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“Shut up, Lindsi. Ben! Go!”
He steps forward hesitantly. “But I want to stay with Mommy.”
“I’ll fucking whip you, Benjamin. Go pack your bag!”
When he doesn’t move, when he simply stares between us, I drag her forward and slam the back of my hand across his face.
“No!” Lindsi fights me as his thirty-five-pound body slams against the wall. The crunching thud has my blood running deliciously warm. “Ben, no! He’s just a baby.”
“Get off the floor, boy. Go to your room. Pack your shit. We’re leaving in five minutes.”
He stares dazedly for a moment longer, but when I take another step forward, he scrambles on his hands and knees and flees toward the stairs.
I knew it; he’s a good boy when I keep a firm hand.
“Alright, baby, we’ve got shit to do, then you can say goodbye to the boy. Come on.” I drag her resistant body through the living room and into the front foyer. Her feet slide and skid beneath her, and each time she loses her footing, more hair tears from the roots.
Souvenirs for me.
“Please stop,” she cries.
Her whining doesn’t work on me. Just like every other woman in the world, they shake their asses and flutter their lashes, they try to control and manipulate men like we’re brainless pets, and when that doesn’t work, they cry.
I don’t fall for the tears any more than I fall for the ass shaking.
“Please stop, Ben.” She digs her nails into my hand. “I won’t tell anyone you were here. Just go home. I’ll bring the kids back tomorrow, but they’re just so tired tonight. Leave, and I promise to bring them back tomorrow.”
“But you don’t understand, Lindsi. I don’t wantyouback. I don’t even want the girl. I’m here for my son.” I walk us through the foyer and stop beneath a gold and crystal chandelier. I hope it’s as sturdy as it is fancy, because it needs to hold a hundred and forty or so pounds of fat and laziness.
I release her hair, and when she turns to bolt, I grab her arm, swipe the Luger from the waistband at my back, and swing it around until it slams against the side of her head. She crumples to the floor satisfyingly fast and leaves me smiling with giddiness.
Stupid woman.
She was a decent wife. She cooked. She cleaned. She said she was too tired for me twice, but she learned. When her obedience no longer turned me on, but her resistance pissed me off, I found girls like Isabelle Hart much more to my liking.
I wish that slut was here tonight. I’ve watched. I’ve studied. But she’s always with that fucking asshole, or if not him, then one of the other assholes.
Two whores, side by side, would be the ultimate reward, but she’s out of reach for me… for now.
I shake my head at my wife’s slack face. Stepping away, because I know I’m on a time limit, I step to where I left my bag of supplies at the bottom of the stairs.
Rifling through my bag, I drop ropes beside Lindsi’s unconscious body, then walk to the kitchen to grab everything else I need.
I’m not an asshole; I’ll give her something to stand on.
Walking back to the foyer with a whistle on my breath and a giddy smile on my lips, I position the chair directly beneath the chandelier, grab the rope, and tie it the way my daddy taught me.
My old man taught me a bunch of handy shit, God rest his soul.
“Lindsi. Wake up now.” I slap her face to bring her around. The sting radiates through my palm and sets my anger on fire. “Wake up, Lindsi.”
I feed her head and pretty hair through the gap in the rope, and with a grunt, I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder. I climb onto the rickety wooden chair and hope it doesn’t break too soon.
“Ben?”
“Shhh, baby. Just hold on a minute.”While I tie this up properly.“I’d hate for you to fall and get hurt.”
“Ben?” Coming around, her voice turns stronger. “Ben!” Her fists rain down on my back. “Put me down.”
