by Liz Crowe
The night was cool, and smelled oddly of lemons and engine exhaust. He took deep breaths as he made the hairpin turns up the mountain without even thinking too hard about it. Memories of Evelyn flooded his brain, aggravating him, turning him on, pissing him off.
Damn woman. He’d never be shed of her.
A small voice rose in his head reminding him that if he didn’t even try to find someone else, that would be a hard fact for the rest of his life—and his own damn fault, to boot.
He parked in the driveway and slammed the kickstand down, furious with himself, and his dick which was already half-hard at the thought of her.
Maybe he was over-valuing this whole monk-like existence. Maybe he should go out and get himself laid, knock off his edge.
Because he really couldn’t fathom spending two or three weeks working alongside Evelyn without losing his ever-loving mind and perhaps expiring from blue balls. Embarrassing for a man of his age and general experience level.
Resolved to take his usual ten-mile run, even in the near dark, then go out to a bar, find a girl and fuck her brains out, he shoved open the door to the kitchen. He froze, realizing in a split second that something was off…that a hell of a lot things were, actually.
As he put his helmet on the kitchen table, he took it all in. The place was spotlessly clean for one. Not the condition he’d left it in to be sure. He wasn’t a slob, but it looked like an entire battalion of maids had swept through the place. The damn kitchen faucet sparkled for crying out loud and the place even smelled good.
“Hello?” While he wasn’t exactly nervous—he’d never heard of robbers doing a white tornado cleaning job—he had a sneaking suspicion about what might be going on. And while part of him didn’t want any part of it, another part—the part now straining the crotch of his jeans—had a different opinion. “Down boy,” he muttered, shifting his junk around so he could breathe. “Who’s here?”
He dropped his backpack and pulled a water bottle from the fridge, figuring she’d show herself eventually. Finally, he turned and was treated to the view his brain didn’t want but that made his dick practically leap out of his pants. “I thought it might be you,” he said, letting the water bottle dangle from two fingers.
Holly smiled and leaned into the doorway against one raised, slender arm. The action highlighted her tits, which were barely encased in a black, silky-looking blouse. “I’m here to call a truce,” she said, holding out two glasses of dark beer. “What do you say?”
He sighed, took the beer and clinked glasses with her. “Fine,” he said, before downing the thing in a few gulps. “You can go now.”
“Don’t be like that, Ross baby,” she said, leaning forward and giving him a clear cleavage shot. “Let’s be friends.”
“I’m not your…” he stopped, realizing that his tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of his mouth all of a sudden. “Shit,” he said. Or at least he tried to say.
Holly moved closer, put her finger to his lips. “Shh, no more talking,” she said, her face doing a freakish wavering thing in front of his eyes.
“Bitch,” he said. Or thought he said as several sets of soft hands seemed to be guiding him out of the kitchen.
That was all Ross remembered for a while.
He woke to the great-grandmother of all headaches. Groaning and gripping his throbbing skull, he rolled away from the mass of bodies piled all around him. The sun illuminated the room, hitting him in the eyes with the force of a sledge hammer. Stumbling around, he managed to make it to the bathroom and empty his bladder while leaning against the wall so he didn’t fall into the toilet. A shower seemed like the best idea on the planet so he cranked the water to blazing hot and ducked under it.
He stood, hands propped on the tiles, letting the water hit him square in the face. When he tried figure out why he was so damn sore, he saw bite marks and tiny burned spots on his chest and stomach. Wincing, he touched his dick which felt scraped completely raw. His lips were raw too. His neck stung when the water hit it, cluing him in that it was probably in the same shape as his torso. But nothing compared to the utter pounding ball of agony that had replaced his noggin.
With another loud groan, he dropped his hands to his knees and focused on not puking his guts up all over the shower. Slowly, carefully, as if he might shatter into pieces otherwise, he plucked a towel from the rack and patted himself dry before wrapping it around his waist, yelping in pain when the fabric touched his stinging cock. Forgoing that particular modesty, he walked out into his bedroom naked, then into the hall, listening for sounds indicating the orgy ladies still lingered.
After brushing his teeth—which also hurt—for nearly five minutes, they still felt coated in slime. “Bitch drugged me,” he muttered swiping a shaking hand down his face. Finally deciding that he didn’t care who was around, if he didn’t get some water into his system in the next ten seconds he would keel over and die, he stomped past the scene of the debauchery and into the kitchen. Two huge glasses of water later, he stood, gasping, and staring out of the window.
When he processed that the buzzing sound wasn’t coming from inside his head, he picked up his discarded jeans and tugged the phone from his pocket. Austin had been calling and texting him for the better part of the last—he squinted at the first message—eight hours.
“What the fuck is it now,” he muttered, scrolling through to make sure the kid was all right before giving up and putting the phone to his ear.
“You really know how to make yourself scarce, don’t you?” his friend said by way of greeting.
Ross grunted a reply as he sat gingerly down into a chair at the kitchen table. The sunlight blaring through the window pierced him right in the eyeballs. It shoved the spike of pain nice and deep into his brainpan, blinding and deafening him for a few seconds. “What? Sorry. I’m a little fragile this morning.”
“Whatever, dude. So, can you come?”
“I already told Evelyn I would.” He couldn’t keep the snippy tone out of his voice. It was all he could do at that moment not to puke all over the expensive hardwood floor.
“What? When did you talk to her?” Austin sounded frazzled. But he’d sounded that way ever since Rose’s birth.
“Shit man, I don’t remember. What the hell day is it anyway?”
“What happened to Mr. Pure Living?”
“He got gang banged by a pack of succubus, all right? Cut him a break.”
“Nice,” Austin said. Ross couldn’t tell if he were amused or honestly pissed off.
“Whatever. So yeah, I told her at some point I’d help you guys. I’m somewhat persona non grata around here all of a sudden, anyway.” He rubbed his eyes. “Seriously, what day is it?”
Austin’s heavy sigh set Ross’ sensitive on edge. But he sat still, willing the clanging agony in his head to stop, knowing getting angry would only exacerbate it. “It’s Wednesday morning, eleven a.m. where I am, which makes it nine where you are.”
Shocked at the lost twenty-four hours, he lurched forward, which sent a jolt of nausea up his throat. “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. So, I guess you heard it all, then. If you talked to Evelyn?”
“I, uh, don’t know,” he hedged as he stumbled to the kitchen sink just in case. The silence on the other end of the line made his pulse race. His good buddy was getting a tad bit bossy and Ross was in zero mood for it. “Guess you should tell me whatever the fuck it all is. Since the last I spoke to Evelyn it was Monday night. Tuesday seems to have been sucked away, along with every ounce of my—”
“Spare me.”
“Dude, just fill me in. Holly showed up here that same night and I’m pretty sure she drugged me or something.”
“Poor little snowflake,” Austin said, amusement clear in his voice this time.
“Yeah. I sure as hell wish I could remember any of it.” He touched his sore dick before pressing fingertips against the many, tiny burned spots and gouges on his chest. “So, anyway, what’s going on now, dr
ama king?”
“Oh, not much I guess. Other than my wife was nearly raped and killed by a psycho almost-ex-employee before he got popped between the eyes by my strange new German lady brewer.”
“You really shouldn’t mess with me right now.” Ross kept his head lowered, waiting for the inevitable over the sink.
“I’m not.”
“Evelyn was…is she all right?” He poured another glass of water and forced it past the rising gorge in his throat.
“Yes. Thanks to Elisa Nagel, she is. Although that woman is now in custody and I gotta go post a two hundred fifty thou bail and get her scary ass in front of my lawyer.”
“Elisa…who?” The room had commenced spinning so he squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh, right. The Berliner brewer chick.” But he knew damn well who she was. Fronting with confusion was his reflex to counter the surge of emotion that had muscled past his pain at the sound of her name.
“Not to mention Evelyn’s office window overlooking the brewery is coated in blood and brains. And some got on Rose.” His voice got tighter and higher. Ross opened his eyes and took a long breath.
“Rose is all right, though?”
“Yes. No worse for wear.”
“Austin, you’re serious about this.”
“Fuck, yes, I’m serious. Why would I make up a story like this and interrupt your fragile, post-succubus recovery period with it?”
Ross sat slowly so as not to jar his head. There was something like a million pains all over his body now—so many he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where any of them were, specifically. “Okay, I’m sitting down now. Tell me again. All of it, please.”
“There used to be an employee here named Tim, who, apparently was seriously harassing Elle, the lady brewer. Evelyn convinced her to file a complaint the same day somebody—Tim, we now believe—sabotaged one of the biggest fermenters, sending something like fifteen thousand gallons of beer swirling down the fucking drain. Evelyn had a heart-to-heart with her, got a lot of bizarre details about her life, had her fill out the harassment claim, then was in her office packing up when this…this…asshole showed up.” Ross could hear Austin’s throat clicking as he swallowed. “He, uh, tried to attack her. Our Evelyn, Hoffman. He was going to…to rape her right in front of the baby. Oh, Jesus.”
Ross leaned forward, elbows on his knees, willing himself not to react. If he lost it, he believed that his head may very well pop off his neck like a zit and roll across the kitchen floor. Part of him wished it would, if it meant the pain would stop. He waited Austin out, the silence between the two men as long as the actual miles.
“He ripped off her blouse, yanked out some of her hair. She told me…that she was ready to do whatever he wanted just so he’d leave the baby alone. Rose was crying I guess and so this fucker picked up her car seat and put it on the god damned table. Then he…he…he…”
“Enough,” Ross choked out.
As if he hadn’t heard Ross speak, Austin kept going. “He was… He had her pinned to the table and was… It…”
“God damn it, man,” Ross roared, leaping up to pace the room, monster headache be damned. “God fucking damn it.”
“Yeah, so…literally just as he was about to rape her…the door flew open and there stood our little vigilante.” Austin sucked in a shaky breath. “She walked in and blew Tim’s sorry brains out without a word, Evelyn said. She grabbed the baby and they ran down to the brewery floor. It was a bottling night so all their noise was covered up. But Elle had one of the brewery assistants call the cops while she helped Evelyn get herself…her clothes…back together in the locker room.”
“Holy… I… I don’t even have a word.”
“Right, so…now my head brewer is still laid up with a concussion and my second-in-command is facing assault with a deadly weapon and manslaughter charges. Evelyn’s all right, I mean, as all right as she can be. And we just signed a wholesaling agreement with a super aggressive exporter. Follow me?”
“Yeah. You need me.”
“Exactly. So, when can I expect you here?”
“Well…” Ross ran a hand through his hair. He felt sweaty, sticky, and the clanging in his skull had only gotten worse. “I gotta talk to Brad first.”
“Fine. Do what you have to do and get here. Please, Ross. I’m tearing my hair out and really need your help.”
“Okay. I will. Sorry about…all the mess. You sure Evelyn and the kid are all right?”
“Yes, they’re fine. Now, get the hell off the phone and get on a plane.”
Ross opened his mouth to reply but the line was dead.
Chapter Fifteen
By the time Ross made it into the brewery, he had an inkling that something strange was up. His first hint being Brad Jefferson walking up to him as he was checking the overnight brewing logs, tapping him on the shoulder and crooking a finger, indicating Ross should follow him back to his office. He had noticed that no one would meet his eyes. But he’d never gone out of his way to make buddies so he hadn’t thought much of it. He’d lost an entire day thanks to his impromptu orgy, and had an excuse in mind already as he followed Brad’s broad back through the brewery and its busy, gaze-averting staff.
As he flopped into his usual seat, wearing his usual up-yours expression, the sense of things being ever so slightly off intensified. He watched as Brad futzed around with the piles of crap on his desk, checked his phone, and made himself comfortable in his big leather chair. Ross’ head was still a tad echo-y, even since he’d had a hot shower and eaten some bland food and felt a thousand times better. But this whole scene was setting him back a few hours.
It would be nothing, he figured. Simply a good opportunity to broach the subject of an extended leave of absence. While recovering at home after Austin’s shocking phone call, he’d spent some time shuffling the schedule, making sure he could cover Brad’s distribution targets. He’d never up and go without having a plan for this brewery in place. He may be an asshole but he’d never let the beer suffer.
Brad smiled a little wider than usual. “You’re fired,” he said. The big man leaned back, plunked his show-off, steel-toed boots on his desk and laced his fingers over his ample gut.
“Yeah, yeah, we’ve been through this,” Ross said, waving a hand. “Listen, I do need some time off, though. I’ve got the floor covered for the next two weeks.”
“I’m sorry. I guess you’re deaf as well as stupid.”
Ross blinked, realizing that something was, indeed, amiss. As he attempted to keep his cool, he leaned back, matching Brad’s causal stance. “Well, no I’m not deaf. But you know, I figured we were just fucking around. Did I miss something?”
“Let’s see,” Brad said. He flipped on his laptop, clicked around for a few seconds, then turned the thing so Ross could see the screen. “I thought I recalled you denying that you were with her, but, apparently, you are a liar, in addition to being deaf. And stupid.”
Ross leaned forward, squinting and trying to process what he saw on the screen. When he realized it was him, naked, along with some pretty hot chicks, similarly undressed, he groaned.
“We can’t have this sort of crap floating around, now can we, Hoffman?” Brad grinned wider, making Ross think of a gargoyle. A fucking fat-ass gargoyle.
“I didn’t…I mean, it wasn’t something I…” Ross sighed, then clicked his boss’s computer shut and stood. “You know what? Fuck it. You’re just jealous you never scored a party like that.”
Brad’s cheeks and forehead flushed red. His feet thunked to the floor but he remained seated. “You’re a god damned pig, Hoffman, and I want you out the fuck out of my brewery. Don’t come back this time, either.”
“With pleasure,” Ross said, shooting a jaunty little salute, even as his heart thudded. Panic and residual detoxing from whatever drugs that bitch had dosed him with swirled in his veins, making his vision dim. He could sense the man’s fury rolling off him in waves as he headed for the office door. “Oh, and by the way,” he said, t
urning back to face the fat asshole one last time. “Holly told me about your little problem.” He put on a fake sympathetic sad face. “You know, Brad, I hear that even your cheap-ass insurance program will cover having your micro penis enlarged, ya schlappschwanz.”
“Get out!”
Ross ducked to avoid getting brained by a flying chunk of metal—one of the half dozen awards his beers had garnered for the self-aggrandizing jerk. It smashed through the upper glass part of the door and bounced off the wall opposite, taking out an impressive divot in the drywall. “Sheesh, dude. Temper, temper. I’d hate to have you pop an aneurism. Calm down. I’m going.”
“Don’t even stop at your locker. I’ve already burned all your shit. Get out and don’t look back or I will call the cops.”
“Whatever,” Ross muttered under his breath as he made his way through the large, successful brewery, his home away from home for a damn long time. No one spoke as he stomped across the brewery floor then slammed the metal door behind him. Gulping in a few lungs full of air, he wondered what, exactly, Holly had done to him. Realizing getting pissed off at her at this stage would constitute a waste of everyone’s time, he climbed on his bike and fired it up, relishing the power and noise of it.
He sat a few seconds, pondering the back of the brewery where he thought he’d really, truly made it. His brain felt pinched from the effort not to yell, curse, to track that silly bitch down and shove her face into the wall.
No, Hoffman. Of all the things you are, a woman-beater isn’t one.
“Enough, now,” he said to himself, hitting the throttle and screeching the bike out into the street. “Fucking, enough. Go home where you belong.” But home as he knew it, the way he referenced it, meant more complications than he even wanted to contemplate.
