by K. L. Savage
“Do you need help, Mr. Grant?” Kenneth calls out and heads down the steps.
The kindness is such a lie.
I grind my teeth together in aggravation and hope Mr. Grant doesn’t fall for it. Kenneth is great at bending people to his will.
“No.” The pink-speedo-wearing-neighbor waves his hand dismissively. “I need to walk while I can without help. Thank you, Kenneth. I appreciate it. Have a good day everyone.” Mr. Grant stops by his front door where Kenneth can’t see him since the entryway is further back than the rest of the brick that creates his home.
He’s watching me to make sure nothing happens.
Kenneth’s smile falls instantly and his eyes narrow as he turns his head to stare at me through the windshield of the truck. I give him a wave, but he doesn’t return it. He turns around and heads inside the house.
Kill him.
Oh, how I want to.
When Kenneth is out of sight, I wave to Mr. Grant, and he gives me a sad smile. He returns the wave and crosses his arms, watching me as I reverse out of the driveway.
I jerk the truck into drive and the diamond ring on my left finger shines as the sun penetrates the glass window. If I could go back in time, I never would have said yes.
I’ve watched my life pass me by in slow motion. Dreams have been crushed. Hope has been banished. Love has been damned. Life is nothing how I envisioned it would be, and it won’t be as long as I stay with Kenneth.
Kill him.
In between the lining of my purse, there is something Kenneth doesn’t know about. I’ve been saving every dollar I can over the last few years and hiding the cash there. It isn’t much, maybe two thousand dollars, but it’s a start.
I could drive and never look back.
He’d find me and kill me.
So it’s only fair if I do it first.
I don’t even remember driving to the grocery store, but I pull into the parking lot fifteen minutes later and park between a smart car and a moped. I’m shaking for some reason, and I press my head against the steering wheel, wondering when my life became a game of survival. “Just do it. Just kill him, Charlie. Prison will be better than another second spent with him.”
The money in my purse burns, tempting me to go to a pawn shop to buy a gun.
“You aren’t a murderer,” I say, trying to convince myself that I’m a good person. I do not plot murder.
With a heavy guilty heart, I climb out of the truck into the dry Vegas air and pass the employee gathering all the carts. “I’ll take that one,” I say before he can grab the cart shoved over a section of the curve.
“Have a great day,” he smiles, chipper and shit.
I’m not in the mood for positive people.
Positivity is a facade too. People tell themselves to be positive, to plaster a smile on their face, and to think of the bright side of things, but you only tell yourself that when you’re feeling dark and negative.
Humanity can continue to fool itself. They are negative, no matter how much they pretend otherwise.
I toss my purse in the seat built into the cart for kids and pull the zipper across to retrieve the shopping list. I have a few hours before I have to be home and I’m going to take my time. I have a system. I head down the aisles first, then the produce so the fruit doesn’t bruise with all the random boxes and cans, then get frozen and cold items so they last longer.
There’s a crying baby screaming its lungs out and a tired Mom eyeing the formula. My heart aches. I’ll never have that, and I wouldn’t want to have a baby in the situation I’m in. Kenneth doesn’t want kids, and I don’t want his kids.
I reluctantly roll the cart down the aisle and grab Italian dressing- his favorite. I like it, but I like ranch more. Not that I’m able to tell him that.
I relax the longer I shop. I assume some people, like the new mom, don’t like grocery shopping but I do. The peace is nice, and I hate to leave it every time.
“Funny running into you here.”
The familiar voice has me dropping the jar of pickles in my hand. The glass shatters on the floor and dill pickles roll along the ground through the pickle juice.
I’m quickly picked up and twirled around, then placed on my feet safely away from the glass.
“Clean up in aisle three,” is announced over the speakers.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s just an accident.”
Nothing is ever just an accident.
Accidents can be avoided if one pays attention.
Kenneth’s voice echoes in my head.
“Clean up in aisle three.”
Clean up my dignity while you’re at it.
The repeated announcement yanks me from my daze, and I lift my eyes to see the man that had me dropping a jar of pickles.
Dark hair, dark eyes, the scent of leather and laundry.
Whistler.
And he is way too close to me.
Yet, I don’t move away from him either.
It’s not stalking if I’m at the same place she is.
I really had to get some groceries, and this is the best fresh market in the area.
“Are you okay?” She’s visibly shaking, her eyes are darting back and forth to the shelves. She jumps when the mop hits the floor and when she realizes it’s not a threat, she holds a hand to her chest and breathes a sigh of relief.
“Wow, that startled me,” she says, crinkling her nose at the smell of pickle juice.
My eyes drop to where her hand is against her chest and my blood turns to raging hot lava when I see the red mark around her neck. “Is that why you haven’t been to work in two weeks?” I growl, biting the inside of my cheek not to reach out and stroke the irritated skin. All I want to do is show her that someone cares.
“No. I had the flu. This is just a rash,” she explains.
Ah, the excuses.
“You might be able to fool someone else with that lie, but not me,” I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. “Are you okay? Did glass hit you? Are you cut?” I look her up and down, happy that she’s wearing jeans to protect her legs.
She cocks her head and seems confused by my question. “Um, no, I’m fine. Th—Thank you,” she stutters and wraps her arms around the middle of her waist. “I don’t know why you care.” Her tone isn’t rude. It’s soft and curious. She genuinely doesn’t understand.
“That’s what people do, Charlie. They care. I know this may come as a shock to you, but there are good, kind people that will gladly be in your life. Life is so much more than that.” I point to her neck. “Just know you have friends, Charlie. Friends who will do anything for you.” I hope that didn’t come off as sexual, which wasn’t my intent. What I meant was that if she ever needed me, I'd be there to beat her husband’s brains in with my baseball bat.
Who in their right mind would gather that offer from the word ‘anything?’
“Thanks, but I can handle the situation myself,” she says, lifting the strap of her purse to her shoulder when it slips down her arm.
Yeah, that’s what they all say.
“Don’t wait until it’s too late,” I bend down and whisper, then snag a small jar of pickles from the shelf. “I hope to see you at the jobsite. Take care, Charlie.” I begin to walk away and pause mid-step when she says something to my back.
“I know it’s you outside of my neighbor’s house. You need to stop. You have no idea what you’re getting involved in.”
I roll my shoulders, the soothing weight of my bat pressing against the middle of my back. I remember every single swing I’ve ever taken and every man I’ve had to kill with it. I casually spin on my boots and close the distance between us. I bring my lips to her ear, inhaling a coconut scent that smells good but that doesn’t suit her. I bet he controls that too. “I’ve been involved in worse, and I’ve killed men for so much less than what that bastard is doing to you. I sit outside at night, and I wait to hear you scream so I can finally kill that sorry excuse of a man. Don’t think for one second
you’re saving me from damnation, Cupcake. My soul was damned a long fucking time ago, so I get to sin how I want, when I want.”
My phone rings and I put some space between us so I can answer it. It’s One. “I have to take this. Have a good day, Cupcake.” I walk away, hating that I’m leaving her alone and vulnerable. She needs protection. There’s something about that woman that drives me to want to be the strongest protector she’s ever seen so she can feel safe.
I want to be her security, the place she runs to when she’s scared.
“Got something for me, One?” I drop the black shopping basket near a cash register and stroll out of the automatic double doors. What I need isn’t as important as getting Charlie what she deserves. I mount my bike and take one last look inside the grocery store before putting on my aviators to block out the sun.
“Princess does. You’re going to want to get home. Now.”
“Be there in ten.” I hang up and before I leave, I double-check to make sure the GPS I put on the truck while I was outside of her house the other night is working. The green dot blinks and I glance around to find the work truck sitting between a pathetic excuse for a car and an even more pitiful excuse for a motorcycle. I never understood mopeds. Never will. They don’t make sense to me.
Okay, so maybe I didn’t need anything from the market. Maybe I got an alert on my phone telling me Charlie was driving and I wanted to see where she was going…
It might be stalking if I didn’t have good intentions.
Yeah, that’s what every stalker says.
The last two weeks of waiting around for Charlie to show up for work and waiting until I had all of my answers before I marched over to her house and stole her away took a lot of patience. The only thing that stopped me from completely losing my shit was her dad. He talked to her every day which let me know she was okay.
The air doesn’t smell as sweet, and my heart has grown in size aching for Charlie. She has no idea how much I want to wrap her up. She’s a fucking gift and how her husband doesn’t see that is something I’ll never understand.
Charlie deserves Christmas every day, the feeling of love, joy, and presents. The constant feeling of happiness to the point her cheeks hurt. And mark my words, I’ll give her that if it’s the last thing I do.
The grumbling of my bike slows down as I near the clubhouse. Fletcher’s construction has made a ton of headway in the last two weeks. Mercy paid them a little extra to work longer hours and the inside of the bar/shelter/ I don’t know what the fuck to call it, is done. They are building the extension that will eventually be part of the clubhouse now.
It is taking longer to clear out the land to prepare it for construction, so until the clubhouse is built, I’m still sleeping restlessly in the cockroach-invested motel.
I park the bike under a large palm tree to gain as much shade as I can when I see Mercy outside, pacing back and forth talking on the phone. He kicks the gravel and a cloud of dust explodes in front of him. I can’t tell what he is saying, but it seems the conversation isn’t going well.
A bug lands on my arm, where the skin is red from the sun, and I slap my palm over it to squish it.
Ha, fucker.
I hop off my bike and flick the dead bug off my arm, my boots scuffing against the ground as the front entrance gets closer. The closer I get to Mercy, the more I see he is hurt instead of angry.
“Tongue, come on. I missed her birthday because I was giving her space. I miss her. I want to get to know her. You don’t know what this is like. You don’t know how it feels to know I’ve missed out on so much. I want to be a good dad.” Mercy doesn’t try to hide when he sees me, but he does step out of the way so I can go inside. “No, I don’t see how me being away from her is going to help her at this point when you being there doesn’t seem to help her either. Fuck you!” he shouts before hanging up the phone. “Fuck!” Mercy throws his phone against the side of the house and the cheap plastic doesn’t stand a chance. The screen shatters and the back pops off and flies over my head.
I have to duck to make sure it doesn’t hit me in the face.
“I hate that I don’t hate him!” he yells again and slaps his fist against the side of the building. “He has her best interest at heart, but I do too.” He hits his fist against his chest. “I fucking care about Daphne. She’s my daughter. I don’t care if she doesn’t remember me, she can know me now. Now is all that matters. I just want a chance.” Mercy’s shoulders slump and he rubs his temples. It seems the fight leaves him, but not because he has given up. He’s tired.
I couldn’t imagine not being a part of my daughter’s life. It would crush me if I had a little girl to call my own. Mercy has missed out on so much and he has done everything Daphne has wanted, everything Tongue has wanted, and he is running out of patience.
He’s a better man than me. I wouldn’t have listened to Tongue for a second.
“You need something? Anything I can help with?” He bends down and picks up the pieces of his phone. “Damn it. This is the fourth one in three weeks.”
“Maybe it’s time to start buying in bulk,” I joke as I pick up the piece that almost hit my head. “And no, I don’t need anything, Prez. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with you before I see Princess and One.”
“I’ll be fine,” he sighs. “I always am.”
“It’ll get better, Mercy.”
“I hope so. I’m going to the store to get another phone. I won’t be back for a while.” He dumps the remains of his phone into the dumpster that’s being used for the construction and gets on his bike. That thing is sweet. It’s obvious Mercy has taken care of her over the years.
If I remember correctly, it’s the same bike he had when he was with Michelle, the love of his life. Damn, I hope I have something in my life one day that lasts that long.
Prez pulls out of the parking lot with nothing but a cloud of dust trailing behind him.
The front entrance actually has a door now. It’s heavy, metal, probably bulletproof, and in order to get in, requires a fingerprint scanner.
Normally, I’d think that would be too much, but considering what Mercy is trying to do to help women or any abused woman, I’d say the fingerprint scanner is needed. It means no one can get in unless they are approved to.
I press my finger against the scanner and the door clicks. I groan as the air conditioning hits me in the face. It’s so damn hot out.
Damn, I love the progress that’s been made. The inside looks phenomenal. The hardwood floors are polished, the bar is sleek and there’s an entire wall built behind it with shelves for liquor. To left are booths, tables, pool tables, dart boards, and even a few arcade games. It’s really coming together.
And it already feels like home.
I hang a right where the kitchen is and see Princess and One sitting on the counter with a beer in one hand and a burger in the other. This kitchen won’t be a part of the clubhouse since this is where food for the bar will be cooked. The clubhouse will have its own kitchen.
“You said you have news?” I open the fridge and take a beer from the shelf, twisting the top off and tossing it in the trash. I take a long swig, the carbonation bubbling against the back of my throat.
Princess grins. Years ago, when he got his road name, I thought he’d hate it, but he has done nothing but accept it. He doesn’t look like a princess. He’s pretty rough around the edges, but how he got his name is hilarious.
A story for another time.
“News? I have news that’s going to change Charlie’s life,” Princess states, rubbing his eyes with his fist.
“Looks like you’ve been pulling all-nighters. I appreciate it, man.” I cross my ankles and lean against the opposite counter where he is working.
“It’s okay. This is what I live for.” He pours a shot of jalapeño juice in one shot glass and Jameson in the other. He shoots the whiskey and then downs the spicy juice and slams his hands on the metal countertop. “Hell yeah! Woo! I
’m fucking ready to go another eight hours.”
“What just happened?” I ask, blinking and staring at Princess as he pops a hot pepper into his mouth.
“Man, don’t ask. It’s his ‘energy’ drink as he calls it.”
“He is right here,” he grumbles. “And it works. The hot flavor keeps me awake.”
“And the whiskey?” I smirk.
“Makes me feel good,” he chuckles.
His fingers tap quickly along the keyboard. “So our man Kenneth Hastings is a real dirtbag.”
“No shit. I knew that. Is that all you found?”
“Not even a little. Alright, let’s start when they met. Looks like the pictures of the couple started when she was nineteen. Aww, see? So cute.” He turns the laptop to me and it’s Charlie and Kenneth on the beach. He’s holding what’s meant to be mine. “And happiness quickly turns to something else entirely. Pictures of them begin to emerge on social media with her having a split lip and wearing scarves- I know those are your favorite.”
I grunt in disgust and chug my beer. Maybe I need a shot of that whiskey instead, something a little stronger.
“Anyway, looks like Kenneth’s dad is a part of the firm Kenneth works at. He went to high school with Charlie’s dad too. I dug deep into that connection and found out those two hated each other. Anyway, life goes on, Charlie and Kenneth meet and suddenly Fletcher’s Construction begins to struggle financially. Here is my thought and I could be wrong, but I think Kenneth and his father wanted to take down Fletcher’s Construction since Kenneth’s dad had an issue with Charlie’s.”
“Sounds pretty immature and petty.”
One nods in agreement as he takes a big bite of his burger, a glob of mustard and ketchup falling onto his pants. “Ah, fuck.” He steals another bite of the burger and another drop falls, this time on Princess’s hand. “Shit.”
“You’re the messiest eater alive.” Princess snatches a napkin from the table and cleans his hand, then gives One a handful. “You need these on you at all times. This is an expensive piece of equipment, and I won’t let it get ruined with mustard and mayonnaise.”
