G-Men: The Series (8 page)

I mentally flipped him off as he turned and went towards the stair case and then immediately felt bad about it. Jack was right. I hadn’t been fulfilling my domestic obligations to him since Lindsey had left for college. I made a mental note to try harder on that front as I started preparing his breakfast.

By the end of the day on Saturday, I had all of the laundry caught up. Jack’s shirts were ironed and hung up in his closet. The fridge and cupboards were well-stocked. I had a beautiful roast in the oven for dinner. I was going to please Jack, come hell or high water. I’d set the dining room table with good china and linens, and lit candles. I poured each of us a glass of fine merlot wine.

We ate dinner mostly in silence. Jack was still a bit perturbed with me. I asked questions about how the distribution center groundbreaking had gone, shared with him my most recent conversations with Lindsey, and told him that I’d been working out a lot at the gym, which, in essence, was sort of true. I’d decided there was no way in hell I’d ever to tell him about my job. That’s all.

Finally, towards the end of the meal and three glasses of wine later, Jack seemed to ease up and become more cordial.

I cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher while he got comfortable in the family room with another glass of wine. Maybe Jack would finally be in the mood . . . for once.

I went upstairs to shower. I’d enjoyed a couple of glasses of wine at dinner. It was enough to make me just slightly giddy and bold. I decided that I was going to do exactly what Vonda had suggested. I was going to blow dry my hair, put some make-up and sexy lingerie on, and dance provocatively for my husband. Granted, we didn’t have a pole from floor to ceiling in our family room, but I would make do with some props of my own.

After I showered and dried my hair, I found a black lacy bustier with red trim and a pair of black lacy bikini panties. I put on a black garter belt and black fishnet hose. I’d purchased these items specifically for the bedroom, hoping one day I would have need of them. That day had come.

I carefully made my face up, not nearly as drastically as Margo did, but it still took away that innocent, housewife look. I piled my hair up into a ponytail and slipped my feet into some four-inch spiked heels. I was ready.

I saw right away that Jack had switched to bourbon when I descended the staircase to the family room. He had his sleeves rolled up, taking a sip from a glass with bourbon and ice in it. He liked his bourbon straight. He did a double-take when he saw me. I took the remote and found a music channel that I used during the week when I practiced. The tunes were just right for erotic dancing. I watched as Jack studied me moving with the music. I danced over to him provocatively, allowing him ample view of my breasts that were bulging over the tight bustier.

I hovered over him, taking my knee and expertly spreading his legs. I then lowered myself in front of him and allowed my fingers to play against his chest and groin area to the music. I saw his face darken; the rage was unmistakable.

I froze in confusion. I thought my moves had been pretty damn good, seductive yet tasteful. That was what I was going for with my husband. It’d been months.

“What in the hell are you doing, Samantha?”

“I, uh, I just--”

“You just
what?
Wanted to come down here made up like a whore and strip for me?”

“I wasn’t going to strip. I uh, thought… . . .”

“Thought what? You thought
this
would get me in the mood, is that it?”

“Well, I mean it
has
been months for us. I thought… . . .”

“The hell with what you
thought
, Samantha. I’m fucking sick and tired of you whining about not getting enough cock.”

He was pissed - totally and royally pissed. I’d never seen him so angry before.

“If you want to act like a whore, by God, I’ll treat you like one.”

Before I knew what was happening, Jack threw his drink down and grabbed me, wrenching me to the floor. Suddenly, I was feeling a tad terrified. I mean, for the first time ever, I was afraid for my well-being. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

I tried to twist away from his grasp once he’d me pinned on the floor, but his strength far exceeded mine. He landed a hand firmly across my cheek by my left eye. I saw stars for a moment, and then I simply relaxed. I realized that the more I fought him, the more determined and rough he became.

He had my arms pinned down at my sides as he roughly ripped my lacy undergarments off of me. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly. This was something I could not fathom. Jack had never been a tender lover, but he’d never been a violent lover, up to this point.

“There whore, you’re naked now. So, since you went to great lengths tonight to let me know what you’re so determined to have, how about if I give it to you, huh?”

I tried again to squirm out from under him, trying like hell to bring my knee to his groin, but it wasn’t happening. He quickly spread my legs open with his hands and raised himself up over me.

“No, Jack. Please… . . .”

His erection plunged into me with a vengeance. I shrieked in pain.

“Oh, but this is what you wanted, isn’t it Samantha? The
whore
in you wanted this and now you have it.”

He continued to thrust himself in and out of me unmercifully, grunting like the pig that he was. I felt like I was going to split in half.

My mind was reeling. I was silently praying that I got out of this in one piece. Was it the alcohol that had triggered this? Or maybe he just hated me. All I knew was that this had never happened before. I won’t lie; he’d never been a soft or tender person.

But this?

This was pure violence being unleashed upon me, and it wasn’t about sex even. This was about pure and simple control. What in the hell had I done to make him feel as if he’d lost control?

I didn’t have long to wonder as I finally felt him come. He moaned Susan’s name as he emptied himself into me.

Oh. My God.

He then quickly pulled himself out and off of me. He didn’t look me in the eye as I lay there in shock. The pain was gone, the numbness had taken over. He zipped his fly up and sat back down on the sofa. He picked the remote up and changed to a different channel.

“You probably need to get some sleep, Sammie. Go on to bed. I’ll be up a little later.”

I picked myself up off of the floor, totally naked, totally exposed. It wasn’t as if I had to hide my nakedness from him because his attention had been diverted to the television. I had been dismissed.

I hurried out of the room, seeking refuge once again in our suite. I got into the shower and scrubbed myself clean of his anger, his abuse. My skin was flushed pink by the time I got out.

I quickly dressed in my conservative underwear and pajamas and crept underneath the sheets of our bed. I curled up into a ball and eventually fell asleep. I felt like a total piece of shit.

^{chapter 8}

I spent Sunday trying to avoid Jack, most of it spent in the bathroom, trying to cover up the shiner I had around my left eye. It was bruised and tender, turning dark shades of purple and black by the hour. I hoped like hell that it disappeared before I worked again on Tuesday.

Jack never mentioned once what had transpired the night before. He acted no differently than usual.

He sat me down in the afternoon to show me how he handled the bill payments on line. Jack was extremely organized with his file folders, Excel files, and logging payments in with confirmation numbers provided by the bank, once remittance was scheduled. He was meticulous and expected no less out of me, now that this household task had been relinquished to me.

He packed his suitcase and his garment bag late in the afternoon. Giving me a peck on the cheek, he was off to the airport. He told me he would be calling to check in. No mention of anything else. No apology. No explanation - as it there could possibly be one.

I phoned Becky and chatted for a while, trying to take my mind off of the obvious. I didn’t dare mention what had happened between Jack and me, because she would’ve gone off about it and yelled at me for not reporting it to the police or getting the fuck out immediately, both of which were sane reactions. I needed to think this through on my own, to handle it in whatever way was best for me. I hadn’t been up against anything like this before.

Tuesday finally came, and I was in the chair while Margo was doing her best with applying a heavy concealer around my left eye. She was being gentle, which told me that this wasn’t the first shiner she had needed to conceal for one of the girls.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked cautiously, as she gently dabbed make-up over the concealer.

“Not really,” I replied with a shrug. “It’s no big deal.”

“It’s always a big deal, sweetie, but I respect your right to privacy, so I won’t push. Hopefully, your perspiration won’t wash it off.”

I got through my first couple of dance routines without a hitch. Tuesday was generally a less-crowded evening. It was mostly regulars in during weeknights.

I’d just changed into another costume. It was shiny gold boy shorts, with a matching sleeveless gold vest. I accented it with four-inch black leather boots, and a glittery, sequined cowboy hat.

Kevin poked his head around the corner of the dressing room.

“Front and center, Diamond. There’s a dance request for you, followed by a customer-purchased drink.”

Please don’t let it be Harry.

I knew immediately when the first chords of the tune blared out from the speakers that this request hadn’t come from Harry. It was Steppenwolf’s ‘Born to be Wild.’

I took the stage and, immediately, my eyes met with Slate’s incredibly blue ones. I saw the shadow of a smile cross his sensual lips as I took the pole and twirled to the beat of the song. My heart fluttered as I watched him watching me. None of his biker buddies were around. He must have been flying solo.

The song ended, and I descended the three steps from the stage to the main floor. Slate was on his feet, nodding toward a table near the back. I saw Vince nearby. He was making sure Slate didn’t touch me. Vince seemed much more attentive when the gentleman was a biker instead of an old geezer, like Harry.

He held a chair out for me, as any perfect gentleman would have done. Renaldo took our drink order. Slate ordered bourbon straight up, and I requested my usual club soda. I was nervous, for some reason. His presence unnerved me.

“You have some nice moves, Diamond. Did the song justice out there. I like that.”

“Glad you got your money’s worth, Slate,” I said in my husky club voice.

I watched as he cocked an eyebrow, a slight smile gracing his lips. “I’m not sure about that, Diamond Girl. I guess that remains to be seen.”

I gaped at him, feeling myself flush. He didn’t talk like any biker that I’d seen around the place. There was a quality to his voice. His choice of words hinted at something more than biker lingo. I was certainly no expert on bikers. And maybe I was basing my opinion on stereotypical impressions.

The several moments of silence between us was making me more self-conscious.

“So, Slate, tell me about yourself? Where are your biker buddies tonight?”

“I really don’t give a shit where they are. We have separate lives, you know?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… . . .”

“Insult me? You didn’t. I’m used to the stereotypical comments. I’m sure you’re used to them in your line of work, right?”

Point well taken.

“Yeah, you got that right,” I said with a throaty laugh.

“How long have you been dancing in clubs like this, Diamond?”

“Not long,” I said with a sigh, “kind of new to this circuit.”

“You’re not from Indy?”

“No, Kansas,” I replied, “And then Chicago, and now here. How about you, Slate?”

He took a sip of his drink that had just arrived and shrugged.

“I’m from all over. I really don’t call anywhere home for long.”

It almost seemed as if Slate had a script.

Like me…

Or maybe it was a macho biker thing.

“So, are you a member of the Outlaws?”

“Do you see an OMC patch on this jacket?”

“No, but then, I’m no expert on biker gangs, either.”

“They’re called clubs, not gangs, Diamond.”

Whatever.

They were mostly criminals, from what I’d observed.

“So, what do you do outside of the club?” I asked, cautiously.

“I manage,” he replied with a shrug.

“Well, you must work. How else can you afford to make special requests and buy a dancer a drink at these prices?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You aren’t going to get rich off of me, baby. Maybe that old geezer can hook you up. He didn’t seem to lack for money.”

What the hell?

“Fuck off, Slate.”

His blue eyes were locked on my green ones. All humor had left his face. His eyes were as cold as ice instantly. He perused me up and down, and I saw his jaw twitch as his gaze came to rest on my left cheek bone. His eyes darkened.