by Jade Eby
She parted her lips and for a while remained silent, until finally saying, “My ex-husband?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you bringing him up?”
“Did he ever really rape you?”
“Why the hell would you bring that up right now?” With shaking hands, she reached for her martini glass, realized she’d flung it, and then simply hit the table with her fists. “And why would I lie about something like that?”
“You wanted me to kill him.”
“W-why would I make up a lie for you to kill someone? Asher, you have to stop blaming me for your own guilt. Enough is enough. You have all this guilt inside of you for no reason—”
He gritted his teeth. “We murdered men. That’s why I have all this guilt inside of me.”
“We murdered monsters.”
“Did we?”
“Yes!”
“The only monster I remember was Dad. The rest,” he shook his head, “I’m not so sure they were bad men after all.”
“Hush!” She looked around the room as if someone might have bugged it. “We defended ourselves. That is it. Nothing more. These men hurt me and you saved your mommy. That is it. This conversation is over.”
“They all hurt you?”
“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth. “We’ve discussed this before.”
“Did they all hurt you!? All five men?”
She jumped up. “Don’t yell at me!”
He inched back and did his best to calm himself down. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
She pointed to him. “You’re not to kill anyone while I’m gone.”
“I didn’t have any plans to.”
“No one dies, Asher. Do you understand me?”
“Goodnight, Mother. Enjoy Paris.” He turned around and headed up the spiral stairs.
“And let the past stay in the past!” she called after him.
Each time his mother had asked him to kill her husband, she had a complex story that involved the man doing something horrible to her—rape, abuse, threats to hurt her son. Stories and blurry evidence filled Asher’s childhood. She’d whisper their transgressions into his ears right before bedtime, tell him how horrible life was and how it would be so much better if that current husband was dead. Due to this, Asher never got too close to his step dads and did his best to stay away from them.
He didn’t like to kill friends, and in the end, he always had to murder them.
Let the past stay in the past? That’s easier for you to say, Mother. You don’t have the guilt eating away at your insides. Did all of those men really hurt you, or did you just have me killing them for their money? Or did you get as hungry for death as I did?
Asher knew that only one of his mother’s husbands had been truly guilty. His father. He’d seen his father beat his mother night after night. At eight years old, all he could do was hide under his bed with his teddy bear.
Each time the angry man slapped her, she’d yell out for Asher. “Son, save me from your father!”
Under the bed, he’d cry like the little boy he was, not really knowing what he could do to save her. By the next morning, he’d wake up to her sleeping under his bed with him. Some nights they slept that way, under his bed and far away from the bad man that was his father.
The last time they slept under his bed, she faced him. Bruises covered her cheeks. Her left eye had been shut tight and coated with grayish-blue flesh.
Their father wasn’t letting them out of his bedroom anymore and declared that both mother and child needed to learn an important lesson.
Monster.
“Mommy, I’m scared.”
“I know, baby.” Tears streamed down her battered face. “If he knocks me down to the floor again, you get the knife and slam it into his back as hard as you can.”
Asher held his teddy bear tighter.
“He’ll have the door open. You’ll be able to run to the kitchen and get a sharp knife like the ones that mommy cuts the steak with.”
Asher bobbed his head.
“You’re the man of the house now.” More tears came. “He’s a monster. We have to kill the monster, Asher.”
“Yes, mommy.”
“Don’t think about it. The monster needs the knife to go to heaven. He’ll be nicer there.”
Asher searched her face, not really understanding what she was saying, just hoping that he could really save his mommy.
And that was what he’d done.
That night, his father hovered over his mother, choking her as she flailed her arms out and hit the floor over and over to get free of his grip.
Eight year old Asher rushed to the kitchen, grabbed the knife, raced to his daddy, and slammed the sharp point into his father’s back. Blood pooled along the hole. His father screamed and fell to the side, trying to grasp for the thing in his back, but he couldn’t.
His mother ran into the kitchen, stumbling every few steps. She came back with a butcher knife.
And Asher didn’t have to do anymore.
He just wrapped his arms around his teddy bear, stepped back into the shadows, and watched as his mother hacked away at his father and blood spray covered him, the walls, his teddy bear.
His poor,
poor
teddy bear.
He’d saved his mommy at eight.
He’d sent the monster to heaven.
But the monsters never stopped coming. His mother married and married again. Each time, she found fault with the guy and needed Asher to save her. Each marriage, the man was richer and richer. By the fourth husband, he didn’t care if the guy was a monster or not, he’d been too hungry to kill him the whole time they lived together anyway.
It seemed that Asher had discovered a certain taste for death and the color red.
“Mr. Bishop.” Grace headed down the stairs right as he was climbing them toward his bedroom.
“Grace, how are you doing this evening?”
“Fine, Mr. Bishop.” For some reason, her face appeared strained or tense. “I just had a few questions, sir.”
He stopped on the stairs and tucked the book under his arm. “Go ahead.”
“You want us to prepare the house for a guest? And I’m to add a place setting and provide grander meals? I’m sorry. I’m just relaying the instructions that I received from the house manager this morning.”
“Yes. I had a meeting with house management. We will have a guest for a while.”
“We will?” Grace formed her lips into a straight line.
“Yes. What’s wrong?”
Grace tucked a braid behind her ear. “And. . .will this be a real guest or a. . .”
“As opposed to a make-believe guest?” He raised his eyebrows and wondered if Grace had started to doing hard drugs. From time to time, he’d caught a whiff of a smoky aroma from her shirt, but wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or the scent of marijuana.
She cleared her throat. “I’m wondering if the guest will be. . .alive or. . .what I’m trying to say is. . .Will the guest be more like your mother?”
“A woman?”
Grace opened her mouth, but said nothing.
“I’m not sure what kind of question that is,” Asher said. “But, I’m going to be patient with you and answer. Yes, the guest will be a woman, a lovely one at that, which means that if anything is out of place, I’ll probably roar. Let’s make sure everything is perfect.”
“Okay.” Grace still seemed unsettled. “And are we going to say anything about your mother?”
What is wrong with her? What kind of questions are these?
Asher crossed his arms over his chest. “Is everything okay, Grace? Are you having problems within your life? Is someone bothering you?”
“Oh what?” She touched her chest. “I’m fine.”
“How’s your ex-husband? Has he been doing everything he’s supposed to? Paying child support and seeing the kids?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Let me know if he stops or
causes you and the kids problems.”
“Um. . .okay.”
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Uh. . .will your mother be meeting your real guest?” she asked. “Would I be making places for both of them?”
“No,” he said with annoyance. “Mother is going to Paris.”
The women in this place have lost their minds. It’ll be good to have a fresh feminine presence in this household.
Asher walked past her and finished going up the steps. “Have a good evening, Grace.”
Eleven
Cupid
Asher spent the rest of the evening reading his book.
12 Steps to Intimacy
* * *
Eye to body is the first step to intimacy. This is when a man first gazes upon a woman and really notices her for the first time. . .
Asher paused from his book and considered that moment with Diana. The first time he spotted her, she’d walked into a dark kitchen, not knowing the horror that lay inside. Asher had gazed upon Diana when he was really himself—bow and arrow in hand and blood all around him. No other women had ever caught his eye in that way. Most of the time if a female was around right before or after he killed, he’d either let her go, if she wasn’t guilty, or take her life with the male monster next to her.
He didn’t have to do that with Diana. She’d stepped into the darkness, sensed the electricity of him across her skin and backed away.
Too bad she hadn’t backed away from him farther enough, because he’d started the first step to intimacy with her, right in that moment.
He returned to his book.
. . .Eye-to-eye contact is the next step. This is now active interaction between two people. Then we have voice-to-voice, where both people feel each other out. . .
Asher laughed as he thought back to his first date with Diana. She’d done more than feel him out with her words, she’d tongue twisted him, made him thirsty to taste her. That dress had snared his attention, her mind had caught his heart. And even the darkest side of him was intrigued with her fascination with Cupid.
I can’t believe she named me that.
He grinned and returned to the book, scanning the pages for the steps that dealt with physical intimacy.
When does the touching begin and how do I get us there, immediately?
Eye-to-eye. . .
Voice-to-voice. . .
Hand-to-hand. . .
Arm-to-shoulder. . .
Blowing out a long breath, Asher shut the book close and decided to make his own steps. With Diana inside of his mansion, there would be no way he could keep his hands to himself enough to slowly follow each step.
He wanted her now, could taste the sweetness of her flesh right on his tongue. He licked his lips at the thought.
I should go back over to her house and check on her.
His cock grew in his pants. His body and mind both knew that sneaking back over to watch Diane in her bedroom had nothing to do with keeping her safe. The only danger in her life would be her husband’s killer, Cupid.
And he was Cupid.
I think I’m starting to like that name.
Asher unbuttoned his suit pants, stuffed his hand inside, and freed his cock. In his mind, he pictured the view from her balcony last night.
She’d been naked when she went to bed. Drops of water glittered along that flesh. He’d dug his nails into his hands just to keep him on that balcony and not diving into her room.
Her body lay perfect. Tight, dark nipples rose up and down on her breasts as she touched herself with such sensuality. She dripped with arousal and filled the whole room with that lush scent.
A hunger had rose in Asher.
His hands itched to dip his fingers between that wet flesh between her thighs. All that cream would cover those wicked digits. All of her. And he’d lick and lick it all the way, right before diving between those legs, lapping at her clit, and feasting on every inch of that warm pussy before his eyes.
That night, in the shadows of her balcony, he wanted to do more than fuck Diana.
He wanted to make her his—legs spread open, her screaming out Cupid, and him moving inside of her with enough energy to satisfy both of their hungers.
“I don’t know what my plans are for you.” He slipped his hands along his cock, stopped at the tip, and squeezed the throbbing point as he thought more of Diana touching herself. “I just know that no one touches you, until I’m done.”
And there he sat in his bedroom.
Light bathed his half-naked body as he stroked himself and whispered Diana’s name over and over. By then he’d gotten the tiny bottle of rose-scented lotion in his night stand and lathered his length with the perfumed cream. Sweat beaded along his forehead. He ripped his shirt apart to get more movement and be relaxed. His pants now hung at his ankles.
“Oh, Diana.” His thighs flexed as he pounded his cock into his closed fists.
In his mind, she bounced on top of his cock as he lay on the beach. An ocean breeze whipped through her long, black hair. Those supple breasts bobbed as he thrust back into her. All around them the night air smelled of salted sea and sex.
“Oh, Cupid,” she groaned.
And he didn’t mind that she didn’t moan Asher because, in the end, who was Asher?
Haven’t I been a sort of fucked-up Cupid all along?
He stroked himself some more, groaning so loud he was sure some of the staff had heard him. He pounded into his hand, probably abused a finger or two, but he didn’t care.
“Diana!” he roared and pictured her beautiful lips as she groaned Cupid again.
In several hot, tight seconds, his seed spilled all over his fingers and dripped onto the floor.
Still he couldn’t stop stroking, not even when the lust trickled out of his cock, and the rim went numb.
When had been the last time he’d even satisfied himself this way? Sex tended to come out of need versus want. When he had the urge, he simply went to a club, picked someone up, took them to a hotel, and fucked their brains out.
Masturbation was never necessary, although he’d been wanting to touch himself more and more since he bought the rose-scented lotion.
“Diana, you’re in my head.” Asher stared down at his now limp cock, wet with lotion and cum. “But I’ll have you in reality soon enough.”
Twelve
Diana
Diana sat in the back of Asher’s limo, while his driver brought her to the Bishop Estates.
And what a sight to behold. Green, lush grass spread out for miles. When they passed the first entrance, three guards had stood in the booth and waved.
Rose bushes outlined the path as they continued onto Asher’s property. A small pond sat on the right. On the left, huge trees had been manicured into perfect oval shapes and dotted with Florida’s famed oranges.
Diana pressed the button on the side of her door. The window slid down, and she breathed in sweet, fruity air.
Besides the tires skidding along the road and the few birds chirping in the tree, the property held a natural quiet. It was a vibration of silent rhythm that held no real sound, but told the average person walking by that things were alive around them.
A peaceful bliss rose within her.
She should’ve been nervous, or at least taken aback by the past days horrific events as well as the uncertainty of each future day in front of her.
But she wasn’t.
Instead, excitement skidded all over her skin, jumping around from pore to pore like tiny little fairies giggling and playing in spring.
Then they reached the second entrance. The limo paused as two security guards walked out of their booth, did a quick peek of the limo’s back window, waved at her, and then gestured for the driver to enter.
A huge iron gate beeped three times and then slowly slid open.
He has some serious security happening. When did you get all of these men, Asher? Before or after you learned about the possible serial killer on the isl
and. Are you that scared? Maybe you should be.
Suddenly, capturing Cupid rose to an even higher importance. Diana yearned for justice, just because it was the right thing to do when some crazy person took lives. She would’ve exhausted herself with this investigation, regardless, just for the simple fact that she lived on the island. Neil being a victim, propelled her need to find this guy. Maybe, putting Cupid away would get her some closer.
But now that she added Asher to the mix, things had gotten even deeper.
I don’t want him to die by Cupid’s hands. Asher deserves better. He’s a good man.
Despite her desire to capture Cupid, there was a small nagging at the back of her brain that cautioned her. Cupid was doing Ovid Island a service, like a superhero. Who would rid the island of it’s scum if he was caught?
The limo rounded the corner, and a massive mansion appeared right in front of her eyes and all her thoughts floated away as she stared at the architecture. It was made out of huge blocks of gray stone that had little flower and leaf carvings around the edges. Diana guessed the place possessed at least three levels and could probably provide housing for twenty large families.
Wow. And I thought Neil liked to spend money. This place is insanely big. Why have I never heard about this property? Why don’t I remember meeting Asher before Neil died? Was he involved in the island society? He doesn’t seem like someone that can stomach the people here.
Diana was no stranger to dirty, unrighteous wealth.
She'd grown up watching men and women steal, cheat, and even kill to gain their financial superiority. She couldn't deny that she had done some of the same things herself to get to the top. She justified it with her rags-to-riches past. The spirit of the tough streets always beat in her heart. She could never forget where she came from. Or the price she had to pay to get where she'd ended up. That mentality served her well, when she lived in rough places like Miami and New York City.
Ovid Island reeked of a different sort of toughness. If not for Neil, she probably would’ve never moved to the place, never been exposed to the disgusting gorging and spending of the elite.
