Sinner's Revenge

by Kim Jones

  She takes my hand and stands. “No, you’re just being fucking nosy. You’re wondering why I have all this nice shit in this not-so-nice house. Well, here’s an answer for you. Mind your own fucking business.” She flashes me a fake smile and walks past me. Only someone who would have wondered the same thing would have guessed the true meaning behind my questions. I guess great minds think alike.

  * * *

  In the car, I finally notice what Diem is wearing. I was too busy digging for information to even bother looking before. Now I wonder how I could have missed it. She’s in a short black skirt that molds to her skin. It sits high on her waist, starting just below her breasts, which are nearly bulging out of her white, sleeveless top.

  Diamond bracelets cover her wrists, and a diamond pendant rests at the hollow of her throat. Even from a distance, I can tell they’re real. And you can’t buy diamonds on a salary like hers.

  “Nice bracelet,” I say, raising my eyebrows in question. She turns to look at me, her bangs falling over her eyes. Pushing them back, she glares at me, but doesn’t say anything. I love how those big, red lips poke out on a pout when she’s pissed. “Did your daddy buy that for you?”

  Rolling her eyes, she twists her body so that she’s looking out the window, giving her back to me. “Are you insinuating that I’m privileged?” she asks, and I hate that I can’t see her. I trust her expressions more than her words.

  “Maybe.” There’s no point in lying about it.

  “Well, the answer is no. My daddy didn’t buy me these. They’re gifts from my ex-lovers. And I’m still waiting on yours.”

  I laugh. “Don’t hold your breath, sweetheart. We’re not lovers and I don’t buy diamonds.”

  Twisting back, she puts her elbow on the console, leaning close to me. “Not even for your mama?” I don’t have to look at her this time. I can hear the evil in her words and they cut me back down to size. I shouldn’t talk shit about her upbringing. Especially with one like my own.

  “Nope,” I answer, keeping my eyes on the road. “Not even for her.” At the tone of my voice, she becomes piqued with interest. Great. I could have played that a little better. Good job, Shady. Good fucking job.

  “You should be ashamed,” she chastises. “I’m sure your mother is more than deserving of diamonds.” I feel another rip in my heart at her words. If she was deserving of anything, I didn’t know it. Hell, I didn’t even know her name.

  Not wanting to visit that dark place again, I decide to shut her up. “My mother is dead.” This time, I level her with a look. Her face falls and I almost feel guilty.

  She clears her throat, but doesn’t apologize. Instead, she changes the subject. “So, where we going?”

  “McDonalds,” I say, feeling my dark mood lift at her expression.

  “Funny. Real fucking funny.”

  “I’m not lying. And since you took the time to get so pretty for me, I’m thinking I might even take you inside.” I look over at her smiling, surprised to find her blushing.

  “You think I’m pretty?” Is she serious? This is a girl whose ego got more strokes than my cock. Trying to keep from killing us, I glance back to the road for a split second before looking at her again. The blush is still there. And she looks shy. What the fuck? I didn’t call her “pretty girl” to be a dick. I meant it.

  “Diem, come on. Really?”

  “What? You’ve never told me. And you’ve seen me at my worst, so I can’t imagine how bad that vision scarred you.” She’s so vain. Maybe that’s why she didn’t call anyone to help her. She didn’t want them to see her at less than her best. I guess she’s past caring if I see her that way. The thought is unsettling, but for some reason I kinda like it.

  “Yes,” I say on a sigh. “I think you’re pretty.” There. I’d said it.

  “Thanks, Zeke.” Her voice is barely audible, and there is true appreciation in her tone. It softens me. Maybe she did need to hear it a little more. But I know that the truth is she really just needed to hear it from me. And from now on, she will.

  * * *

  I’m a steak and potato kind of man. Diem is probably more of a duck and lamb kind of woman. So I made sure to find somewhere that wasn’t too ritzy, but still classy with a good menu. The Granite Restaurant in Concord had both of these things, and a bar. There was no use in searching for anything else.

  Diem straightens her skirt as she gets out. I’m glad she didn’t expect me to open her door, but I do hold it open as we walk in, then put my hand on the small of her back and guide her to the bar. She doesn’t complain about us not getting a table, and I’m starting to think that maybe this date might not be so shitty after all.

  When I order a glass of wine, she gives me a strange look. “What? It’s good with steak,” I argue in my defense. But I feel like I might have just become a little less manly in her eyes. Not that I give a shit. I’ve defended her honor before by knocking out two guys. If that wasn’t enough to prove I wasn’t a pussy, I don’t know what is.

  “I’ll take a Seven and Seven,” she tells the bartender, shooting me another unsure look. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

  Grabbing her chair, I slide her closer to me before whispering “I’m the man who fucked you until you couldn’t move.” I feel her body ignite at my response and smile. “Do you need a reminder?”

  Taking a long pull from her drink, she shakes her head. Well I’ll be damned. I’ve rendered her speechless. That’s a first.

  “What are you eating?” I ask, sliding the menu over to her.

  “Do they have burgers?”

  My face falls at her question. “Are you fucking serious?”

  She winks, letting me know she isn’t. “I think I’m going to get the filet. And maybe the salmon. Oooh,” she says, getting excited. “And maybe the trout.”

  “All of it?” She must be joking.

  Glaring at me, I know she’s not. I really can’t believe a thing she says. I have to wait and look at her face to know if she’s telling the truth. “Yes, all of it,” she snaps. “Don’t worry. If you can’t afford it, I’ll just pawn one of my flashy diamond bracelets or put it on my daddy’s card.” Here we go. “Or maybe I’ll sell these six-thousand-dollar heels.”

  I stop her there, holding my hand up to shush her. “Did you say six-thousand-dollar heels?”

  She nods. “Yeah. I have a thing for shoes.”

  I groan. I’d definitely be fucking her in them tonight. Something about knowing how much money it cost her just to dig them into my ass makes it a little more erotic. “Look,” I say, defeated. I can’t take any more. The shoes have just floored me. “Order anything you want. Hell, order everything. I don’t give a shit. But whatever you do . . .” I give her a look of warning before dropping my voice. “Don’t take off them heels.”

  “See?” She smiles. “It feels good to appreciate the finer things in life. But seriously, I’ll just bang the busboy if you can’t afford the bill.”

  Like she summoned him, the young busboy appears and I have to fight the urge to kill him. This woman will be the death of me. I’m still shooting daggers at him when the bartender asks for our order. Finally, Diem has to kick me—with those six-thousand-dollar shoes—to get my attention.

  “The filet. Medium. Baked potato.”

  He walks away and I focus my attention back on my lovely date. “So, you come here often?” I wiggle my eyebrows and she slaps at my chest, playing along.

  “Sir, I have a boyfriend.”

  “Pity. I have a dick like a rocket.”

  Laughing, she rolls her eyes. I can’t stop looking at her. She really is a beautiful sight. “You’re growing on me, Zeke,” she says, and I’m not sure if she meant to say it out loud. But I’m looking at her. I know the meaning behind her words. She’s telling the truth. And it feels too fucking good to hear it.

  �
��You’re growing on me too, Diem,” I admit. She starts to turn cold, ready to crash the feelings I think might be developing for me. In an effort to not ruin the night, I lighten the conversation and bring it back to something that’s more our pace. “I mean, it’s kinda like a fungus that’s itchy and festering, but it’s there.”

  “You’re disgusting.” She narrows her eyes and I smile. The banter is normal for us. This we both can handle. “Let’s play a game.” She grows excited just at the mention of a challenge, and now it’s my turn to roll my eyes.

  “Fine.” I might as well give in. She already thinks I’m a pussy. And to drive the final nail in my coffin, I take a sip of my wine.

  “Let’s see who can pick up the hottest date.”

  “Fuck no,” I snap, already getting pissed at just the thought of her picking up some other guy.

  “Oh, come on,” she whines. “It’ll be fun!”

  “Somehow, I don’t believe that to be true,” I mumble, downing my wine and trading it in for a shot of whiskey.

  She holds her fingers up to the bartender, adding another five shots to my order. “All you have to do is get a phone number. The first person to do that wins.”

  “Excuse me,” I say to the bartender. “Can I borrow your phone?”

  “That doesn’t count,” she says, waving off the bartender, who looks at us both like we’re crazy. Hell, she is and she’s driving me that way too.

  “So what do we win?” Might as well find out the consolation prize. It might actually be worth playing this stupid game.

  “What do you want?”

  “I get to pick?” Can’t believe that shit.

  “No.” I knew I couldn’t believe it. “I’m just asking.”

  I shake my head at her. Does she ever listen to herself? “You already owe me one thing, if I remember correctly.” At the reminder, her cheeks heat. “I can’t think of anything else I really want.”

  “What about a time? I never said when.” Shit. She had me there.

  “Okay.” I smirk, a little more interested now that I have a goal to work toward. “If I get the number first, then you let me go where no other man has gone before.” I throw her exact words back at her before adding, “Tonight.”

  She shrugs. “Done.” That was too easy. I wait for the double-edged sword to strike. When she gives me that evil smile, I know I’m fixing to get it. “And if I win, you get nothing.”

  Handing her a shot, I grab one for myself, then clink my glass to hers. “Game on, pretty girl.”

  * * *

  I waste no time getting to work. I’m sure I’ll be back at the bar before my steak comes. Although I doubt I’ll be able to eat it with her precious little ass in mind. I scan the other side of the bar, making sure to find someone that can’t see Diem and me from where we sit. My eyes land on a very attractive girl who looks to be in her early twenties. She’s holding her cell phone in her lap texting. The glass of wine in front of her looks untouched.

  She’s dressed up like she’s expecting a date, but no one showed. Poor thing. Tonight, I’m going to become her tattooed hero. And if Diem’s into it, maybe even a little three-way action. But I don’t get my hopes up.

  Grabbing the busboy I’d wanted to kill moments ago by the shirt, I pull him out of sight. He looks at me like he might shit his pants, so I offer him a kind smile while I smooth his shirt back down. “Hey kid, I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

  “O-okay,” he stutters. I must be on my man period, because I suddenly feel sorry for him. He’ll never get laid with a face like that. I hope he has a good personality. Or at least some good acting skills.

  “I need a favor.” I pull two hundred-dollar bills from my pocket, fanning them in his face. His eyes grow wide at the sight. It probably takes him all week to earn that much. “You see that girl over there sitting alone?” I ask, and he peeks around my shoulder before nodding. “I need you to spill her glass of wine on her. And be a dick about it. Can you do that?”

  “Why?” he asks, confused, looking back at the woman. Rolling my eyes, I pull him back to look at me.

  “So I can step in and save her. You follow me?”

  “Yeah, but why? You have the hottest chick in here.” Observant little shit, isn’t he.

  “It’s complicated,” I say in an attempt to explain. He just raises an eyebrow at me. “You want the money or not?”

  He nods. “Hell yeah I want the money.”

  I smile. “Good. Now earn it.” This kid might not be handsome, but his acting skills are spot-on. Bumping the table, he spills the girl’s wine into her lap. She gasps in shock as he smirks at her, and says something that has her cheeks turning red with embarrassment. Before management can intervene, I step in to save the damsel in distress.

  “Watch it, kid,” I snap, warning him off with a look.

  Putting his hands up in surrender, he backs away. “All right, man. My bad.”

  “You okay, babe?” I ask the girl who is looking up at me with wide, hopeful eyes. Yes, honey. I’m real.

  “I’m fine,” she says, all breathy.

  Giving her a smirk, I turn those bedroom eyes on her. “Yes, ma’am, you are.” The southern accent—it gets ’em every time. “Can I buy you a drink?” I ask, my eyes moving to her lips. They’re pretty damn nice.

  “I’d like that.”

  “I’ll be right back, beautiful.” I leave her with a wink, and she blushes a deep red.

  Walking to the bar, I notice Diem is watching me from her seat. A man sits next to her, but she pays him no attention. She narrows her eyes on me—a look I return when she smiles at the man next to her. If she’s trying to make me jealous, it isn’t going to work.

  Drinks in hand, I walk back over to my potential phone number girl, who beams at the sight of me. If she noticed the look Diem gave me, she doesn’t care.

  “I’m going to run to the ladies’ room and see if I can get this out,” she says full of regret. “Just two minutes.”

  “Take all the time you need. I’ll be right here,” I promise. She blushes again and hurries off to the bathroom. This dating shit is kinda fun. I should do it more often.

  Reluctantly, I look over my shoulder to see how Diem is doing but she isn’t in her seat. An uneasy feeling comes over me when I think about where she might be. It’s not that I’m worried about someone hurting her, I’m more worried about her hurting someone. In particular, my damsel in distress.

  Hoping that I’m wrong, I walk to the women’s bathroom and push the door open a little. I can see the girl scrubbing away at her dress with a towel while Diem looks on in silence. From where they stand, they can’t see me.

  “Who’s that guy with all the tattoos?” Diem asks, pretending to be nice.

  I can’t see her face, but I hear the girl sigh. “I don’t know, but fuck he’s hot.” I smile at the compliment. And silently thank her.

  “Yes he is,” Diem agrees, defeat already in her tone. “He didn’t call you pretty girl, did he?”

  “No,” the girl answers, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Diem is turning to leave and I start to shut the door when the girl says something that stops Diem in her tracks.

  “What did you say?” Oh shit.

  “I said he called me beautiful.” Motherfuck me.

  “Did he?” Diem’s voice is cold.

  Please don’t say anything else. Please don’t say anything else. “Yes, and he had the cutest smirk when he said it.” Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “I bet he did.” I know that tone. She’s going to make me pay for this. Dearly.

  Before she can walk out, I leave and find her potential date at the bar. Grabbing him on the shoulder, I flash him a look of death. “You’re fucking with my girl. Leave right now, or I’ll splatter your brains all over this fucking bar.” With a deer-in-the-headlights look, he leaves the bar with haste and I
reclaim my seat just as Diem walks up.

  She glances at her date’s empty chair, then back at me. “What did you do?” she asks cautiously.

  I start to answer, when the girl rushes past us and out the door without a glance in our direction. Seeing her, I change my answer from a lie to the truth. “Probably the same thing you did.” And with a smirk, I add an endearment that has her smiling, letting me know I’m forgiven. “Pretty girl.”

  * * *

  “Now where are we going?” I ask after dinner. I’m full and sleepy and horny because Diem is still in the dress that barely covers the ass I’m going to fuck tonight.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I don’t like surprises.”

  “Shut up.”

  Fucking woman. I continue down the road until we finally come to a large port just off the river filled with shipment containers.

  “Find number 8794.” I find the eights and drive nearly to the end of the lane. This is the perfect place to kill someone and I make sure to keep Diem in my peripherals at all times.

  “Here,” I say, pulling up next to the container and shutting off the car. Unlike all the others, this one looks brand new. She gets out and I follow her to the locked container. Fishing a key from her cleavage, she unlocks the container and pushes the door up.

  “Go ahead.” She motions for me to go in and I shake my head.

  “You first.”

  Rolling her eyes, she calls me a baby and walks in. Inside the dimly lit container is a truck. An exact replica of my truck before she wrecked it. I run my fingers down the cool metal door and peer into the blacked-out windows.

  “How did you get this? My insurance?” I question, still not believing that my baby is here in front of my very eyes.

  “I owe you a truck. And eight hundred and seventy-three dollars. It’s in the glove box.” I stare at her over the hood. She’s not bullshitting me.

  “My insurance would have bought me a new truck.”

  “I know that. But my insurance is better.” She smiles. “I come from money. This is nothing.”

  “Spoiled little rich girl.” I smirk, but she finds no humor in my words.