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Today, that restlessness is particularly annoying, but I don’t take the bike out of the garage. I install myself at the desk in my study and pore over the details of the HR file I stole.
Violet Starley is twenty-four years old. Due to medical reasons, she was absent from school for months at a time. As a result, she didn’t complete matric until she turned twenty. She finished a four-year Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in October last year and joined her stepfather’s company three months ago in November. For someone who missed as many classes as she did, she made good grades. She was one of the top students in her class at university. Other than stating that the job at Starley Solutions is her first, there’s nothing else about her history in her file. The only other thing of value is her telephone number. I save it on my phone and close the folder I encrypted on my laptop.
For the rest of the afternoon, I read up on Leg Length Discrepancy, educating myself on the causes and symptoms. However, I’m more interested in how to make the life of a person suffering from LLD comfortable. The internet produces a mountain of articles on the importance of a good mattress and pillow, the best car models for driving, and general advice on nutrition to help minimalize osteoarthritis due to strain on the hip.
By late afternoon, I shut my laptop and fix myself a snack. I crack open a beer and carry the light dinner onto the deck. Standing next to the pool, I inhale the fragrance of the jasmine creeper. The spot is beautiful. Tranquil. But it doesn’t quench my restlessness, not when the scent I crave is caramel.
Stripping down to my birthday suit, I walk to the deep end of the pool and dive into the cool water. It slices smoothly over my body, easing the ache of yesterday’s workout that lingers in my muscles. After swimming a few lengths, I lean my arms on the side and drag my beer closer. When I tip back my head to drink, it’s the taste of a woman’s mouth I’m missing. Her mouth. Of spreading her legs and tasting her there.
How does Violet spend her Saturdays? I know she doesn’t have a boyfriend. I’ve watched her at work for long enough to know she always comes and goes alone. Plus, I subtly fished for information from Gus long before I told him I was going to date her. Does she take lazy drives or swim naked in her pool? I’m curious about her and everything that concerns her.
I finish my beer and rinse off in the outdoor shower. As I fist my cock under the warm spray of the water, I can’t help but wonder. Is she doing what I’m doing right now? Does she make herself come while thinking of me? What is my girl doing at this very moment, the moment of my release?
CHAPTER 8
Violet
I run.
I’m not thinking straight. I’m not careful to coordinate my movement and muscles. Tripping over my feet, I go down on my hands and knees. The Marigold barbs hook onto my jeans and T-shirt. The stringent odor of the plants as I crush their stems reminds me of the Auckland Park hill where we could’ve watched the sunset safely.
A scream comes from inside the house—a woman’s scream.
My heart jumps into my throat. I make it to the steps just as the man with the helmet rushes through the door with a dark object in his hand. It’s not a gun. It’s a phone.
Another man with a blond beard follows hard on the biker’s heels. Dressed in nothing but a pair of briefs, he skids to a halt on the patio as the intruder hops on his bike and takes off.
“Fuck,” the bearded guy mumbles, not sparing me a glance. He’s big and muscled with a pale skin and even paler eyes.
My mother appears in the doorframe, holding together the ends of a sheet that’s wrapped around her body. Her soft blue eyes are as wild as her hair.
“He took photos,” she says, sounding dazed.
I’m not sure if she’s speaking to me, her lover, or herself.
The man pushes past her and goes back inside while she stands frozen on the spot. Around us, doors open and spectators peel out. Finally, the street fills with the life it’s been missing. Somehow, they knew.
Someone knew.
It was a setup.
My instinct takes over. I rush to my mom to take her inside where she’ll be hidden from view before someone else gets it into his head to take a photo, but before I can act, the man comes out and thrusts her clothes at her.
“Leave,” he grits out. “I don’t want to see you around here again.”
She frowns at him with glistening eyes. “You said you loved me.”
