Page 32 of Blackbeard
We didn’t cook in the kitchen together, the way Esperanza had taught her little girls how to roll out tortillas.
We didn’t embrace each other warmly when it was time to go, the way Blackbeard had hugged his sister and his grandmother.
A pit of…something…gnawed at my gut. Jealousy? Sadness? Whatever it was, I didn’t want to think about it, let alone examine it too closely. Shaking my head, I shoved that feeling down—whatever it was—and put the finishing touches on my eyeliner.
Zipping my makeup bag closed, my free hand strayed to my phone on the bathroom counter. Out of habit, I checked the screen.
No messages. No missed calls.
Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t heard from Dad since the marriage. Granted, it was only a few days ago. And it wasn’t exactly unusual for him to go radio silent. I spent many nights eating dinner alone as a kid because Dad got wrapped up in club business and he forgot to let me know he wouldn’t be home until late.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Glossy auburn curls framing my face. Green eyes sharp and clear and watchful. Black V-neck T-shirt revealing a tempting glimpse of my plump cleavage.
Twenty-eight years old, and here I was, being a crybaby for my daddy like a little girl. I swallowed around the lump in my throat. I’d never been needy or clingy with him before, because he trained it out of me.
Don’t let ‘em see you sweat, Leigh,he used to tell me.That’s a weakness and it can be used against you.
I tapped at my phone’s screen, pulling up Dad’s number. In my mind, I couldn’t stop replaying the memory of Blackbeard with his nieces perched on his lap. They looked so safe and happy with his tattooed hands resting against their delicate little backs, ready to catch them if they started to fall.
I pressed the call button and waited while Dad’s phone rang—once, twice—before it went to voicemail.
I knew my marriage to Blackbeard was temporary. Wouldn’t last more than a year, if everything went according to plan.
But I was alone in enemy territory, surrounded by Blackjacks. I wished I could see a familiar face, or hear Dad’s voice to ease the press of loneliness that had settled between the spaces of my ribs.
Dad is well aware I can handle myself,I reasoned, despite the pang of disappointment in my chest.
So I hung up and slid my phone into my back pocket without leaving a message.
While Blackbeard was gone, I stayed busy to distract myself from the emptiness of the house. I rummaged through his closet, spraying every single article of clothing he owned with my perfume. Even if he tried to escape me by drinking with his buddies at the clubhouse, my scent would follow, torturing him.
I tucked a few of my panties into his sock drawer. The tiny, lacy thongs should spark his imagination and get his blood pumping.
Digging through his bureau, my fingers grazed the curve of cool metal. A gun, probably. Brushing aside fabric, I was delighted to be proven wrong.
Handcuffs. The fun kind. Padded with soft, black velvet.
I smiled and covered them back up, making a mental note I would undoubtedly use for future reference. The sooner, the better, hopefully.
On that note, I retrieved the vibrator I brought with me and approached Blackbeard’s nightstand. Should I put it in the drawer so he could subtly stumble on it later?
Nah, I wasn’t patient enough for that.
I placed it on top of his nightstand, next to his clock. If he fumbled around in the dark—to shut off his alarm, or turn on the light—there was a good chance he would brush up against it. And that hot pink vibrancy in the dark moody color palette of his bedroom would undoubtedly grab his attention.
Eventually, the silence started to chafe at me. I selected a playlist on my phone and cranked the volume up, blasting the echo of nothing and no one into oblivion.
Hours later, that’s how Blackbeard found me—wearing only my panties and one of his oversized T-shirts. Swaying and spinning around the empty house, dodging the collection of beer cans on the floor.
I didn’t hear him come in, didn’t hear the heavy tread of his boots on the tile floor until he stood on the threshold of the living room, watching me with his dark eyes.
“Honey! You’re home!” I chirped, proud of myself that I only slurred a little.
After lowering the volume on my phone, I tiptoed over and flung my arms around him. God, I was more drunk than I thought, but at least I didn’t care. About anything. And it was soliberating.
Dad was in his own little world with his club.
I was here, married to a very sexy man I was definitely attracted to. But betraying him was inevitable. So, he would hate me after that.
