Stricken Resolve (21 page)

“I have an idea, lover man; you put that gun
down and I’ll let you fuck my ass before I fuck you. If not, I will
take that gun with force if necessary and you’ll be the one who’s
my bitch when my dick is shoved up your asshole and I rip its
virginity apart. Your choice.” He’s calmer than anybody I’ve ever
met in this situation. His voice is level, unfluctuating, face
blank except for a dark smirk. Eyes glisten with the craziness I
knew he had somewhere but haven’t gotten the chance to experience
until now. I was stupid to think he was even slightly normal.

“Nope, you are going to leave and I’m going
to go take a shower.” I hold my stance.

And that does it. He grabs the barrel of the
gun and a roundhouse kick hits me in my stomach and I stumble back,
and the gun flies across the room. I’ll give him props; he can
deliver one hell of a kick. The women are huddled naked on the bed.
Gonzales gives me this nod, telling me it’s okay to do what I know
I have to do.

Another kick comes at me and I block this one
with my forearm and grab his foot, twisting it so hard he loses his
balance and hits the floor with a thud. But that doesn’t stop him;
he presses his hands to the floor above his head and does a kip-up
to stand. Smooth, guess you’ve been well trained. Good thing I have
too.

Fists start flying. Him landing a good one on
my shoulder as I pound my left into his gut and my right comes
crashing down on this exposed penis. Instantly he grabs himself and
takes a quick knee. Giving me enough time to dive for the gun on
the floor and I fire. My bullet blowing a clean hole straight
through the middle of his forehead and he’s gone. Dead. Finito, and
my ears are left ringing from discharging in such a small
space.

Realization quickly hits his wife and she
starts to scream; her husband is dead. Gonzales holds her and I
grab the phone from my pocket, leaving the babbling wife for
Gonzales to deal with and call Brewer. I peer down at Mike’s
crumpled body on floor in a pile of bright red blood. His brains
scattered in clumps all over the room. Even some landing on the
bed.

“Yeah? James?”

“Mike, Dr. D, Landers, has been eliminated,”
I tell him and all he does is sigh.

“When’d you kill him?” He doesn’t sound
mad.

Does this not surprise him?

“About two minutes ago. Tried to talk me into
screwing him. Literally.” My voice is level; I feel better. Somehow
a weight has been lifted from me. And it doesn’t even phase me to
see a dead man lying on the ground and my socks soaking up his
blood. It’s not my first rodeo.

A sharp, full-bodied laugh roars through the
receiver and I roll my eyes. Of course the pervert man whore
himself would think this is funny.

“I’m glad you find this humorous. What do you
want me to do? The wife is still here.”

That revelation sombers him up real quick.
“I’ll make a call and I’ll have a clean-up crew over in twenty and
the FBI in ten, to take the wife into questioning.”

“And?”

“And, what?”

“What about me? I just killed a man I was
supposed to
investigate,
not murder.”

“Ah…oh well… you did what you had to. That’s
why we changed your identities before you moved in next to them. So
if somebody got killed it would be Wade Carter as the murderer, not
Calvin James. And the government can’t arrest somebody who doesn’t
actually exist.”

These evil conniving men.

“You hired me so I’d do just that. Didn’t
you?”

“I’m not giving away my all secrets. Let’s
just say I knew you were the man for the job. And since you were
busy with this other safe link BS, I figured. Ah—why not send him
in.”

Great…I’m another pawn in this big government
system.

We talk for a few more minutes, and when I
hang up, I get naked in the same room dead Mike is lying in and
throw my clothes next to him, besides my boxers. I leave those on.
I can’t show these women what I’ve got in my pants. It’s not
pretty. It’s scarred and gruesome. That’s what I’d call it
anyhow.

I open the front door wide for the incoming
traffic just before I hit the stairs to take a nice hot shower and
wash the past twenty four hours away.

At least killing that psycho will bode well
for my mental evaluation the little doctor lady assessed today.
Vivid dreams- check, Angry- check, Aggressive- check, Not following
orders- check-check, Killing a man, because of his issues, that all
stem back to leaving his children and woman- Triple check.

Chapter Thirteen

~Emily~

“You going to get that sexy ass of yours out
of that bedroom, Miss Emily Bronwyn? Or do I have to come in and
drag you out by your hair, myself?” Stacy, my all adoring and
completely pain in the ass best friend yells, from the other side
of my bedroom door. I’m just finishing up my walk through of my
bedroom, grabbing my little teddy bear stuffed animal that James
gave me around a vase of flowers in the hospital and my Papa Bear's
pillow to sleep on. Just as I’ve done since I moved back home from
the hospital.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, hold those gay ass
horses of yours!” I tease, yelling back loud enough, so he’ll get
the picture. We are t-minus ten minutes, till the buses pull from
the lot. It’s tour time! I know I’ve been so depressed lately with
James leaving me but I am so excited to be heading out on the open
road with two different tour buses this time. I get to work and I
haven’t done that in a very long time. This past week I’ve packed
everything for the twins, helped moderate the crews we hired and
the special effects companies we are using for this short tour. A
tour that sold out in exactly three minutes online. How cool is
that?

Throwing open my door, I come face-to-face
with my too-handsome-for-his-own-good bestie. All sexified, in his
worn jeans, brown leather flip-flops and a fitted white tee. Which
of course gives him that sexy surfer guy look, thanks to his shaggy
dirty blonde locks.

“Damn girlfriend, you look hot,” he observes
with admiration, his pretty blue eyes taking in my newest fashion
statement. I figured new tour, new wardrobe. Rocker style,
baby.

So… I’m— how do you say it? Flashin’ my new
sexy duds. Oh fuck, I dunno.

Anyhow, I’m wearing jeans. Yes, I am rocking
my body out in some damn jeans. I used to hate these things. Not
anymore. When all you wear is a jonnie, for what feels like a
lifetime, you gather a much broader perspective and appreciate
things you didn’t used to. Jeans included. I’m also sporting a
super tight, blue Teddy Ruxpin t-shirt. It’s super cute and cost me
next to nothing.

Since I’ve been basically living off of
protein shakes and fruit, I’ve lost most of my baby weight.
Depression does that to a girl, when she’s without her better half.
The only real thing my body will never lose is these massive mommy
marks covering my entire stomach and the surgical scar. All of
which I am totally fine with keeping. I like having them. It’s a
constant reminder that I have Eric and Jenna and I’d never want to
change that.

Speaking of Eric and Jenna.

“Stace, are the babies all ready?”

“Yes, Johnathan’s got them both in the bus,
tucked into their own little cribs.”

Surprisingly enough, Johnathan ordered
another tour bus since our posse has expanded to include five new
people. Eric, Jenna, Cammy, Dylan and sometimes Kyle, if he tags
along in the next few weeks. The tour is only three weeks long with
a total of six shows. That’s all Stacy could fit in, on such short
notice. Vegas is the first and today’s Monday, but the show isn’t
until Wednesday. We get a whole day in Vegas to visit, but I don’t
think I’ll be doing much of that, because Davis has to be sucked to
my hip at all times, along with this man named Brady. He’s the new
guy. Who doesn’t look much older than I am, or wide enough to
protect much of anything. He’s maybe five-eight and weighs as much
as a Doberman. Ok, maybe that’s a tad harsh. What I meant to say
is, he’s really scrawny. If you can imagine, it doesn’t make me
feel very secure.

Stacy leads the way out of the back sliding
door of the house and locks it up, once I’m past him. Now trailing
me, my arms carrying the last few things I need to take with us on
tour, I make my way out the back gate and into the large lot where
two huge buses are parked. The new one is red with silver with
black metallic accents and word
Stricken
is written on both
sides in huge letters. Jonathan might as well have written;
stalk this bus; it has famous people inside
. That would have
probably given us less problems than showcasing the name how it is
now. It’s an open invitation to follow us from one stop to the
next. I wish he would have thought of that when he did the ordering
and not left Stacy to do it, like Stacy was supposed to. But
Johnathan sort of beat him to the punch.

Inside, I throw the bear, pillow and anything
else I need to into my bunk and take a seat on the black wrap
around, tufted back, leather couch. The can lights illuminate me
from the ceiling as I take in the kitchen with its sleek black
cupboards with chrome accents. There’s a massive flat screen and in
the back is the bedroom that I refused to inhabit. Johnathan is the
singer and I’m the co-manager. I don’t deserve a bedroom. The cribs
for the babies are built-in, in his bedroom, along the right side
wall. The head of his full sized bed adorning the opposite one.
Cammy’s bunk is across the aisle from mine and Dylan is below her.
Stacy is above me and Davis below. The final bunk is for the diver,
Stan. It’s a full house for us.

“Well hello, you finally made it. I thought
you’d never come,” Johnathan torments, exiting his bedroom, closing
the door behind him. Dirty diaper in hand, he makes his way into my
main living quarters and tosses it into the hidden trash
receptacle.

Cool.

“I had to get a few things. I was not late,”
I snap, playfully shaking my finger at him.

“Really?” He fake looks at his wrist that has
no watch. “Looks like we had to push back the departure time thirty
minutes, for the likes of you. I swear sometimes I don’t know what
I see in you. You’re such a pest. Maybe I should have fired you
long ago.” He smirks and chuckles, plopping down beside me on the
couch. Stretching back, he sprawls his arms out on either side of
him, lying them on the top of the couch. I swear, he’s such a
dumbass sometimes. Ha—who am I kiddin’? He’s a dumbass,
most
of the time.

“Yep, probably should have. If I had half a
brain I would have murdered you and dumped your body in the ocean
for the shit you say to me. But…” I turn my head fluttering my
eyelashes like an idiot with a wide grin. “I happen to love you for
some god-awful reason.” I stick my tongue out at him and lean over,
resting my head on his shoulder.

Yes, I am actually getting along with mister
misogynist. Who would have guessed it? Right….

The night my parents left I fell into this
deeper vat of depression. It felt like I was losing more control
over my life, even if I’m not—for the most part anyhow. And that
same day I told Johnathan I couldn’t be with him. Like ever, ever.
Not a maybe. Not a sort of. A, no way, José. And for whatever
reason he’s given me my space to breathe and in turn, I’m getting
more comfortable around him. All because the way he now treats me,
showing me he’s not trying to get into my pants or woo me back into
loving him. It’s like a switch was flipped that emotional day on
the beach.

Then that night another switch was flipped. I
cried all night to Mariah Carey and N’sync. The next day I followed
the same routine of crying and taking care of the babies. Steeping
in a big ol’ vat of misery, dipped in suck and wrapped up in a
crusty coating of
what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you-Emily-quit-being-a-big-baby.

Three days I lived in that world. On the
fourth day, which was this past Wednesday, I started in again,
ready to start my day the same way. Only to have my door off of its
hinges when I got out of bed. My iPod and the dock it sits on, was
missing. And I found Stacy sitting with Kyle and Johnathan on the
living room couches, right around the corner of my first floor
bedroom. I went to rip them another asshole. But when I sat down
they had other plans. I was basically put through depression boot
camp. I was threatened if I didn’t straighten up and try to move
on, they were going to make sure I got medicated. They forced me to
eat an entire sandwich and a glass of juice in front of them. I
couldn’t even pick off the crust.

By the end of the two hour heart-to-heart, I
left feeling good, emotionally drained, but good. And I told myself
I was going to get myself out of this funk. I was going to make the
most of life and enjoy the things I do have, not dwell on the
things I don’t. Even if I don’t like that I don’t have James. Ok, I
fucking hate it with every single cell in my body. But I refuse to
whine anymore, or cry anymore. Well maybe I do cry sometimes.
However, it’s not as bad as it once was. I am moving forward. I am
taking my stand to become an amazing mom and I’m going to kick some
serious ass helping with this short tour. To show everyone that you
can be hurt and stomped on, but you can still have the strength to
move on and move forward. I’ve experienced more pain and stress in
my life these past nine or so months, than I have in my entire
life. Although… in turn, I’ve also felt the most love and joy that
any one person should feel blessed to have felt even once in their
lifetime. Love without pain is impossible, for you must know one to
enjoy the other. And I’ve learned that many times over, the hard
way.

***

“Stacy, I got it,” I yell, over the deafening
roar of over sixteen thousands fans as I run around the substantial
backstage here at the MGM Grand indoor Garden Arena. I’m bobbin’
and weavin’ my way in and out of roadies, instruments, wires,
speakers…. you name it. All so I can find the guys that I know are
lounging in the green room, which is in the back. I have to give
them an update and make sure D knows we will be setting up his new
drums. Not the old purple ones.