Killing You Softly Page 4

  “Painting. It’s your niche.” He presses his warm lips on my forehead.

  I watch him move away from the bed to continue to undress in his side of the walk-in closet. It’s ten-thirty at night, so next I know he will be taking a hot shower, then climbing in bed with me.

  I divide my attention between the flat screen TV that automatically lifts from the chest against the wall in front of the bed, and Vic undressing. The man is a delicious sight to behold. Dressed and undressed. That’s not why I’m looking in his direction. I want to see where he places his cellphones. Each phone is easy for me to differentiate by the color of their case: black, blue, red. All three of them: personal phone, business phone, and Code Red phone. The Code Red phone is one I haven’t heard ring in the eleven years I’ve been with Vic.

  “I’m going to fanculo the hell out of you when I get out of the shower. Be prepared,” Vic says, snapping my head back towards his naked glory. That’s an Italian phrase, if you’re wondering. Despite my head’s refusal, my body hums with anticipation from his promise. His sexy pale butt cheeks greet me as he enters the bathroom suite.

  The sound of the shower running has me practically springing from the bed. He left his phones lined up atop his dresser. It may be surprising to you that a man that is so tightlipped about his personal life has a personal phone. It’s the one I call him on most. And probably his other wives. And, his parents. Yes, they do exist. Though I’ve never met them. I have no clue where in this big world they live. Once, when Vic and I were out to dinner, he’d inadvertently left his personal phone on the table when he’d left to handle a call on his business cellphone. A call came in on his personal phone and I just couldn’t resist. To my utter amazement – because up until that point he’d never mentioned them – his mother was on the line, with his dad in the background, wanting to speak to her Nathan. YES! That’s Vic’s real first name. I still don’t know his actual surname. And I’ve never told him his mother made that accidental slip when I answered his phone, not that I think she knew not to. His mother was surprised to hear me answer her only child’s phone. And for two full minutes she gave me a small nugget of who Vic – I mean Nathan – was as a child. Her little genius who was talking clearly and in full sentences at the age of two. She wanted grandkids pronto and said she hoped I was the woman to help make that happen. Before Vic pulled the phone from my ear when he returned to the table and realized I was talking to his mother, she said he had to bring me to visit during his next trip. He never has.

  I pick up his personal phone and quickly type in his code. Yes. I know the code to his personal phone. Well, I know what it is now because I pretended like I wasn’t looking last week when he plugged it in one day when we were eating breakfast. He changes his codes monthly. Damn. That alone should have told me he was hiding a whole lot from me. But four other wives?

  I keep my ear alert for the sound of the shower. My thumb frantically dances over the keys, going to his contacts in search for Jahana.

  Oh my living God! Jahana’s name and contact info pops up. I’m staring at it in total unbelief. I was looking for it – but actually seeing it has me frozen. The water in the shower shuts off. I quickly send the contact info to my phone. Then I delete it having been sent from his phone. I place his personal cellphone right back where I found on the dresser. As quietly as I can I get back into bed and try to appear inconspicuous for when he steps out of the bathroom.

  My venom for Vic returns in spades. Despite my internal battle of why his deception troubles me so much – I allow him to have his way with my body, as I do his. Because I desperately need tension released from me before I take his life when he sleeps.

  Chapter 6

  CASS

  I have Jahana’s name and number right here in my cellphone, but I don’t know what to do with it. What would be my purpose for contacting her? What outcome am I seeking?

  “Cass.” My eyes lift from my phone to Jade taking her seat across from me in the sandwich shop we decided to meet at for lunch. “Thanks for agreeing to have lunch before class.”

  It’s the week after I’d first met Jade at paint and sip. And like I’d promised, I told her we can meet up for lunch before the next class. She had texted me a few days ago, reminding me of such – so here I am. Trying to have some female companionship.

  “It wasn’t a problem. Thanks for the invite.” I slip my cellphone into my purse.

  “Do you, like, have flexible work hours where you’re available during the middle of the day to take long lunches for paint class and such?”

  This is why I don’t have many friends. Especially with people that aren’t a part of what I do for Vic. Too many personal questions. When I’m doing a job I’m in character and don’t have to reveal much. I’m not Cass. Here and now – even though I still have to keep up a front to protect my identity – I am Cass. There’s no makeup, there’s no accent, there’s no role I have to play. I don’t have the time to keep up with the false truths I have to reveal to people.

  For the sake of trying, I reply. “It’s a part time job. I have lots of flexibility.”

  “Oh good! I don’t get girls time much, I hope you won’t mind us hanging out on a regular basis.” She comes on pretty strong. If she was a dude I would be totally turned off. I guess being cooped up with little kids all day can do that to you.

  “We’ll see. As my schedule permits.” I’m not agreeing to anything definite.

  “Sorry if I’m being a bit pushy. You just…you don’t come across as one of those snobbish, pretentious women who only gossip about each other. I’ve been in that circle before and it’s not for me. And now that my kids are both in school fulltime – I just want to get back to meeting new friends and doing things for me.”

  I can’t fault her for that. She also hit the nail on the head of one of the reasons I don’t have female friends. I probably would slit the throat of every woman in the group she described.

  I push my chair back and stand. “Let’s get in line to order our lunches, friend.”

  Jade’s blank face is staring at me. After comprehending my words, a smile forms on her freckled face. She must have thought I was walking out. “Let’s get lunch.” She steps alongside me as we get in line.

  We enjoy lunch, then paint and sip where we paint a city skyline. Jade isn’t so bad. And after a few hours of lunch and painting, she’s starting to grow on me.

  Vic isn’t home when I arrive back at three-thirty, which is just fine with me. The balance of like – hate that I have for him is becoming exhausting.

  Not knowing where to hang my new painting, I leave it on the table in the middle of the entry way next to a large floral arrangement. Upstairs in our bedroom, I slip out of my Chucks, then walk to my side of the walk-in closet and shimmy out of my jeans, leaving it on the chaise that is situated in the middle of the closet. I keep my ankle socks and plain t-shirt on.

  Comfortable in bed, I absentmindedly click the switch to allow the flat screen TV to automatically rise out of the hidden compartment in the chest along the wall in front of the bed. Cellphone in hand, I busy myself going to my email app. I don’t check it often because most of the emails I receive are junk. An email from my gynecologist, Dr. Keller, sent yesterday, gets my attention. The email is to inform me that my tests pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases came back negative. Part of the stipulation of being married to Vic, was that I had to agree to frequent examination and testing and to stay on contraceptives. He told me he didn’t want to bring any kids into the lifestyle he lived. And with my jacked-up childhood – I readily agreed. Vic and I never used condoms. So, knowing each other’s STD status was a no brainer. Now, however, I understand more why he required the frequent STD testing. Though I’m faithful in this sham of a marriage – he has four other willing pairs of legs to open for him whenever he wants them to.

  I cringe. I guess it’s good to know he hasn’t gotten me sick.

  I know Dr. Keller gave Vic a copy of my results, t
here’s no need for me to forward the email to him. An attachment to the email she sent me shows that Vic is negative for STD’s too.

  I scroll down through my emails, checking to see if there’s any other that require my attention. My thumb hovers over my phone when another email grabs my attention.

  From: YourworstnightmareBitch@ymail.com

  Subject: Leave your husband…

  Message: Or die!

  Blood boils in my veins as I read over the email. I take threats very seriously and everything in my gut tells me this email isn’t a hoax.

  I hit reply.

  To: YourworstnightmareBitch@ymail.com

  Subject: Be a big girl…

  Message: And tell me that to my face. Cunt!

  To my surprise, I get a reply back within seconds.

  From: YourworstnightmareBitch@ymail.com

  Subject: Be careful…

  Message: What you ask for.

  I refuse to go back and forth via email with whoever the coward is on the other side. And this person can be just about anyone, considering the life Vic and I live. My first thought is it could be one of Vic’s wives.

  Impulsively, I go to my contacts and hit call under Vic’s African wife, Jahana’s, name..

  She answers on the third ring. “Hello,” her thick African accent is prominent.

  I don’t know if she’s the culprit. But my anger is too far ahead of me to care. “Threatening me via email over my husband is child’s play. Let us handle this like women. My continent or yours?”

  Jahana laughs heartedly. “So, there is a voice to match: YourworstnightmareBitch@ymail.com. I must say I thought the email I received from you three days ago was a joke. I didn’t even bother to respond until yesterday. You take to calling my phone with your mindless threat…”

  She isn’t the one that sent the email. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t her. Which means there’s three other possible suspects: Japanese, German, or Italian wife.

  “…I’m a trained killer and very good at what I do. So be careful with your threats. And as far as my husband is concerned. You can have him all to yourself without me batting an eye. No need to fight over him,” Jahana continues.

  “Looks like we both received the same threat.”

  “Ahh, you’re his American wife, aye?”

  “Yes. Do you know anything about the others?”

  “Not much. I suspected Sage had other wives. I only see him thirty days, more or less, out of the year. It’s obvious he had other women taking care of his physical needs. I asked him once and he admitted to it. It was only four of us at the time. You, I found out about right after he married you.”

  Seems I’m the only one kept in the dark. And Sage – Vic obviously uses a different alias for all of us wives. “Do you have names and country of residence for the other wives?”

  “If I did, after that mindless threat, I would’ve blown all your brains out not caring which one of you were the culprit. Not over Sage, of course, but because my life is worth more than dying over a man.”

  I grit my teeth. She and I are on the same page about that. “Have you told V…Sage about the threat?”

  Jahana laughs. “No. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself. Besides, I wouldn’t want to pull him from his American wife’s bed sooner than he wants to. I’m not on his rotation for another few months.” I can hear the bite of jealously in her thick accent. “Besides, if one of the wives wants us dead, I’m positive you’re the main target since you monopolize his time… rest in peace, bitch!”

  If I could reach through this phone, I would cut her tongue out. A cloak of rage covers my body. “Have you wondered how I got your number, Jahana?” I taunt.

  Silence.

  “For all you know, I can be right outside with a target pointed right between your brown eyes.”

  Silence.

  “Wat gebeur, Kat jou tong?” I just asked her, ‘Cat got your tongue?’, in Afrikaans, a South African language I suspect she understands. I’m not fluent in other languages besides English, but I’m familiar with a few words and phrases.

  “I don’t love, Sage. I don’t care if he never comes to visit me. I’m happy with a man that loves me. Sage only needs me to kill people that threaten his organization. Other than that, I’m nothing to him.” Fear is evident in her voice. Good.

  “That was just a friendly reminder not to mess with me, Jahana. I only give those once.” I click end to the call and fling my cellphone across the bed.

  Footsteps on the marble floor below let me know Vic is home. I get off the bed and go into the walk-in closet to pull on my jeans. I’m down the stairs in seconds.

  “You need to tell your concubines I don’t take too kindly to threats. Or I swear to God—” Neil with his interfering ass steps in front of me as I’m charging towards Vic.

  Vic gives a terse command for Neil to move out of my way. “What seems to be the problem, dear?” He’s standing in the doorway of his office.

  His cool as a cucumber demeanor while I’m burning hot is pissing me off further. “One of your suki emailed me threating to kill me if I don’t leave you. And, quite frankly, they don’t have to threaten my life to get me to leave your deceitful zhopa.” Russian terms. I’ll let you use your imagination for the meanings.

  Vic’s green eyes darken, not in passion, in anger. “Let me see the email,” he demands.

  “I forwarded it to you already.”

  He pulls his personal phone out of the pocket of his suit jacket. I watch him read the email. “I’ll handle this.” His jaw ticks with rage.

  “Who are they, Vic? Or shall I say, Sage? I have a right to know which one of those psychos is threatening to kill me. I have a right to know who I’m up against so I can be prepared.”

  Vic’s eyes narrow to slits, zeroing in on me. I’m pushing a nerve. Good. “I. Said. I. Will. Handle. This.” He grits through his teeth.

  “You better! And I’m leaving. I should have left two months ago when I found out about the others.” I turn to walk away but Vic’s strong grip on my arm halts my retreat.

  “You’re not leaving me, Cass. I said I will handle this.”

  I look at his fingers curled over my arm then I turn my gaze on his face. “Who’s going to stop me?” I have two hulking men beside me and I’m being a pistol. I’m pretty sure Neil won’t hesitate to shoot me. I won’t hesitate cutting off his nuts either.

  “Don’t tempt me. You’re my wife, you can’t just walk away. You can’t ever just leave me.” His hand falls from my arm. “And there’s a ghost I need done in Arizona.”

  “Get one of those other wives to handle it. I’m OUT!” I’m not going to be his flunky anymore. For so many years I allowed myself to be at his beck and call because he took me out of the hell of a life I lived, into paradise. But no more.

  This time, Neil blocks my path as I try to go to the stairs.

  “Cass, dear. You’re upset, I understand that. I promise you I will handle this empty threat, there’s no need to be concerned.” Vic steps behind me and places his hand at the small of my back. Damn my treacherous body for molding into his palm. Neil disappears. “You’re more important to me than any of them. I won’t allow anyone to harm you.” He kisses my neck. I should be running like a bat flying out of hell but I’m weak when it comes to this man. “You’re my favorite.” So pitifully weak.

  Damn you Vic for being my savior.

  Chapter 7

  CASS

  A couple of weeks later, I’m sitting in front of a mirror heavily disguising myself with make-up for another ghost in Arizona. I hope it doesn’t melt away the moment I step into the hot climate of this dry state.

  “You’ve been ignoring me, Cass,” Cage’s deep voice rumbles from behind me. I saw his text message a moment ago, letting me know he was coming into my hotel room.

  I sigh loudly. “I can’t pretend like you didn’t say what you said.” Which is true. And which is why, for over a month, I haven’t allowed my mind to th
ink about what he’d revealed. To allow my mind to analyze why my body responded to him the way it did. I’d ignored all of his text messages and phone calls. Now that we have to do a job together – he can no longer be avoided.

  “Because you want me just as badly as I want you.” His lips graze my ear, resulting in a shudder down my spine. I know he felt it because his eyes are on me in the mirror. We stare at each other, imploring. His eyes are begging me to give in, and mine are begging him not to ask.

  “I’m getting a bad vibe about this ghost today.” I pull my eyes away from his, abruptly changing the subject.

  Cage exhales loudly, walking away from the mirror to sit on the edge of the bed. He drags his hand over his face. I know he’s frustrated. But he was unfair in the way he revealed his feelings for me. He’s just going to have to wait until I’m ready to dive into that pool of emotions. “The plan looks simple. You are to disguise yourself as mortgage broker, Jack Stenson’s, temporary secretary. He typically works late in the office, when everyone is gone. You, being the dutiful secretary, will insist on staying until he leaves. You go into his office offering him dinner as he works. Lock the door. Kill him and be out. Drake will take care of the rest.”

  “I’m not concerned about the plan. The execution is what has me feeling like something’s off.” I shake my head, trying to erase the notion. I pick up cherry red lipstick to coat my thick lips. “It’s probably nothing—”

  “If something feels off you should trust your judgment. You know that’s an important trait for these types of job.”

  “It’s nothing. I think it’s because I’m still pissed about one of Vic’s wives threatening to kill me if I don’t leave him.”

  “WHAT!?” Cage has me up off the bench I was sitting on and standing in front of him within seconds. “Someone threatened you?” A storm brews in his dark eyes.

  I nod. I wasn’t expecting this reaction from him. “Vic took care of it.”

  “He has other wives?” He questions with disbelief.