabs my sports bra on each side of my body, pulling it over my head, baring me from the waist up. "You know I'd come more if I could, on both counts. I may just have to volunteer for more shit at work. I love you, angel," he mumbles between kisses down my neck and shoulder, working his way to my breast. My eyes shoot open at those three small words. What the fuck?

  I tense up until he closes his mouth over my hardened nipple, but doesn't do anything further as if he's waiting for a response. What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? "I love you putting your dick in warm, wet places that send me over the edge. You're wasting precious time with that mouth."

  As if that sufficed, he forms a hard suction over my ni
pple, pulling it into his mouth. I grab his wavy, blonde hair, only long enough to show its natural body. If he let it grow it'd be curly. He cups the other breast in his hand, switching from one to give it attention, flicking his tongue over the rock hard center. "You have the most beautiful fucking tits I've ever seen."

  "That's because they're fake. If they weren't I'd want a refund."

  He places his hands on the bottom half of my ass cheeks, the tips of his fingers running between my legs. I love that he has big hands. He picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist instantly, my sensitive nipples rubbing against his crisp, white, button-down shirt.

  My hands threaded through his hair, I look down and kiss him. He's a good kisser; makes the sex that much better. He turns and walks a few steps toward the dining table, laying me on top of it. He stands upright, looking down at me from between my legs. "I'm about to fuck you until you can't walk without feeling a soreness between your legs. When I'm gone back to the city I want your cunt to be thinking about me from now till next Thursday."

  I bite my bottom lip. His dirty talking makes up from what size he lacks below the belt. Don't get me wrong, he's not small, but he's not big either. He's an average hitter, swinging with a medium length bat. Of course, it doesn't really matter all that much if a man knows how to use it. He was good at first, but he only gets better with time. That's his strong point. He's a good listener. He's yet to give me one of those mind-blowing G-spot orgasms I hear my co-workers bragging about all the time, but I'll settle for clit. "That's what I'm hoping for."

  Grabbing the waistband of my shorts, he pulls them down in one swift movement, discarding them with my sneakers, not wasting any time getting me naked. He doesn't have to worry about underwear, because ninety percent of the time I go commando. Tossing them behind him, he starts to lean forward as he runs his hands up my legs, starting at my feet. "Do you want me to shower first?"