Cold-Blooded Beautiful (5 page)

“You’re going to end up with pneumonia, Kade…” I stood up to reach my hands out to him to try to warm him, but he stepped away.

“How would you feel, Sam, if everybody knew that fact
but you
?  If I hid it from you, along with a whole closet full of bloody secrets.  It makes me feel all bloody warm and cuddly inside when you lie to me,
said no one, ever
.”

I opened the patio doors of the house for him to walk inside, and watched in fear, as the warmth wracked shivers up his body so violently that he needed to lean against the wall for help.  “Take off your clothes, Kade.”

Slumping against the wall, he stood watching me, his soaking clothes pooling a large lake of icy water around his sneakers.  “You’ve gutted me with worry today, and you want to
fuck?
”

Idiot.  I lunged at him, yanked the heavy wet material of his shirt over his head, and began pulling down his running pants, “Yeah, Kade.  I cherish the idea of jabbing an icicle inside my body right now.”  I tried to calm myself by taking a deep breath, but my challenging rage got the better of me, as it seemed to always do when I’m with Kade. “In all your glorious-brilliant-idiocy, did you ever stop to think that maybe I’m stripping you of your clothing because I don’t want you to freeze to death?”  I finally got all of the sopping clothes off and dropped them heavily into the kitchen sink.  I dragged him to the den where a fire was burning and wrapped him in whatever blankets I could find, and tossed a pair of warm flannel pants at him.  I put on a pot of water for tea, and within a few minutes, placed a steaming cup of tea laced with a bit of his favorite brandy in front of him.  “Drink it,” I whispered.

The hard muscles of his jaw tightened and flexed beneath the skin, as he brought the cup to his lips.  I watched his throat move as he swallowed, and found myself wanting to tangle my body with his and fuck this fight away.  It’s what we always did when our emotions became too intense. When the truth of our pasts became to heavy to bear, we slipped easily into each other and blocked out the world. 
We couldn’t keep doing this to each other, could we? 
I felt the skin of my face burn when his eyes fixed unblinkingly on mine.

“Do you even understand how you make me feel when I see you blush like that?  You need to tell me what’s going on. Tell me
something
, babe.  I can’t do this anymore, this sick twisted worrying, I need more of the story.”  The sad smile he offered me pulled at my insides, “I don’t want half of you, or bits and pieces, baby.  I bloody want all of you.”

In the reflection of his smoky grey eyes, I saw myself surrender.  It was bittersweet.  I cherished being able to tell him my problems, to find comfort in him. I knew with every truth I would tell, it would become an open festering wound on him that would never heal.  Kade had enough of his own scars to deal with, but I had to give him something, he was right.

It was hard for me to begin, hard for me to repeat. It was hard for me to
believe
.  I was ashamed, because I never thought anything like that could happen to someone like me.  It made me feel weak.  I didn’t even know where to begin.  There was no starting point, was there? 

There was no point at all. 

I could still feel the rope tightening around my neck. My husband David brought me to the gallows, carried me up and let the lynch mob have at me.  He’d tied me to my own funeral pyre and set it aflame, all while laughing, as he watched the fire lick at my skin.  He had signed my name to papers, and built
an entire corporation
that I would never have allowed to be in existence, setting up and framing me for something I’d never do. The bridal veil of my wedding day was a beautiful veil of illusions. He never loved me.  Not ever.  Not one ounce.

I tried to explain the experience of being married to David.  It’s easy to remember too, because all I have to do is close my eyes, and my nightmares play as if there’s an IMAX theater behind my lids.

When I got home from my last deployment, my father pulled his puppet strings, and immediately, I was in the trauma unit at New York Presbyterian Hospital, where I met Doctor David Stanton.  He was controlling, vicious, dangerous, sadistic, and extremely manipulative.  Competitive with me and my career, but I didn’t see any of these things until later, until after.  Until after the blonde in the hospital, the one with the blood red heels. 

That day, when I found the note, what she had written and the things I found on the computer, it turned me into a stalker.  I’m sorry. You may think it immature or infantile, but if the words that woman whispered in my ear didn’t suddenly make
you
an expert in reconnaissance on your husband and his mistress, you’re a better person than I am. I knew my behavior wasn’t normal. It wasn’t something an intelligent woman with a medical degree would do, but it was something that a broken hearted woman did, one that wanted the truth.  So, in my crowning moment of most awesomeness, I hid behind the steering wheel of my car, jacket wrapped over my head and eyes peeking out, watching and waiting. 

The blonde woman was so easy to find too. All I had to do was step foot outside the hospital and there she was, smiling and swaying her ass at one of the new resident doctors. 
Great, she’s a medical groupie, one of those nutrient starved minds who try to hook a doctor for the prestige and money they could gain, instead of working for it
.  Okay, maybe she wasn’t nutrient deprived, but the fact was, she wasn’t Mensa material, and that’s for sure.  What mistress in their right mind would go and tell the wife all of their secrets?  How would
that
get him back? 
Okay, let’s be honest here. Of course, I’m going to call her stupid and nutrient deprived, because she was telling me she was sleeping with my husband, and that’s not a person you’re going to think lovely-yay-the-world-is-so-beautiful things about.  No, you’re going to rub their name around in the mud, sling it all over the place, and dirty it up to make you feel better about getting your heart broken.  Truth.  Right then in my head, she was an evil, sexual predator that sunk her gold-digging talons into my husband’s cock, and was sucking him dry.

Grasping my steering wheel as if I was strangling someone’s freaking esophagus, I followed her home.  I hated her instantly.  From the stupid perfect way her salon-style hair blew in the wind, to the way her stilettos
didn’t
tremble awkwardly as she walked like mine did if I tried to wear them.  I hated that she looked so perfect, like a perfect porn star specimen, compared to the frump-styled bookworm nerd that I was. 

I was never a violent person, but I
really
wanted to watch her being hit by a bus, and yes, I am ashamed of thinking that, but I did, and images of her flat on the ground instead of ‘
riding my husband with her Triple P status
’, made me feel a lot better.

I followed her all the way to a tiny apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, and sat outside in my car as if I was on an episode of a new reality TV show,
Whorehunters
. 
I know I sound mean and petty, but it’s a natural thought process to blame the mistress, and not the husband first. If you don’t believe me, you’re lucky to never have felt it, then good on you, go hug your significant other.
 
Mine is a devious, soul sucking, small dicked bastard, and his mistress is a whore.  Period
.

Then in a rash moment of morbid insanity, I rang her bell and invited myself in for some decaf coffee.  Again, please remember, I was pregnant, emotional, hormonal, and hurt. There were no plans, no set thoughts.  I just
went and did
, as if my life had gone on autopilot. I just went there and rang her bell, as if it was no big deal.

Aurora
was more than happy to tell me all about their sordid affair, and completed the experience with a high definition video of her riding my husband like a fucking bronco bull, while someone else plugged up her various other orifices.  She was also, somehow, hogtied.  I knew David was occasionally into bondage and playing the dominant role
lightly
, but what I saw was pure sadistic.  Not only did he enjoy hurting her (at one point, his entire arm was inserted
somewhere
up to his
elbow
), he ended the video by forcing the other man to excrete a bowel movement on her chest. 
Yes, you just read that right
.  It’s okay to cringe, because it’s definitely cringe-worthy. Gag a little if you have to.
I was a freaking trauma surgeon
and it was the most disgusting thing I’d ever seen. My face was in Aurora’s bathroom sink, instantly purging anything and everything from my stomach, while my husband’s mistress rubbed my aching back, trying somehow to soothe me.  The entire time, she smiled and giggled like what she just showed me brought back fond memories for her.  Now, I’m not one to judge people on their sexual desires, and if that got Aurora off, then that’s just awesome for her, but
my husband
?  He was so controlled and soft with me, almost to the point of me feeling a bit bored with my sex life, but what I saw in that video was like another person.

Everything I had ever thought about my husband was a lie.  Everything.  We had been married for less than six months. We had one of those fast whirlwind courtships that lasted a year before we were married.  I thought I knew him.  I thought all wrong.  I had been married to an extremely talented liar.  Not once in our entire relationship, did I even have a glimmer of suspicion of him carrying on a secret affair. There wasn’t even a speck of guilt I could remember, and no strange warnings or dubious actions that I was aware of.

I wasn’t a naïve little idiot in denial, no, he was just that damn good at it.

That night, when his shift was over, he walked into our penthouse with all the televisions playing the video of them fucking.  He laughed like it was a brilliant joke.

“Divorce,” was the only word I could say.

“No, thank you,” was his reply.

He sauntered into our bedroom and undressed, pulling this and that out of his drawers. I didn’t pay attention.  The pretty little sky in my world was crumbling, raining down fake blue shards of glass that pierced my heart and instantly made me hate him. 
Fuck him and his no thank you
.  I didn’t need him.  I didn’t need any man.  And I certainly didn’t want a man that had a whole secret life that had nothing to do with me. 

So, while his ego filled the room and his peacock feathers spread out, I smiled to myself and pulled out my duffel bag and started packing
my
belongings.  He could have the penthouse apartment and furniture, the knickknacks and photos, the towels and every other material thing that was there.  I just wanted my dignity.

But that wasn’t enough for him.

“Do you want to know who else I fucked?” He asked, walking closer to me.  He stood over me, so close and menacingly. I immediately looked him dead in the eyes. I wasn’t going to cower.  Yeah, me, not the cowering type.  “I fucked someone in the bathroom at our dinner party last week while you served our guests cocktails and hors d’oeuvres.  I loved those little toasted shrimp things, by the way.” He laughed, then leaned his head down and whispered into my ear, “You heard me grunting and moaning and asked if I was okay, didn’t you?”  He smiled.  “It makes me hard as fucking hell to think that you’re going to wonder who it was I was fucking up against your bathroom wall, while you were a few feet away.  The next time we go out together, or maybe the next time we’re at a hospital function, you’ll wonder if the woman across from you whispering into another’s ear is gossiping to her friends about how big your husband’s cock is.”

“Yeah, not going to happen.  You see, I’m walking out that front door over there.” I made sure to dramatically point to it, in case he didn’t have the brain function to comprehend me.  “And when I do, I will
never
… Let me say it clearer…
NEVER
give you another thought.
Oh, and your dick isn’t big at all
.”

“I didn’t even wash them off my skin before I sunk my dick inside you,” he seethed. 

I vomited.  I vomited violently in front of him and he laughed.  “You make me sick,” I spit the words out with the last of the bile, and wiped my mouth clean with the edge of the bedspread that I would also be leaving to him.

Out of nowhere, the palm of his hand lay into my face like an oncoming freight train and left a wave of pain and fresh blood inside my mouth.  “You don’t get to speak to me like that,” he barked, raising his hand to hit me again.  Immediately, my fists were up ready to block another hit, one to protect my face, another to protect my unborn child.

“I’m not afraid of you, David.  And, I’m not one of your little collared whores who will submit to you.  If you want someone to heel to your will, buy a damn dog.  I’m leaving.”  Leaning on the bed, I straightened up, fists clenched and itching to hit him, but I needed to protect my baby.  I was pregnant. I needed to be in a safe place, away from that animal.  “And if you ever hit me again, I
will
fight back.”

Just as I reached the door, I heard
it
.  The unmistakable sound of a magazine being pressed into its mag-well with a harsh metallic
clack
.  The racking of the slide, as a bullet slid into the chamber.  Metal glided against metal and clicked.  It’s a sound that makes you stop, makes you paralyzed with finality, as you wait for the shot.  For me though, it’s a sound that I turned my head towards, so I could look the ass-maggot in the eyes.

David’s Glock was steady, aimed right for my head.  The only thing I could think about was my baby inside of me, and protecting her.  I needed to talk my way out of this.  “David…”

“You are
my
wife. 
I own you
.  I know every little thing about you, your fears, your wants and needs.  I know what makes you dripping wet, Samantha.  You like it when I make you dripping wet, right, Sam?  You can’t go anywhere, Sam.  If you do, I will fucking find you.  I will hunt you down like a fucking deer and shoot you right between the eyes.  Are you afraid of me now?”