Page 39 of Resurrect Me

“You’ve been stalking your own wife, Boss?”

Our voices echo off the walls down the long corridor. “It sounds fucking crazy when you say it like that.”

“Itisfucking crazy, Aris. People don’t stalk their partners.”

“Most people don’t have a wife like Tacy Rountree,” I say and smile, as the night where we fucked in handcuffs covered in coconut oil flashes through my mind. My cock twitches.

Clyde leads me to the furthest room at the back of the warehouse. He slams open the heavy metal door and…lo and behold…there she is, seated at the council’s table. She must’ve followed me from the Drive-in. Damn it, Tacy.

“I should have known,” I say, shaking my head.

Clyde shoots me a look and exits quietly.

Tacy stares at me and smiles devilishly. “You should have known what?”

“That you’d follow me.”

I take a seat next to her. She’s sitting at the head of the table. My normal spot. The fluorescent lamps above us flicker. The chair squeaks as she leans back, getting way too comfortable in a place where cold blooded killers meet.

“Learned from the best,” she says, still grinning and nonchalantly surveying at her manicured fingernails.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Tace,” I remind her. Though, as the words slip out, I’m bracing for World War three.

“Why not?”

“This place is meant for The Rebellis only. It’s a building full of vigilantes. Delinquents. Anarchists…Killers.”

“What if I want to join you?” she asks sweetly. “I told you, there’s shit about me you don’t know, Aris. I’m not a sweet, innocent child.”

“You’re not a criminal, Babydoll. And I need you to be around for the kids. I can’t guarantee I’ll make it out of this alive. A war is coming.”

“It’s too late, Sol. Or Lazaris. Or whatever the fuck your name is now,” she crosses her arms over her chest. Her scarlet lipstick gleams in the yellow light. With every movement, her breasts bounce slightly. She’s not wearing a bra. God, she’s gorgeous when she’s pushing my buttons. I can’t have her here, but I want her here. I want to bend her over the table and fuck her tight little pussy.

“Why do you say that? It’s not too late,” I say and stroke her arm.

“I’m a killer, Aris.” The word hangs in the air around us. She’s said it before, but this time there’s an extra bite to it.

“You didn’t kill Starkey, Tace. I did,” I remind her. “And no one has come for you yet, right? If they do, I’ll come forward. I won’t let you take the fall.”

“I’m not talking about Starkey.”

My breath catches in my throat. A pipe creaks somewhere overhead. Water drips within the walls.

“Someone else, then?”

She nods and bites her bottom lip.

“Who?”

“The question you should be asking, Aris King, is how many?”

I clasp my hands in my lap and take a deep breath. My wife is a cold-blooded killer. Since when? And why? My mind is reeling, and I hear the guys stomping down the hallway, approaching the room. I glance at my watch. Almost lunch time. But food and the guys can wait. I need to understand who I married. The image I had of Tacy Rountree is quickly shapeshifting. Devolving. I swallow.

“Are you going to tell me, Tacy? Or are we going to sit here staring at each other until the fucking cows come home?”

She clicks her tongue and checks her watch. A nervous habit we both perpetuate. One of us picked it up off the other…as married couples do. Did my rebellious ways rub off on her? Or did hers rub off on me?

Tacy clears her throat and crosses her legs. “In high school.”

---