Killing You Softly

by Khara Campbell

  “That’s right, Veronica.” He invades my personal space, cupping the back of my head, drawing my face closer to his. “How did the mission go this afternoon?” He tilts his head down then clamps down onto my neck.

  “Hmmmm. It was a beautiful bloody mess. He didn’t see it coming.” I’m getting lost in the sensation of his lips and tongue on my neck. He knows it’s my spot. Suddenly, his hands are on my suit jacket, ripping it off my chest. I don’t even care as it falls from my upper body. My camisole and bra quickly follow.

  “How did you kill him?” Vic’s hot mouth is suckling my left nipple now. Killing me softly with the sweet buzz that is humming throughout my body. My breasts are another one of my erogenous spots. Who am I kidding? Anywhere he touches is my spot. I can feel the strength of his manhood pressing against my stomach. And just the feel of it has me ready to explode. He carefully backs me against his large desk. Thankfully, because of his clutter free workspace, I’m easily deposited on top without making a mess of papers or files.

  “I…I used the fingernail blades…to ah, ah…” He has my pants off and underwear discarded somewhere on the floor.

  “To what?” His belt is loose. Zipper down. Pants and boxers down in one swoop.

  “Stab him in the throat. Ripping his larynx.”

  Vic plunges into me.

  Yeah, we’re definitely not a normal couple. He loves me retelling how I kill. It’s a dirty little pleasure that we like to indulge in. And from the many orgasms he’s going to give me – so worth it.

  Chapter 4

  CASS

  It’s about a week later, and I still have a bit of unease about that phone call I overheard Vic on. And Cage’s confession? I’m too afraid to even let my mind go down that path of discovery. To aid as a distraction, I’m sitting in a sip and paint class that I decided to take to hone my creative drawing skills. Drake will be proud and relieved. The exuberant instructor first has us sketch the frame of a curvaceous woman with a huge afro. The black and white sketch in front of me reminds me of myself. Not to toot my own horn but I spend hours working out to maintain my figure. Being in shape is part of my job. So, I look at my sketch and decide instead of the woman having a huge afro – not that I oppose it, since my hair looks like that after a wash – I want my painting to look like me, with my coarse hair flowing thickly along my shoulders and back. I busy my hand perfecting the sketch the way I want it before we start painting.

  “Hmmm, very nice,” Kim, the art instructor, says, peeping over my shoulder. “You look like an experienced artist. You’ve done this before, eh?”

  Not on paper, but yeah, I’ve done this before. “Something like that.”

  “Very intricate drawing. It looks perfect even before the paint.” She pats me on the shoulder in approval, then steps away to check on another attendee.

  Yeah, Kim just made my head swell with pride. Who would’ve thought? I pick up my glass of cheap red wine and take a sip. I vaguely remember an elementary teacher telling me once that I had a knack for drawing. With no one at home to help cultivate that gift – it went dormant. Until now.

  “Wow, she’s right. Your sketch looks really good.” A redhead to my right says leaning over to view my canvas. “You make mine look like a preschooler did it.”

  I lean over to look at hers. I wouldn’t say a preschooler sketched it, I guess mine does look a whole lot different than hers. “It’s not that bad.” I try to be nice about it.

  She laughs. “It’s okay. You can be honest. All I’m good at drawing is stick figures. This seemed like fun so I decided to take the class to up my game a bit.”

  I smile. “Well, in that case, that’s a huge improvement from stick figures.”

  She extends her hand to me. “I’m Jade, you are?” She seems pleasant.

  “Cass,” I say, accepting her handshake. “It’s nice to meet you, Jade.”

  “Nice to meet you, Cass.” She grabs her glass and sips. “Is this your first paint and sip?”

  “Yup. Decided I needed a hobby.”

  She nods. “Yeah, me too. I’ve been a stay at home mom for five years. Kids are old enough for school now and I’m busy twiddling my thumbs some days when they’re gone. So here I am.”

  “How old are you?” I can be blunt at times. But she looks too young to have school aged kids.

  She smiles. “I get that a lot. I’m thirty. My kids are in kindergarten and third grade. You have kids?”

  God no! After having to fend for myself as a child because my parents were too busy getting high – I never thought to have kids in fear of inadvertently mistreating them like that. Besides I get quarterly birth control shots to prevent pregnancy.

  “No,” I simply reply.

  We both turn our attention to Kim, who is talking about outlining our sketch with our desired paint color for the woman’s jeans. We have the choice of following the color scheme of a finished painting that she has or our own.

  “What do you do for a living, Cass,” Jade asks, dipping her paintbrush in blue paint.

  Surprisingly, I don’t get asked the question often. To say “kill” is on the tip of my tongue. For stay-at-home mom Jade, probably from the suburbs, that would be too much. And I have my identity to protect.

  “Human resources. I have the dirty job of getting rid of people when their performance is lacking.”

  Her eyes light up. “That sounds like fun.” She strokes blue paint onto her canvas. “I’m responsible for packing lunches, PTA meetings, and I’m a classroom helper, among other things.”

  For some reason, I envy her involvement in her kids’ life. Not so much in a negative way. But again, it reminds me of the terrible childhood I survived. My parents – God can they even be described as parents? More like egg and sperm donors. I can’t think of one fond memory of my younger years. Thinking back on it makes me cringe. The only good thing my parents did was bring me into this world.

  “That’s a great job to have.” I focus on my painting, making sure my brush strokes are even.

  For the next fifty minutes, Jade and I focus our attention on our painting and following the instructor’s direction.

  With my masterpiece in my hand and purse slung over my shoulder, I’m heading out of the building with my new friend, Jade, by my side.

  “We should have lunch before the next sip and paint. By the time these are over I have to put on my mommy hat and go to pick my kids up from school.”

  I hesitate for a moment. I’m not used to having female friends. She’d clung to me throughout the session, even got me to exchange cellphone numbers with her. “Sure, that would be nice.” I did say I needed a hobby and my life is almost void of female companionship.

  Jade springs forward and gives me a hug. I freeze awkwardly from the contact. I don’t do hugs. Especially from people I don’t know. And I don’t know her. She pulls back, seemingly unware of my ramrod straight posture. Or perhaps she plays it off. “Thanks! I will see you next week then. Gotta run so I’m not jammed in the pick-up line traffic.” She bounces off with her ponytail swinging as she goes. I discreetly put my dagger back into my purse. Reflexes. She doesn’t know how close she came to getting a knife in her side because of the abrupt way she entered my personal space.

  So now I’m back home. I hung my painting of the curvaceous woman on the wall in our bedroom. Vic left for New York this morning for business. He’ll be back tomorrow night. I usually kill my time working out at the gym, reading novels, indulging in trashy reality TV, experimenting in the kitchen, and helping Vic with business matters. He has people that handle his many illegal empires, but I help out by running numbers and fact checking to ensure none of his people are cheating him. Vic is meticulous about checking his books himself. Then he passes them over to his accountant. Ironic, I know. A cheat ensuring he isn’t cheated. Hey, it keeps this luxurious roof over my head and fancy clothes on my back.

  I’m trying to getting into this suspense novel I bought a few days ago, but that darn pho
ne call is on my mind. Come near her before I give permission and I will kill you! I repeat what I overheard Vic say in my head. Who is ‘her’? Is it me? Is it one of his other wives? Or is it really the woman that’s behind paying her loan back?

  I spring from the bed, novel forgotten. I’ve got to give it to Vic. He fooled me. Fooled me very well. How can he have four other wives and I not know? Are they so well trained that they dare not overstep their bounds and confront me? Do they even know about me? Hot rage travels through my body. This is why I haven’t allowed myself to really think about his deception. Because being the trained killer that I am, all I think about is death. His death. However, he’s been good at sexing the rage out of me, simmering me down for the past two months. With time on my hands now, I need to know more. Who are these other women?

  I would go downstairs and go on Vic’s computer in his office to do some investigation, I don’t know the password though. I’ve tried hacking it before to no avail. I’m walking back and forth in front of our custom-made bed. Clueless of where I can even begin my search. It’s not like I can use Vic’s name and do a worldwide search for marriage certificates. The name Vic Hamilton is one of his many aliases. I grab my purse off the nightstand and go for my cellphone.

  I send a text.

  Cass: Are you free for an early dinner?

  Drake: Yeah. You cooking or the chef?

  I smile. I’ve had him try one of my cooking experiments before. He didn’t like it.

  Cass: Funny! I was thinking we can meet at a restaurant.

  Drake: You’re asking me out on a date?

  Cass: No fool! You do know I’m married to Vic.

  No need to explain, he knows what that means.

  Drake: Yeah, I value my life.

  Cass: So?

  Drake: Meet you at The Place in an hour.

  Cass: K

  The Place is a casual lounge that makes great drinks and food. And the jazz music flowing through the speakers makes it one of my favorites places.

  An hour and twenty-three minutes later, Drake and I are sitting across from each other in a booth. Drake was on Vic’s team way before I came into the picture. I figure if anyone may know anything about Vic’s other wives it would be him. But, at the same time, I would hate to know that he too kept me in the dark. And would he be so forthcoming if I ask?

  “I know you only call me when you’re bored and Vic’s away.” I watch Drake pick up his beer bottle and take a swig. His natural blonde hair and gray eyes are free for the world to see. And, because of the short sleeved, dark t-shirt he’s wearing, he has his heavily tattooed arms revealed for viewing pleasure. He too is a nice looking man. Not as tall as Vic or Cage, Drake’s a few inches over my five-four height. And already I’ve noticed women stealing glances at him. Probably thinking he has a thing for black women with me as his guest. But apparently not caring that he’s with me. I see a bold one – a brunette staring a hole in the side of his face. Drake doesn’t seem to notice. Or care.

  “You know you love my company.” I pluck a stuffed mushroom into my mouth.

  “That I do.” He places his beer bottle down, then sets his eyes on me.

  “Are you going to acknowledge that chick over there, or do I have to throw my dagger into her eye for her to stop firing holes into the side of your face?”

  He smirks. “So feisty.” He turns to look at the curly haired brunette. I watch her face light up from his sudden attention on her. “My girlfriend said if you don’t stop staring she’s going to stab you in the eye.”

  Brunette’s smile turns into a frown. Now I smirk. Her eyes flash to me. Something about my facial expression tells her I’m not bluffing. She goes about minding her own business.

  “Better?” Drake smiles at me.

  “Yes.”

  “So, why do I get the feeling this,” he flicks his hands out, “is more than a friendly dinner?”

  The waitress arrives with our meals, giving me a few seconds to strategize my best approach with Drake.

  Not one that is too shy to eat in public, I pick up my burger and take a big bite. After chewing and swallowing, I make my approach. “I recently found out Vic has other wives.”

  I look to see if shock registers on his face. It doesn’t. He knew about them.

  “I take it he didn’t voluntarily divulge that info.”

  I say nothing.

  “What?” He asks, studying my stoic face.

  “So you admit you knew all this time and never told me?”

  “Not my place to tell, Cass.”

  “Blyad!” I curse in Russian. A phrase I learned from Vic, who speaks many languages fluently.

  “Not sure what you just said but I know you just cursed.” He shakes his head. “I do my job and stay out of Vic’s personal business. It wasn’t my place to tell you, Cass.”

  “Who are they?”

  “That I don’t know. The only reason I know about the other women is because years back I did a couple overseas jobs for him when his guys over there couldn’t. I met one of his other wives, once.”

  I’m literally on the edge of the booth, anxious to know more. “What’s her name?”

  “Cass. Look, I said too much already. Like I said, Vic and I work out well because I keep my nose clean and play dumb to whatever else he has going on in his life.”

  “He won’t know you told me anything,” I promise. “I won’t jeopardize you.”

  Drakes bites into his chicken wing. Ella Fitzgerald’s rich voice drifts through the speakers, bringing a calm to my mood.

  “Jahana.”

  “Which wife is she? African, Japanese, German, or Italian?”

  Now Drake looks shock. “I only know of two others. He has five wives?”

  I nod my head.

  He drops the chicken bone onto his plate, picks up a napkin to wipe his fingers, then reaches for his beer bottle. “African. Caucasian. Five-six. Brown eyes and hair.” He knew I wanted more than her nationality, which he gives. “That’s all I know.”

  I believe him.

  Jahana. He didn’t reveal much, however, I now know more than I did an hour ago. It’s a start.

  “Guess what I did today?” I intentionally change the subject. I know he put his neck on the line revealing the little that he had about one of Vic’s wives. Vic is very guarded about his personal life. As you can see even I am not privy to much. So any of his associates dibbling even a smidgeon into his life, beyond what he pays them for - Lights out. I remember soon after Vic and I got married, Jessica, a flight attendant on his private jet, had been asking Vic too many questions about how we met. Seriously, the three times I flew with him on it, she constantly had that question on her tongue. Needless to say, my fourth time flying on his jet, Nadine was her replacement, and has been for the past few years. The fact that Drake and I, and even Cage, interact with each other sometimes when we’re not on a job – is from me convincing Vic that they are not a threat. I reasoned that he wouldn’t have them on his payroll if there wasn’t some loyalty and respect. And, of course, fear. But Cage has made it known to me that he doesn’t fear my husband. Again, Cage is a topic I’m not ready to dive into, yet.

  “Besides trying to get me killed?” Drake arches his brow.

  “You’re fine. And thanks by the way.” I fling a French fry at him.

  He nods.

  “Took a painting class today. Sip and paint.”

  His kissable lips spreads into a broad smile. “Finally, something that doesn’t involve too much blood for me to clean up.”

  “I knew you would appreciate the fact that I’m doing my artwork on canvases instead of bodies.”

  “Indeed I am.” He reaches for another chicken wing. “Anything that makes my job easier.”

  We eat silently for a few minutes, enjoying each other’s company and the laidback atmosphere of the restaurant. Brunette chick hasn’t eyed our table again either.

  “How did you start working for Vic?” I blurt out.

&n
bsp; I see that he’s thinking about my question. “We all, at some point or another, sell our souls to the devil for the right price. Vic’s price has been right for fifteen years. I’m an ex-con, not like I had a lot of options.”

  It seems Vic has been Drake’s savior too.

  And for the past two months, I too feel like I’ve sold my soul to the devil.

  Chapter 5

  CASS

  “Nice painting. Did you get if from the art gallery?”

  Vic is back home from his business trip to New York. Perhaps he did go there to handle the situation with the woman who’s past due on her loan payments. Not something so inconsequential Vic normally dirties himself with – since he has people to handle it. But he will make his presence known when deemed necessary.

  I watch him slide off his suit jacket, laying it neatly on the chaise at the foot of our bed. His cufflinks come off next as he walks toward his side of the walk-in closet.

  “I painted it yesterday,” I answer from my spot on the middle of the bed.

  He stops in his tracks, then turns to face me. I can see that he’s impressed. “I’ve spent thousands on paintings throughout this house and I had an artist under my nose all this time ?”

  I say nothing. Strangely, his compliment warms my spirit. Like it did yesterday when Kim, the art instructor, and Jade, my new friend, gave me so much praise about my apparent masterpiece. I guess this is what it feels like to have people proud of you. A feeling that is so foreign to me. A feeling that’s hard for me to swallow. Another testament of my dreadful upbringing.

  Vic walks over to the painting hanging on the wall on the right side of our bed. He inspects it closely. To me it just looks like a regular ole painting. Nothing significant. “This is mesmerizing. And it’s your first piece. Impressive! She definitely reminds me of someone. The dips and curve of her body are similar to yours.” His green eyes flash over to me. To my amazement, I’m sitting on the bed, breath stuck in my lungs, waiting for his approval.

  I exhale.

  Why do I need his praise?

  “Thank you,” I respond meekly. What the blyad?