Page 93 of Five
“Not only that.” I smile at him with excitement. “We’ll give him the nastiest death ever, then a cheap funeral, write a last will and testament leaving everything to charities and pet shelters.”
He whistles. “They really pissed you off.”
“Philip Bailey has to die.” The fact that I can remember his name says it all. I follow him into his room and drop myself on his humongous bed. In the last two months, Dare got even taller and bigger. When will he stop growing?
He sits at his desk in front of two screens and starts tapping on his keyboard. “Rami already cleaned out Bailey’s offshore accounts, and Serena will let us know if he tries to withdraw money from any other bank in the US.”
Dare isn’t part of the family side business, but he has ears, and Rami is not very careful around the triplets.
“Don't care. I can’t kill the fucker in reality, so I need to do it Matrix style, or I’ll go on a rampage.” I notice Ren’s snake wrapped around the ceiling light as I look to the heavens with exasperation. George is sweet but still a snake.
“Okay,” Dare agrees. “You’re in luck. I hacked a morgue a week ago, I didn’t close the back door, so I can enter their files again and add Bailey. How did the dude die?”
“Spontaneous combustion caused by too many jalapeños. No, I can do better.” I start pacing as I think. “Run over by a Zamboni. Not funny enough. Crushed under a piano. Lame.” I suddenly stop, snapping my fingers. “I got it! Tragic gardening accident involving a very long, thick zucchini, slippery olive oil and a pair of shears. The authorities thought it was best left unsolved.”
Dare snorts, but he quickly falsifies a police report. Rami has created his very own mini-me. Bugger, I want one, too.
Now that I think about it, I need to contact Spencer, the young bloke that used to live near my old building. He moved into one of the apartments above Ollie’s library café a few days ago. We used to chat when we met in the neighborhood. He is a good mate who went through a long series of unlucky events. I gave him some errands to do in exchange for money and a place to crash after I discovered how grave his situation was. That didn't stop him from almost joining the Scorpion gang. I’m glad Rague and Ollie helped him out.
“I chose a very cheesy funeral home. Plastic flowers and a greedy owner. Same for the lawyer—one of those ambulance chasers. He does it for a price and keeps his mouth shut.” Dare’s voice takes me back to the present. “Philip Bailey has an illegitimate daughter, did you know that? He’s never acknowledged her.”
“Really?” I ask, dying to know more..
Dare goes back to making his fingers fly on the keyboard. “The little girl is four. Her mother is an ex-exotic dancer, now working two jobs to provide for the daughter.”
“So let’s leave most of it to her, another part to single mothers in need and the rest to pet shelters.” I change my plan slightly.
“Does Rami know about this?” Dare asks only now.
“Nope. The Angels ofCrapare on my fuck-off list at the moment. Overprotective idiots!” I mumble the last words. “Hunter Bear does, though.” I have his approval—sort of.
Dare seems satisfied by my reply. “So Bailey, after a deadly encounter with a zucchini, leaves most to his daughter?”
“Precisely. Now let’s add more embarrassingly specific details to that death certificate.” I smirk evilly, leaning toward the screens.
The days keep passing by and Gabe, Bez and I are still alive. The cohabitation isn’t a smooth one, but we’ve managed not to kill each other.
I fall asleep every night with my body wrapped in a stranglehold around Gabe, my face in his neck. His skin slick with sweat tastes salty. He always traces my spine or hips with his fingers, depending on our position in bed. I’d melt into the mattress if I hadn’t already been rammed into it. I’ve never been sothoroughly fucked, in every sense possible.
How many times have I performed this dance? The physical encounter followed by the side-stepping of any emotional entanglement? And yet, this time I can’t stop myself from stumbling, slipping, and falling. I don’t want to extricate myself in any way. Why would I?
At night they wake me while worshipping my body in every position possible—didn’t know I’d be so much into somnophilia, but bloody hell sign me up for it. Bez tells me how much he likes my devious mind and mischievous ways, while Gabe looks at me with such searing desire, I could naturally combust.
The multiplicity should have scared me. Instead, it works perfectly. I always knew one man wouldn’t do it for me, two seemed too much work. Gabe and Bez, though, are the perfect fit.
Two men in one.
They keep me on my toes, never knowing who I’ll be facing. The bantering among us is irritating and so blistering hot it always ends with my hole filled to the brink.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this isn’t me, is it? It can’t be me, this submissive, desperate creature helpless to do anything, but eagerly take their cock. Even exhausted or furious, part of me wants to climb on top of them and take it until that hollow ache inside me stops hurting. Have I lost control over my body and my mind if I want to lie on top of them, to feel their heat and powerful body under and around me, to close my eyes and drift in peaceful dreams surrounded by their scent?
It’s not only the daily phenomenal sex I’m getting, though. I love spending time with them. We are constantly together, workingtogether, going for a bite together, watching movies, listening to rock music—well with Bez, Gabe hates it.
I like this life. I’m never bored with them. I even like Gabe’s light snores at night. It’s a rare occurrence to see him sleeping at all, his insomnia doesn’t allow him much time for that. So it fills me with happiness when it happens. On some level it’s like he trusts me enough to let go and rest in my arms.
I also love to be the only one to know those small idiosyncrasies of theirs. Like the fact that Gabe brushes his hair always with even strokes, or Bez never adds salt to his food before trying it and gets super annoyed when a commercial comes on TV, or how Gabe would spend hours in his knife room—the door near is bedroom—polishing his blades and tossing them at his man-shaped target.
I feel lighter since I moved in with them—can’t believe that from a horrible thing like being dosed, this happened.
