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I roll my eyes, bumping my shoulder into his. “Fuck off Gunz, you’re the last man I worry about shootin’ me, especially with a baby in my belly. Think you learned your lesson of what happens when you touch me, the one and only time you ever did.” Glancing at him out my peripheral, I can tell that statement pains him by the remorse that clouds over his eyes and the twitch of his lip.
It’s true though. He learned. Big beat him for it, and I nailed him in his junk. The scars he’s given me never went away, just like I knew they wouldn’t. Both of my forearms are littered in tiny light pink and white scars. While they’ve lightened over the months, even though they’re still present.
“You touched her?” Marshall suspiciously glares through tiny eye slits at Gunz, and I leave him to it. This is the first time all night Marshall has sought information forthright from Gunz without it being offered to him through forced chitchat.
“Yeah Gunz, you touched me?” I devilishly grin, elbowing him in the ribs again. He grunts a curse and stops twirling the tendril of my hair.
“Yes, it was a while ago. Bin—Eva wasn’t listening to some orders she’d been given, and I tried to make her by thinkin’ on my feet. Banged her up good.”
I raise my arms in the air, turning them out to show the scars. “These are from him,” I nod my head sideways toward Gunz. “Plowed me over like a freight train.”
“It was an accident,” he mutters under his breath, his guilty form slipping down into the couch. As if by shrinking himself, his guilt would dissipate along with it. Fat chance.
“How long have you two known each other?” Marshall asks next, which surprises me to say the least. He’s officially taken the offensive position in the room, and now the tables have been turned. Not only on Gunz, but on me as well. This sucks!
Patting me on the shoulder, Gunz sweetly nudges his head to mine, in a loving gesture. “Her whole life or nearly her whole life,” Gunz fondly states.
“Have you two, you know?” Marshall awkwardly asks, shifting in his seat.
My nose bunches up in repulsion, and Gunz chokes on his spit before replying. “No fuckin’ way. I love this girl.” He pats my shoulder, pulling me tighter to his side. “But I don’t wanna fuck her. I changed her diapers as a child and took her to school and shit. There ain’t no way I could see her as anything more than my daughter.”
My heart warms. Aww, Gunz, I think I might cry. Damn these hormones!
That is the sweetest thing I think I’ve ever heard Gunz say about me. He loves me like a daughter? Well, I love him like a dad, so I guess it fits. Doesn’t it? But then I get to thinking about it and his admission and then the way Big views me, or the way I think Big views me, and it skews this whole father daughter thing off its axis. Big has known me as long as Gunz, done more for me than Gunz… and yet, the man doesn’t view me as his daughter. Men don’t fuck their daughters or impregnate them. Granted, he doesn’t know he impregnated me, but that’s not the point. They don’t lick their pussies or kiss them with tongue either. How does one man in my life feel one way and the other is the polar opposite? It’s weird, and something there is zero way to understand or decipher without being inside their heads. Which is impossible. So I guess I will just have to go on guessing. It’s weird how the world works, don’t cha think?
“Ahhh…” Marshall drawls with a contemplative expression. With his lips pursed, and brows knitted together, as his finger ticks the side of his wine glass. “So you came to town to do what? Scare me away? Play the protective father role? What is it you expected to happen? That I would stop dating Eva because you told me things she was too embarrassed to do so herself?”
That last sentence has Gunz trying to pry himself from the couch with anger. I hold him in place. “Don’t,” I warn, and surprisingly Gunz complies with something between a gravely growl and a huff.
Gunz leans forward on the couch. “Your lawyer ass don’t know shit about your woman. And you’re here tellin’ me she is embarrassed about her past? Naw, she’s not embarrassed by it. She’s just afraid to tell her rich boyfriend the truth. Probably scared you won’t like her as much if she told you that she owns a hot pink Chevelle that she’s named Kitty. Or she likes to wear combat boots and black instead of this shit,” Gunz tugs my on my pants. “Or the real reason she left the compound in the first place, was our…”
Oh hell no! I don’t think. I react and grab his balls over his leathers to shut his mouth. I’m done with this.
Gunz’s eyes go wide as I squeeze.
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap at him, gripping his balls even tighter. “This shit is over. I am here, I am happy, and you need to leave.” Twisting my wrist just enough for Gunz to take in a sharp breath and wince, I think I’ve proved my point, so I release his junk. Immediately he jumps up from the couch, shaking his right leg to make that ache in his balls dissipate.
Gunz faces me, his back to Marshall. “This ain’t even close to bein’ over. That rich bitch, conservative, prissy, antigun toting motherfucker you’re tryin’ to date, or whatever the fuck you call this,” he waves his hand around the room with zeal, “ain’t good enough for your past or your jeans and t-shirts, then his ass ain’t good enough for our girl.”
Flipping around to face Marshall, Gunz glares the most disgruntled menacing expression I’ve ever seen on his face. His eyes pour like liquid lava ready to incinerate anything in its path, as his lip curls like a demented hellhound ready to strike. Gunz is frightening. I hold my breath scared of what he might do next, my skin prickling with my own sense of fear for Marshall.
I sit in complete silence and watch him tug his wallet from his back pocket. “Listen, I hate to do this in front of my girl, but I don’t see us gettin’ ourselves any alone time.” Gunz flips open his wallet, “How much is it going to cost us for you to stop seein’ her?”
What?
What?
“Excuse me?” Marshall shifts uncomfortably in his seat, uncrossing his legs and setting his wine glass on the stand beside him. “What did you just say?”
“You’re pretty fuckin’ stupid for a lawyer. Do you want me to spell this out for ya? I don’t fuckin’ like you. You ain’t good enough for our girl. And don’t ya think for one second when I say our, I’m talkin’ about you. I’m talking about, our, as in, our club, our family, our life, our Bink, which ain’t got shit to do with you, or this fancy fuckin’ apartment.” Gunz pauses, casting his eyes to the floor with a blustery frown.
“What this cost ya?” he scuffs his boot heel on the Persian rug. “Fifteen grand?” Gunz mocks, rolling his eyes, and yanking a sucker from his cut. Ripping off the wrapper, he tosses it on the floor before grinding the heel of his boot into the discarded trash, as if he needs to rub in his dislike for Marshall any further. I think he gets the point.
The man who had briefly gathered his inner manhood to ask questions has shrank down into a tiny man-child, with wide eyes and a I-might-piss-myself expression. I can’t decide if I feel sorry for him or not. I have to be honest, Gunz is the scariest I’ve ever seen him, even if his anger isn’t directed at me. Another part of me, one that resides deep down to the very core of my upbringing, wants to flatly call Marshall out, tell him he’s being a pussy, and real men don’t act like pussies. If that’s not Big and my daddy talking, I don’t know what is.
‘Buck the fuck up.’ ‘Rub some dirt on it.’ ‘Bitches get dealt with.’ ‘Men aren’t pussies.’ All mantras that were commonplace when I grew up and most could be attributed to this situation.
“Well? How much?” Gunz sucks on his sucker, twirling it in his mouth like he’s got all day.
“I…ummmm… I don’t need any money… and I… love… her,” Marshall’s stammers, his ashen face flashing from me and back to Gunz.
Gunz sighs, irritated. He’s not even angry, as the vein on his forehead is very much its normal size. “Alright, well I tried. Guess I best be off then.”
I feel a sense of relief that he is finally, after hours
of torture, going to leave me to my peaceful, or I should rephrase that, once peaceful existence. Doing the polite thing, I push off the couch and see him to the door. He wraps me in a giant bear hug, peppering kisses into my hair. “Love you, I’ll be in touch,” he whispers releasing me.
“Love you too,” I groan, feeling a deep sense of loss as I watch him saunter down the hallway his wallet chain jingling on his way to the elevator, where he waves with a dubious grin, before entering the metal box and walking back out of my life.
Turning back around with a longing sigh, I lock our apartment door before I pivot to see Marshall has already retreated to the bedroom. Instead of bothering him, I leave him to process all this shit, and grab a blanket and pillow from the hall closet to make myself a bed on the couch. I don’t think I could handle any more emotional word vomit tonight. I need a break, if not for me, for my pregnant body to recover. Stress is not good for anyone, especially a pregnant lady.
Curling down into the couch, I text Candy Cane back, telling her I’ll speak to her in the morning, and I settle in for the night. I hope I can actually get some rest. Night night.
Chapter Three
Tuesday: February 18th, 2014
Candy Cane: So what you’re saying is that you’re avoiding this talk with Marshall?
Me: I am not avoiding it. I am saying that he left this morning without a word.
I am sitting here at work, trying to get shit done on the computer. Deke has been MIA, Larry is his normal charming self, and we have two cars due to be completed by Monday next week, so we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. I haven’t spoken to anyone this morning about last night’s typical craziness that always comes along with Sacred Sinners brothers. Or more specifically, Gunz and Big. Although Big is usually the antagonist, not Gunz, he’s like the sidekick in most aspects. Robin to Big’s Batman or Chewbacca to Big’s Hans Solo. You get the point.
This morning I dragged my ass off the couch about seven, and Marshall had already left. I can only attribute that to being a bad thing. I haven’t texted or called him all day. I’m not a clingy or desperate woman, and if he wants to give me the cold shoulder, then so be it. I have enough on my plate to handle besides him.
Larry raps on the door, pushing it open. “Did you order those parts yesterday?”
Glancing up from my phone, I try to smile but it falls a bit short. “Yeah, I did. They said they’d be in by Thursday. That cool?”
“Yeah, that’s great, just wanted to make sure you were… you know… okay… since you’ve been less peppy this mornin’,” Larry nervously picks at his teeth with his toothpick. I must be making him uncomfortable.
“You mean I’ve been less of a sassy bitch?”
Larry leans his shoulder against the wall. “You’re never a bitch anything. The boys and I like havin’ you around. Do you want us to get you anything from Panera today?”
Unintentionally, I scowl, “Panera? Since when do you boys ever eat from there?”
“Since we have a pregnant office lady who needs to get her fill of vegetables and chocolate cake.”
Aww! Now that makes me light up, lifting some of the sadness from heart, and tugging a real smile from my lips. “That’s sweet, Larry. Sure, I’ll take some sort of turkey sandwich, salad combo, and a big, extra chocolaty brownie.”
Larry makes a mental note, rattling off my order to himself. “Right,” he nods, “do you want nuts on your brownie?”
“Doesn’t every girl love nuts?” I wink, flashing a shit-eating grin.
“Right, yup, most of ‘em do. I’ll share mine,” Larry winks back and grabs a handful of his cock through his overalls.
I snort a laugh. “Yup, Larry, I’m sure you would.”
Larry doesn’t speak. He just salutes me with a dirty grin, pushes off the wall, and pivots on his heel, headed back for the shop, just as my phone buzzes on my desk. Leaning back in my chair and tucking an errant strand of my blonde hair behind my ear, I attempt to take a load off my aching back and feet, while working inside my sparse and rather dingy office. Pretty sure this desk I am sitting at is circa World War II.
Candy Cane: Talk to Marshall soon. Sorry sweetie, I’ve got to skedaddle, helping Pix at her shop, see you this weekend. Jez is leaving kids home, so we can have a girl’s day. Tripper told me to tell you, hey and that he misses ya. I do too. Oh and be good, don’t forget to wear something slutty on Saturday. K?
I scoff and roll my eyes.
Me: Slutty? Are you kidding? Have you forgotten that I have been implanted with an alien parasite that is making me fucking huge and my ankles swell into these hideous things they call cankles?
Has she lost her damn mind? Dressing that way? Not in this lifetime, with this body, looking like this. Hell to the no.
Oops and one more thing….
Me: Oh ya, miss you all too. Tell Pix I said Hi when you see her. How are you helping at the shop? She’s not teaching you to tat is she?
Candy Cane: You’re still hot with that BABY in your belly. Cankles are the new fetish porn, didn’t you know? And no, I’m not learning. She has an assload of clients today, so she needs me to clean her stations, prep stencils, take calls, copy IDs, file paperwork, and all that crap, while she’s busy inflicting pain on her customers.
Cankles, the new fetish? That makes me laugh. There isn’t a damn thing that is glamorous about pregnancy. My ankles are swollen, I have to visit the doctor once a month, I pee all the time, I’m always hungry, and my back and feet ache all day, every day. The only bonus to being pregnant is feeling your baby move, and my insomnia has downgraded significantly to maybe once or twice a month instead of my usual five days a week.
I am thankful though for having a healthy pregnancy, no snags, no real problems, my blood pressure is great, no protein in my urine, whatever that really means. When Marshall and I went in for my last ultrasound, it was in 3-D so I got to see every little part of my daughter. Including finding out that she was in fact a girl, like I had dreamt in these extensive, highly vivid dreams I started having about a month beforehand.
These are the same dreams that still manifest on a weekly, sometimes nightly, basis. I wake up horny from most of them and so wet that I fear my water might have broken. And no, I am not going to expose what those dreams contained so don’t ask. Let’s just say they are highly sexual, and they involve some exceptionally sexy men, performing even more exceptional sexual favors on me, nothing that would be considered vanilla. And that’s all I’m going to say about that. Because just sitting here my pussy is already starting to throb thinking about them. I haven’t had sex in over a week, and I can’t get myself off to save my life. Declaring that I am sexually frustrated is like saying a hurricane is just a little rain. Yes, it’s that bad. And the further along in my pregnancy I am, the hornier I become. Shit, Larry is even starting to look like a prime candidate for an afternoon romp, bending me over the sink in our only bathroom. Okay, maybe that’s a bit too much. But yeah, it’s become an issue. And the shit with Gunz last night has pretty much guaranteed me sexless for the remainder of my pregnancy. Way to go Gunz….asshole!
Chapter Four
Friday: February 21st, 2014
“No, tell them to send the flowers back.” I am standing here in the doorway of my office, arguing with Deke and the local flower deliveryman. “I don’t want them. Throw them in the trash for all I care.” My finger points to the giant barrel by the side entrance. “But they’re not gonna come into my office, no way, no fucking how.”
I’m not quite sure who is groveling more at this point. Gunz because I won’t return his calls and accept his half-assed apology, or Marshall because, as of Wednesday night, I decided not to stay at his apartment again for a while.
Let me give you an update and leave Deke to handle the frustrated flower dude. Sound good?
You nodding? Yep, I thought so.
Here goes….
Tuesday, I went home, and Marshall wasn’t there. He didn’t stroll into the ap
artment until well past midnight, reeking of liquor, cigarettes, and perfume. Did he cheat on me? No. Did he head to the local gentleman’s club and spend an obscene amount of money to get his junk grinded on? Yup, he sure did. Then he decided to take that same junk and try to stick it in my pussy when I was fast asleep in bed.
“Wake up, Darling,” he drunkenly purred into my ear, wafting his hot acidic breath across my cheek as his hard cock thrusted awkwardly into my panty covered backside. And his hand slid it over my side, cupping my belly, to use it as leverage for his jerky, inept thrusts. That pissed me off.
“What do you want, Marshall?” I whined half asleep, grabbing his hand, and tossing it off my belly before curling by body into a ball on my side.
“I want to make llllooovveee to you,” he groaned creepily into my ear, and poked his tongue out to lick the underside of my earlobe. That made me want to puke.
“Well, I don’t want to make llllooooovvveeee to you.” I crudely mocked, keeping my eyes closed, praying he would just go away and let me rest. My back had been aching all day, and I needed the sleep.
No such luck.
“Oh come on, Darlinggggg. Aren’t you supposed to be some crazy biker lady who wants to have sex all the time?” His hardened cock viciously grinded my ass cheeks through his Dockers. So much that it hurt, making my ass cheek burn. I tried to scoot to the edge of the bed, only to be followed.
“I do want to have sex all of the time. I just happen to have a boyfriend who only wants to get it on with me after he’s used twenty other women to get hard. Not my thing. Now leave me alone.” I was serious, but for whatever reason Marshall didn’t seem to care. He kept trying until I climbed out of the bed, and like a lost puppy, he trailed right behind me.
“Go away!” I yelled trying to find some peace.
“I want to make love to you,” he repeated.
On the verge of slapping him, I inhaled a deep relaxing breath and shouted, “No,” while entering the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it.