Ryan rushes at Ghost, narrowly dodging the wrench he swings. I've shot a gun many times--Jim's seen to that. I've even shot a man before. I've just never taken a life. But as I raise the gun again, I have no fear or trepidation about pulling the trigger. This man is a rapist and an abuser. He's everything I hate, and I want his reign of terror to end. For once and for all. Flipping off the safety, I get Ghost in my line of sight and take a deep breath. Before I can pull the trigger, Ian's strong arms wrap around me. His firm hand squeezes mine on the gun, forcing me to release it, and then he spins me around, shielding me from what's about to happen. Without a moment to waste, Ian releases me and shoves me backward. I scramble forward just as Ian pushes Ryan to the side and places the barrel of the gun to Ghost's temple. I watch in horror as he pulls the trigger, painting the wall with dripping blood.
I've never taken a life before. The only time I came close was when that piece of shit violated my boy when he was a kid. Even then, I maimed him and left him for the cops to deal with. I couldn't bring myself to do it. And now, I'm watching a man's blood drip down the wall in my living room after my seventeen-year-old son shot him in the head.
Ryan bends over and starts dry heaving. He's breathing heavy, and his hands are shaking as he tries to keep himself upright with his hands on his knees. I take a step toward Ian, who's lowered the gun, put the safety back on, and placed it in the waistband of his jeans, but I stop. He's totally calm but silent, and that worries me. I redirect my attention to Ryan and move to comfort him, but I can't. I look back at Ian to find him pulling the bayonet knife he carries from its holder at his waist and grabbing Ghost by the throat. His body is limp, the effects of death slowly settling in. Ian's brown eyes stare into Ghost's dead blues blankly as he scrawls the word sin into the dead man's forehead.
Right as he finishes, Butch rushes through the open front door and stops. I turn to look at my longtime friend with tears in my eyes. And I just stand there, frozen, unsure what to do. One of my boys is freaking out because his brother just killed a man. And the other is resurrecting old trauma by carving up a man's flesh. My heart breaks in a million pieces for the little boy who found out all too soon how awful the world could be and the young man who now stands before me, eyeing a dead body with a sick aura of peace about him.
I can't help but feel responsible for this. My life choices have made my boy a killer.
CHAPTER 20
May 2014
Jim's hands travel down my bare sides, caressing every inch he can get his lotion-covered hands on. He licks his lips lasciviously as I slowly part my knees before putting them back together. I could open up for him, but then the massage would be over, and I'm not ready for that. It's not all that often that my man spoils me like this. I can get an orgasm whenever and however I want--that he's always game for. It's the drawn out foreplay that he has to be prodded to initiate. So I'm going to milk this time for all it's worth. Rubbing my thighs together, I moan softly and clench them together despite Jim's insistent attempt to gently pry them apart.
"You being a tease, momma?"
"I like being chased," I say in defense and wave a finger at the nearby lotion bottle. Jim gives me a flat look and squirts some more lotion into his palm, then continues with the rubdown.
"Been chasing you for twenty years," he says, his hands dipping around the back of my thighs and pulling me forward. A laugh turns to a smile as he manages to part my thighs.
"And you'll chase me for twenty more," I say confidently. If there's one thing in this world I don't doubt, it's this man's love for me. And I never want him to doubt my love for him. So while he's massaging my inner thighs, and it feels incredible, I need to show him that the feeling is mutual. Not that I think he doubts my feelings. After two decades together and nearly that many married, we're solid.
"But then I'm done," he says as he watches me pull myself into a sitting position. I squirt some lotion into the palm of my hands, rub them together, and then proceed to massage Jim's thighs.
"Done, huh? Just like that?" We're face-to-face now, so close that I can practically taste the coffee on his breath. He smiles and leans in, giving me a sweet kiss to my lips. We're both smiling when he pulls away. For the millionth time since we became us, I've wished that I could have given him a baby. I made a vow to myself, though, that I wouldn't have another kid after the twins. Jim's always respected that. Even though there was that one surprise, when it ended seven weeks in, we were sad, but we moved on. It wasn't meant to be for us, and that's okay. We have our boys, and I'm perfectly fulfilled with that, but I know Jim's always secretly yearned for a kid that carries both our genes.
"In another twenty, I'm gonna be too old to chase you, woman."
"I call bullshit," I say, leaning in and nibbling his lip. We fall into each other, laughing and kissing the whole way. Lazy afternoons making love to my husband don't happen near as often as I'd like, so I make sure to treasure every moment I have like this.
My mobile sounds from the bedside table with a tone I thought I'd never hear. It's a high-pitched squealing sound that I can't ignore. Jim stills, the joy in his eyes disappearing immediately. It's Gloria's ring tone. We scramble to grab it before it stops ringing. Both of us with shaking hands and fear in our hearts.
Gloria.