by J. Jenkins
Back in the bedroom, Carolina walked out onto the adjacent deck. Sitting on the padded bench, she uncapped the hot sauce and shook a large quantity into her mouth, closing her eyes as the smoky heat filled her. She greedily repeated her actions until the bottle was empty. Then her thoughts wandered to the marriage she'd agreed to and the various plans that needed to be made.
The wedding would be simple. She'd ask Vega to be Matron of Honor and have Patrick give her away. The house was beautifully landscaped so for flowers she'd only need gather wild blooms from the fields to braid in her hair and bind a huge bunch with Irish lace and ribbons to hold during the ceremony. As far as rings were concerned, she'd be content with a simple band but she didn't know what Dylan wanted. When he returned they would have to iron out some of the details.”
Carolina wished she was really excited about the pending ceremony, but what she felt most was troubled, about not telling Dylan of Justin's ordeal, about not revealing the true nature of her relationship to the child he considered Liz's son, about not being able to completely sexually satisfy Dylan and well, about a bunch of other things. But she wouldn't back out, she'd given her word and for her a promise meant something. Taking her phone from the pocket of her black jeans, she sent Patrick a text begging his permission to wed and requesting the honor of his attendance. The whirlwind nature of her relationship with Dylan would shock him, but he was the one who’d told her to be happy and she was trying although she knew happiness for her was extremely elusive.
Deciding to put some of her plans to paper Carolina walked back into the bedroom in search of a writing pad when Vega, wearing a red pants suit and matching heels, rushed into the room looking unusually harried, “Carolina I'm sorry I keep disturbing you but Liz and a teenaged boy are downstairs. They're trying to take Justin.”
Calmly Carolina asked, “Have you told Dylan?”
“No because their not in the studio. They changed their minds and went riding. Justin and the twins stayed to practice. Now Liz is downstairs trying to take him. I've tried calling Dylan and the others but the signal keeps dropping.”
“Okay Vega I'll try and talk some sense into her.”
Carolina waited for Vega to leave the doorway before she grabbed her gym bag from the closet to retrieve her pistol. Like American Express, she didn't 'leave home without it'. Sticking the gun into the back of her waistband beneath her loose-fitting tee, she hurried, on sneakered feet, down the stone staircase and into the entryway. She could see Justin struggling with Liz and her male companion. Each of them had one of the boy's arms trying to pull him through the arched doorway. Carolina observed Vega standing in the sitting room looking like a gentle soft kitten dropped too near a pen of vicious canines. From behind the struggling child Carolina yelled, “Lay off him!”
Immediately, both Liz and her companion released Justin who staggered backwards into Carolina almost knocking her to the stone floor. Steadying herself, she held the boy comfortingly for a few seconds before pushing him in the direction of Vega who hurried the child to the far end of the room just as Liz sprang in Carolina's direction snarling, “You fucking bitch. I told you to stay away from them.”
Liz was kissing distance from Carolina, their noses almost touching, the dark-haired woman's breath pungent with alcohol and chemical smoke. Staring murderously into Liz's cold gray eyes Carolina directed Vega, “Take Justin upstairs.” Never breaking eye contact with Liz, she listened intently as Vega's high-heels clicked on the stone floor as she and Justin hurried away from the chaos threatening to unfold.
Feeling somewhat certain Vega and Justin were out of earshot Carolina told Liz in a voice barely above a whisper, “I know what you did to him you lousy bitch. Now leave before I kick your ass.”
With a wild shriek, Liz made a grab for Carolina's throat but missed her target as Carolina, with a boxer's grace and speed, sidestepped the attack to deliver a fierce fisted blow to the woman's ribs. She watched as Liz, in high heels, quickly lost her balance, landing hard on her hands and knees. Liz's teen companion made a motion to strike and Carolina neither flinched or moved away, instead she halted him with a murderous look, eyes narrowed, lips compressed to a thin line, face marble hard, asking in a voice that could have flash-frozen the Sun, “Are you the boyfriend?”
His voice was full of bravado, “What if I am?”
Carolina recalled killing men like him before because of Patrick. Without blinking an eye, she’d cut the molesters’ hearts out with surgical precision. “I just want to be sure I'm ridding the world of the right asshole,” she told him, pulling the gun from her waistband to point it directly at the center of his forehead. Carolina watched as the young man put up his hands in surrender. Keeping her voice low to avoid being overheard Carolina asked, “Did you touch him?”
Looking into eyes that had gone from bright green to Goth-black the teen knew terror, “Lady, I don't have a problem with you.”
“Oh yeah you do. Back out the fucking door and stay where I can see you. If you move, even to scratch, I'll blow your damn brains out.” Carolina watched as the young man did as she'd instructed. Walking to the oak-framed glass door, gun still in hand; she turned the deadbolt before sticking the gun back into the waistband of her jeans.
Strolling to where Liz lay dazed she helped the scrawny monstrosity get to her feet asking in open disgust, “Are ye totally plastered?”
“Damn you,” Liz spat literally and figuratively in Carolina's face, yanking away from her touch. “You're the reason Dylan is taking my money. I'm going to kill you.”
Wiping the other woman's saliva from her face, Carolina told Liz, “Take your shoes off. I want this to be somewhat of a fair fight.”
Kicking off her heels, Liz, with arms extended, rushed Carolina, who stealthily moved out of the intoxicated woman's path to let her sail face first into the glass door. Liz staggered and held her hand to her bleeding nose before whirling around with a wild cry to charge Carolina who met the black-haired woman head on, delivering blow after blow, practiced punch after punch before grabbing hold of the woman's blouse and with her knee delivered a deadener to Liz's upper thigh. Releasing Liz's crumpling body, Carolina resumed her rapid fist assault to the woman's torso and face until the black-haired harpy lay sprawled on the floor, bleeding and breathing heavily.
When Liz struggled to get to her feet, Carolina kicked her hard in the chest. The force of which sent Liz sliding on her back a good distance across the room. The black haired woman lay stretched out and gasping as Carolina advanced on her. Straddling Liz's chest with her knees Carolina closed her fingers tightly around the woman's throat, squeezing, wanting to prolong the bitches suffering. Looking deep into the self-serving narcissism of Liz's eyes, Carolina felt her Irish past completely surface, stripping away her control. “You nearly killed Justin ye feckless shite and you never deserved Dylan.” With the muscles in her arms straining Carolina applied more pressure to Liz's throat until she saw the woman's eyes roll back, ignoring Liz's clawing fingers as she tried desperately to tear herself free, listening intently to the frantic kicking of Liz's legs against the stone floor as she fought against loosing consciousness.
Without warning, Carolina felt several pairs of hands pulling at her, lifting her off Liz’s still form. She fought them, determined to recapture the woman's throat in a chokehold to be done quickly with the black-hearted witch. Carolina was consumed with the goal of sending Liz to Hell.”
She broke free, but still hampered by interference she had to settle for resuming her original face-to-face death-grip on the woman's throat. She could feel the life draining from Liz, electrical currents weakening, the air growing still and hot. The stink of sulfur surrounded her, filling Carolina's hypersensitive nostrils, and the howling of demon-dogs heralded the unrepentant harlot's descent. To expedite her journey Carolina squeezed harder, the veins in her arms bulging.
Chapter 8
“Carolina, stop,” Dylan's command carried like the crack of a rifle in
still woods.
She immediately ceased her struggles. The disapproval in his eyes weakened her resolve, making her release Liz’s throat so she could be lifted off the woman’s lifeless form. “Lay off me,” she shouted at the Savage brothers who were keeping hold of her, violently shaking them loose when they were reluctant to set her free. She watched intently as Dylan tended to Liz, breathing into the whore's mouth, pressing down on her bony chest until she regained consciousness.
“You nearly killed her,” Dylan accused, holding Liz in his arms comfortingly, touching the woman's many bruises. “She could have you arrested.”
Carolina spat contemptuously, “Are you going to call the police Liz?”
Cowering closer to him Liz shook her head as he addressed Carolina, “She's terrified, of course she's saying that now.”
Carolina looked at the woman coldly, “She had no right to come here, her or that toe-rag, fecking tool she considers her boyfriend. Vega told me they were trying to force Justin to leave with them. Should I have allowed that to take place?”
Looking into his eyes, Liz whimpered pitifully, “He's a part of you Dylan, your baby. I miss Justin; have a right to see him. She's trying to turn the two of you against me.”
Carolina's fury boiled over. “Miss him? Don't you mean the money, you lying, two-faced cunt, stand up so I can finish what I started,” she threatened, her voice fiercely gripping the brogue of her human ancestry like a battle shield.
Dylan who'd never heard such accented, peppery language from her yelled at Carolina, “That's enough.”
“Oh Dylan I'm so scared,” Liz whimpered, cowering closer to him.
“Oh Dylan I'm so scared,” Carolina mimicked the other woman's cloyingly sweet tone and flew her the bird. “I'll give ye something to be scared of, ye two bit twat,” Carolina made to attack Liz huddled in Dylan's embrace but was stopped when Chris' iron-grip caught her arm, holding her in place.
To his eldest brother Dylan ordered, “Take Carolina out of here.”
“Get off me,” Carolina told Chris in a low murderous tone before ripping herself free of his grip. “Dylan, are you taking her side?” She looked at him disbelievingly.
“Carolina, Liz is Justin's mother, you're not. Whatever happened, whatever she was doing wouldn't have justified your choking her to death.” Mercy, he thought, she was a redheaded spitfire. He fought hard to dampen down his increasing lust, a level of driving wild desire he'd not tried satisfying since divorcing the woman he held in his arms.
Looking from Dylan to Liz, Carolina could feel the anger steadily increasing in her body, taste and smell the metal of blood. Taking a calming breath, yet still seething she stated, “I'm out of here.” Pushing past Chris she walked out the front door and spying Liz's loser boyfriend, lit into him like a tornado touching down in the mid-west, a whirling force intent on destruction. She boxed him about the ears, kneed him in the groin and when he hunched forward in agony she kicked him under the chin leaving him sprawled and helplessly whimpering on the ground. She stomped off, the image of Liz clinging to Dylan making her shake with fury.
She was ten minutes down the gravel road when she doubled-back. Not wanting to encounter anyone, she walked around the property, jumped the wrought iron fence and proceeded to climb up to Dylan's bedroom for her purse. From the deck, she looked through the glass doors into the bedroom and her blood went from boiling hot to ice cold. He was shirtless, locked in a heated embrace with a naked Liz. Carolina watched transfixed as he finished undressing, saw Liz fall back onto the bed where Dylan used the linens to bind her spread-eagled to the four posts before opening the nightstand to withdraw a condom and roll it onto his enormous erection.
Climbing onto the bed, he knelt between Liz's spaghetti-thin thighs before shifting forward to clench her throat fiercely with one large hand, the other he used to position his huge knob at the door of her disgustingly hairless, tattooed and pierced whore’s lounge. Carolina shut her eyes knowing the precise moment he plunged into that dank dungeon, could hear the sounds of their fucking, the inhuman force of his thrusts made the heavy wooden bed move against the stone floor, its headboard smacking noisily against the wall. Liz made exaggerated choking noises to fan his frenzy and his brutish breathing rivaled his thunderous singing of the previous night, causing the heavy panes of glass to quake beneath her braced palms. Gulping in air to keep from screaming, Carolina turned away with dry eyes and a heavy heart. She climbed down from the deck, from the fictitiously elevated heights of emotions she should have known better than to trust, to the undersurface of human existence, low, sad reality and walked away from the duplicitous and delusive Dylan Savage.
****
Darkness had long fallen by the time Carolina returned to the house. Earlier she'd phoned Patrick and the twins, telling them she was off exploring. She’d also phoned the tutors and August, again lying about the nature of her absence, verifying their willingness to care for the boys because she didn't want to be seen as taking advantage of their presence. She’d barely maintained her composure when August assured her she'd see after her younger boys and the misguided older one too. Now all she had to do was retrieve her purse and the twins. She’d be back living her simple life in less that an hour, having to numb herself to Justin's existence though or succumb to the flaring urge to seek out oblivion.
Finding the front door unlocked she made her way silently up the stairs and into Dylan's room where unfortunately he sat on the side of the bed, apparently waiting for her, holding the empty bottle of chili sauce she'd left on the deck. She met his gaze without shame or remorse. Silently she started gathering her things. Gritting her teeth she thought if he'd any sense he would keep his mouth shut.
Dylan was aware he'd messed up. He was glad she was finally back, felt sure they could workout all that was wrong, return to the way they'd been earlier, when they'd lain in each other’s arms. “Vega told me what happened,” his voice was low and shadowy, full of disguised apologies as he set the empty hot sauce bottle aside.
“I told you what happened,” she bit out, not caring for the disgustingly seductive pitch in his voice, the tonal quality he'd probably used to whisper into Liz's ear.
“Stop packing and talk to me.”
“There's nothing to say. From the beginning this was a mistake.”
“Where did you go? I was worried.”
Carolina reflected on his words. They were similar to what he'd said the night before. He was worried about her, hah. He should worry about himself. “I was fine.”
Dylan stretched out his long denim clad legs and surveyed her as she picked up her black leather handbag. She’d soon discover he wasn't going to let her go. “The twins aren't packed. They're sleeping out in the tree house with Justin.”
“Fine we'll leave their stuff. Next week I'll send someone to retrieve their belongings,” Carolina muttered, as she rummaged through her purse for her keys.
“Tell me about you and Justin,” Dylan requested, although he knew her relationship with Justin wasn't the issue, but bringing up his name was a sure fire way to get her to take pause.
“Don't talk to me about Justin. I wish I'd...” She’d been on the verge of voicing regret at finding him again, rue saving his life, but neither statement would have been true and she wouldn’t use Justin or the twins to hurt even the heartless philanderer sitting there like he’d not, a few hours earlier, been ball-deep inside his ex-wife, atop the very bed they’d made love in all morning. The images of the many ways she'd given herself to him followed by the memory of how he'd taken Liz sickened Carolina.
The blood-flare in her cheeks showed Dylan her level of emotion and he gauged the intensity to be murderously livid. Earlier he'd seen similar patches of crushed-strawberry-red tinting her cheekbones, had heard the raw, vulgar language flying from her usually sweet mouth and he'd wanted to take her fast and hard, had told her to be quiet because he couldn't trust himself not to drag her to the floor and mount her in front of the ro
om's occupants. Clearing his head he asked, “You wish you'd what?”
“Never mind.” Carolina gave him a hard look, “Did you take my keys?”
Dylan ignored her question. “What can I say that will make you stay?”
“Zip.” She didn't need the keys. Patrick had taught her how to hot-wire a car.
“What if I say I'm sorry?” And he was, bone-deep remorseful, for all he'd done.
In frustration, Carolina forcefully threw her purse at him because the keys to her house were also missing and he'd the nerve to be sitting there as if he hadn't done anything. “Save your breath. Better yet, call Liz. Maybe she wants to hear whatever you have to say or perhaps she'll come over so you can screw her again. Weren't you pining for her last night? “For The Good Times”, wasn't that the song?”
He'd caught the purse she'd flung at him and set it aside, feeling the heat of shame coloring his neck, “What happened with Liz was a stupid mistake. It's you I love.”
Then God deliver me from love and you.” Taking her cell phone from her pocket, she dialed Callum's phone number and getting no answer, she dialed Calder's. When there was also no answer she cutoff the call and shoved the phone back in her pocket. “I want my keys Dylan and you know what, if those twins give me a hard time about leaving I'm going to drag them out of here kicking and screaming.”
His mind raced, if only his brain hadn't been so booze addled earlier he would have avoided the snare, the combination of unfamiliar closeness with Liz and unsatiated violent lust that had landed him in this mess. Dylan vowed he wasn't going to let Carolina go. Alluringly he asked, “Are you going out to tell Justin goodbye?”
