Vegas Baby: A Bad Boy's Accidental Marriage Romance

by Amy Brent

  Standing there staring into the eyes of Bethany Ryder, I felt like an invader. Like a virus that was poisoning her memory.

  Maybe mom was right about everything...

  Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight…

  Maybe Ben was too old for me…

  Maybe my Pussy Power was being overridden by his Cock Control.

  Ben said his marriage was over, but the poor woman had only been dead for a few days and now here I was making myself at home in her house.

  Maybe mom was right.

  Maybe this was all a very big mistake.

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Ryder

  I didn’t say anything else. Neither did Hank. I put the gear into Drive and drove silently back to Hank’s shop on the other side of the industrial park. When I pulled into the lot I saw three white vans lined up with the back doors open. Hank’s three helpers were loading pipe and tools into the backs of the vans.

  “What were you driving that night?” I asked. I shut off the engine and pulled out the key. I held the key tight in my right hand like a small dagger. When Hank didn’t say anything, I slammed the sharp tip of the key into his left thigh. The key cut right through his pants and went deep into his leg.

  “Fuck!!” Hank screamed and grabbed at my wrist, but he couldn’t pull my hand away. I dug the key in and twisted it around. “Jesus fuck, Ben! What the fuck are you doing?”

  “I asked you a question.” I nodded at the three white vans. They were identical, older Fords white with “Perkins Plumbing” on the sides in big blue letters. “What were you driving the night Bethany died.”

  There were tears in his eyes now. His fingers clutched at my wrist. Blood was soaking into his pants leg. Hank’s helpers noticed the commotion. They each took a length of pipe in their hand and gave me a hard look.

  “Hank, if those guys come over here someone’s going to get hurt and it won’t be me.” I twisted the key in his leg. “You have two seconds to answer my question.”

  He held up his hands to keep his helpers back and said, “I was in my truck.”

  I glanced around the lot. “Your truck? What truck?”

  “The F-150, parked out back.” He was crying like a baby, snot streaming from his nose as he tried to free the key from his leg.

  “Show me,” I said, pulling out the key and pushing him hard toward the passenger door. I got out of the car and went around to the other side. I jerked open the door, grabbed Hank by the collar of his sweaty t-shirt, and pulled him out of the car.

  “Fuck, Ben, what are you doing?”

  I ignored Hank’s moans. I looked at his helpers, big boys with thick forearms who were bouncing pipes in their hands like they were thinking about taking a swing at me. I lifted the front of my t-shirt so they could see the Glock tucked into my waist band. I barked at them.

  “Call the cops,” I said, letting my shirt drop. “Tell them to get here now. Tell them there’s been a murder.”

  “Ben… what the fuck…”

  “Shut up, Hank,” I growled, pushing him in front of me. “Show me your fucking truck.”

  Hank held up his hands and led me through the shop, which was an old Jiffy Lube building with open bays and an office on one side. The walls were covered with racks of pipes, joints, sinks, faucets, and an array of old plumbing parts that Hank used on the job. We went out a back door and there was a white Ford F-150 pickup truck that I recognized as Hanks.

  “There,” he said, jerking away from me. He leaned down and clutched his bloody leg. “Fuck, I need to go to the ER.”

  I swept my eyes down the driver’s side. The truck was dirty and scratched from heavy use, but the paint was intact. I wondered for a moment if I’d been wrong. Then I walked around to the passenger side. There was a long swipe of charcoal gray paint and deep scratches on the left front fender; damage left from Hank forcing Bethany off the road.

  “You said Bethany was heading home from the motel,” I said as I came back around the truck. I was calm on the outside, but on the inside I was a fucking volcano about to erupt. My insides were churning. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my muscles.

  “Yes,” Hank muttered. “That’s right.”

  “But she wasn’t heading home, was she,” I said. “She was heading in the opposite direction when she went off the road. She was headed to your house, wasn’t she? Where was she going, Hank? Was she going to tell Emily about your affair?”

  He put up his hands like he thought I was gonna punch him. He leaned away from me and spat out the words. “What? No… I swear— “

  Before I even realized what I was doing, the Glock was in my hand and the barrel was pointed between Hank’s eyes. I had a small, laser-sight mounted under the Glock. The little red dot bounced around his forehead for a moment, then steadied between his eyes.

  “You motherfucker,” I said, my eyes filling with angry tears. “You killed her, didn’t you?”

  “It was an accident, Ben,” he muttered, putting his hands up to shield his face from the laser dot. “She got upset. She wanted to tell Emily. Christ, Ben, she was headed to my fucking house to tell Emily everything. I couldn’t let that happen. Don’t you see? It would have devastated Emily. And my boys. It would have ruined my marriage.”

  I grabbed the front of his shirt and swung him hard into the side of the truck. The breath jarred from his lungs. I stuck the Glock into his left ear and pushed his head sideways.

  “You fucking piece of shit,” I growled. “She was going to tell Emily so you ran her off the fucking road?”

  “No, it wasn’t like that!” he whined. Tears streamed down his face. Snot dripped from his nose. I pushed the barrel harder into his ear and the air filled with the sour scent of urine as he pissed his fucking pants.

  “Tell me,” I said, teeth gritted. “You have three seconds.”

  “We were at the motel. She wanted to tell Emily about us. She had this crazy idea that we could be together. I told her no, that I loved Em. What we had was just sex. She jumped in her car and took off. I followed her in my truck. It was raining. I tried to pass her, just to get her to stop. My truck tapped her car. I didn’t mean to hit her. It was an accident. She went off the road and hit the tree… Jesus Christ, Ben, you gotta believe me… it was an accident… I didn’t mean to do it… don’t you see…”

  He fell to his knees and started blubbering like a baby. I could hear the sirens getting closer. I grabbed Hank’s collar and told him not to move. His three helpers were peeking around the building watching the scene play out.

  “Did you guys hear that?” I asked. They all nodded with their mouths hanging open. I briefly thought about stepping behind him and putting a bullet into the back of his head. I’d done it in Iraq more than once. I could do it again without batting an eye. Then I thought about Cody. And Lolita. And Emily and her boys. Enough people had been hurt because of me. I let my arm drop to my side.

  I dropped the clip out of the Glock into my palm and ejected the bullet that was in the chamber and caught it in the air. I pushed the bullet back into the clip, then set the Glock and the clip on the hood of the truck just as I heard the cop cars screeching into the front lot.

  By the time the dozen or so cops came around the building with guns drawn, I was on my knees next to Hank with my hands behind my head, waiting patiently to be cuffed.

  I’d explain things at the station house.

  For now, the goal was to not get shot by a trigger-happy cop.

  Hank was lying on the ground in a ball, crying like a fucking baby who knew his playtime was over.

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Ryder

  Quinn was waiting outside the station house when the police finally released me later in the afternoon. I knew trying to explain things to the cops on the scene would be a waste of time. I simply and calmly said, “This man killed my wife and they heard him say it” and let them manhandle me to the ground.

  My wrists were wrenched and cuffed behind me, then I was shoved into the back of a
police car for the ride to downtown. Hank was treated much the same, though it became a debate among the cops who would have to ferry the bawling guy with blood and piss all over the front of his pants.

  I waited until I was in an interrogation room with a plainclothes detective named Quincy to lay out my story. He listened intently and took notes, then called in Lieutenant Mason, the uniformed cop who was at the scene that night. At first, Mason was hesitant to back up my story, embarrassed that he’d missed the swipe of white paint on the fender of Bethany’s car. The detective was no idiot. He picked up quickly on Mason’s hesitancy to admit his mistake and let him go.

  “So, just once more for the record,” Quincy said, tapping the pen to the notepad lying in front of him. “Lay it out for me.”

  I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Calmly, for the tenth time, I said, “My brother-in-law, Hank Perkins, was having an affair with my wife, Bethany Ryder.”

  “Hank is married to Bethany’s sister, Emily,” he said, following along with the notes he’d taken an hour before.

  “Yes. Hank and Bethany were at the Motel 6 on Interstate 395, at the Arlington exit. Bethany wanted to confess the affair to Emily. Hank didn’t want her to. Bethany got in her car and headed toward Hank’s house in Fall’s Church.”

  “And Hank goes after her,” he said, nodding slowly.

  “Yes. Hank confessed to me that he ran her off the road. He said he was trying to get her to stop. He said it was an accident.”

  “Do you believe him?” Quincy asked, glancing up from his notes.

  “Does it matter?”

  He thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Not to me.”

  I smiled.

  “What did he do next?”

  “You’ll have to ask him that,” I said. “Apparently, he didn’t stop to see if she was okay. He just went home and pretended like nothing had happened. Emily—his wife— found out about Bethany’s death from my friend, Quinn Blackwell, who was tracked down by Lieutenant Mason.”

  “Okay, Mr. Ryder, that’s it,” he said. “You’re free to go.” He pushed himself up from the table and stuck out his hand. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”

  * * *

  “You okay?” Quinn asked as I slid into the seat of his Mercedes SUV and buckled in. Thank God, it was cool in the car. I felt like I’d spent the last few hours in a sweat box. I pointed the air vents at my face and took a few deep breaths.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “I just need to get home.”

  Quinn pulled away from the curb and didn’t say anything until we were in the flow of the afternoon traffic. He glanced sideways at me and spoke sympathetically. “I’m sorry things worked out this way,” he said quietly. “I always thought Hank was a good guy.”

  “He was at one time,” I said. “Pussy will make a good man do bad things he wouldn’t normally do.”

  “I can attest to that,” he said, nodding as he stared out the windshield. One of my old girlfriends called it, The Power of the Pussy… or Pussy Power, something like that.”

  I smiled. “Which old girlfriend was that?”

  He shrugged and gave me a sideways smile. “Fuck if I can remember.”

  “Yeah. Fuck the Force. The power of the pussy is strong.” I glanced out the window and thought of Lolita, so young, so beautiful, so full of life, so fucking sexy and hot… but then, so innocent and naïve in many ways.

  I loved being with her.

  I loved having her in my arms.

  I loved having her body close to mine.

  But the thought that I was just using this young girl to deal with the shit that was going on in my life kept bubbling to the surface.

  Was she just a momentary distraction or was she really someone I could see myself with long term.

  Was it just great sex or something deeper that was drawing me to her like a moth to flame—something deep that had been missing from my life for a very long time.

  The gray sky opened up and a hard rain began to pelt the windshield. I leaned my head back against the rest and closed my eyes.

  I had no answers when it came to Lolita and maybe that was okay.

  Maybe I was overanalyzing things, as I was prone to do.

  Maybe we could figure things out as we went along rather than lay things out point by point like a SEAL assault plan.

  Maybe we could just be happy that we were together without worrying about the future.

  Maybe I could stop asking myself so many fucking questions and learn to just enjoy life.

  Maybe I could do that.

  Maybe.

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Lolita

  It was nearly seven o’clock by the time Ryder made it home. He had called me earlier in the day to let me know what was going on. Holy fucking shit, I think was my response. He didn’t have time to give me much in the way of details. He just asked that I look after Cody until he could get home and I said I would, no problem.

  I told mom what was going on when she got home after work and, of course, got another lecture. Thank God, she had plans with Otto, so she couldn’t stick around long to harp on me. I told her that I understood her concerns and loved her for wanting to look out for me, but this was my life. I would live it as I saw fit. I had learned that from her. That comment pretty much shut her up.

  Cody and I spent the afternoon alternating dips in the pool with watching cartoons, playing with Legos, and scribbling in coloring books. I meticulously stayed within the lines. Cody, not so much.

  I gave him a bath so he would be clean when his daddy got home, but exhaustion got the best of him and he fell asleep on the couch watching SpongeBob.

  Ryder sent a text that he was on the way home. I was standing in his front door watching for him when the fancy black Mercedes SUV pulled into the drive. I didn’t run out and throw my arms around his neck like I wanted to. His friend, Quinn, was behind the wheel and I didn’t know if Ryder had said anything to him about us yet, so I didn’t want to create a problem. God knows, the poor guy had enough to deal with as it was.

  “Oh, my god, are you okay?” I asked as he came in the door. I couldn’t resist putting my arms around his neck to give him a big hug. I ignored the twinges coming from deep in my lady parts. This wasn’t the time for sex, I told myself, although the way Ryder was pulling me to him and burying his nose in my hair made me wonder if he wouldn’t welcome the distraction.

  “I’m fine,” he said as I pulled back. He put his hands to my cheeks and kissed me on the lips. “I’ll fill you in later. How are things here?”

  “Good,” I said with a sigh of relief, glad that he was home. I waved a hand toward the sofa where Cody lay snoring quietly. “We had a big day. I think he likes his new nanny. And she certainly likes him.”

  “I’m glad,” Ryder said. He took my hand and led me quietly into the kitchen. He sat at the table while I got him a beer from the fridge.

  “You hungry?” I asked, setting the icy bottle on the table. “I could make you a sandwich or something. There’s leftover pizza?”

  “Not now,” he said, picking up the bottle and tilting it to his lips for a long drink. He sighed and wiped his mouth on the back of a hand. I slid into the chair across from him and reached out my hand. He wrapped his fingers around mine and gave me a reassuring squeeze.

  “So, did they arrest Hank?” I asked.

  He nodded slowly. “Yes. They are charging him with vehicular homicide and leaving the scene of an accident, according to the detective I talked with,” he said. “He has a bail hearing in the morning. I guess he confessed to everything, although he still claimed it was an accident. The police brought Bethany’s car back to the impound lot and impounded Hank’s truck to collect evidence.”

  “Wow, that’s just so…”

  “Weird?”

  “I was gonna say sad,” I said. “His poor wife. Does she know?”

  “I think so,” he said. “I haven’t talked to her, but I assume she was his one
phone call. I’ll call her tomorrow. I’m too beat to deal with her tonight.”

  “Do you think she suspected anything?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think so. When I talked to her a few days ago about Bethany she seemed pretty clueless.”

  “Do you think they’ll get a divorce?”

  “Who know? Emily is very religious, so maybe she can pray her way out of it,” he said, shrugging his big shoulders. I watched the muscles in his neck flex and tried to resist the urge to climb onto the table and beg him to fuck me. “I think being convicted and sent to prison is what Hank is most concerned with at the moment. If he was concerned about his marriage he wouldn’t have fucked my…”

  “It’s okay,” I said, squeezing his hand. “You can say it. Your wife.”

  He made a sad face and glanced away. “Yeah, my wife.”

  We sat silently for a few minutes while Ryder sipped his beer and I stared at the table between us, thinking. I didn’t want to heap more shit onto his pile, but there were things I had to know.