Page 30 of Between Dusk and Dawn

"Okay, then it shouldn’t matter what she is whining about, regardless if my name is coming from her mouth."

"You got it." He wouldn't dare try to make any excuses. I said goodbye and hung up while typing in the code to the large wrought iron gate that led to my house. From the street, my house was hidden, with only the gate and the overgrown trees indicating it was an actual residence.

Rain gave this to Ember when she lost her boyfriend Ash because it was so similar to Isles, yet had the benefits of the big city.

As the gate opened, I drove down the gravel road, waving at the two guards on duty.

My house was like a fusion of modern sophistication and rustic charm, effortlessly blending into the surrounding pine-laden landscape. The architecture, a masterstroke that seemed as if nature itself had etched its design, stood proudly amid the tall trees that guarded it with silent grace. The clean lines of contemporary design mingled seamlessly with the earthy allure of brick, creating a dwelling that felt both grounded in tradition like the houses in the neighborhood, yet elevated in elegance. There was simply no way houses in the neighborhood could ever be this big or have this much land.

As I maneuvered my vehicle into the round driveway, the gravel under the tires provided a comforting crunch.

My dad always had a thing about leaders living among their people. "A true leader should have many houses, but reside among his people," he'd often say. However, I cherished the solitude of my home on the outskirts despite his disapproval. This modern cabin, surrounded by trees, felt like a retreat, anescape from the hustle and bustle of the neighborhood. It also reminded me of Isles—the place where my muse existed.

The brick structure stood as a symbol of my defiance. The round driveway served as a subtle rebellion against my father's expectations. Every time I drove through that gate, I could almost hear his voice telling me that when I got married, my wife should live in the neighborhood, not in this secluded haven.

Walking through the house, I reveled in its starkness. It wasn't minimalism for fashion; I despised clutter and the feeling of being attached to material possessions. The oversized windows provided a view of the thick pine needles outside, a constant reminder of the peace and tranquility I found in this space.

My father's words haunted me, especially when my gaze fell upon the empty bedroom above the red barn.

The property had a history of being a small farm, once hosting horses, pigs, and sheep. The lingering presence of a big, red barn at the back hinted at its past life. Now standing untouched, a potential haven for future needs, as I knew it would come in handy if I needed to ever store something…or someone…inside. The round driveway and minimalist interior were all manifestations of my need for space to breathe and think.

Opening the fridge, I pulled out a beer before popping the top open and sitting on the oversized wooden dining room table.

I opened the folder my father gave me. In front of me, written like a damn resume, were all the qualifications to why this woman would make a good wife for me. At the bottom were reasons as to why this union would be beneficial for both the Irish and the Italians.

I flipped the page, truly not caring about what she liked to do for fun or what her hobbies may include, because my wife would be my pet. I’d mold her, shape her, and have her on her kneesbegging to suck my cock the moment I walked in that door every night. Because my wife would not be running off ice skating in the winter and cooking me shepherd's pie every day. She’d need to keep up with other extracurricular activities, which were most definitely not included on this resume.

The next few pages were photos of her. I stared at them, looking for any signs of life. She looked oddly similar to Cagen. They sported the same long blonde hair, identical blue eyes, and small delicate features, but they had different last names. It had to have been a coincidence, but either way, I sent out a quick text to our IT guy to figure out if there was some connection. Her name was Cairn Murphy.

She was fucking beautiful, don’t get me wrong. Looks-wise, she would be the most perfect wife and we’d produce the precise balance of Irish and Italian offspring that would keep our families tied together for decades. But she wasn’t mine.

There were dozens of photos of her clubbing with her friends, happily drinking beers, and lazily hanging out at the pool during the summer, and I knew she’d never be able to keep up with me. She was a golden girl, ready for her big debut performance marrying this big, scary man in the Mafia, but she wouldn’t ever be able to keep up with my needs, wants, and desires. There was only one who ever would.

I sighed, throwing the papers across the table and opening up my phone. My hands hovered over the app before I said fuck it and opened it.

She lay in the same position, curled up on her bed. She looked lifeless and exhausted but was groaning in her sleep.

I turned on the volume to hear her.

"Please, Walsh," she cried, and when I zoomed in, tears were falling down her face. My little muse was crying, and that minuscule part of my frozen heart tugged at me, trying to warm me to life.

I propped up the phone and leaned back in my chair, watching her cry out. Then I realized, although tears were flooding her face, her hips were gyrating on the mattress. She was thrusting back and forth and lifted her shirt to expose her perky pink nipples.

"Please. Don’t hurt me, Walsh," she cried again as she rolled her nipples in her finger.

Tsk, tsk, Madison. Did I just find your little secret?

I pinched the screen of the phone, zooming in to confirm that she was asleep.

"Are you dreaming of me yelling at you, my little muse?" I whispered.

Then her hands rolled from her breasts, down toward her navel, and she pushed her unbuttoned jeans down, exposing the fact that my dirty girl wasn’t wearing panties.

"Touch yourself," I murmured to the phone, knowing all too well she couldn’t hear me. "Tease your little clit, Muse. Imagine me yelling at you that night of graduation. Imagine how I ignored you for three years. Because I’m who you’ve been imagining for the last three goddamned years every time you get off."

I unzipped my pants, freeing my greedy little cock. As I gripped myself, my eyes flicked back toward the screen.

"Fuck…Walsh…" Madison cried, slipping one finger into her cunt and circling her clit.

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