The Dark Lord Just Ate My Soul

 

 

“Wow!”

Even though this is Keira’s third ‘wow,’ I don’t blame her. The white mansion in front of us is what you’d see broadcasted on an episode of MTV’s Cribs. But inside are two very humble, very non-pretentious people.

I’ve met Sebastian and Rachel, Maddy’s parents, twice, and I can see where Cherry Pie gets her good nature from. They’re incredible people; they don’t deserve the two other sacks of shit they sadly call their children.

Juliet, aka rancid vagina, is Maddy’s stepsister who deserves bad things, very bad things to happen to her. She makes evil look like a fluffy puppy wearing a pink bow. She not only made Cherry Pie’s life hell, but she took Dixon for a ride and almost ruined him. If that isn’t enough of an excuse to hang her out to dry, then she blackmailed him and made him believe the baby she was carrying was his.

Maddy’s fuckwad of a brother, Dylan, who Dixon will maim and kill if he ever sets foot in NYC again, just added to the shit pile. All in all, these are two diabolical people who deserve to rot in their own misery. From what I’ve heard, Juliet is flying under the radar, using her baby as an excuse to wedge her way back into the family. But as far as Dixon’s concerned, if she so much as looks at Madison, he will pluck out her eyeballs and feed them to her dog.

Needing an exorcism after thinking about those scum of the earth, I kill the engine and put on my big girl panties. I don’t need a crystal ball to be aware of how tonight’s proceedings will unfold. On the drive over here, Keira was sharing her life story with me—she’s from the Midwest, her daddy left her when she was seven, but her family are good, Christian people who do charity work like it’s second nature.

She also helped out at the local church doing food drives, selling lemonade, baking cookies, you name it—anything charitable, she was involved in with both hands. Me, I can’t remember the last time I did anything charitable. The most charitable thing I’ve done of late was tipping the drycleaners a twenty.

A blind person in Antarctica could see that Keira Celly is way too innocent and pure for the likes of me. I even felt vile when I dropped a standard ‘fuck you, dickhole’ when someone cut me off on the highway. I could be a real asshole and ignore her, but why does that feel like clubbing a baby seal to death?

When I peer over at her and she looks at me with those big, blue eyes, I know that’s probably the reason why. “Shall we?” The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can drown my sorrows in a bottle of whiskey, scrap that, scotch. She looks nervous, but nods with a small smile.

We exit, it’s surprisingly warmer out here than in my icebox of a car. As we ascend the smooth driveway, I notice Dixon’s BMW and Finch’s baby wagon parked out front. I don’t see any others, which has me assuming Mary isn’t here yet. Not that that matters, because when she does arrive, she’ll have her plus one hanging off of her like a dead skunk. My lip curls of its own accord.

We climb the marbled stairs, the two glass doors sheltered beneath a large alcove reveal a well-lit foyer and beyond. As I ring the doorbell, Keira decides it’ll be a good time to take off her coat. I do a double take, forgetting what an exceptional rack she has.

“Since when do you ring?” Dixon’s light voice carries on the breeze as he opens the door, but I can hear the exact moment his good mood sours. “Hello.” His attention dances between Keira and me, but essentially lands on me.

I know what he’s thinking: Is Keira a Ukrainian mail order I smuggled into the land of the free. “Hello, Dixon. Thanks for having us over.” It’s a rare sight to see Dixon Mathews lost for words, so I can’t help but gloat and primp my imaginary collar. “This is Keira. We work together.” See, I managed to get through a sentence without cursing. Maybe I am a changed man.

Dix’s mouth is still agape when she leans forward, stands on tippy toes because he’s a fucking titan, and kisses his cheek. He clears his throat, not appearing to appreciate her friendliness. He needs to lighten up. But when she smiles and says, “It’s so great to meet you,” I can’t help but think he’s taken an instant dislike toward her.

Regardless, he’s the hospitable host and opens the door to welcome us in. Keira enters first while I lag behind, arching a cocky brow. Before he has a chance to chastise me, I flick him in the nuts. He closes the door with a wheeze.

Keira stares above, admiring the high ceilings and crystal chandelier. “This place is so beautiful,” she gushes, while Dixon stands against the door, arms folded, eyeballing the fuck out of me.

What the hell is his problem?

“What?” I mouth, while Dix shakes his head, pointing to an oblivious Keira.

“How much?” I fake horror, although, it’s not too far off the mark to assume Keira is a working girl, because in most circumstances, I’d have to pay someone with her looks and good manners to go on a date with me.

His question is never answered because the room suddenly spins brighter when Maddy strolls in. Dixon’s sourpuss mood soon lifts and it’s like Lord Jesus himself just waltzed through the door.

There is something about Madison Roberts which makes you want to be a better man. She radiates a kind of innocence, but you would never mistake her for being a pushover because she’s a survivor, and she’s also a fucking saint for putting up with the likes of Dixon.

“Debbie!” she says with a smile, making a beeline for me and giving me a big hug. I can’t help but annoy my best friend as I squeeze her a little too tightly while pulling a pre-orgasmic face over her shoulder. Dixon pushes off the door, ready to strangle me.

He’s such a strong, handsome brute.

“Cherry Pie, how are you? You look and smell delicious.” I pull out of the embrace, fearing for my life when Dixon marches over.

“I’m fantastic, and thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.” She winks while Dixon rolls his eyes. This playful banter is not unusual for us. Not only is she beautiful, she’s funny too, which, thank fuck for that, seeing as Dixon’s humor has taken a flying leap. I have no idea what crawled up his cakehole and died. Maybe he needs a hug.

“How rude of me, I’m Madison,” Maddy says, addressing Keira, who is politely standing off to the side, waiting her turn.

Keira smiles and shakes her hand. “I’m Keira. Thanks for having me over.”

Maddy seems impressed by Keira and her manners, unlike Dixon, who is looking at Keira like he is strategizing ways to perform an exorcism before appetizers are served.

“Dude, come take a walk with me. I need to…show you something.” As curious as I am, I shake my head because I can feel a lecture and some more psychobabble nonsense brewing.

“I’m flattered, Dix, but I’m not going to blow you.” Maddy bursts into laughter, while Keira’s eyes widen. Shit, I’ve forgotten her no swearing rule.

“I only have to follow the trail of profanities and I know where to find you.” Finch, the third member of our bro-threesome, comes into the foyer, beer in hand.

This dude has been our voice of reason since we were kids and saved both Dixon and I over the years with his sappy, yet very beneficial, advice. Beneath all that hair on his face and head, lies a very sensible man. But I’ll never tell him that.

“And I only have to follow the trail of pubes to find you. What’s with the 70s porno bush?” I ask, rubbing under his chin. He swats my hand away.

“Heidi likes it,” he explains. Just as I’m about to question his manhood, he adds, “And it keeps me warm.”

Shrugging, I steal his beer. He doesn’t bother stealing it back. “Where is the sexy mama?” I ask, looking over his shoulder.

“She couldn’t come. Simone has a cold.”

Finch is the ultimate babymaker. With three rug rats under his belt, he’s in line for daddy of the year. He could handle those little ankle biters with his eyes closed. Both my friends are in the game, acting all grown up and shit, while me, I still have my training wheels on.

Which reminds me. “Finch, this is Keira.”

Finch has the worst poker face. Ever. God help him if he ever had to lie to save his life. He’d be toast. “Oh, hello, hi,” he says with way too many salutations. He goes to shake her hand, but she leans forward and kisses him politely on the cheek.

With greetings out of the way, we all stand around, dick in hand, waiting for someone to talk. I don’t need to be a mind reader to know what they’re all thinking. Why would someone like Keira voluntarily be seen in public with me?

Maddy peers up at Dixon, his stiff upper lip a sure sign he’s grumpier than a bear with pink eye.

“Hunter, and hello Hunter’s friend. Thanks for coming,” says Rachel, Maddy’s mom, as she joins the party. I can see where Maddy gets her looks from. Good DNA in that family gene pool.

“Hello, Rachel. Thanks for having me. My friend is Keira,” I explain, while Rachel nods happily.

“C’mon, then. Won’t you come in?” She gestures with her hand that we’re to enter instead of standing around like chumps. She walks into the living room, implying we’re to follow.

There is no way I’m standing anywhere near Dixon, who looks all huffy, so I cock my arm, signaling Keira to loop hers through mine. She merrily complies and we saunter past Dix, me grinning like a pig in shit as we bypass him. His lecture can come after I’ve had pie.

“What would everyone like to drink?” Rachel asks, happily peering around the room.

I raise my stolen beer, while Finch shakes his head. “All good, thanks. Keira?”

She has been awfully quiet, and I realize she probably feels a little intimidated, seeing as she doesn’t know anyone, including me. Even though I have no intention of seeing her outside office hours after tonight, she’s here now as my date, so I’ll attempt to be a gentleman. Or at the very least, less offensive.

“Could I trouble you for a sparkling mineral water?”

A cackle erupts from me, but when I’m greeted with silence, I see that she’s serious. If this woman told me she was next in line to be the Blessed Virgin Mary, 2.0., I’d believe her. A shudder passes over me when even thinking that name, and those thoughts then lead to images of fiery red hair and a devil’s tongue.

Rachel takes everyone’s drink order, before dashing into the kitchen. On most days, I know Dixon would forever be the gentleman and offer to help, but not today. Maddy gently tugs on his arm, leading him over to the leather sofa. We all follow suit, sitting as well. I’m opposite Dix and Maddy, while Finch is on the outer, playing visual ping-pong between Dixon and me, lost in translation. Join the club. I have no idea what Dix’s problem is. He is analyzing Keira closely, like he’s half expecting her face to peel off and turn into a giant praying mantis.

Maddy clears her throat, as the tension can be hacked into with a fucking chainsaw.

“So…you said you work together?” asks Dixon as he leans back in his seat, crossing an ankle over his knee. His question is directed at Keira, as if wanting her to validate my claims.

She nods nervously. “Yes, I just started, actually.”

Something clicks in Dixon’s head and I can literally see his shoulders depress, but he still appears to be sucking on a lemon. “Do you work together, together? Or just in the same office?”

“What sort of a stupid question is that?” I toss back my beer, wondering if maybe he’s finally lost the plot.

“I’m just making conversation,” he counters lightly, but we both know there is no such thing with a fancy smancy shrink like Dr. Dix.

Keira shuffles in her seat, smoothing out her dress with both hands. She’s nervous. I don’t blame her. These questions put The Heretic’s Fork to shame. “We work in the same office. Mr. Gail is my boss. Hunter’s office is just down the hall from mine,” she explains as Dix continues to grill her.

He nods, processing over everything she just revealed. “And how often have you seen him? Like out of ten.”

Right, this is just plain ridiculous. “You’re higher than a giraffe’s snatch,” I bark, unable to hold my tongue. “This isn’t a math class. Now can it and let’s talk important stuff.”

“Like…” he baits me, while I accept the challenge.

“Your bachelor party,” I expose, rubbing my hands together. Before he has time to object, I shush him. “Don’t even bother arguing, it’s happening, and you’re going to have fun, god damn you.” When he opens his mouth, to no doubt rain on my fun parade, I hold up my finger—the middle finger, that is. “Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder, because you know I will.” Keira giggles, the sound high-fiving my ego. “Just ’cause you’re getting married, that doesn’t give you an excuse to be a massive pussy. Don’t take this rite of passage away from me, you selfish cock…a-doodle-doo,” I add at the last minute when Rachel enters.

Both Finch and Dixon shake their heads, while Maddy laughs behind her hand.

“What are you talking about?” she asks, handing Keira her glass of boring bubbles.

“We were discussing Dixon’s bachelor party, Rachel,” I reply, smiling sweetly at her. Butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth right now. “The ol’ stick in the mud is opposed to having fun, it appears. Are you sure you want to marry Grandpa, Maddy?” I lock eyes with her as she looks up at him, biting back a smile. “FYI, he was wearing sweatpants the other night. Enough said.” I shiver, while Maddy is unable to contain her laughter any longer.

“Oh, Dixon, I think it’s lovely Hunter wants to throw you a bachelor party.”

“Yeah, Dix, lovely is my middle name,” I counter sweetly, fluttering my eyelashes melodramatically. “Don’t hurt my feelings.” Rachel offers Finch a beer, while Dixon almost lunges for the scotch she’s holding. I will never tire of annoying him.

“Oh, we wouldn’t want that, and besides,” Rachel says, completely oblivious to my sarcasm, “I have no doubt Mary will be holding quite the bachelorette party for Madison.”

Two things happen at once. I get winded, and that wind ends up in my dick, which inflates bigger than Pamela Anderson’s boobs in Baywatch.

“Yes, Rachel, but the difference is…is that my party won’t involve Maddy getting arrested, or needing a rabies shot once the night ends.” All heads turn toward the doorway because in strolls the woman who has me hankering for a taste of whatever she’s bringing to the table.

Before me stands the triple threat, Miss Mary Mitts. I honestly have no idea how she does it, but each time I see her, I get this bubble of…something brewing inside. At first, I thought it was one too many frozen burritos, so I switched to Hot Pockets instead. When the queasiness continued however, I knew it wasn’t the food making me sick. It was her. She was toxic, lethal to my system, but I have never wanted to drink the Kool-Aid more than I do right now.

Her long copper curls tumble over her slender shoulders, accentuating her elegant neck. She’s in a peacock green dress, the color highlighting her creamy skin and vibrant emerald eyes. Her plump lips are glistening a rose pink, and images of fisting that long red mane and owning that fucking mouth crash into me. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this way, because I would happily break my solemn vow for just one…simple…taste.

She snaps her fingers, which draws attention to the fact I’m staring at her like a creepy pervert once again. “Amateurs get caught, sweetheart. I’m a pro,” I smugly reply, deadpanning her.

It was meant to intimidate her, but all it does is leave me open to her smart mouth. “You should know all about pros.” Her gaze flicks to the left of me and I wonder why. When the cushions beneath me shift, I’m reminded that I’m not here alone.

Keira clears her throat and pushes her huge glasses up the bridge of her small nose. It seems she’s throwing off the hooker vibe to everyone, which is funny, ’cause they’re so off the mark with that assumption. She’s sweet, innocent, and nice. The perfect catch—so why did I have a lapse in memory five seconds ago where no one existed but her?

“Lamb,” Maddy says, standing, the forever peacekeeper between me and her BFF. “You look beautiful.”

She does, she looks fucking amazing, but I’ll be damned if she knows that. Rolling my eyes, I casually lean back, spreading my arm out along the back of the sofa. In turn, I half embrace Keira, but she doesn’t seem to mind and shuffles an inch closer.

It takes all my willpower not to fist pump and launch off this couch like fucking Apollo 4. It may have been small, but I saw it. Mary did a double take, staring a little longer at Keira with a cocked brow. She returned her attention back to Maddy a split second later, but I’ve planted a seed and now…it’s time to watch it grow.

“How’s your sparkling water?” I ask, purposely leaning in close to whisper into Keira’s ear.

She wets her lips before she speaks. “Good. It’s…bubbly.”

A genuine throaty chuckle escapes me, not expecting her response. “Thanks for coming. I know it’s all a little weird. P.S., Dixon isn’t always such a killjoy. Maybe he’s running low on his favorite styling gel.”

Keira bursts into a light giggle, before muting it behind her palm. She’s picked up on the unforgiving vibe Dixon is throwing out, so she probably doesn’t want to piss him off anymore by laughing at his perfectly styled locks.

“It’s fine,” she whispers. “I get the sense you’re a tightknit group. Your friends are protective of you. Maybe they’re afraid I’ll corrupt you.” She accents her sentence with a wink.

I almost give myself whiplash as I recoil, her comment throwing me on my ass. For once, I’m speechless. Mark it in your diaries, ladies and gentlemen, and Dix. Who would have thought? Maybe little innocent Keira isn’t so innocent after all.

This is a gamechanger, because who doesn’t like a closet bad girl? But when I hear that candid giggle, it slays me. I don’t want this bad girl, and I know I’m going against all I vowed to do, and I sound like an utter weakling…but there is only one Mary Mitts, and I want her. But I can’t have her because someone else does.

Which reminds me…

I pay closer attention to Mary and Maddy chatting a few feet away, because I notice it is a duo, not a threesome. What happened to jerk-off?

Could I be so lucky, and visualizing him being trampled to death by a stampede of angry donkeys has become truth?

Sweet baby Jesus.

Still slouched casually, I sip my beer before asking, “So…you’re here alone?” Yes, I just dropped the world’s worst pickup, but it’s the best I can muster, because if she says yes, I’m going to throw her over my shoulder and make her scream uncle.

Today’s little revelation can blow me. I was stupid to think I could move on because I don’t even know what I’m moving on from. It’s not like we’ve had this long-winded affair, or that we’ve shared more than five words, but regardless, I need to know where I stand before I give up on something that hasn’t even had a chance to grow.

We never break eye contact, and fuck me, the thrill I feel from being pinned by that feral gaze leaves me tempted to drop to my knees and hand her my balls on a silver platter.

Just as she opens that mouth I’m utterly obsessed with, a voice sounds, and it’s akin to flaying flesh from my bones. “Sorry, love, I must have left my cell at home.”

It takes my brain a second to process that the voice is coming from a man, or quite possibly, he could be Adonis himself who just sauntered into the room. I hope to god he’s talking to Finch. But when Mary averts her eyes, I know this man beast is jerk-off. Her date.

“It’s okay,” she says, her cheeks turning a soft pink as he kisses her lightly on the mouth.

The room is suddenly filled with a grinding, and I have no idea what it is until Keira places her hand on my thigh. “Are you all right?” I nod, unable to tear my gaze away from Mary and her date, who will lose a finger if he doesn’t remove his hand from her fucking waist. “You might want to unclench your jaw then before you grind down your teeth.”

I’m about to ask what she means, but that just calls attention to the fact I’m gnashing my teeth like a cornered, rabid dog. Every cell in my body has gone into overdrive, and I chew the inside of my cheek, certain I’ve drawn blood. Nothing else matters but fighting for Mary, gladiator style, until the death. Tough luck for cockhead…because I don’t like to lose.

I spring up, fists clenched, armed and ready for combat, but Dixon is quicker and reaches me faster than a fat kid chasing an ice cream truck. “Chill, man. It’s okay,” he says for our ears only as he presses his palm to my chest, holding me back. I wrestle with the urge to shrug him off, but I calm the hell down before I implode.

No one seems to notice the near miss because assmonkey has the balls to walk over to me of his own free will and offer me his hand. I look down at it like it’s a diseased limb. “G’day, mate…” More words follow, but I haven’t the faintest what they are, because I’m pretty certain he’s drunk or maybe high. Quite possibly both.

I blink once before looking at Dixon for a little help. What the fuck did he just say? Is he speaking Swahili? His hand is still tented between us, and I’m so leaving him hanging because I’m not shaking when I have no fucking clue what he just said.

“Dinner is served.”

Ring ding a ding!

I have never been happier to eat than I am right now.

Rachel gestures that we’re to follow her. I will happily follow her to hell if it meant I’d get away from this person speaking gibberish.

Keira stands and follows Rachel without waiting for me to escort her, not that I can blame her. I’m surprised she hasn’t made an excuse to use the bathroom, only to escape out the window and hail a cab out of the land of the crazy.

Cocksmoke lowers his hand, finally getting the hint. He may be pretty, but he’s dumb as dog shit. I can’t help but smile. Mary and her dumbass date also follow Rachel’s lead, him whispering something into her ear. When his hand slips a little too low on her waist and skims the top of her ass, I lunge forward, ready to finish this once and for all.

Dixon is my voice of reason and stops me once again. “Angelo, we’ll be there in a minute.” Maddy nods, chewing on her lower lip.

I hate that I’ve put that look of worry on her face, but I can’t help it. Every time he touches her, it’s like I become possessed by the devil, who wants me to string him up by his hairy balls and make him my own personal piñata.

I’ll make it up to her later, but for now, I need to take a chill pill.

Once she leaves, Dixon sighs. “Dude, you need to calm the fuck down.”

“And you need to stop touching me,” I retort, slapping his hand.

Finch is beside us, his face reflective of Maddy’s. “What’s going on?”

Finch knows I’ve had a “thing” for Mary, but the past two minutes was more than just a “thing”—it almost turned into a bloodbath. “What’s going on is that guy”— I jab my finger in the direction he went —“is the Dark Lord, and I’m pretty certain he just said he’s going to eat my soul. Or maybe he wanted me to dig a hole? I don’t know, it’s not important. What is important is that I’m not breaking bread with him. The only thing I’ll be breaking is my plate over his fucking head.” And there I go again, all Hulk-like. I swipe my palm out in front of me to ensure I’m not green.

Dixon runs a hand over his scruff. “Hunt, I know this is hard, but please, for the love of god, just try to be civil. Just ignore him. Better yet, pretend he doesn’t exist.” That would be easy, but the thought of him sitting near Mary leaves me stabby.

“Guys, I really feel like the third wheel here. What have I missed?” Finch is looking between us, desperate someone shed light on the situation.

Placing my hands on his shoulders, I state, “It’s fine, Finch. Do you think orange is my color?” which just adds to the confusion.

Finch looks at Dixon for help, but he just shrugs. “If not for me, do it for Madison. Please.” His plea snaps some sense into me and my anger begins to subside.

I’m being a fucking drama queen. “Fine, you win.” Dixon looks more than relieved, but it’s short-lived. “But if he looks at me sideways, I will stab him with my fork.”

“Stab who?” Finch screeches, noise control non-existent just like always when he gets worked up.

“Fuck me, man. Does baby brain affect men too, because holy fuck balls, do I need to draw you a diagram?” He scratches over his beard, as if contemplating my offering. “Jesus Christ, I was talking metaphorically.”

Dixon laughs, breaking the stalemate. “Life was so much simpler when I was the messed up one.”

I pull back, faking offense. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we’re not having this conversation again. You know what you have to do. Grow a pair, or get the fuck over it before you end up someone’s bitch in prison.”

He does have a point. “Fine, you win, sensei.”

Dixon’s lips twitch and I’m glad the air has cleared, because I don’t want to ruin Maddy’s night. “Good, now remember, if he talks to you, just pretend you didn’t hear him.” His pause has me anticipating what his train of thoughts are. “That shouldn’t be hard because I have no fucking clue what he said.”

“Thank you!” I cry out, arms out wide while Dixon scratches his temple, confused.

“I’m pretty sure he’s Australian,” Finch says, raining on my fun parade.

Feeling like the old me again, now that Satan reincarnate has gone, I snicker, “Well, the land down under can grow a giant dick and eat me.”

Dixon slaps me on the back. “’Attaboy.”

Finch huffs, while both Dix and I burst out laughing. It takes him a minute, but he finally catches up. “Oh…oh…you’ve got a thing for Mary and you’re jealous?”

I scoff, shaking my head and crossing my arms in defiance, but Dix sets things straight. “There you go. See, you didn’t need Hunter’s diagram after all. Probably best that you didn’t ’cause it would consist of stick figures with massive erections.” Dix throws his arm around Finch and gives him a manly man hug while Finch blanches.

And just like that, I’m me again thanks to these fuckers. “Let’s go before jerk-off eats the entire table. Although, did you see the size of him? I doubt he eats anything but eggwhite steroid omelettes.” The thought has me grinning from ear to ear.

“What now?” Finch asks, still playing catch up.

“His dick would be the size of a fucking prawn!” I roar in laughter. “I hope Mary brought her magnifying glass. What a needle dick!”

Finch pales, while Dixon shakes his head, doing a poor job hiding his smile.

As we make our way toward the dining room, Dix elbows me in the ribs. I grunt on impact. “You’re not off the hook. We still have to talk about your date. But that can wait until after I’ve had a bottle of scotch or two.”

I raise my shoulders in carefree manner. “Don’t be hating on my date. At least she speaks English.”

Dixon smirks, while Finch nods regretfully. “Touché, motherfucker.”

What would I do without these foul-mouthed bastards? Lucky for me, I’ll never have to find out.