Page 105 of Lavender Moon

I sitbehind the wheel of my truck, a photo from Carter’s social media page on display on my phone screen resting on the seat beside me.

Resting my elbow in the window frame, I repeatedly clench and release my fist under my chin as I recall the rest of my conversation with Ben.

Once he gave me that slow nod with that knowing look in his eyes, I knew I had an ally in this. He knows why I wanted so badly to know everything. There’s the obvious reason that I want to experience empathy for Luna to the fullest extent possible. I refuse to be her husband that doesn’t know what she went through… and then there’s the other reason; the one I knew he picked up on by the look in my eye.

“So you’re telling me… that fucker threw my wife down a flight of stairs?” I repeat as he grips the railing of the deck, his head hanging between his arms.

“At her studio,” he confirms, before raising his head and pushing a hand through his hair with an exhale heavy with anger and grief. “He cornered her there.”

I could feel an energy passing between him and I; a mutual fury mixed with pain. And then I asked him to explain the procedures, tests, and treatments I found on the hospital bill. And just like I intended, I felt each injury as if it were happening to me, and I feel it all again right now, as I relive more of the conversation.

“He broke the last two fingers on her right hand, crushed them in his own.”

Sharp pain shoots through my pinky and ring finger before lighting up with a throbbing pain.

“Three cracked ribs…”

An imaginary sledgehammer slams into my left side, and I swear I feel the ribs there splinter beneath my skin tissue.

“A bruised kidney…”

A dull, but vicious ache spreads along my middle back.

“And a slight concussion.”

My head explodes with pain from all the fucking madness that Luna’s had to endure. Her pain is my pain. I know I need to be a better man for her, that part of Ben’s message was clear. And I will… starting tomorrow.

I continue waiting in the parking structure of what looks like a large tech company, a lot like the one in Office Space. I spend my time imagining what happened to my girl over and over, each time in a slightly different way, but still feeling the pain of each affliction. I endure this special brand of self torture for just under an hour when I see a few people come out of the elevator. Sadly, not one of them that has a face that matches that of the disgusting dick-fuck on my phone screen. I watch the two men and one woman smile and wave each other off as I let out a stress-riddled breath.

I look again at the placement of security cameras, and while this is a tech company, they don’t seem to want to spend much in that department. Their cameras are spaced at least twenty feet apart, giving me a nice pocket of space to have a nice little chat with the fucking cuntface that is Carter.

As if someone rang Satan’s gong and summoned him, those elevator doors fatefully part open to reveal the bastard. And the heavens seem to be shining on me yet again, as he’s alone. Clad in khakis and an open button-down, the fucker carries his messenger bag over one shoulder into my nice little camera free pocket, signaling the okay for me to abruptly push open my truck door. Pulling the hood of my jacket up just in case, I get out and then slam my door deliberately loud, making his head snap in my direction.

“Carter,” I greet him as if we’re old friends while I swagger casually up to him. He attempts a nervous smile as he tries to place me.

Tilting his head and narrowing his eyes slightly, he asks. “Hey… sorry, have we met?”

“Nah,” I shake my head, willing my scrutinizing gaze to pierce his brown little puppy eyes, and to my delight, he stiffens and his eyes dart away for a second as he tries to compose himself. “But you know someone I love,” I finish, making him look back at me again.

I can practically see him tell himself to stand taller and puff out his chest, and it’s pathetic. He quirks an eyebrow in mock boredom as he tries to dismiss me. “Okay, well, look… I don’t have time for whatever this is.” He waves a hand back and forth in front of me.

“Well that’s just too bad for you,” I reply, my voice a low and cunning growl. “Because you fucked with the wrong man’s wife.”

“What?” Both his eyebrows and his voice go up a notch before a small veil of relief drops over his face. “Okay, now I know you’ve got the wrong guy, this is a misunderstanding.” He backs up a little as I continue my slow advancement. “Seriously, I’ve never been with, or done anything with any married women.” He lets out a nervous laugh.

“You telling me it’s the single ones – or the ones youthinkare single that you throw down the stairs?” I quiz him, and those pupils of his dilate so fast and the color draining from his face is a thing of beauty.

“What?” His voice is barely a whisper as his shoulders shudder slightly. The look on his face can no longer be hidden by any veneer. He’s abjectly terrified now. Good.

“I think you know what I’m talking about.” I raise my brows expectantly at him, but he clearly is scared shitless to admit to it. He knows what I’m about to do to him.

“No…” he swallows hard, shaking his head. “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He’s clearly starting to panic.

“That’s fine” I shrug. “I’m more than happy to jog your memory.” I lean in, and Carter looks around for anyone that could possibly be around to help. And that’s his first mistake. He opens his mouth to yell and looks back at me just in time for my skull to connect with his forehead.

What comes out of him is a guttural yelp before he drops backward, landing on his ass before rolling to his back, his hand covering the bridge of his nose as I drop to a knee beside him.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t try to call for help again,” I advise quietly, as we’re now hunkered down between cars where someone would be lucky to even notice us.

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