by Whitney G.
Today’s black roses are the most stunning yet, and he’s left a handwritten card in red ink.
Meredith,
I’ve enjoyed the last few days with you immensely.
I wish they could last for longer, but they can’t.
What we’ve had is now over…
--M
I laugh and make a mental note to tell him that he could’ve left off that last clause. For some weird reason, he’s been closing his flower notes on a more ominous tone lately. I feel like he’s still struggling to nail the ‘romance’ part of a relationship, but his attempts are what make me love him even more.
Wanting to find him in the hotel, I walk over to the suite’s entry door, but it’s locked. I try again, but it doesn’t budge. I walk over to the other entry door, but it’s even more stubborn. It doesn’t move an inch.
Confused, I pick up the phone in the kitchen and hit the button for the front desk.
No dial tone. No soft and annoying elevator music. Nothing.
Ugh. Is their entire system down?
Returning to the bedroom, I search for my cellphone so I can call Michael, but it’s not where I left it.
All of his things are gone, and the luggage I left in the closet is nowhere to be found. Even my custom wedding ring, which I left on the nightstand, is long gone.
What the hell is going on?
Before I can run through a list of possibilities, the door swings open and Michael walks into the room.
“You know, I was beginning to think that I’d woken up in the Twilight zone,” I say.
“Why’s that?”
“The Wi-Fi isn’t working, I can’t find my phone, and the front desk’s customer line isn’t working.” I smile as he pulls me into his arms. “Now that I think about it, though…You did tell me that we’d already extended this trip by a few days too long. Should I take my missing luggage as a sign that you’ve already packed it away?”
“Something like that.” He runs his fingers through my hair and looks into my eyes. “Did you read my note that came with your flowers?”
“Yeah, very ominous and dark.” I laugh. “It works because it’s you, but if it was anyone else, I’d be telling her to run.”
“I see.” He doesn’t laugh with me.
“Did you take my ring to get polished or something?” I ask. “Please tell me you have it and not someone from housekeeping.”
He continues running his fingers through my hair, not saying a word for several seconds. “I made two separate plans for this moment,” he says. “You won’t need the ring if I go with Option B…”
“Huh? Option what?” I furrow my brow. “Have you had too much to drink or something?”
He ignores my question, proposing a different one instead. “Do you trust me, Meredith?”
“Of course.”
“Good,” he says, lowering his voice. “If I’m going to go with the better option, I need you to promise me that you’ll continue to trust me for the next few months. At least four.”
“I just vowed to trust you for a lifetime.”
“True trust, Meredith.” He rolls his eyes. “Not that flowery bullshit we recited at our wedding. True fucking trust.”
“Come again?” I step back, completely confused. “Those weren’t lies on my end. Every word I said was true.”
“Good to know,” he said, pulling me back into his arms and slowly returning the wedding ring to my finger. “I need you to remember that when things change between us. Just know that whatever I do is in your best interest, that I may have fucked up, but this is my way of making up for it.”
“Michael, you’re not making any sense. I don’t know what the—” My breath catches in my throat as I witness him pulling out a massive syringe and pressing a long needle into my neck.
What the fuck? Screaming, I try to push him away, but he tightens his grip around my waist as the needle continues to pierce my skin. He keeps his eyes on mine as the venom slips further into my veins, holds me so hard that I can no longer attempt to move.
I try to scream a little louder, call out for help, but it’s no use. My voice becomes hoarser as the seconds pass, and my fingers become limp and lose their grip.
My vision blurs and the room begins to spin. Everything swirls into one hazy green image—the pained look in Michael’s eyes, and then my heartbeat slows.
Everything is black…
The next time my eyes open, my head is aching and I feel as if I’ve been hit by a mack truck. I’m in the backseat of a car, wrapped up in what appears to be a goddamn rug.
I look ahead and see Michael in the front seat.
His jaw is clenched, and he’s talking to someone on his cell phone.
“It’s been handled,” he says. “You can tell him now.”
I can’t make out what the voice on the other line is saying; my head is still ringing and he’s speaking too low.
Minutes later, the car comes to a stop and I see Michael tossing a few coins into a toll booth.
Then I pass out again.
The final time I awake, I force myself to keep my eyes open as he slows at multiple four way stops.
Ardmore Lane. Pine Avenue. Trellis Cove. Left, right, left…
He steers the car through a massive iron gate, then down a heavily wooded lane before pulling into a brightly lit garage.
His eyes meet mine as he slowly frees me from the rug. Lifting me up, he carries me inside a colossal mansion, where the bright lights of a glittering chandelier greet me.
There’s a loud and sudden, click-click-clickety-click sound. Then a series of long beeps, and I look up and realize that there are small white cameras watching my every move.
I’m unsure of what the hell is happening, and I’m convinced that this is some type of nightmare.
I try to force myself awake, but the scene in front of me never changes. And something tells me that my new reality is a hopeless one, that the bright future I was planning for is about to get dark.
Michael sets me down on the couch and glances at his watch. Then he locks his eyes on mine, staring at me with the same pain that’s in my chest right now.
“You should start getting comfortable here, Meredith,” he says, turning away. “You’re going to be here for a while.”
“What do you mean, I’m going to be here for a while? What the fuck is this, Michael? What the hell are you doing?”
He looks over his shoulder, his gaze moving down to the ring on my finger, then at me. “I’m doing what’s in your best interest…”
Meredith
Now
I stare out the car’s window as Michael speeds through the desert, trying my best to silently repeat the refrain I used when he left me in Mexico. The refrain that made me hate him.
Your husband is a murderer-for-hire, and your father hired him to kill you…Everything you know about the both of them is a goddamn lie.
He’s tried taking me to two international airports so far, but they’re both closed, so there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s determined to get me to another one. Since he’s recently tossed a How to Adjust to Life in Switzerland book in my lap, I know that he’s determined to get me out of his life by the end of the day, no matter what.
My heart still isn’t getting the memo, but I won’t let my emotions rule my decisions anymore. I won’t give in, and I won’t go back. I won’t even look over at him as he drives since he’s still capable of making me wet with a single glance. (And unfortunately, he’s done it five times already.)
Not anymore.
This time, when we go our separate ways, I’ll have to make myself look at Michael for the man that he really is. Not my husband who I desperately tried to understand.
He’s a fucking murderer, and a criminal.
Full stop.
Michael
Now
Three days later
Since the drug cartels are determined to burn this country to the ground, every airport where I’ve tried to t
ake Meredith is shut down for the rest of the week. It’s left me no other option than to drive two hundred miles out of the way, to a secluded villa I bought several years ago. (At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. I can easily charter a jet and have this woman out of my life in three hours. I can easily focus all of my attention on the one person I have left on my ‘all or nothing’ list and move on.)
My luxurious, one-story house sits beneath a bevy of plantain trees, fifty miles away from the closest town, and its feet away from the gulf. It’s one of the many properties I keep as a tax write-off, a perfect space to rest whenever I’m researching a foreign target.
I’m not sure why I thought Meredith would be appreciative of these accommodations, why she would be somewhat impressed, but she isn’t. Not only is she being completely nonchalant, but she’s giving me the one thing that never failed to get under my skin when we were living together in the mansion: the goddamn silent treatment.
She hasn’t spoken to me for the past three days—three fucking days, and I refuse to be the first to make a move.
I’m currently staring at her as she undresses in the master bedroom, the room I nicely offered for her to have alone—and she’s ignoring my gaze. She seems unfazed by the gauze I’m rewrapping around my wrist, a minor injury I took when saving her life the other day.
I try to look away from her as she continues to undress, but I can’t. After not seeing her for weeks, I’m aroused at the mere sight of her taking off a damn sock.
Her pink sundress hits the floor, revealing black lace panties and a matching bra. It’s the same set she wore the final night of our honeymoon, and I know she’s putting on this slow, sensual show to fuck with me. To make me beg for a taste.
Looking over at me, as if she’s finally about to say something, she takes off her wedding ring and tosses it into my lap.
“I don’t think so.” I narrow my eyes at her, letting out a breath. “You’re going to put this back on before we leave here. We’re not really divorced.”
“We’re not really married either,” she finally speaks, scowling as she unclasps her bra. “I don’t see why it matters if I wear it or not. I’m nothing more than a job or a burden to you… I always have been, and I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”
“There’s a long list of things that you should be sorry for,” I say, clenching the ring. “That isn’t one of them.”
Her bra hits the floor, then her panties, and my cock immediately hardens. I’m tempted to walk over to her and demand that we end this stalemate with sex, but the look in her eyes tells me to stay far away.
She’s far too pissed to think logically right now.
Before I can tell her that she needs to take her game to another bathroom, I remember that this is the only master suite in this house.
It’s on me to leave.
I can’t.
She pulls her hair up into a topknot ponytail and steps over to the clawfoot tub that sits in front of the windows. Running a hot, bubble bath, she picks up a white loofah and moves it between her breasts, all the way up to her neck.
Never making eye contact with me, she takes her time torturing me with her every move. In an attempt to temporarily distract myself, I pick up my phone and notice a new text from Trevor.
Trevor: Mr. Pryor should be dead by morning. One more to go for each of us…
Me: Good. Thank you.
Trevor: Where the hell are you?
I don’t answer him right away. Instead, I make a mental note to call him later, redirecting my attention to Meredith.
“Meredith…” I say, setting down my phone as she steps out of the tub.
She doesn’t answer.
“I need to ask you something important,” I say. “You said something interesting right before we broke up a few weeks ago…”
“We didn’t ‘break up’, Michael.” She looks at me, a mix of hurt and anger in her eyes. “You broke us.”
She puts on a robe and walks over to the attached en-suite.
Holding back a sigh, I follow her. “You know that I’m not the type of man who’s going to beg you to talk to me.”
“I know.” She shrugs. “You’re the type of man who thinks he’s too big to apologize, a man who walks around killing people if the price is right, and a man who will go through extreme measures just to ensure that someone has to be indebted to you for ‘saving’ them from a situation they never asked to be in…”
“The only thing I’ve ever really wanted from you—outside of what I’ve already received, is a goddamn thank you.”
“Thank you.” She narrows her eyes at me, and then her breath hitches in her throat. “If I say it a few more times, will it prevent you from senselessly killing anyone else?”
“Senselessly?”
“Yes. Senselessly. As in being a murderer, killing for no damn reason, or killing for money…”
“What I do is not killing.” I clench my jaw. “It’s karma. And no, that won’t do a goddamn thing to help the ones I have left.”
“Is the money that good?” She looks disheartened. “What’s the payout?”
“There isn’t one,” I say. “The ones I do personally, I do for free.”
Her eyes widen, and she takes a step back. “Well, in that case, you would have to get on your knees for days, and fucking beg me for hours before I even considered saying much of anything else to you.”
“Let’s put that on our shared list of things that will never happen in this lifetime.”
“Michael…” She shakes her head, sighing—looking as if she’s disappointed in herself for even trying to talk to me. “Honestly, how do you sleep at night?”
“You already know that I don’t.”
I don’t give her a chance to say anything else. I just leave the room.
I’ve had enough of her games and feigned outrage for one night.
I’m not begging for shit.
Meredith
Now
Two mornings later
Michael has a glass chessboard set up and waiting for me on the coffee table. Freshly shaven and looking even sexier than he did yesterday, he walks over to me as I step into the living room. Then he hands me a cup of coffee, silently asking me to play.
It’s the first time since he walked away from me that we’ve been in the same room together, the first time that the thick sexual tension between us has finally reached its peak. I’ve wanted nothing more than to leave my bed in the middle of the night and join him on the couch, to let him fuck away the past three weeks of pain, but I’ve held back.
I refuse to give in first.
Setting down the How to Adjust to Life in Switzerland book, I take a seat and make the first move. Two spaces up for a white pawn.
He moves a black pawn one space, and within four plays, he’s moving his knights—letting me know that he’s not playing to be nice. He’s playing to win.
He’s also attempting to use this match to get the upper-hand and get me to speak to him again.
Or, to give into all the tension and let him fuck me…
From the way he gazes at me in between moves, it’s hard for me to look away and stay focused on the game. His green eyes lock on mine whenever I pick up a piece, his mouth slowly parts whenever I bite my bottom lip, and my body is slowly begging to be directed under his command. And he knows it.
Once it’s my turn again, I don’t bother picking up a piece. Instead, I stand up and head to the master bedroom. I need to get away from him and handle my soaking wet clit on my own; I don’t want him to assume that I need his help.
Walking into the en-suite, I step out of my clothes and walk right into the oversized shower that faces the gulf. Turning on the water, I lean back and sigh as I stand under the piping hot streams.
I hear the sound of footsteps from behind me seconds later, and I turn around to see Michael stepping inside the shower.
Completely naked, his abs are still as rock-hard and perfect as they were the last t
ime I dragged my fingers across them. His hardened cock is on full display—making my lips and pussy crave another taste.
“Michael,” I say, using what’s left of my restraint. “Michael, I don’t want to talk if—”
“I don’t regret taking a single fucking soul,” he says. “Every person who I’ve killed personally fucking deserved it. My only regret is that I couldn’t do it twice.”
My jaw drops.
“So, if what you said when we broke up—” He pauses, glaring at me. “Excuse me when I broke us up… If you meant what you said, about loving someone enough to be okay with what I’ve done, you should know that I’ll never apologize for doing that.”
I swallow, and the steam begins to rise between us.
“You said that I could trust you enough to tell you,” he says. “You said if there was a good enough reason—”
“You’re not God,” I say, shaking my head. “So, there’s no ‘good enough’ reason for you to kill anyone. Ever.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” I step back as he steps closer. “Granted, what you did back at the resort was self-defense and it saved us—thank you, but there’s no reason to walk around this world like a vigilante and kill people just because you think they deserve it.”
“What if I know that they fucking deserve it?”
“Then that’s even worse. Take them to court instead of taking the law into your own hands. You claimed that you used to read a lot of John Grisham novels about delayed justice, so maybe you need a reread. Or was that a fucking lie, too?”
He doesn’t answer me.
“It honestly doesn’t matter since you’re taking me to the airport the moment they open,” I say, feeling a slight pang in my chest. “But just so you know, if you’d told me what you did for a living when we first met, I wouldn’t have given a single fuck.” My breath catches in my throat. “I was that fucking lonely.”
