Page 18 of Southpaw Slots
Screaming like a banshee and spitting out the poison, I try to twist and shake him off me, but it’s impossible. His grip firms around me, holding me against his chest. “You’re a madman!” Finally, he takes a step back, and I can breathe again. When I do, I slide over to the cake and pick up the entire middle layer, plunging it on his head before he can react.
“Bitch!” Fingers fly across his face as he gathers up some chunks and flings it at me, hitting me in the eyes.
I slump to the ground, sobbing in the midst of the mess of what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
Looming over me, he huffs a few breaths, some pieces of the chocolate layer dripping onto my head. I sniff and stare at his once polished Italian loafers, not daring to look him in the eyes.
“You better be prepared the next time I ask for my dick to be serviced,wife.” With a shove, he kicks some frosting at me, the splatters painting my white dress brown. Then he turns and sprints up the stairs. The pain of his demands turns into a powerful fire scorching inside me.
He better be prepared to have his dick ripped off if he tries.
SIX
ASA
It’s a Sunday. You know how I know? ’Cause I just had the worst wedding in history two days ago and have had to avoid my new so-called wife ever since. Which is not as easy as you’d think, despite the size of the mansion.
And especially difficult when I fuckinghatebeing alone.
Saturday, I stayed in my room and jerked off so much I had to get some Vaseline for my dick. It was the only way to keep myself preoccupied over the panic constantly threatening to break my mind. Well, that and texting my boys incessantly. The staff brought me food to the guest room where I holed up, but they refused to bring me liquor. When I sneaked down to the dining room bar around three in the morning to grab some, it was all gone. None in my father’s office, the living room, or the basement rec room either.
If they put it all in the other wing, I’d never know. Not going down there.
Cass said the guards won’t let my pack inside the gates, which is ridiculous because they’re the only ones I can trust. He said the crew were looking into repayment on East Side, but I told them to drop it. I’m locked inside the source of my terror with a purely evil entity, some raging she-beast, but no one seems to care about that. If I can get some peace for a few days, no one blowing up anything, maybe my handler will let me out of prison.
Yesterday, I had to get out of these walls, or I was going to go nuts. I refuse to go to the other half of the house, the part I grew up in, my happy family home. Instead, I stuck to this section, but that’s also whereshelives. So, I skirted the back hall to the gym, boxed forhours, sat in the sauna, and grabbed some food while avoiding her before making it back to my room. The exercise was the only thing that seemed to calm my anxiety.
The woman seems to have settled in like she owns the place. During one clandestine mission to grab some water, I heard her talking to Smeath aboutmenusand even Kline interrupted to discuss funds for decorating. Decoratingmyhouse. That fucking asshole agreed to give hercash. Like loads of it.
If I can just use my charms to convince her to hand it over, I could at least get some weed. That’s it. That’s all I need right now. Just something to helpme zone out so I can have that here-but-not-here feeling.
Sobriety hurts. Like, all over. Not to mention how utterly terrifying it all is. There’s nothing to keep my horrifying thoughts at bay. Threatening to intrude my brain with images of my parents splayed out on their graves. Ashley’s mangled body tossed onto my pristine front lawn like a beetle with its parts all smeared on the grass, ready to be taken over by maggots.
It haunts my dreams.
But the pain seems to have settled, especially in my testicles, which won’t seem to fully empty.
I’d kill for a blowjob. Even went searching for my gun at one point just to force her to do it, but gave up after another round of porn on the big screen.
Deciding to head to the backyard pool, the quiet one that no one ever goes to, I toss on some trunks and grab a towel. Plucking on my Ray-Bans, I give my hair a once-over. Perfect.
How does one get time away from their own mind without pharmaceutical help? I’m not sure, but I guess now is as good a time as any to figure it out. As I sneak out of the bedroom, I pop in an earbud and scan through my phone’s music for something to take me away, but stop short just outside the bedroom door.
The empress stands like a goddess, straightened to her full height—which isn’t much—wearing some frilly summer dress thing that shows off her voluminous set of tits and long legs toperfection.
When I first started playing around with them, I became a bit afraid of girls. Especially in high school. Unable to be faithful, I would creep around the halls just waiting for one to scream at me, blowing my cover about what I’d been up to the night before. I’ve had my tires punctured, gas tank filled with sugar, paint dropped on my head, got smacked, spit on, and punched over the years. It stopped bothering me by the time my parents were killed, and I had to take over the south. By that point, I was adept enough that I could apologize for anything and get my way with a smile, or women just didn’t care because they wanted the title of Mrs. King Consort of the South.
But this petite woman scares the ever-living shit out of me and my breath catches as she narrows her eyes when she scans me with an icy glare, my hand frozen on the doorknob.
Too terrified to speak, I wait for the banshee to shriek or cry again. But she only says, “I have a business proposition for you.”
Swallowing, I manage to muster out, “Oh yeah? What’s that?” My heart beats harder. What could she possibly want fromme? A replacement wedding cake? I’ll give her whatever, if it will get her to stop crying.
“I want my boyfriend to come over.”
Fear transforms into rage. My chin drops as I choke on my spit, lip curling. “I’m sorry. Excuse me? Did you just ask yourhusbandif yourboyfriendcan come over tomymansion?”
Her long red fingernails hook around a curvy hip as she relaxes, like she expected me to say this. “I need a relationship, love, and affection. Obviously, I’m not going to get it from you. So, I’m asking to let my boyfriend visit and I’ll be out of your hair.”