Mind F*ck (23 page)

And as if he read my mind, he answers the internal struggle within me as we come up on the exit, “Your fierce maternal instinct looks good on you, Lex. Don’t get me wrong. Pregnancy looks
very
good on you. But if you want this little piece of shit inside you to keep having a heartbeat, you’ll ignore your mommy fangs and do as I fucking say. Take the goddamn exit. Now, Lexy.”

I’m not sure if it was the whole knife or just the tip,  but when it nicks the tender flesh at the base of my neck, my hands jerk right and I take the fucking exit.

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

My father more than stressed the words of Albert Einstein to me growing up.

And they’re ones I still have to remind myself of today.

It took a lot of something I usually run short in supply of to make it the two months, three weeks, and two days needed in L.A. to procure my plan. And while I realize the importance of planning, mine may have lacked the proper amount of time.

Meaning? Most of my plans weren’t fully planned out.

The beginning of my plans were pretty thorough. Actually, they were very well thought out.

However, and this is becoming a frequent issue—my scattered thoughts and distracted mind keeps getting in my way.

So, right now, I’m hoping I won’t need a strong follow through plan.

I’m hoping just getting her away and getting some time alone with her will make this transition easy.

Or easier.

As I watch my wife from my perch in the back seat, my blade still in hand and at her throat, I recognize the fear in her subtle movements and gestures. Her incessant fidgeting and over swallowing. The beads of sweat collecting on her brow and on her upper lip as she nervously licks her lips, over and over and over.

“You cannot abandon us so quickly. I thought I’d explained that the last we time were together.” I tsk at her. Finally feeling the control well within my reins again, after so damn long. “There’s no chance in this life for you…without me. You understand that, don’t you, baby girl? You know, I know you tried to shove me out. I’m not certain yet at what point you changed sides, but I understand how it would seem easier just to push me out of your life. But what you didn’t anticipate is…I’ve got nothing but time for you, baby girl.”

I let my words fall between us, and I briefly wonder if she’s following them.

After a few beats of silence, however, my control slips on anger and I wrench her head to the side before moving the knife in my right hand to the nape of her neck. Then I take the lobe of her right ear into my mouth and start edging the blade up the back of her neck. “What if I just scalped that pretty fucking head of yours? Hmm? Sent that to our boy Rhett? Think he’d like that?”

Once I’ve shaved a good inch of the hair up the nape of her neck, I blow it away from her neck and shoulders.

I watch as the tears fall over her lashes and sear their way down her red cheeks, and I smile. My cock is hard as fuck already, and I’ll be damned if it’s not getting harder with every mile we pass.

My eyes zero in on her hands clenching the steering wheel. “You not speaking to me now?” I taunt her. Wishing it my was my cock in her fist instead of that damn steering wheel. I slide back in my seat when I see the mile marker that puts us a few miles from the Canadian border. “Get into the right lane, we’re getting back into main traffic in Buffalo. Don’t get any fucking ideas, either, baby girl. Understand?” I wait until she nods before relaxing.

And although I don’t pocket my hunting knife, I do lower it and set it on my lap. After stretching my right arm over the back of the seat, I sigh and begin at a different angle, remembering Einstein’s words.

I chuckle, make eye connection with her briefly in the rearview mirror, flash the dimples, and then speak, “You wouldn’t believe how insane I’ve been going. Without you?” I chuckle a little harder and attempt eye contact again, “God, Lex. I don’t think I’ve really taken a breath since sending you that text, telling you about Summer and the baby.”

Anger, hot and fierce bolts through me when just the thought of Summer’s name enters my mind, and I have to grit my teeth to keep focus on the here and now.

Stupid cunt. Stupid, spoiled cunt. It wasn’t even
my
kid. It was Adam’s!

I almost beat her past the point of no return when I found out.

No, I almost fucking killed her. She can think her lucky stars that
idiot
, Adam Brighton showed up when he did, or I would’ve snapped her damn frail neck.

Before I can process that I’ve moved, much less what’s happened, I’m growling against Lexy’s face, right in her pretty fucking ear, “Take this fucking exit. If I don’t fuck you within the next fifteen minutes, I will lose any sanity I have left.” I let go of the control I have on the pressure of the knife at her throat. And in all honesty, if my mind wasn’t as blurred as my vision, I probably would’ve corrected that.

But on this sunny afternoon, ten minutes outside of Buffalo, New York, I didn’t.

I let it slide. I let it cut the surface of the tender skin, there just below her bounding pulse.

And for all of an entire minute, I drank in the high of having her,
all of her
, in the palm of hand, once again. I let it surge through me, like fickle faint hit after hit of the coke I’d taken in her absence.

I breathe in deeply through my nose and allow my eyes to roll back in my head as I utterly and
completely
revel in being the one whom maintains control of her once again.

Lexy is mine.

She’s so fucking mine.

And she doesn’t even realize it yet…

“The Holiday Inn, right here, on the right. I don’t give a shit how subpar the conditions are. This is fucking happening.” I grunt out the last few words around digging out two scarves from the bag I stowed in the back seat while she was in the doctor’s office.

Once I’ve got the first dark scarf tight around her neck…but not too tight, I loosely drape the heather gray one around it.

“Just button your blazer. That should keep everything so. If they ask, you don’t have any ID. You lost your purse or something. I have cash. Remember, I like to plan. Also, play your part here. Need I remind you, it isn’t just your life you’re fighting for today, baby girl?”

Yes…I flash my dimples. Then wink as she nods. “Good. Then out we go.”

I feel pride when my wife’s hand barely flinches as I pat it after looping it around my forearm. “Mrs. Dean, it’s been too long,” I whisper, looking into her petrified green eyes.

And I meant it…

It’d been too long, indeed.

The sun setting through the shitty curtains of the hotel room gives me just enough light to be able to trace the welts and beginning bruises I left across Lexy’s pale chubby frame.

She’s gained a lot weight since I last saw her. But it looks good on her, real good.

My phone vibrating on the bedside table pulls my attention away from my wife’s luscious, yet unconscious limp body.

After she first fainted, I thought she was faking…but after withstanding what she was made to withstand while I attempted to get her to show her hand without a peep?

Impossible.

She passed out. Very early on in our games, too.

And if she did come to during, I for certain didn’t notice, and she passed out quickly after, again.

I didn’t mean to go so far this time. Especially the first time.

Well, the first time since
him
. Since Rhett fucking Bennett decided to waltz into my life and take the shit hostage. Along with my wife.

I literally have to swallow the growl down to keep it from escaping my chest and possibly awaking her.

And yes. You read that correctly. I said ‘my wife’. That’s right, she is still just that. It isn’t hard to intercept the filing of divorce papers, especially when you filed them and you have money.

And where Rhett Bennett may have tried to take my life—my wife— I have more money than God. My parents’ parents are from old money. Rhett Bennett may have half way won the little game of chess where my wife was concerned, but my money doesn’t have emotions. My money doesn’t question what’s on the other side and if it’s any greener. My money has account numbers—that are mine.

And money, when you have it? Can practically move time.

Enough time to stop a divorce from becoming final, if need be.

I thumb open my phone and see a text from Drake.

It’s done. By the dosage calculations, if it isn’t the first dose of insulin, it’ll be the second. All in good time now, brother. All in good time.

I send a one word reply:

Excellent.

I set my phone back on the bedside table.

After I’m standing, I check the rope around Lexy’s wrists and ankles, making sure everything is secure, then make my way across the three feet of shitty carpet to the shitty hotel bathroom.

“Holiday Inn,” I mutter as I check the temp of the water. Once it’s a few degrees below scalding, I start stripping the rest of my clothes off.

It was hell trying to fumble with buttons and socks when we first came stumbling in the hotel room door.

It almost reminded me of our honeymoon.
Almost.

Our honeymoon wasn’t subpar, by any means. And she may have been a little more eager for me then, compared to now.

I chuckle and glance at myself in the mirror.

And if it weren’t for the seven rails of coke I laid out while I was lost in my thoughts, thinking about Lexy, I don’t think I would’ve liked the man looking back at me.

I can’t tell if it’s her blood or mine.

And, fuck when did my eyes get so bloodshot? I’m surprised—and a little appalled—the hotel desk clerk didn’t question anything between Lexy and I when we checked in.

I glance back at the wrinkled silk tailored suit pants and shirt on the shitty laminate hotel floor and try to remember if I put it on Friday or Saturday.

I drove until almost three am on Sunday after leaving work—but I can’t remember if my last day at work was Thursday or Friday.

My days seem to run together.

But thankfully when you have enough coke, it takes over and your run-a-long thoughts finally cease.

And then you’re in control again.

I redirect my thoughts back to last night with Lexy as I slide under the hot spray of the shower.

After my skin is thoroughly soaked, I run my fingers through my hair before leaning my forehead on my forearm bracing against the shitty little shower stall.

Then I begin stroking my cock.

And remembering…

I think back to the sight of her skin, turning pink welt after welt.

Mmm. Scratch after scratch.

My fist tightens around my cock. Pumping faster.

I can’t wait to see her reaction to the cuts. God. I cannot wait.

The shit I got myself into when I came back to LA practically with my tail between my legs, accepting the
exact
same position as the one I left.

Only
lateral
. Whatever that means.

The doors that open for you when you’re
supposedly
newly divorced, and you have the type of access I have, are significant to say the least. And the brands of sex that are associated with the goings on behind those doors, along with the crowd one frequents to procure a regular stash of grade A cocaine—hopefully you’re getting a picture.

Hopefully you’re finally fully grasping the Hell my life was in that time without Lexy.

While I was
conveniently
relocated by Summer and her father.