“I mean, they’re great and everything. Real pretty. But they could be bigger with your body type.”
“I can’t believe you’d say that!” I cover my bare breasts with my arm and reach for a blanket slung over the back of the couch like he’s made me feel ashamed of my body. The fabric smells of dust and mildew. “Do you really like those big fake breasts?”
“Sure. My ex had them. They were great.”
He’s talking about Meg. She got them for herself as a graduation present after college. I filled her prescriptions and brought her take-out food for three days after the surgery. “You wish you were still with her, don’t you?”
“No. I told you she was crazy. I’m just saying I think you’d look great with implants too.”
“Well, I could never afford them, so this is a stupid conversation.” I flop back on the couch and pout.
“Maybe I could help you out someday.”
“You’d pay for surgery?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. I mean, they’d kind of belong to me, wouldn’t they? A nice new toy.”
“Whatever. Mine are fine the way they are.” He’s doing his best to undermine my confidence, so I pretend to seethe.
I wonder how many times he’s had this conversation with women. I wonder if he looked at Meg’s breast implants and saw a woman who’d already done the work for him. A two-for-one special: big boobs and body image issues!
I tried to talk Meg out of the implants, but not because I think there’s anything wrong with them. Any advantage we can get in this world we should take. My objection was that I don’t trust surgeons. Too many of them are like me. It’s a wonderful profession for our kind. So much power and no fear about making mistakes. Great on that end of the scalpel, not always so great for the person on the table.
Still, I helped her through the recovery, and I’ll probably get surgery myself when I get older and my breasts start to lose their shape. I can’t let such useful tools get rusty. It’s fascinating how helpless men are in the face of them.
“You know I think you’re beautiful, baby,” Steven murmurs into my ear.
“Do you?”
“Of course. You’re my girl.”
“What’s your favorite thing about me?”
“You’re sweet. And hot. You’re a nice Christian girl. And my family likes you.”
I turn eagerly to face him. “Do they really like me? Because I like them so much.”
“My dad keeps telling me not to let you get away.”
“Aw! He’s so sweet. Do you think . . . if we . . . you know . . . if we ever got married . . . do you think I could call him Dad?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I think he’d really like that. And so would I.”
“It’d be so nice to have a real family, Steven.”
“It would make me happy to give that to you. A real home. A good dad.”
“And Rhonda too. She’s just so sweet.”
He stiffens immediately and my pulse quickens. In the thrill of the hunt, I’d forgotten about his weird interaction with Rhonda. And this is the perfect time to press for details. Steven’s words are running together, draping over themselves. He’s drunker than I’ve ever seen him. I’ll take every advantage I can. I’m not sure what wound Rhonda inflicted, but it’s festering, and I want to poke at it.
“You know,” I say breezily, “I was thinking I could get Rhonda’s number from you and maybe we could have tea or something. Get to know each other better. A girls’ day out.”
“No.”
“But if we really might get married someday—”
“No. I don’t want you around her. She’s a bad influence.”
“Rhonda?” I crease my whole face up in confusion. “What are you talking about? She’s your stepmom.”
“She’s a whore.”
Good Lord, this again? We’re everywhere. “Steven, she’s nice. You shouldn’t be so mean about her. She seems like a good wife and—”
He cuts me off with a loud snort. “She’s a gold-digging slut! That’s what she is.”
“I don’t understand. Did she cheat on your dad or something?”
“Yes.”
“What?” I fail to keep the trill of delight from my voice, but he doesn’t seem to hear it.
He growls deep in his throat. “Yeah. Everyone thinks she’s such a perfect wife, but, believe me, she’s a cheating whore.”
“Wow. And . . . and your dad took her back?”
He shrugs. “They never broke up. My dad doesn’t know anything about it.”
Well. This is getting very interesting. “But, Steven . . . if your dad doesn’t know, how could you know?”
His lips spread in a sneering, self-satisfied grin. “How do you think?”
Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Delight shivers through my nerves at the possibility, but I pretend I don’t understand. I shake my head, making sure I look upset. I’m worried for the family. Maybe a little scared.
Steven’s grin fades. He takes a swig from the bottle and stares at the far wall for a minute before speaking. “Never mind.”
“What do you mean? What happened?”
His eyelids dip in a slow blink. His head wobbles on his neck. “It was me,” he slurs.
“What was you?”
“She cheated with me.”
“What?” I gasp, hoping he’s too drunk to hear the breathless glee in that word. It happened. It really happened, and I want to clap my hands and squeal.
I watch his mouth flash back to that proud sneer for a moment. “She begged me for it.”
“Steven . . . no. That’s not true.”
“Oh, it’s true.”
“But you wouldn’t have—”
He waves a hand. “I don’t want to talk about it. Just stay away from her. She’s evil.”
“But how . . . ? I mean . . .” I want details, damn it. “My God, when did this happen?”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it! Let’s go to bed.”
“It’s not even eight—”
He kisses me then, pushing me down on the couch, and I realize he’s completely turned on. He’s between my legs and shoving down his jeans before I can say a word. As he pumps furiously into me, he keeps his eyes squeezed tightly closed, and I’m pretty sure he’s picturing Rhonda.
Holy crap. Holy crap.
This is just . . . Wow.
I gawk up at the ceiling as he mutters something about how much I want it, how much I need it. He calls me a slut. I try not to take offense because I’m pretty sure he’s talking to his stepmom.
This is just too delicious for words.
I won’t have to kill anyone after all.
CHAPTER 42
I’m positively giddy by the time we pull away from the cabin on Sunday afternoon. I’m still enthusiastically hunting my prey, but Steven is grumpy because he never did bag that deer.
Last night I wanted to ask him a million questions about his affair with his stepmom, but he passed out immediately after sex and snored the whole night away on the couch. A lucky stroke, it turns out, because I could never have been patient, left to my own devices. But patience is key here. Patience is everything. His binge drinking is really working out great for me.
This morning he was out the door with his rifle at 7:00 a.m., and we immediately loaded up the car when he returned in the late afternoon, just as the snow started to fall. It’s drifting gently through the trees as we bounce down the dirt road toward civilization. What a peaceful ending to this trip.
Steven wants a coffee, so we stop at the general store. I stay hidden in the car again, not that I care about being spotted at this point. Still, when he tells me to slide down, I halfheartedly slouch in my seat.
A car pulls in behind us as Steven rounds the corner and disappears. I have nothing to be on guard about now, so I pay no attention to the car door shutting behind me, but when the man walks past, I definitely take notice. I see a brown uniform and a face tipped down to look at me as he walks past.
He’s frowning, likely wondering why I look like I’m trying to hide from him. I make a big show of yawning as if I want to catch a nap; then I sit up straight and give a little wave. He tips his head in acknowledgment when I smile, but his sharp eyes study me for five more seconds before he moves along.