The day I made Chevelle my hen, I knew she could be the lass I tied down for life. She had all those qualities. But on a Sunday, Ifeckedmy wife, knowing she’d probably cry the second I left, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.
Anyway, I’d right all my wrongs once I murdered thearseholehiding behind his bells and whistles.
But like usual, whenever I leave, the things I hold onto are the taste of Chevelle’s mouth the last time I kiss her. Mia’s request for the auld pirate voice as I pinkie swear how I’ll return soon. Then I kiss her tiny pinkie to complete the promise.
It’s Tuesday evening, and for the past two days at work, I’ve played it cool in the office all day. I keep my wits about me, tapping into Jiang’s login credentials. While I was searching Jiang’s workplace email, I received a text from Erika. One word—sorry. I deleted thatshite. She knew the drill from day one. Dinna anger my hen. In the end, I wasn’t able to find any connection between Jiang and the deid man, Mr. Phelps.
Chevelle calls me when I’m wrapping up for the afternoon. “I was sort of missing cooking dinner for my husband, as I often do, but Cam’s in our kitchen making dinner.”
The second Camdyn went to school on Monday, he got himself suspended—beat up the firstnuggethe lay eyes on. Though he often is suspended for one thing or another, theeejithad done it this time to keep a close eye on my clan. He sprung the entire idea on us together—by texting Chevelle and I. He’d asked if he could stay a few nights, on account that he got into a funk with Da because of it. If he hadn’t crashed so many dirt bikes and broke so many bones, I’d call thenuggeta genius. Da never gets on him. Nae, Brody and I had to run from Mam when the school rang our home.
“Is that so?” I smile. The thought of mybrathairbecoming another factor in my deception has my rage spiking. This is all my bloody fault.
She sighs. “Whatever Camdyn’s cooking, it smells divine. You’re missing out.”
I clear out all of Jiang’s login information on the computer. “Och,ye’ll have to tell me, hen.”
“Hey, if it’s really good, I’m sending you pictures and everything,” she joshes.
“Damn, ye want me to be a jealous lad, Chevelle? Ye know I’m a jealous one.” I settle back in my seat. “I dinna give a damn if it sucks. Dinna text me the food. Ye know whatpicturesI want ya to send me.”
“Hmmm.” Her voice slides through the receiver like silk. My dick hardens as she softly adds, “Alright, I might be tempted totext you. . . if Momma eats good tonight.”
“Naughty.” This time I smile, feeling her magnificent glow through the receiver.
“Hey, all the good stuff happens at home, Leith. Home is where your heart is, right?”
“Aye.” I finish off my chat with Chevelle, and though things won’t be right until I have her in my arms again, she seems a bit happy. After we hang up, my other half instantly torments my mind. Every moment without Chevelle is Hell on Earth. Chewing my lip, I contemplate how she and Mia arehometo me.
“Home,” I quietly mumble. The thought expands into something more. What if Jiang has some sort of connection to himself and Phelps at home? The bastard who’s blackmailing me called Phelps his business partner. Maybe they were both silent cohorts, tapping into Infinity Corp for the blackmailer.
* * *
In Silicon Valley,I rent a room from an auld hag, Mable, who has a gait in her step. The acrid scent of cats abounds. It’s a cheap place to lay my head. I was once so fond of work that I’d gowabbitand sleep at my desk. Chevelle always complained I needed a good rest, and she didna worry about the “cat lady” putting the moves on me.
The first time I told her the auld bitty dropped her robe one morning and showed me her titties, my wife laughed. Then Chevelle chastised me about my delay in picking a real estate broker for our current house. Chevelle wasn’t aware I was already in the process of finding us the perfect home. She proceeded to ask me about the location of said tits. I replied that I couldn’t confirm, asthosetits might’ve been sweeping the floor.
I’m in my room at Mable’s with my laptop. Though I didna peg Jiang, who's sleeping with the fishes, for one of my nemesis’ henchmen, I still search for him online. Grabbing the profile photo of him on the company page, I then enlist the facial recognition software I coded ages ago for kicks.
Minutes later, I find Mr. Jiang’s picture on the very social media site I created, owned by the company we work for. He’s operating under an alias. The profile photo of him holding a stack of cash melds perfectly with the tag line about sugar babies.
“Shite, he really was aneejit,” I murmur. He had nae friends, which is a blessing in itself. Nobody to question his disappearance. I’ll have to get my hands a little dirty.
* * *
A while later,I exit my room in a hoodie and jeans. The auld hag is in the hallway. A long nightgown covers all the nooks and crannies of her lumpyarse. She plants her hands on those wide hips of hers. “You never leave so late at night.”
“Aye,” I grunt, locking my bedroom door.
Mable’s tiny blue eyes flick up and down my body. “You’re not in those shiny shoes and flashy suits either. Where you going this time of night?”
“Out.” I move down the narrow hallway. Fat pussies meow and follow after me like their master.
“I’ve made cabbage and—”
“Nae, thankye.” I close the door behind me. Outside, small puffs come from my mouth in the cold night air. Stalking down the street, I open the door to my Audi. Seated inside, I start the engine. The lights flash, and she purrs for me, sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.
During my drive to Jiang’s apartment, I concentrate on a few things. I hope my luck has changed. Mr. Jiang had no family in the US.