“You may now kiss your bride,” he announces. Chase cups both my cheeks and brings me in. His mouth covers mine and the entire church, the priest, Mrs. McMann, Jack, and the world disappears. It is just the two of us. His kiss is slow, thorough, and filled with enough happiness and energy to light up a small town. I kiss him back with everything that I am, wrapping my arms around his neck and holding on for dear life. Because that’s what being married to Chase is going to be like, me holding on for dear life. And no matter what I know, he’ll always keep me close. Cherished. Loved.
Finally we pull back and both Jack and Ms. McMann clap and offer their congratulations.
Chase tunnels his hands into my loose locks of hair. I left it down because I know he prefers it that way. “You’re my wife,” he whispers, his forehead planted along mine.
“You’re my husband,” I whisper back.
“I’ve never been happier than this moment. You give me that, baby. Life. A life worth living.”
“I love you,” I caress his cheeks and kiss him softly.
The priest clears his throat and Chase smiles against my lips. “I think that’s our cue.”
“It is indeed.”
When we turn, I notice the flashes. Someone taking our pictures. “Has he been taking them the entire time?” I ask while Chase leads me down the aisle toward the light showing through the church doors.
“Yep. And now he’s going to take some of us by the lake. Would you like that?”
I smile huge and squeeze his fingers. “More than anything.”
“Well come on, wife, up you go!” He hooks an arm around my hips and lifts me into his arms in a princess hold. I tip my head back and laugh as he carries me out of the church and down the steps to the lake. The camera is clicking like mad and I don’t care.
Once we’re outside I scream out, “I’m Mrs. Davis!”
“Damn right you are!” Chase bellows.
He sets me down when we reach the edge of the lake. There he holds me by the hips, in return I place my hands on his shoulders. It looks almost like we’re dancing. The camera clicks away, but I don’t care. There won’t be any boring placements, no stand here, or there, just Chase and me.
“Was it enough today? Would you like another ceremony when we get home, one where we can invite the world and your friends?”
I shake my head. “No. This, us being here, is more than enough. You, Chase, you will always be everything I need.”
He looks down at his ring and lifts it. The infinity symbols are a delicate yellow gold and intermingled with the platinum gold of the ring. “Infinity?”
I nod. “Look inside.”
“Body. Mind. Soul,” he reads.
“Look at yours.” I lift up my ring and pull it off then read the inscription. “All that I am is yours.” I smile wide, put my ring back on and jump into his arms. He kisses me then spins me around, then dips me down where he kisses me again.
When we come up for air this time, which is a lot longer time than during our ceremony, Chase tugs on my hand. “Let’s take a couple photos in front of the church and then head home. I have a dinner for two overlooking the ocean, music, and champagne prepared.”
“That sounds heavenly.”
We take a few more photos, thank the priest, and thank Mrs. McMann for the dress, and Chase pays the photographer. He hands the man a rather large handful of one hundred dollars bills. “I’d like to buy the camera along with the photos. We’ll have them developed in the States. Will ten thousand euros do it?”
The priest’s eyes widen and so do the photographer’s. The man nods unable to speak. In a tiny town like Macroom, ten thousand euros for a camera is a lot of money.
Chase hands the camera to Jack who places it the front of the limo before opening our door.
“Overspender,” I chastise and shake my head while entering the limo.
Chase slides in next to me. “No wife, I’m just making sure that these pictures don’t end up in the hands of the paparazzi. Here in Ireland they don’t know who I am, but all they have to do is look up my name and we’ve got company. Plus, these pictures would be worth a lot of money and they are not for anyone’s eyes but our own. We’ll share them with the people we care about, not the paparazzo.”
I tap on his temple. “Always thinking.”
He grins and lifts me onto his lap. “I’m thinking about how insanely beautiful my wife is right now. I’m thinking about how I’d like to slowly remove this dress and get to her body underneath. I’m thinking about how many times I’m going to make her come.”
“Really? Sounds delightful,” I say nuzzling his neck then biting down on the tendon there. He growls and squeezes my breast through the lace of my gown. Wetness pools between my thighs. “How many times?” I ask.
“So many baby. I’m going to make you come so hard and so long you’re going to beg for me to stop. But I won’t. Because it’s now my job to know what you need. To make my wife sing with pleasure. I plan to fuck you until you pass out.”
“How romantic,” I snicker against his jaw, dragging my mouth along the smooth surface.
“You bring out the romantic in me,” he jokes and I pull back laughing.
“No really, though, I just want to make love to my wife all night long.”
“Well your wife thinks that’s an excellent plan.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Daniel
The building is dark as I enter through a small window connected to the janitor’s closet. The window creaks and groans as I slither through. I can hear music and the sound of bare feet hitting the wooden floor when I open the door to the inside of the building. The stage. Even though it’s midnight, there’s still a crew here. Just as I suspected. Good news, I know for a fact that the dancer bitch is on that stage right now.
Weaving through the dark corners I scan the stage from my hidden location. Wearing all black, even my face is covered in a ski mask which helps make me invisible. I could be wearing bright pink and the ten or so people on the stage wouldn’t notice. They are so stuck on themselves and they’re dancing around like little, fucking fairies. Watching their muscles move and flex is exhilarating, but only because I can see the exhaustion there. They’ve been here since early morning. I’ve been watching Gillian’s old roommate Maria since she arrived. She hasn’t left this theatre. I’m unsure if the director asshole even brought food in. It makes me happy to think she’s been here all day, not a bit of food in her. Her suffering makes me happy.
My eyes zero in on the tall, raven-haired beauty. She is beautiful, anyone can see that. Her body is made for sin, and she flaunts it like the two-bit whore she is. Always wearing tight leggings and tank tops that her giant tits almost fall out of, or worse, the booty shorts she walks around Gillian’s apartment in, even when I was there. It was like she was showcasing her body to me in invitation. Stupid slut. Like I’d ever go for a dancer. A dancer is just a fancy name for a stripper. If that man clapping and pointing, the director or choreographer or whatever his stupid fucking title is, told her to take off her clothes and jump around in front of all these people, she’d do it. Just like a fucking stripper. She’s no better.
Sneaking back behind the stage door I walk along the long hallway unspotted. When I reach the end, there’s a door leading down into the belly of the old San Francisco Theatre. It should be a basement, a place they store things, but it’s not. It’s been turned into a workspace and Gillian’s seamstress, hippie friend works down here. She also arrived earlier today, but much later than dancer bitch. Around noon. Must be nice to work when you feel like it. I’ll give her credit, she has been here twelve hours. Though what she’s doing is completely idiotic. Making costumes. It’s a glorified way of saying she plays dress up or Barbie dolls but with real living people as her toys. And they eat this shit up. Pay her to make clothes. They could just as easily buy the shit on the Internet. Whatever.
Slowly, I make my way down the stairs and into a flurry of lights. Thank
God I scoped this place out earlier. Within moments I’m behind one of the dressing screens. I move one of the slats barely open. There she is. Hunched over a garment, her back to me. The soft glow of the light above her head makes her blond hair shine. Classical music pumps through the room. Some piano concerto I’ve heard before and actually quite like. Her music tastes aside, I look around the room. There is one small window at ground level with the theatre.
This is going to be too easy. For on the other side of that window I’ve nailed in a wooden two by four on the top of the window and the bottom. They wedge perfectly to shorten the width. Making it too small for even a thin woman like her to get through.
With one last look, I sneak back to the door at the bottom of the stairs. She’s so focused on her work she doesn’t see or hear me shut the door. At the top of the stairs, I tip over the gasoline I brought then squirt the accelerant down the stairs like I’m getting ready to light up a charcoal barbecue. This is going to be one helluva cookout. Charred human flesh. I can already smell it. Reminds me of home, when I burned the bodies of my parents.
Once I’ve doused the space, I grab the other can I’ve hidden and walk along the hallway, leaving a trail of gas as I go. I’d be whistling right now at how happy this makes me. I can already feel my temperature heating up, preparing for the fire. My veins are pounding with adrenaline and I can’t wait to see this building go up in flames.
With ease I make it back stage where the dancers are still going at it. Some are sitting on the sides of the stage. Maria however is on her hands, legs up to the sky and in a wide V-shape. Two men come up and each lift her up by the thighs. It’s an erotic move and just proves how skanky she is. Letting two men hold her up like that. Their hands are so close to her snatch, their heads along her leg. They can probably smell that dirty cunt. I pity the men who have to get close to that whore.
Oh well, not for long. With as much control as I can muster I spill out the rest of the gasoline, open a fresh bottle of accelerant and stick a tissue in the top. A flick of my wrist and my Zippo lights. Same Zippo I used to light up my family and watch those fuckers burn. Now I’m going to do the same to Gillian’s bitch friends.
Over in the distance I can see Maria’s hired rent-a-cop and Kathleen’s walking along the back of the theater. Shit, he better not make it to her location before the fire does. With no time to waste I light up a hard piece of cardboard and toss it to the floor.
Instantly it turns a bright orange. Then I see it take flight, zipping and lighting along the line I walked down the back of the stage, straight to the costume bitch’s closet…or should I say grave.
I make my way easily to the janitor’s closet again, wedge the door shut with a broomstick, and drag myself back through the window. On quick feet, I jog to the building next door, climb up the fire escape and to my perch where I’ve left my binoculars. They are centered on the front of the building, with a clear line to the window, where I can still see Kathleen hard at work. Not for long.
Alarms instantly start flaring. Kathleen’s head comes up and she pushes on a remote control. Probably turning her music off. She stands and goes to the door. It must be hot to the touch because she pulls her hand back as if burned. Then she runs to the window and opens it. Smoke has already seeped into her space. Sweat beads up on the surface of my skin. My dick hardens painfully as I see her open the window and scream for help. No one comes. They can’t hear her over the blaring alarms.
Fuck. This is too good.
Right about now, I can see the dozen dancers rushing out the front of the old building and flying down the steps. Maria is there and she’s screaming and pointing at her bodyguard. The other bodyguard is rushing back into the building. Too late fucker. She’s going to be swathed in fire soon. You’ll never get to her. I laugh and watch as Maria tries to run back into the building. The guard holds her back. She kicks him and punches him the face. He gets her in some type of body lock, and I feel giddy for the first time in years. I wish I was closer and could hear what they’re saying, but at least I’ve got eyes on the show.
Swinging my binoculars back to Kathleen she’s moving away from the window. I feel as though I could jizz in my pants right now. She has an arm over her mouth, the smoke is getting really thick. She grabs some type of garment and goes back to the door. I can almost feel the intense heat along my own skin as the stupid fucking cunt does exactly what I hoped for!
Waiting with baited breath she holds the handle with the garment and turns, then pulls it open. A wall of fire slams into the side of her knocking her back and to the ground. I jump up and fist pump the air. Finally, I’ve taken one out! Once my girl gets word that her bitch is dead, she’ll come running back to town.
Just as I watch the smoke fill the room to the point where I can’t see Kathleen lying prone on the floor anymore, something blocks my vision. Backing up the visual I see that it’s Maria. She’s screaming into the window. She tries to push the front of her body in but can’t fit. I laugh and watch. Maria turns on her ass and kicks at the two by fours with her bare feet. Seriously bitch, that takes some balls. Then her fucking bodyguard pulls her away and kicks at the first then the second. The open window breaks widening the space as he removes one then the other two by four. Only the big asshole is too big to fit in there.
The smoke pouring out the window is black and angry, fitting my soul as I watch. Maria and the guy fight again. She pushes him away gets on her belly then presses into the hole. She screams out, the bottom of the window cutting the bare skin of her stomach up good, but she doesn’t stop. Soon she disappears into the hole. This could work out in my favor. Two for the price of one. She’s exhausted having worked the last sixteen hours. I can’t imagine she’d be strong enough to get her friend out.
I was wrong. After a few minutes I see the bodyguard take off his jacket and place it over the window seal then lean his arms into the hole. To my extreme displeasure he sits on the ground, wedges his feet on the sides of the window and lifts a limp body through it. Kathleen is pulled out and laid on the ground. Then I see Maria’s arms, which he gets a firm grip around, only she’s no longer moving. The bodyguard jerks and roars as he now hefts her body out of the window.
Some of the dancers have taken notice and are pointing and running down the back of the building. A couple firemen follow. One lifts up Kathleen’s limp body, I see that one of her arms is seared black all the way up to her neck and down her ribcage. Hopefully she’s dead from the burn or the smoke inhalation. She was in there a long, fucking time. Though Maria still isn’t moving, and the front of her belly is covered in blood. They are two dead weights in the firemen’s arms. Can it be too much to ask that my plan took out both of them? I’ll settle for one. As long as my princess hears about this, regardless of whether or not they are dead or alive, she’ll come running home. That is my ultimate reward.
Gillian
When the limo arrives at our new home in Bantry, Chase leads me by the hand along the walk way around our home. It’s lit up with swinging lanterns to guide us. When we hit the soft grass behind our home I see that a path has been made all the way to the edge of our property near the sea. The path is lit with more lanterns, and littered with white, pink, and red flower petals all the way to a small white tent.
“Wow,” I say as he leads me down the long flowered path to the tent. When we enter it’s much larger than I expected. At least a fifty-foot perfect square. On one side is a table for two set up with flickering candles in glass holders, flowers, and two metal, circular trays covering the plates. On the other side of the tent is a bed. An enormous cloud of pillows in rich burgundy, gold and white. Flower petals are floating along the coverlet. That’s not the most stunning part, no, that’s the open view of the ocean. The tent is closed on the three sides but the flaps of the fourth are pulled back to give an exotic one-eighty view of the ocean, midafternoon.
“Chase,” I gasp and he pulls me into his arms.
One hand holds me arou
nd the waist, the other cups my cheek. “Do you like it Mrs. Davis?” I can already tell he’s going to call me Mrs. Davis every chance he gets.
“I do, Mr. Davis. I can’t believe you planned all this. It’s…it’s incredible.” Chase gives me one of his best smiles. The sweet, lovable only-for-me kind. I pet his lips and then lean forward and kiss them briefly.
“Anything for my wife.”
“I like the sound of that, husband.” I grin and he uncharacteristically swings me around like he did at the church.
“As do I. Are you hungry?” He sets me back on my feet.
“Famished.”
Chase leads me over to the lovely table. There’s a bucket of champagne in a standing unit. Two bottles are nestled there. He opens one and the cork goes flying out of the tent. We both laugh as he pours the sparkling pink champagne. I hope it’s the same kind from the plane. That one was a burst of dry berry notes on the tongue. We hold up our glasses and Chase looks deep into my eyes.
“To our forever,” he says.
“To our forever.” I agree and clink his glass. We both take a sip and I moan in delight at the crisp, wonderful taste.
Chase stands and walks over to a small table where a stereo has been set up. He presses a button and the tent fills with the sound of a lilting woman’s voice. It’s an opera singer I’ve heard before. Just as Chase makes his way back to the table, a man in a suit with a white towel over his arm comes in. “Sir, I do believe you said to enter once the music plays.”
“Yes, thank you, Colin. I’d like to introduce you to the lady of the manor, my wife, Gillian.”
“Good to meet you, Mrs. Davis.”
I smile at the red-haired older gentleman who’s probably in his late forties if not early fifties. “You can call me Gillian.”
“Yes ma’am,” he says before approaching our table.
Soul Page 14
