by Chiah Wilder
“The cornbread will be out of the oven in fifteen minutes. Why don’t you watch some TV with Grandpa?” Jada asked as she shuffled to the kitchen.
“What should we watch?” Lucy asked.
“Whatever you want,” Animal’s dad replied.
“While you two figure it out, I gotta make a phone call.” Animal pulled out his phone and ambled to the den and closed the door. When he was young, the den had been his favorite room in the house. He used to close the door, then take out all the maps his dad had of almost every state in the country. Animal would sit in the leather wingback chair and imagine riding a motorcycle on all the back roads depicted in the maps. For as long as he could remember, his dad had owned a Harley, and as soon as Animal had been old enough, his father would nestle him safely on the back of his bike and they’d go for long rides in the mountains and valleys. So it’d just been natural that when Animal had turned eighteen, his dad had bought him a used Harley for his birthday. And once he’d slid onto the smooth leather seat, Animal knew he’d found his calling—to ride and live the biker lifestyle.
Animal called Jax and asked if he’d like to come by the following day with Paisley to hang out with him and Lucy. Jax readily agreed, and even offered to bring over enchiladas for lunch made by Cherri, his old lady. After he’d hung up the phone, Animal flipped open the laptop and clicked on the screen. He wanted to check out one of the games Jax had mentioned that Paisley was crazy about. Animal thought Lucy might like it, too, so he decided to order it before it slipped out of his mind.
He blinked as the brightness of the screen hit him right between the eyes, and then squinted as he became accustomed to the light. Then, a sultry, smoky background greeted him, replete with a sexy woman standing behind a bare-chested, buffed guy. The woman’s body was pressed against the man with her hands on his chiseled pecs and her stockinged leg on his hip, held firmly in place by his hand. Discreet Passion highlighted in red blazed across the top of the image. What the fuck? Animal’s gaze darted to the right of the screen and landed on a drop-down menu box with several categories: woman seeking man; man seeking woman; one-night stand; friends with benefits; boyfriend/girlfriend; husband/wife. There was a place to sign up for a free membership and one to log in. He clicked the log in button and it instantly brought him to a profile page—his mother’s to be exact. Animal ground his teeth together and clenched his fists as he skimmed over the page. Pictures of his mother in various seductive poses assaulted him, and he sucked in a sharp breath.
“How the fuck can you do this?” he gritted under his breath. The pictures of his mother were not accurate. She’d photoshopped her face from when she was in her twenties onto a body that was lean, slightly curvy, and pretty stacked—definitely not hers. He grabbed a piece of paper and pen from the middle desk drawer and jotted down the name of the site and his mother’s profile name and ID number, then he snapped the cover shut and leaned his head back against the chair.
Animal couldn’t even process all of it at that moment, and when he thought of his dad sitting in the wheelchair by the fire while his wife was out carousing with some fucking douchebag, it made Animal want to smash the computer to smithereens. He wondered if his dad knew about his mother’s fucking extramarital activities, or if—
“Dinner’s ready,” Jada said, opening the door wider.
Animal scrubbed his face with his fist and stood up.
“Wow … you look super pissed right now. What’s wrong?” Jada stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
“Do you know where Mom”—he grimaced when he said the word—“is right now?”
Jada folded her arms over her chest. “I told you, she’s out with friends.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Maybe dinner?”
“You’re bullshitting.” He held his hand up in the air. “Don’t say you’re not. I can tell by the way you’re clutching the shit outta your arms.”
A strained silence stretched between them for several seconds until Animal broke it.
“You know, don’t you?’ he asked.
Jada nodded. “I’m guessing, so do you.”
“Just found out. What the fuck? Does Dad know she’s whoring around?”
Jada’s arms dropped to her sides and she stepped back. “Don’t be so crude.”
“I chose words that describe things accurately. Whoring was me being polite.” He cracked his knuckles. “So what about Dad?”
His sister shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I think he does, or at least suspects it. I mean, she leaves here in short dresses and so much perfume that I can smell it for hours. I guess Dad and Mom have an agreement.”
“That’s a crock of shit. She’s fuckin’ cuckolding him. I can’t believe he’d stand for that bullshit.”
“Maybe he’s okay with it because he knows Mom still needs what he can’t give her. When they’re together, they laugh, talk, and joke around with each other. Not everything’s black and white all the time.”
“This is for me, and I’m gonna talk to her about it.”
“We eating or what? Lucy and I are starving.” Their dad’s booming voice was muffled through the shut door.
“Coming,” Jada said as she opened it, then glanced over at Animal. “Are you going to eat with us?”
“Yeah.” He stomped across the room.
“Please don’t let your anger spill out during dinner. Lucy and Dad aren’t responsible for what Mom does, so don’t take it out on them.” Jada walked out into the hallway.
“No worries,” he answered, but inside a raging volcano was ready to explode. When he got home, he’d go down to the basement and do a round with the punching bag, but for now, he’d have to forget what he’d just learned and focus on having a nice time with his family. Animal would look into the shit site, then have a long, overdue talk with his mother about respect and loyalty. His dad and Jada may be okay with what was going on, but Animal wasn’t. Not. At. All.
“Can you pass the sour cream, Son?” A voice sliced through Animal’s angered haze.
He looked up and stared at the container for a second before registering what his dad wanted. Lucy giggled and as Animal glanced over at her twinkling eyes, all the fury swirling inside him subsided. He winked at her then picked up the sour cream and handed it to his father.
“How do you like the chili?” Animal asked his daughter.
She stuffed a piece of cornbread in her mouth and nodded enthusiastically. Her long, thick braids swayed with the motion.
He laughed and reached over to pat her shoulder, and surprisingly, she didn’t jerk away.
“Jada’s a damn good cook,” he said, throwing a half-crooked smile at his sister. “I talked to Jax, and he and Paisley are gonna come over tomorrow for sure.”
“What time?” Lucy asked.
“Around noon. He’s gonna bring lunch—enchiladas. I know you like those.” Animal buttered a piece of cornbread.
Lucy nodded again, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I do.”
“Paisley’s a sweetheart,” Jada said as she scooped more chili into Animal’s bowl. “Want some more, Dad?”
The older man shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”
As they ate and chatted a sense of peace that Animal hadn’t felt since Emerald had dropped Lucy in his lap descended on him. If only he could freeze this moment with his daughter, everything would be all right, but he knew it wouldn’t last. Deciding to enjoy the first real father-daughter bonding they’d had, he picked up his fork and dug into the steaming bowl of chili, his gaze fixed on his sweet little girl.
Chapter Five
“ARE YOU SURE you’ll be all right? I know how debilitating your migraines are,” his wife said.
“I’ll be fine, but thank you. You and the kids go out and enjoy yourselves. Tell Roger and Maribel I’ll catch them the next time around.” He helped her with her coat.
Two young boys raced down the stairs, whooping and laughing, unt
il they stopped at the back door. He handed them each a blue and gray scarf.
“It’s freezing out there—you don’t want to catch a cold.”
“You’re not coming, Daddy?” the younger boy asked.
“Your father has one of his bad headaches, so he has to stay home.”
“I wish I felt better.” He ruffled the boy’s blond hair.
His wife stroked his cheek. “I guess we’ll be going now.”
He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips and kissed it. “I’m sorry about spoiling your night.”
“Oh … honey, don’t even worry about that. I’m just sorry you don’t feel well. We won’t be home too late.” She opened the door and the boys dashed out into the garage.
The tall man stood in the doorway and watched the SUV pull out of the garage. He waved to his family, then waited until the car disappeared before closing the door. He ran his hands over his clean-shaven face then walked over to one of the cupboards and reached for a wineglass. After pouring himself a good amount of Chardonnay, he shuffled out of the kitchen and down the hall to his office. As he swung open the door and looked into the darkness, relief spread over him. I’m alone at last. The man walked inside and switched on the small lamp that sat on top of a large mahogany desk. Papers and several books were strewn across it, but his gaze landed on his computer—his most prized possession. It was a gateway to the darkness that lived inside him, the beast that he kept concealed most of the time … until he couldn’t. Then, the dark passenger did terrible things before he was sated.
The office was his haven—his sanctuary from having to pretend all the time, which could be damn exhausting.
The troubled man slipped into the worn leather chair and moved it closer to the desk. On the top left corner, a framed photograph of his lovely wife adorned the space. Frou-Frou—his pet name for her—was the best wife a man could have. She kept a clean and orderly home, was fussy about her appearance, and was a wonderful mother to their two boys. He loved her dearly, but she knew nothing about the depravities buried deep within him. Sometimes when they made love, it would come out to play, but Frou-Frou had freaked out the few times it did, and he had to shut it off and be content with ordinary lovemaking.
Frou-Frou loved being intimate with him, but in the last few years, he’d found himself inventing excuses as to why he wasn’t in the mood more often than he liked. Frou-Frou had brought it up to him, the fear of him having an affair etched on her face. When the man had reassured her there was no other woman, she’d relaxed—even giggled, and after that, he made love to her more often, the dark images always front and center in his head.
In this room he was “Hunter Lewis”—unmarried and hungry. Hunter clicked on the computer, enabled his IP address blocker, and logged in to Discreet Passion. He’d created several phony profiles across many different dating and hookup sites, but he’d had the best luck on this one.
“Hunter” switched on the messenger program and scrolled through the list of women, his eyes searching for a woman in her twenties, with long dark hair, a nice curvy body, pale skin, and a fresh face—totally the opposite of his wife. Frou-Frou was attractive in a severe, organized way. With short blonde hair, a lean body that was perpetually dark thanks to the tanning salon, and a face that showed a bit too many lines for his taste, he was definitely aging better than his wonderful wife. Frou-Frou wasn’t as sexually attractive to him as she’d been when they’d first met back in college. Of course, he didn’t expect her to look like a twenty-five-year-old again, but he did miss her long hair, the soft curves she used to have before she became obsessed with eating lean and working out all the time, and her smooth, sun-kissed complexion. Too many hours spent sunbathing in the high-altitude sunshine was making its mark on her skin almost weekly, or so it seemed.
A small jingle interrupted his reflections, and he glanced at the screen and smiled. Hunter opened up the message. “Hi. Do you want to talk?” came across the screen. A small circular picture of a white kitten was in the profile photo space. A rush of adrenaline surged through him when he read the words.
With fingers flying, he typed “Hi, I’m Hunter. What’s your name?”
Less than a second passed and the words “Katie. I’m sort of new to this” came back. Hunter leaned back and stared at the message. He liked it when the women were new to the game, it made them more vulnerable and intriguing. After playing the seduction game for the past several years, he was a pro at it. First, there’d be gentlemanly flirtations and compliments, then an exchange of pictures, interest in her day-to-day life and her problems, and finally, the sweet little thing would be putty in his hands. At that point, getting her phone number would be child’s play, and after several long conversations, they’d make a date to meet. Just thinking about the way she’d offer herself to him made his mouth go dry and his hands sweaty.
Another jingle brought him out of his reverie. “Are you still there?” Then there was an attachment. Hunter quickly opened it and the photograph of a luscious young woman sitting on a chair in what looked like a formal living room filled up his screen. Long dark hair—check. Pale skin—check. Very enticing breasts—double check.
He stared at the smiling twenty-something for several seconds, then placed his fingers on the keyboard. “What a treat. You are so beautiful with an air of mystery and sensuality about you. I can’t help but wonder why you’re on this site. You must have a line of men wanting to go out with you.”
Another jingle. “Thank you—you’re too kind. The men I’ve met have all lacked that certain refinement I hope to find here. The way you write makes me think you’re not just the average guy.”
Hunter laughed then typed “You’re right—I’ve never been accused of being average.”
For the next hour, he and Katie “talked” about everything, and with each sentence and word, Hunter knew he was reeling her in. Frou-Frou often told him that he was a charmer and that’s why all her lady friends were smitten with him.
“I give my sweet Katie two weeks or so before she’ll belong to me … body and soul,” he muttered under his breath.
A wicked smile spread across his lips, and evil glints of dark passion flashed in his eyes. Soon the hunger that threatened to devour him would be fed, and life would be calm again until the next time.
Chapter Six
CLUTCHING A PILE of books in her arms, Olivia glanced at the clock above the principal’s office and cursed under her breath. The locker-lined hallway, usually teeming with students rushing off to their classes, was quiet and still. Even though she’d given herself an extra thirty minutes earlier that morning, Olivia was still late. The shower-head had inexplicably fallen off while she was washing her hair, so she had to finish the job in the small sink in her bathroom.
Olivia rushed down the hall, her heels tapping on the waxed floor and bouncing off the white walls. One of the Junie B. Jones books she used for her remedial reading students slid loose and fell to the floor with a resounding thud.
“Oh shit,” she mumbled.
She stopped and bent over to scoop up the fallen book. With it now secured in her free hand, Olivia dashed forward, her attention focused on the reading materials in her arms.
Bam! She plowed into something hard and immovable.
“Oh, crap!” Her shriek echoed all the way down the hall as she hit the floor, books and folders sprawled out around her. “What the hell?” Olivia looked up and met the dark eyes of her sexy next-door neighbor.
“Sorry.” The tall, dark, and deliciously handsome man held out his hand to her.
Olivia took it and as he helped her up, she tried to ignore the zing of energy and spark of something sensual that his touch had caused. She withdrew her hand quickly, then brushed off her black pencil skirt. He bent down and picked up the folders in one hand and a couple of books in the other.
“Thanks,” she mumbled when he handed them to her, and then he scooped up the rest of the books off the floor.
“No problem,” he replied while handing her the last of the hardbacks.
Olivia scraped her fingers through her hair and willed the crazed butterflies fluttering in her stomach to stop.
“I guess I’m always thanking you for something.”
“Seems that way,” he replied in a low, deep voice.
The corners of his mouth turned up and he cocked his head to the side; slowly and thoroughly, his dark gaze traveled up and down her body, seeping into her pores like melting chocolate, until it landed on her breasts.
Heat rushed through Olivia’s body and her mouth went dry as cotton as she attempted to think of something to say.
“Uh … do you need something?” she sputtered.
He looked up, his eyes moving to her mouth. “What’re you suggesting?”
Olivia knew her face was neon red just from the way it felt, and she turned away from his searing gaze and smashed the pile of books against her chest, shielding it from him.
“You’re wandering in the hallway, so I was just wondering if you’re looking for someone.” When she glanced back up, his stare remained.
“I’m good.”
Not able to contain her curiosity, Olivia shifted in place. “Why are you here—at the school?”
“I dropped off Lucy. Why’re you here?” He glanced at her books, then back at her. “You a teacher?”
“Lucy goes here?”
“I just said that.”
A nervous giggle slipped past her lips. “Right. I’m actually a teacher’s assistant. I work with students who have reading problems and help to bring them up to speed for their grade level.”
“Lucy’s got some problems, but her fuckin’ teacher doesn’t agree with me.”
“Who’s her teacher?”
“The older lady—reddish hair. I don’t remember her name, but it’s some color.”
“Mrs. White?”
Her neighbor snapped his fingers. “That’s it. I want Lucy to get some extra help with that, but the bitch doesn’t agree. I talked to the principal about it too.”
