The Wrath of Cain(12)

Her ass, which was right in my face when I slung her over my shoulder. My cock is still hard thinking about the way her skirt hugged that plump, firm, and shapely backside that connects to the longest pair of legs I have ever seen.

And her tits. Fuck me with those, too. They’ve grown. My woman always had a nice rack, but now I could look at them for days... fondle them for hours and suck on them for the rest of my life.

My fingers twitch thinking about the way they would feel in the palms of my hands.

And her *. I have never forgotten how incredible she feels. I know for a fact how pink, wet, and tight it is. I can picture her smooth mound, the way it tastes. The way her muscles clenched my cock. Clutching. Squeezing tightly, as if she never wanted me to come out. I never wanted to. I could live inside her forever.

My beautiful wife doesn’t have any clue as to the lengths I’ve gone to in order to keep tabs on her all these years. I know her every move; her monthly visits to the day spa where she treats herself. Her school schedule. Her friends. I know every damn thing. Hell, I went as far as assigning my friend Manny as her personal bodyguard. Sick f*cker that I am, there were several times I had him set up video in her room just so I could watch her sleep, and listen to the soft sounds of her breathing.

It’s not just her body that first caught my attention all those years ago. It was her brains. She’s brilliant. Queen of her own mind. She was never afraid to speak it, to say how she felt. And here I am crushing her as if she’s the one who hurt me, when it’s the other way around. I’ve single-handedly destroyed my marriage and my life, all for this f*cking club. I hate it and everything it stands for.

The Sinners is not the same as it was when my father was alive. We no longer do anything illegal. All right, that’s not entirely true. They don’t do anything illegal. For me, this club is a front for the shit I do. It sure as hell isn’t drugs, as Calla obviously thinks. Drugs can f*ck you up. You start selling that shit and the next damn thing you know, you’re f*cking using it. Hooked. No f*cking way do I want any of that shit around here; the things I do are bad enough.

For the record, I recognize my own hypocrisy regarding the law. I wanted to be on the good side of the law my entire life. My dad went and screwed it all the hell up for me by lying.

We’re just a group of people who like to get together and have a good time for the love of our bikes, son.

Liar. If not for his lies, everything could be different right now. I could be inside that house making love to my wife. Be a cop like I wanted to be. Instead, his death left me with no choice but to try to clean up the brewing pot of shit-stew he created. That’s entirely not true, either. I was given a choice of doing right or wrong, and I chose wrong. But to me, I chose wrong for the right reasons.

Here’s where the problem lies. I turned this place around, into what I wanted it to be; a clean-cut bar, the way it should have been all along. We’re legit. Everyone has well respected jobs. Families. The whole nine yards. One man left when we found out he was dealing, and he’s the piece of shit who killed my father and Darcy to get back at me, all because I shut his shit down.

When I found out Kryder Banks was into dealing, we came down hard. He and his entourage of drugged-out coke and heroin addicts broke the f*cking law every damn time they left here, selling to little kids, or moms who should have been using that money to feed and shelter those kids.

Kryder was given the choice to either back the hell off, or leave. He chose the latter. Went in with the Savages, or so I thought. He had been a member of that club for years and brought that shit in here. Now that lying son of a bitch is one of the biggest drug dealers in the Midwest. Or he was, until the * ass disappeared.

Bringing myself to a halt, I look back at my old house; the house I haven’t stepped foot in for several years. I wonder to my * self why I even brought Calla there. Why I left her in a room where the last time she saw me I was balls deep inside of Emerald.

Little does she know, I did it to save her life. Save her from this shit that surrounds me. I’m a bastard for doing that to her, and I’m an even worse bastard for telling her half the crap I told her and then storming out like I did. I’m completely f*cking this up with her. The best thing I can do is stay as far away from her as I can, finish this meeting, and get lost in a bottle of whiskey.

Fuck me, I wish I could get lost in her right now. I wish I could take us far away from here and start the hell over.

I just need some space and time to think.

I wasn’t expecting her to come here today. I knew she would one day, but why the f*ck didn’t Manny give me the heads up that she was headed here? Fuck, I ought to beat his damn ass!

I won’t, though. He’s one of a handful of people I trust. The one person who has kept my wife safe all these years while I’ve pretended to be a man I’m not. I almost gave myself up to her a few minutes ago when she sat on my floor and cried. And then I went and f*cked things up even more by tainting the one night in my life I will never forget; the night we lost our virginity to each other.

It kills me to see the pain in her eyes that she’s trying so damn hard to hide. She’s changed, but no matter how hard she denies her feelings for me, I know she still cares. I know she still loves me in spite of all that bullshit about wanting a divorce so she can move on. Fuck. The truth is, she’s not mine anymore. But God, how I want her to be.

My emotions are normally well hidden under my dark exterior. Being a brutal son of a bitch does not permit me to be liked or loved; it gets me feared. They say I’m ruthless, a man who takes what he wants and stops at nothing. A take-no-prisoners kind of man. And if you cross me, my fists become my weapons of choice.