Black and Blue (Chubby Chasers, Inc. Series Book 3)

by Angie M. Brashears

  I look over my shoulder, worried about chunky ninjas hiding in the garage rafters, and realize my mistake. That earns me a smack to the forehead. Hard. “Fat lot of good the locks are gonna do me—the friggin’ top is down!” I’m an idiot, while Sam, on high alert, squats in flight mode, hunched in the carrier like he’s gonna pounce.

  I jam the key into the ignition, revving this pony to life, throw it in reverse, and haul ass out of the compound.

  Further insult is added to injury as Sam is jostled in his carrier when the tires dip into the flowerbed and take out two perfectly pink peony plants. I listen to my beefy tires squelching through the flowerbeds, look over the side, and feel satisfaction at stamping out something lovely and pink.

  I nick the driver’s door of the Suburban. That’ll never shut right again! Wish it was their asses instead of a poor defenseless car but, “Fuck you, Gretchen!” Feels good belted at high volume.

  I parade-salute the front of the house with a high, tight flip of the bird on the way past, confident that the blonde head that ducks behind the curtains gets the full treatment, the full effect of Sasha exiting and not fucking happy about it.

  It’s then that I remember my Favor.

  I ran out and left my poor submissive, Carl, high and dry. A diabetic executive with a fetish for sweets and sours, cupcakes and complaints, now in the black clutches of Esmie. “Tough Titty.” He’ll figure it out. Besides, he’ll probably get a squirt on the house from my ultimate punishment. My absence.

  My trench blows open with the breeze, my crazy attire on display for all the neighbors to see as I turn onto the main road, Pacific Coast Highway. But fuck it, I’m a crazy redhead on a mission. My armor of choice just happens to be a frosting-covered bra and panty set with a cupcake on top.

  Riley’s getting a sweet treat-o-gram.

  Gretchen

  “No, we’re going to discuss this now, Javi. Start at the beginning again, and I mean everything. Start with the wedding. The truth this time.” I’m sweating, lying on top of him like this. Doing the mother-smother thing he loves so much. I lean down towards his ear. “Where’s Blue, Javi?”

  He moves his head around my chest, his cheeks flushed and sweaty. His hair is a mess, but that blank look is still there.

  “Who?” he asks, and my heart sinks. Not this again. “I don’t get paid enough to deal with this shit, Javier.”

  I’m in my shimmery aqua tail with pink rhinestones, a new addition to the wardrobe, courtesy of… “Tony, sugar bear, I’m not feeling it today.” I give two halfhearted kicks, but my tail just flops like a dying fish on a hook, gasping for air...

  I swim over to the side, and prop myself up on my elbows. Look straight into the camera built into the decorative rock.

  “Tony…” I begin and am mortified when I burst into tears. The smell of salt mixed with the chlorine water dripping from my soaking wet hair makes my nose itch.

  He doesn’t speak, just clucks and makes soothing noises until I can pull it together. I sneeze twice, two ladylike squeaks. I hold both sneezes in, like I do with everything else in my life.

  “Aw, sweet girl, let me come see you. Maybe cook you a nice steak...”

  I roll my eyes at his usual offer of meat and give him a watery smile. “It’s tempting,” I tease, lifting up higher to give him a shot of cleavage. Despite my waterworks, this is still a Favor.

  “You always keep me so well fed,” I add, hating that I’m disappointing the person I’ve known the longest in this whole mess. Tony’s the only one I can talk to, even if the face-to-face breaks my heart in the process.

  “While the view is spectacular, I think you just need a shoulder to cry on, pretty girl. Let me take some of your load.” Then he adds, in such a low voice I have to push my wireless headphone deeper into my ear to hear it, “He’s not there, is he?”

  I wrinkle my nose. “No, he’s gone. Out getting friggin’ paint. Wants to get rid of her room, right now. It’s like he’s erasing a whole girl.

  “And he just shambles around here like a zombie. Gives me the creeps. And no matter what he says, I know deep down inside he knows what he’s done.”

  “Are you really concerned about her? ’Cause if you are, I’ll go get her right now. But you’re the one who said she might need a few days to think things over. Figure out whose side she’s really on.”

  “I did say that, I know. But I need the address now. I’m going.”

  I hear his surprise. “You’re going?”

  I nod. “In the morning.”

  An exasperated sigh—his standard—before he gives in. See? Easy. “At least take Gus with you. Do you have the papers?”

  “I do. Ted sent them over this morning.”

  “Then all right. How are you gonna explain it? How you just happened to find her?” he asks. I can hear the sarcasm in his voice.

  “The GPS on her phone. I’ve already worked that out.” Then I remember.

  “Do you know she had a regular guy falling all over her? And she stayed with Javi?”

  “That’s commitment,” he says, admiration in his voice.

  “And this guy, Frankie, is going nuts! Said he dreams about her.”

  “I dream about you, sugar.”

  Ugh. “Please stay on topic, Tony.”

  “Did you get the nice rack of ribs I sent over just for you, my girl? Seasoned and slow roasted.”

  I nod. “It was good.” At least I can concede that much.

  “I’m meeting Frankie for dinner tomorrow night. He’s going to do what we can’t.”

  “Not by yourself, you’re not, my little mint julep. And what is it that I can’t do?”

  “Give Javi a taste of his own medicine, and Frankie sounds like just the right guy to shove the spoon in. It can’t be you, or even Gus. No, this isn’t about business. It’s personal.”

  “Got it. Say no more. This Frankie, is he a good guy? Will he understand he can’t kill him?”

  I look into the camera, determined. “Oh, I’ll make him understand.”

  Tony says he’ll arrange my transport, and I know it will be an armored car with bodyguards.

  My phone alerts. I hold up a finger and take a minute to read Esmie’s text. And she’s actually quite happy to take over for a few days. Feels like the place could use some changes.

  I text back. No black paint and no more crosses! Thanks.

  I push my phone into the folds of a towel on the pool deck. “Okay, sugar. I’m ready, go ahead.”

  He chuckles, and in a low voice tries to find the right words to satisfy me. “What would you like? A nice thick steak smothered in onions? Maybe a chicken fried steak? Crackling with grease from the deep fryer?”

  My stomach grumbles at his naughty words.

  Maybe he can hear it, because he whispers, “Fried chicken and gizzards,” like it’s smothered in hot, steamy gravy. I feel myself getting wet.

  This has always been our foreplay. For the last ten years, since the day I said, “I do,” my husband has always loved to talk turkey. As a teen it was exotic and new. Everything about him was…then.

  I hold up a hand to stop him, even though it means denying myself. “Nope, I’m not going down this road with you, Hoss. I don’t know why I thought we could try to move forward and have a civil conversation for once without you bringing up proteins.”

  I pull up on my elbows, but not to flash. No, this time, I kick my legs as hard as I can, churning the water behind me.

  It’s frustrating that the only conversations I can have with him are one-sided interactions from the pool. The mermaid tail’s a Favor for him.

  I sigh, feeling the tail attached by duct tape and a dream swaying behind me.

  “Talk to me, pork chop,” Tony asks, making me smile momentarily.

  “I’m really worried, Tony. He keeps calling Sasha Red Plastic, whatever that means.”

  “Did you take care of the Red Hot problem?”

  “If by that, you mean, did I fracture a friends
hip and hurt my best friend, beyond repair. Then yes, Red Hot mission has been completed.” Feeling salty, I salute the camera. Then turn away. I raise my head to say something, and realize there’s nothing left to say. He’ll never understand the bond I have with Sasha. Doesn’t know she’s my backbone. Is not aware that this is the saddest I’ve been…ever.

  ……

  It’s midafternoon before I can get packed. I knew I was going, no matter what Tony said. Blue doesn’t need his strong-arm tactics. No, she needs a friend.

  Especially after whatever number Javi’s done on her. And by the looks of him, what he’s done to himself. It’s a crying shame watching love getting thrown away like that.

  For the tenth time today I give myself a pep talk. Blue will be fine. Most of the time Javi was with ‘12’, it never looked like she had a complaint. I’ve seen the footage. Every spare moment, she spent with him. That was the nature of the addiction.

  Sitting in motels, feeding and fucking. Javi was a dirty boy with her. None of the Bonita bullshit. No, he was strictly Fuck Boy.

  I didn’t trust him then, and I don’t now. But this one he treated different. I relaxed, let down my guard. Believed the whole smitten act. Proud that my boy had finally grown up.

  Was the whole Bonita-I’ve-gotta-have-her-at-all-costs just an act? A game to amuse a rich boy who had been reined in too long? Was that all any of this was to him?

  At midnight I give up. I call down to a sleepy Gus. “We’re leaving in an hour. Call Tony so he isn’t pissed, okay?”

  As Gus pulls the car around, pep talk be damned. I know I have to hurry.

  Sasha

  As I basically crash into my designated parking spot in Riley’s driveway—a crudely spray-painted red heart on pavement—the knot that’s been forming in my throat since Javi pulled up explodes. It’s a dirty bomb. Shrapnel flies everywhere. Shards of steel pierce through my kitty fur-covered heart. I’m bleeding inside. I try to harness it. Too late, the beast is unleashed!

  “Thundercats!” I slam both fists on the horn, again and again, honking and slobbering. This is a no-shame, cry-till-the-cows-come-home cry, like Gretch always says. At the thought of Gretchen, I ramp it up into overdrive.

  “Fuck tits!” I slobber out, and I’m only getting started.

  I’m sitting in front of Riley’s house, wearing a crazy pink-frosted cupcake headband—complete with sprinkles! — ugly crying, causing the biggest scene possible. The lather I’ve worked myself into is born of all the insecurities, innuendos and nonsense that I’ve had to explain away, as I’ve provide fake cover for Javi’s life.

  I’m sobbing because Gretchen feels like yesterday’s news, a friend I used to know. I cry for the bond we once shared that is unequivocally broken. “You picked the wrong side, fried chicken,” I blurt, stuttering over tears as I say it.

  But most of my mascara-coated tears are for Blue. They fall like fat drops because I don’t know where the fuck she is. She is a loner. If he, well, if he left her, she may have gone back home. Or to the condo.

  We can check there tomorrow. I just, I’m not going to get my hopes up. I hate the way my thoughts of her are covered in gauze, like a distant memory.

  Just like the girl she replaced, Javi got bored and left her.

  I check my phone. I’ve sent over 100 messages, but nothing back. Not a one.

  Such a sweetie, easily seduced by Hostess powdered donuts. Text me back, dammit!

  “And who could blame her?” Her expression of hope at the thought of a real friend, however, is seared into my brain forever. No, that look will never fade. That would be too kind. I feel like I betrayed that trust and hope in all kinds of ways.

  “Sure, I’d told her he was harmless, that she could always shut her mouth, but why did I keep mine zipped as well?” Great, now I’m talking to our cat, out in the open. Free show! Gather round!

  The neighbor across the street turns on the hose and walks to the edge of her property. She’s watering the sidewalk to get closer to this carnage.

  Guess she bought a front-row ticket to my sob-fest. I feel her eyes crawling over me, taking me in. I stare her down as hard as I can, which of course is silly.

  I look like a kid who dropped his best action figure in the toilet while peeing, plus I’m dressed as a naughty cupcake. I’d be staring too. As a fresh round of tears start, I turn back to Sam, my captive audience.

  “There was ample opportunity to help her. Mistake one, stealing her for him.” I hold up one finger so he doesn’t get the wrong idea. “Not the powdered donuts’ fault, Sam, purely mine. Then the burner phone. The lifeline you smuggled in.” There goes my finger again. “Again, not your fault either, Sam. You were an unwilling participant. No one’s gonna hold it against you in a court of law.”

  I give him a small smile, which probably looks like wallow overload, but he does go back to cleaning his paw, only to jump when I wail, “Lifeline, my ass! A lifeline would have been, ‘Run, Sara with no H! Run and don’t look back!’ or ‘Danger Will Robinson, danger!’”

  The word danger calls to mind every single poorly placed step I took along the way. They rear back now and kick me in the teeth, making me sob harder for a lost girl who was given everything she ever wanted, but mostly for my part in the ruse. Something bitter and acidic plops down into the pit of my stomach.

  Finally, I welcome the burn it provides, searing my insides. While dread’s been fluttering around inside my chest since the night they left, it’s finally come home to roost. In the pit of my stomach. What I deserve, really. My skin breaks out in a cold sweat at the thought that I might never see her again. No, I won’t let her walk out of my life like the others. I can’t say goodbye to Blue!

  Sure. There’s always the remote possibility that Gretchen is finally telling the truth.

  Maybe Blue did smarten up and left his ass at the altar. Optimism flickers in my heart, but my mind takes this perfect opportunity to flash—crystal fucking clear—those soulful moon eyes. Eyes shining with respect and admiration as she stood in the living room that last night. Staring raptly into her tormentor’s face, dreamy and faraway, while hanging on his every word.

  “Bullshit!” I yell. Not in a million years did that happen.

  Fresh peals of tears and loud wet snorts accompany that thought. I should have kidnapped her myself, away from all these crazies.

  We could have made a real go of it, a voluptuous Cagney and Lacey team, solving chubby crimes, or better yet…Pied Pipering across the United States, maybe collecting other girls like us. Opening a Chubs-only convent, luring girls as we go with a trunk full of powdered donuts. Jelly for the girls with a powder sugar allergy.

  There’s that word again. Lured. To Lure. “I’m a friggin’ Lurerer!” I bleat out through fresh tears.

  I’ve been giving the biddy—who’s now watering the street—her money’s worth. Great, now another retiree—wearing a crinkled flower-print caftan joins her, just to point at Sam and me.

  All I can muster is a half wave before my thoughts consume me.

  The worst feeling of time whizzing by and me just sitting in this car feeling sorry for myself eats at me. Not out of time yet, please, but the clock is ticking. Like a kid just settling into his summer routine only to be startled by the appearance of lunch boxes and school supplies on the shelves. It can’t be over yet! It just started!

  I thought it would be Gretch and me driving to get Blue. Commiserating over pancakes when he cheated on her. That’s as high as the bar is set for him. Different girls in and out all the time. Now when Blue turns up, it will be just breakfast for dinner with me. No Gretchen.

  Now I just feel abandoned. “I’m going through a friend divorce,” I wail and really belt it out for my audience.

  This time, Gretchen doesn’t even seem to care. What the fuck? Does she already know? Did he tell her…something ominous? She used to tell me everything. That could be why she won’t even listen to reason. Knows the truth and isn’t interested in
searching for a corpse. Instead of here, on the same page with me, on the hunt for our blue butterfly.

  Yep, I feel it. The drought that time’s become. Soon I’ll be totally out.

  Panic grips me, feeding the evil thought that he’s done something permanent. As I sat center stage and watched the whole thing unfold.

  Moaning, I tear at my hair, crying tears of pain and loss that won’t quit. I’m so in the red, I don’t notice the driver’s door open. But I do notice when Riley’s strong tatted arms sweep me up, out of my seat. I don’t miss the tender hug before he pins me to his chest and duck walks me into the house.

  I put my arms around his neck and cry into his shirt. My feet rest on his work boots.

  He flips the bird; I wasn’t strong enough to. “I think the street’s wet enough,” he calls across the street.

  He holds me close as he waves to my audience, really hamming it up.

  “I’ll be here all night.” Doesn’t sound funny at all. I snicker and a snot bubble pops.

  He uses his bedroom voice with me. “What is it, baby? You got cramps?”

  I laugh, a real snorter, at the thought of cramps being the worst thing in my world to him. I shake my head and think of the real reason behind the outburst. “It’s…Blue!” I don’t know if he even gets that from the wail I unleash, but it’s all I’ve got. I continue to cry on his shoulder as he leads me inside and presses my butt down onto the couch cushion.

  “Take a breath,” he says and starts Lamaze breathing himself. I look up at him, trying to match my erratic whooshes to his centered puffs. When he’s satisfied that yes, in fact, I am breathing, he heads into the kitchen.

  Now I’m full nasal congestion girl, shaking my head. No! No! No! Feeling even shittier that he’s ditching me and my woman problems, but notice the motion causes snot and tears to fly. The sleeve of my trench coat is as good a place as any, so I smear it all up with my slobbers and stage makeup. I am mortified by the snail trail I leave on my sleeve.

  “Ugh, I’m a mess,” I say, just to say it. I am a mess.