By Jennifer Foor
Raised by my four brothers, I’m the poster girl of a
hot-mess. A sucker for cheating assholes and shitty friends.
It’s the reason I’ve come home.
The only reason!
I arrive to find the family business in shambles. My brothers have managed to run it into the ground. With new competition, the stakes are high, especially when I realize whose stealing all of the business out from under us.
Seeing him again isn’t the hard part.
I’m over Crane Lord, his cocky, dangerous sex appeal, his criminal ways of getting by, and how
he used to own every part of me.
He’s the enemy. I don’t want him.
*Contains Adult Language and Content. Some sexual situations*
Saturday. It’s usually a day spent reflecting back on a long week of dealing with local douchebags, making mediocre money at the shitty job I assumed would get my feet in the door for bigger and better things. Now it will require an existential amount of change and a few beers at the closest dive bar I happen upon.
The foul taste of betrayal lingers in my mouth, though it’s easy to disguise from the unknowing stranger driving the taxi away from the apartment. The stinging in my eyes is a surefire sign that I’ve been deceived. I’m the last to know.
Unfortunately, the sudden urge to hurt someone leaves me more vulnerable than I’m comfortable with. Crying is saved for when someone you care about dies. In this instance my boyfriend is very much alive, the telltale proof would be the enthusiasm he was displaying while ramming our other roommate in the nether regions.
Up. The. Ass.
It’s something I prefer to steer away from, mostly because the two times I tried it ended with the seeing of actual stars and a few days worth of explosive diarrhea. As far as I’m concerned it’s a do-not-enter zone.
The fact that I’m fighting the urge to scream tells me I’m out of my element. I’ve let my guard down, and in order to rectify this situation and remain in control a few things need to happen immediately.
Kill. Jeffery. James.
Okay, maybe not kill him, even though in this short ride I’ve at least fabricated eight different scenarios that would end his existence. Since doing all of them would land me in a federal penitentiary, I’m resolved to handle this with a bit of discreet revenge, or at least the way I see it fit.
His wallet was the only thing I was able to grab in my state of shock. I open up the leather bi-fold and see what I’m working with. One Visa Platinum card. A MasterCard under his company name. His driver’s license, a bankcard, and roughly a hundred bucks in small bills are inside of a full-size flap. “Driver, take me to the shops on the main strip please.”
If there’s one thing I hate more than gossip, it’s clichés, so I’m fully aware I’m acting like a woman scorn. Quickly, before it begins to ring again, I turn my phone to silent and utilize the data to access the Internet. A wicked grin strikes my face as I type in a well-known porn site. I follow the prompt to set up a premier account, and then copy the number on his company card into the required fields.
Still not satisfied that this will make a big enough stink, I proceed to shop for bondage apparatus. One self-standing sex swing. Thirteen gag balls. Three different sizes of men’s black leather chaps. A variety pack of standard horse whips. Ceiling and floor restraints. Lastly a case of handcuffs and a police approved taser, complete with extended length use. I make sure the shipping address is the office, and hope his unknowing secretary gets a good laugh before drawing attention to the latest order.
A short snicker escapes me when I fill in the payment information and finish the transaction.
As fun as it is while I’m doing it, I know this won’t help with the disgraceful ache I’m ashamed of admitting.
I’m not your average twenty-two year old female. Raised by four older brothers, I wasn’t taught etiquette, or how to primp. I’m a rebel, a force to be reckoned with, that has an occasional sensitive side I rarely show. I’ve also been told I’m a fun lay, when I don’t let my feelings cloud my judgment. It’s a bad habit. It pisses me off that I’ve never been enough for any man, but I’m not an idiot. Men cheat because they want to. It’s the excitement, the rush they get when they’re involved in something new. I’m the opposite of dainty. Maybe Jeffery wanted a prissy little thing he could push around, and we can both agree, I’ll never be that kind of lady.