Page 7 of Resurrect Me

Lazaris (Sol)

Present Day

It was always The Org’s mission to get rid of me. From day one. From the day I walked into the capitol building. They didn’t like someone who challenged the system; didn’t like someone who questioned the process, the laws, the money being spent and why. When I announced I’d run for Governor, I received the first anonymous threat. I remember it clearly. I walked into my office, and there it was sitting on my desk in a navy-blue envelope tied up with red thread. A red wax seal with the letter O stamped on the back. I thought it was official mail from Washington, so I tore it open without a thought.

It read:

“Solomon Rountree: I run an organization that knows everything about you. And, while we are generous, we hold ourselves to a high standard. My organization has the public’s best interests at heart and will do everything to protect those interests. Your time and effort would be best spent elsewhere. Return to your position in the elementary education system.”

No signature, no stamp, no return address. Nothing to indicate who it came from or where it came from. What I did know is that someone delivered it to my office, although my administrative assistant swore, she hadn’t seen anyone go in or out. When I checked the surveillance, two full days had been erased. I tore up the fucking letter and threw it away.

Eleven months later, when I announced my campaign for Governor, another one came. This time to my house. I opened my mailbox, and there it was. A blue envelope with red thread. And that presumptuous red seal.

It read:

“Solomon Rountree: My organization is aware of your campaign and of your insidious intentions. We vehemently demand you withdraw from the race. If you decide to proceed, we will proceed and remove you ourselves.”

No stamp, no return address, no signature.

I had no idea who it was coming from. I figured my policies were rubbing someone the wrong way. I wasn’t worried about it until that envelope showed up at my house. Whoever I was pissing off knew where I lived, which meant my family was at risk. At the same time, the first threat went unfulfilled. And the state needed a new governor to shake things up. The last governor was corrupt. We all knew it. But no one wanted to do anything about it. A man who had sold his soul for money and power and a name. He worked for companies and other politicians. Not for the people. Enter me. Solomon Rountree. The local elementary school principal turned district superintendent. Three-year MMA champion. Father. Husband.

The day I was elected was the day my carefully built world came crashing down around me. The secret organization made good on their threats. Well…they tried. They thought they killed me and dumped my body in the bay. But I survived. And I decided at that moment the only thing I could do to keep my family, and myself, safe from the ORG was to let them think I was dead. Let the world think I was dead. Which, as painful as it was, also meant my family would think I was dead. It hit my wife, Tacy,the hardest. But if the ORG knew I was still alive, they would kill her and the kids to get to me.

I knew too much. I know too much.

I’ve been watching Tacy for weeks to ensure her safety. I saw Declan come to the house…MY house…at nine one night. He had a bag in his hand and a smug smile on his face. Which made me want to punch him in his fucking mouth. He’s trying to make a move on my wife. But I’ll kill him before he touches her. I plan to tell her that I’m still alive. I’ve just been waiting for the right time. It would be prudent and wise to kill all the mother fuckers who are a threat to my family before I reveal myself to Tacy. But that doesn’t mean I can’t play around a little bit. That doesn’t mean I can’t play a few of our old games…

I’ve been patiently waiting for months to do this. I pull my burner phone out of my back pocket, type in Tacy’s number, and send a message:

“I’ve been watching you.”

It takes about ten minutes, but I know this is Tacy’s day off, so she’ll have her phone by her side. A read receipt shows under my message. She starts typing.

“Who the fuck is this?!”

Hmm, what do I say? I would love nothing more than to tell her I’m still alive and I’ll be with her again soon. But if I reveal my identity to her, I worry The Org will catch wind of it. Capture her, hurt her, maybe even kill her to get to me. Especially if Declan is a member of The Org, as I suspect. No, I’ll keep it a secret for now.

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I reply, “I’m an admirer.”

She starts typing again. Then stops. Then starts again and finally replies with, “whoever you are, you need to stop. Or I will report you to the police.”

“Why? Does a man in uniform turn you on?” I can’t help it. I’m beaming as the tension builds.

She immediately responds with, “fuck you. This is your last warning.”

“I’d love to fuck you. Is this text stream making you wet, Doll?”

Typing and then a long pause.

“You’re fucking sick. Whoever you are.”

I grin again and imagine Tacy in a pink lacey bra and panties. Imagine sliding the straps off her shoulders and unhooking the bra to reveal those luscious breasts. I can almost feel the soft skin in my palms, hear her cute little whimpers. My cock hardens and strains against the fabric of my joggers. I’m sitting in my car, two blocks from my old house, and there’s no one around. So, I reach down my pants and release my hard length.

I text her again, “if the thought of a man following you around and watching you didn’t excite you, you would’ve blocked me already.”

She’s replying again, and I envision her little nipples hardening with excitement over the mystery of who I am. Over the idea that someone could be stalking her. I’ve known her for almost thirteen years. She’s always enjoyed a little danger. It’s the source of her many kinks. Along with stalking. More than once, she and I would play risky games like this one. But she always knew she was safe and secure. But not anymore. So, the stakes are higher now. I bet her pussy is throbbing with the thought ofit. I can’t help but stroke my cock with my hand, up and down. Slowly, at first.

My phone dings. Her message says, “it’s not sexy. It’s fucking creepy.”

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