Page 42 of Mail Order Bride

“He seems like a good man. I know he’ll make a good husband.”

“Then there's still time to back out,” Daddy says.

“No,” I say, laying my fork down. “This is happening.”

My father shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

I watch my father eat, and I feel thankful his appetite is back. “Did Joel seem like he was in a bad mood to you?”

“I don't know why he would be,” Daddy says. “He's getting what he wants.”

“What's that?”

“You.”

I toss my napkin onto my plate. “You don’t think he’s marrying me because he’s in love?”

“I don't think that's why he's doing it, no,” Daddy says. “I think his reasons are a little more complicated.”

“You don't know him.”

“Oh, Gina,” he says, bringing a forkful of eggs to his mouth. “Neither do you. And besides, all men are the same.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Joel

It takes me longer than I anticipate getting to the Apricot Inn. Not only did I have two additional passengers I hadn’t planned on, but the old man had to stop and piss every five minutes. I used that time to phone Ray, to give him updates. Ray is my booker. The upper middleman, you could say. He’s a businessman; he doesn’t get his hands dirty. Which probably explains why he only answered one of the three attempts I made to reach him. It has been twenty-six hours since I heard Ray sobbing on the other end of the phone. The truth is, I have no idea what I’m walking into. I just know it isn’t good.

I arrive and knock on the door, but there is no answer. I cross the parking lot and climb in the truck. As I contemplate my next move, I sit facing the inn. After about an hour, I see Ray coming up the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette. He takes the room key, unlocks the door, and enters. I’m right behind him, rapping on the door the second he closes it. I could have caught up with him outside, but I wanted the element of surprise.

He takes a long time to answer, but when he finally does, he cracks the door open only a hair, just enough to peek out. “Joel,” he says with relief. “Jesus Christ, what took you so long?”

“Where’s Layla?”

“Come in—”

“Where is she, Ray?”

His face falls as he sighs heavily. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

He walks over to the small closet and opens it.

“Son of a bitch,” I say.

Ray starts to sob and then backs away, inching toward the door. He shakes his head. “I didn't know what to do.”

Layla is lying in a heap on the floor. Her face is swollen, her eyes are open and fixed and they exhibit tache noir. She has deep semicircular gashes in her skin. Bite marks, I presume. She is wearing only a bra, and I notice her arms as I stand over her. They’re bent in odd ways, clearly broken. Her skin is so pale. I can tell she’s been dead for days. She looks at me with eyes clouded by death. I’ll never forget this moment, as much as I’ll try.

I have the presence of mind to grab Ray and drag him over to the bed. I put him on his back and tell him to get his hands up. He is whimpering and saying, “No, please, no.”

I pull the gun out of my waistband and put the muzzle in his mouth. He shakes his head frantically from side to side as he tries to writhe away. His eyes are desperate and pleading. I remove the gun from his mouth and allow him to sit up a little. “What the fuck happened here?”

“It was just a game,” he says, choking out a sob. He starts speaking, and he doesn’t stop. I just let him talk. “One second,” he tells me, “she was screaming shrilly, like a schoolgirl being teased. For a few fleeting moments, she might have actually enjoyed it. But she didn’t, I guess. I thought she liked sex rough and hard and couldn't get enough of it. She said something to me that I didn't like. I don't even remember what it was, just that it set me off. You know how women are…”

He takes a deep breath in as he chooses his words carefully. I am patient, but he knows my patience is wearing thin. “So this is how it went down, okay? I slapped her hard across the face and she banged her head hard against the wall. Her feet left the ground and then she hit the tile floor with a heavy thud. I was behind her, shoving my cock deep into her, over and over again, choking her to the point where she almost lost consciousness. I thought about letting go for a second, but I didn’t. I wanted to hear her beg for her life. She had faked so many orgasms for me that I decided to give her a real one before I finished off with a good, old-fashioned beating. You know how it is?”

“No, Ray. I don’t know how it is.”

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