Page 5 of Dr Feel Good
“Snap to it, babe,” Warrior ordered, ending my trip down memory lane.
Shrugging his hand away since he hadn’t moved it from my shoulder, I made a face at him. Defying him wasn’t always an option, although when things had become too intense and I threw out my safe word, he’d stopped instantly. “Don’t fucking touch me, fuckhead. You lost that goddamn right five years ago when you told me to choose.” And then began sticking his cock in Fendi. If not for her, maybe we could’ve found our way back to each other.
Sighing, Warrior squeezed the bridge of his nose. “And you chose, Michelle,” he snapped, inflaming my temper further. That fuckhead knew better than to call me by my name. “Wrong, in my fucking estimation, but do you seemewith hard fucking feelings?”
I jumped to my feet and brought my booted foot down onto his. He barely flinched. “If you ever use my name again, you’ll be sorry,” I swore. “I’m Athena to you. From now until the end of the fucking world.”
“Fine,” he gritted, turned, and began weaving through the crowd, expecting me to fucking follow.
Knowing I had no choice burned my fucking ass.
Weather Advisory — Late October Snow Blast
Snow emergencies possible. Travelers should plan for winter conditions. Meteorologists are baffled—stay tuned for the latest updates. Road conditions are expected to deteriorate.
I hit the road later than expected because when I got into my car and double-checked my bags and my glove compartment, I realized I’d forgotten my gun. Phone calls from my mother and my son further held me up, but finally I was leaving my condo to start my vacation.
Over an hour later, my headlights cut through the cloudshanging low over the city as I merged onto the interstate. The first snowflakes sprinkled the darkness and stuck to the pavement, glistening under the dim glow of the fading streetlights. I quickly put the bright urban glow in my rearview mirror, while ahead of me was the harsh silence of the road ahead.
I’d given the weather advisory a cursory glance and brushed it off. Our winter weather peaked in January and February. Even in the “long winter” of 1880, Kansas saw more bitter cold and fierce winds. And October blizzards are rareanywhere, so I was safe. This was just a freak snowfall to cool things off.
Yet, here and there, gusts of wind pushed powder across the lane and slickened the asphalt. I slowed, careful to keep my SUV steady. Black ice lurked beneath fresh snow, so while I still didn’t believe I had anything to worry about.
The farther south, I went, the more the traffic thinned, and the skyline gave way to scattered suburban homes, and then wide-open spaces. The night felt vast, even a little lonely with just me, my headlights, and the steady rhythm of the tires on asphalt.
Whenever I approached small towns, I welcomed their lights and knew I was closing the distance to my cabin. At one point, visibility dropped to yards, and my high beams reflected at me, momentarily blinding me. Cursing, I flicked them to low and gripped my wheel tighter, then smiled.
Ian wouldn’t even think about visiting me, so my week would indeed be peaceful.
The highway shrank to two miserable lanes, bordered by fields where snow piles rose like frozen waves and tree limbs bowed under the icy weight. The cold pressed in deeper, frosting the edges of my windshield and biting at my hands, so I maxed the heat.
Occasionally, a roadside diner flickered its neon sign, a lone beacon in the quiet night. Still, mainly I was alone on my journey, passing under darkened bridges and over creeks barely visible in the moonlight.
The final stretch of my journey was remote with no streetlights and no traffic. When I turned onto my private access road, slick with newly fallen snow, but not a whiteout, I smiled.
Opening my door and stepping out, I noticed a cloud-thickened sky and a quietness that wrapped around me and stole my cares and concerns.
The temperature had dropped dramatically, so I decided to get a fire going before I unloaded my Range Rover. Unless I brought guests with me, which was rare, I avoided advanced preparation for my visits. Therefore, the log cabin stood in total darkness until I unlocked the door and flicked on the lights where the switches were located just inside.
Once I closed and locked the door, I set my gun on the dining table and headed to my stockroom, just off the kitchen/dining room combo. There, I found stores of wood, kindling, and tinder from my summer visit, along with bottled water, canned food, candles, lanterns, batteries, and the countless items I kept here to assure my comfort. It was the most crowded room in the cabin because I hated clutter.
My first order of business was starting the fires in the living room and the bedroom. Yawning, I decided to worry about the one in the bathroom later. Since my cabin wasn’t that big, these two would suffice for now. Afterwards, I made up my bed, then unlocked the room that had once been the ensuite bathroom. Now, it was more suited to my particular tastes with a St. Andrews Cross, a spanking bench, and a few other specialized items.
Ally and I would spend Christmas here, where I would familiarize her with everything.
Satisfied, I locked the door again, then left my bedroom and closed the door behind me. I turned off every light except a low-watt lamp in my living room, then went to the bar and poured myself a bourbon, which probably was a mistake, given my fatigue. The toastiness of the blazing fire lured me to the couch. I’d take a fifteen-minute power nap before unloading my SUV.
Coldness seeped underneath my leathers and my second layer of thermal clothing. I could do frigid; it was the snow kicking my ass and having me regret every life choice I’d made to that point.
After Razor handed me a suitcase with instructions to get it to where Roman Mac was holed up, Fendi and I hauled ass to get a few supplies, gas up, and hit the road.
I wasn’t a news person. I found shit out when I found shit out. Same with the weather. Sirens sounded for tornadoes. Typically, I stayed away from raging rivers and swollen lakes. And never did I venture out during heavy snow. When we got on the road for our hours long drive, Fendi was rushing my ass, thanks to Razor’s tight deadline. I sincerely believed he would’veunderstood if we had to abort until morning once I saw the heavy clouds dotting the night sky.
Fendi told me while I was changing in my office at the Haven, she’d gone to her room and opened the suitcase–against Razor’s orders–and found straps of cash. More than she’d ever seen.
Over the years, I’d been pegged with more than a few nicknames. Stupid wasn’t one of them, and defying Razor was beyond stupid. It was fucking idiotic and suicidal. Once Pandora’s Box blew open, I wanted fucking answers.
Neither Fendi nor I understood what the fuck was going on. Why would Razor, a Royal Bastards president, send so much fucking money to a Bloody Scorpion enforcer?
