Anarchy

by Carmel Rhodes

  “Only for you,” she mewled, grinding against my face.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because you own me, and I you.”

  “Is that so?” I asked standing. My dick was out of my sweats and in her pussy in seconds. Slapping one hand against the tree for support, I brought the other around her waist, pinching her clit.

  “Yes,” she whimpered. Bus leaves in an hour. Max’s words echoed in my head. Bus leaves in an hour. We had to be quick. Bus leaves in an hour. Thrusting in and out roughly, I fucked her with all that I had—in the woods—my peers not even twenty yards away.

  —8—

  Lawless

  “Hello?” I rasped into the phone. It was late, or early, depending on how you looked at it. I’d been up all night on a coke bender. The sun shining through the drapes served as a harsh reminder that morning had come.

  “You sound like shit.”

  “Natasha?” I croaked, looking at the display. “Why are you calling so early?”

  “You know why.” Her voice was hard, a stark contrast from the woman I had married.

  Once upon a time, we had spent four hours whispering while we waited for the owners of a skittish puppy she found wandering around our neighborhood to come and pick up the dog. That Natasha was long gone. I broke her, like I did most things. Deep down, I’d always known the day would come. To her credit, she lasted a lot longer than I expected, but in the end, no amount of good on her part could outweigh the bad on mine.

  “You want me to sign those fucking papers,” I said rolling onto my side.

  The alarm clock on the nightstand read eight AM. I didn’t have to be at Meadowbrook for another two hours, which meant I had at least forty-five minutes of sleep left.

  “Why are you dragging your feet on this?”

  “It’s not like you’re asking me for a fucking puppy, Natasha. It’s a divorce. Don’t I at least deserve one last face to face?”

  There was a pause on the line. I could hear her over analyzing each one of my words, assessing the pros and cons. Her decision should have been easy. She should have told me to fuck off, or that she’d see me in court. I was a cruel bastard—not intentionally—but cruel, nonetheless. It’s the way I was wired. The way God made me. The problem was, she loved me, through it all, deep down, she loved me. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “And I don’t think this divorce is a good idea, but here we are.”

  “Here we are.” Another lull as muffled voices drifted through the receiver. I hadn’t given much thought to where Natasha had been staying. Truthfully, it never crossed my mind. It didn’t really matter to me. She wasn’t home, and that was all I needed to know. “You don’t even love me, just let me go.”

  Love. Love was silly. Maybe I didn’t love Natasha, but I did like having her around, and that was as good as love to someone like me. “Come home. Talk to me, and then maybe I’ll sign your fucking papers.”

  “I can’t be alone with you.”

  “Why? Because you don’t trust yourself?”

  “Because I don’t trust you.”

  “When have I ever hurt you?”

  “Not all pain is physical, Damien. You should know that.”

  I did know that. Pain, like love, manifests itself in different ways in different people. To Natasha, my indifference was painful, but to me, it wasn’t indifference. I lacked the passion she searched for, and she lacked the darkness I desired. Maybe divorce was the right thing to do.

  “Meadowbrook then. I don’t have any patient appointments until the afternoon. It’s private enough where we can talk, but Harper will be right outside the door if things get uncomfortable. It’s a win-win.”

  “Fine.”

  I ended the call and threw the phone back on the night stand. A line of white powder lay untouched on the bedside table; a discarded dollar bill crumpled next to it. Re-rolling the one, I snorted the remains of last night’s—or this morning’s—party before stumbling to the shower.

  * * *

  An hour and a half later, my Tahoe skidded to a stop in the employee lot. Leaves blew in every direction as the wind whipped open the door to the truck. A chill rolled through my body. The dragon didn’t do well with cold—neither did I. It didn’t help that my brain felt like it was about to explode. I was getting too old for this shit. I needed to be sharp for my face to face with Natasha.

  Taking a sip of my coffee—black with two shots of espresso—I made my way to the employee entrance. I still didn’t know how this would play out. I still didn’t know what I wanted. This should be cut and dry, give her a child or give her a divorce, but nothing with me was ever that simple. Then there was Simone. She’d be discharged soon. She would go back to crisscrossing the country, inspiring women to take charge of their lives, and I’d be left with nothing but fresh air and Rocky Mountains.

  I’d rather play in traffic.

  “Mornin’, Dr. Cooper,” Wallace, the day shift security guard greeted as I pulled the door shut, affectively silencing the howling wind. He stood on the other side of the guard station, jacket zipped up to his chin, hat pulled low on his ears, and a wooden clipboard in his hands.

  “Good morning, Wallace. Heading out to walk the grounds?” I asked, gesturing to his getup.

  “Yes sir, and it’s colder than a witch’s tit out there.” Wallace was a good ol’ boy from Texas. The kind of guy even a mean bastard like me couldn’t help but like. Unlike me, Wallace was simple, easy to read, easy to know, a trait I found pedestrian in most, but with Wallace, what you saw was what you got.

  “Don’t I know it,” I grinned, tugging at my Burberry scarf. He returned my smile and trudged to the door. “Oh, Wallace. Natasha is going to swing by later this morning, do you think you could—”

  “—kill the feed in your office?”

  “Please.”

  “Not a problem, Dr. Cooper. For what it’s worth, I’m rootin’ for y’all.”

  “Thank you, Wallace.” I nodded. “I suppose someone should be.”

  * * *

  Natasha arrived an hour later. I heard her voice before I saw her face. Her soprano drifted in through the crack in my office door. She whispered to Harper, “Why am I so nervous?”

  Harper whispered back, “Because he’s a charming bastard.”

  “He is, isn’t he?” Natasha laughed. The sound was foreign to me. When was the last time I’d heard my wife laugh?

  “Yes, but you’re stronger now, Asha, and I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.”

  I rolled my eyes, then popped a couple Adderall in my mouth, washing them down with a swig of gin. They were being dramatic. I wasn’t a monster—well, I was—but it wasn’t like I was going to hurt her.

  A few seconds later, the door swung open and in walked my wife. After six weeks of foreplay, it was time to film the money shot. The latch clicked, leaving us alone for the first time in over a month. She was as beautiful as ever, same jet-black hair, fair skin, and almond eyes. She had even gained a little weight, not much, but it suited her.

  “Would you like a drink?” I asked, gesturing towards the gin.

  “I can’t,” she said, wrapping her arms around her mid-section. Her eyes darted around the room, and in four long strides, she made her way to the table that once housed the bonsai tree. “You fucking bastard,” she seethed. Gone was the docile woman who entered, and in her place, was someone else. Someone cold and distant and hurt. I created this bitter shell of a woman. I robbed her of her light. A million words swirled in my mind, apologies, excuses, lies, but they all seemed inadequate for the moment. How do you end a four-year relationship?

  “Would you like to sit?” I asked. It was a start.

  “I would like for you to sign the divorce papers.” Her back was to me. Her fingers traced circles in the wood. I guess there was my answer. Four years boiled down to one sentence, one word really, divorce. I wasn’t sentimental. I wasn’t even sad, but it all felt so anti-climactic. In my mi
nd, she would be crying and screaming and kicking, and I’d soothe her—save her. Dr. Cooper to the rescue. The problem was Natasha didn’t need me to be her hero. She didn’t need me at all, maybe she never did.

  I tucked my hands casually in my pockets, and leaned against the desk. “They’re at home, sitting on the breakfast bar where you left them.”

  Her head shot up and her nostrils flared, as she stomped her way to my desk. “Then why am I here?” she growled.

  “Because I wanted to see you.”

  “You’ve seen me. Give me a divorce.”

  “Give me another chance.” Honesty and sincerity pierced my words. A first. I did want another chance, not because I loved her, but because I wanted to know that I could. Yes, I was aware of how fucked up it sounded, but I craved control. Narcissists thrived in environments they could manipulate to their advantage. With Simone, I felt like I was constantly treading water. Her little ass owned me. She made me feel things, happiness, rage, passion. I fucking hated it. I wanted to go back to being numb. Only problem was that Natasha was done being my Novocain.

  “Is that what you really want? This life, with me? Will you really be happy with me in five years or in ten?”

  I exhaled. I should lie. I knew I should have just fucking lied, but I didn’t. “I don’t know.” I leaned back against my desk and let my mind wander to the future. Five years seemed like a lifetime away. The details were foggy, but one thing was as clear as the Colorado skies.

  “Where do you see yourself in five years?” she pressed.

  She wasn’t letting this go. I couldn’t lie my way out of this. I couldn’t manipulate her, and in truth, I didn’t want to. “New York, my wife tied to the bed, my face between her legs.”

  “In your vision, does that woman have my face?” She still cared, after all this, she still cared. I didn’t doubt for a minute that if I told her yes, she’d stay.

  For the first time in my life, I did the right thing. “No, no she doesn’t.” Her chest rose and fell as a fat tear slid down her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” she chuckled sadly. “We’ve wasted enough time in this relationship. My life is here. My future includes children and a man who loves me.”

  There was no arguing with that. I draped an arm around her slender shoulder. She softened, wrapping one of hers around my waist. “Sounds like you’ve put some thought into this?”

  “I’ve thought of nothing else for the last eight months,” she admitted as we walked to the door, our pace slow, neither of us in a rush. It’s amazing what closure can do. All the anger and animosity seemed to melt away, leaving both of us without pretense. Harper shot Natasha a questioning look, but she waved it off. “I’ll be by later to pick up the paperwork.”

  “Okay, I’ll get it ready.”

  “Today, Damien.”

  “Today,” I promised, pulling her in for a hug. Cradling her face in my hands, I pressed a gentle kiss onto her forehead and whispered, “Have a nice life SoulCycle.”

  —9—

  Uproar

  “Does this woman have my face?”

  Natasha’s words rang out in my mind. The woman of my fantasy—the woman in my future—was the same demon from my past. Fighting it any longer was useless. Simone Boudreaux was my daydream and my nightmare. We were two sides of the same coin. On the surface, I was heads and she tails, but we shared the same core. That little slut penetrated my scales, burrowed deep down under the skin, and settled herself around my heart like a vice. I was screwed from the moment she walked into the bar, I just didn’t realize it until she sauntered into my office five years later.

  Mine.

  Simone was mine to keep, to use, to fuck, to care for—to love. She needed me—the real me—both the good doctor and the evil dragon.

  My body buzzed with anticipation at the thought of seeing Simone. I sprang from my seat so quickly the chair nearly toppled over. My loafers click-clacked against the tile floor as I jogged to the elevator. The feed was down in my office for the rest of the day. I could use the reprieve to get drunk and nap at my desk, or I could spend a few blissful hours inside my She Devil. My dick ached at the thought of fucking Simone on my boring brown sofa. Over the past two months, we had only ever fucked in damp closets and secluded stairwells. Always rushed. Always listening for approaching footsteps and familiar voices. I was desperate for slow, desperate for comfort and even more so for a locked door. I wanted to throw her over my shoulder, toss her in my car, and drive her home. I wanted to tie her to my bed and never let her go. She would like that, fucking me in the bed I shared with Natasha. I’d like it too.

  The cafeteria bustled with activity. Staff and patients alike chatted away, oblivious to the monster prowling in the open. Howling wind rattled the large windows and kicked up dead leaves. They danced and floated and swirled in the air. They, too, unaware of my dubious intent.

  My heart swelled at the sight of every woman with brown hair, and then did this deflating thing once my eyes reached their face. Where is she? I thought, pacing the rows of lunch tables. Where is she? My breathing increased. My skin flamed. WHERE IS SHE? The dragon roared, ripping what was left of Dr. Cooper apart as he searched for his mate, his essence. I scanned the room again in one last ditch effort. Gotcha. My heart slowed, and a grin tugged at my lips as our eyes met. The talking ceased. The rattling windows quieted. Everything around us stopped and for a brief moment, it was just her and me. No words could encapsulate how I felt. It was just right. Right there, right then, it was exactly where I was supposed to be. Fate was a fickle bitch. It took five years and a failed marriage to get me to pull my head out of my ass long enough to see past myself and focus on something greater than me.

  Simone stood in line at the grill. Her eyes were like lasers pinpointed on my head. I wondered how long she had been watching. I wondered if she knew that it was her that I searched for. I wondered how she would react when I told her she was mine. It didn’t matter. It didn’t change anything. She was mine. I was keeping her. She would deal.

  My legs ate the distance in seconds. The dragon didn’t wish or wonder. He took what he wanted. He pillaged and maimed and ruined. He was a dark king, one who had unknowingly been in want of a queen.

  “Ms. Boudreaux,” I nodded, coming to a stop a few inches from her face. The distance close but respectable.

  She rolled her eyes and snagged a fry from her tray. “How can I help you, Dr. Cooper?” she asked with a huff. My gaze drifted to her mouth as she wrapped her pink pouty lips around the fry. I’d never been so jealous of a fucking potato as I was in that instant. It should have been me in her mouth. My dick her lips were wrapped around.

  “My office in twenty minutes,” I said, adjusting myself as discretely as possible. She wore a powder blue dress, and if I were a betting man, I’d put the house on her being bare underneath.

  “My session isn’t until four,” she growled right back. She reached for another fry. The little slut was trying to blow me off. That was new. Normally, she jockeyed for my attention like a pet, but now that she had it, now that my eyes were open, she couldn’t be bothered. The old Damien would have been impressed, but this new, emotional beast that raged inside my chest was pissed off.

  I wrapped my hand around her wrist to halt her movements. “I didn’t ask what time your session was, just like I’m not asking you to come to my office. You will be there in twenty minutes, so eat if you must, but if I have to come and seek you out again, there will be hell to pay.”

  Her eye’s flashed with annoyance. “You don’t get to—”

  “Dr. Cooper, there you are,” Morgan said, coming up behind me affectively shutting Simone up. Her hand came to rest on my forearm, guiding me away from my She Devil. We stood there, Simone glaring, and Morgan batting her tawny lashes. Then there was me. I was having an existential crisis in the middle of the fucking lunchroom. Emotions were a bitch. Life was much easier when I didn’t feel things. “I saved you a seat,” Morgan said sw
eetly.

  God, she was annoying, but I had to play nice in the sandbox. I was already fucking one of our most high-profile patients, no need to rock the boat any further. Shooting her a tight smile, I nodded. “I’ve got twenty minutes, I’ll just grab something to eat and I’ll be right over.” I had hoped my words were enough to get rid of her, but they weren’t.

  “Please not another salad,” she teased. Morgan’s hand crept up my arm. Lifting to the tips of her toes, she leaned into me. Her lips grazed the shell of my ear as she whispered, “Rumor has it, you’ve finally given up on salads.”

  What happened next, I supposed was karma, both mine and Morgan’s. I couldn’t see Simone’s face, but I felt her rage. White hot flames licked at my side. I knew I needed to set boundaries with Morgan. “Dr. Stanley,” I began, but was quickly silenced by the sound of a plate crashing to the floor. I turned towards the noise and before I could stop it, before I even had a chance to process what was happening, a loud smack sent a shiver skating down my spine.

  Morgan dropped to the floor with a thud. “What have you done?” I hissed, stepping over her quivering form. If Simone heard me, she didn’t show it. She was fascinating in that moment. She possessed a laser-like focus that had been absent during her time at Meadowbrook. The manic grins were gone. The fog in her eyes was gone. The jitters—all of it—gone. She lifted the lunch tray again, but I ripped it from her grip. Orderlies appeared, syringes in hand, ready to sedate her. “STOP!” I yelled. I had lost control, the worst-case scenario for a man like me. A man who manipulated everyone and everything around him. A man who always came out on top. What I should have done was let the orderlies drug her and send her away. It would have been an easy out. Simone would go home—back to Aspen maybe—and I’d follow. We could finally be together. But of course, that wasn’t what I did. I’m a narcissist. I still believed I could fix her. “Let me handle this.”