Page 57 of Wicked Deceit
“Mr. Cunningham! So wonderful to see you again!” The man speaking doesn’t look at him as he approaches our group. His beady hazel eyes stare at me while shaking Cushing’s hand.
Breathe in. Breathe out, damn it. I swallow hard, stomping out the panic swirling in my gut.
The man beside Cushing doesn’t look like his picture. He’s the one I wanted to stab for changing everything about Magnolia’s autopsy. And now, here he is in the flesh, looking plumper and happier than before, with diamond rings sitting on his grubby fingers and gold teeth in his mouth. He leers over at me with a predatory smile, cranking up my anxiety. He says something, but my ears fill with loud static.
One by one, each of my nightmares waltz by, greeting Cushing like an old friend. The mayor, the judge, the coroner, the district attorney, Mr. Shaw, and finally, Victor Crowe. Each more glamorous than the next. Diamonds, beautiful women, gold teeth, and expensive suits. They are all flashy billboards of wealth and excess.
The three brothers stand together in solidarity, joking and laughing while side-eyeing me and sizing me up.
More people from East Point come up to them, shaking their hands with smiles. Everyone thanks them for this beautiful evening of giving back to the community and thanks them for giving to the foster kids in need around our area. And all the while, they peer over at me with curiosity. Some make it obvious. But some? Some are coy about it, looking from under their fake eyelashes or hiding behind their hair.
Tiny ants crawl up my flesh, nipping at me, crawling inside me. My nails scratch at my arms and stomach. With every swipe, I want to tear my flesh off until familiar hands grab at me. They pull me away from Carter, and out of the prying eyes of my enemies, until we're slowly walking around the edge of the room. People continue to chatter and laugh, looking away from me. No one seems to notice when we slip through the crowd now. Once their eyes were on me, but they must have gotten their fill.
My mind drifts, dissociating me from the world around me. I shiver, watching the women around the room blinking their fake eyelashes. They’re huge and beautiful, but all I can think about is that video I watched on FlashGram explaining their origins, and I swallow a snort.
“Cumbrellas,” I blurted in a whisper, unable to hold my damn tongue from the thoughts endlessly swirling inside my frantic mind. This earns me stares from the guys, mixed with confusion.
“Jesus Christ,” Seger murmurs, clutching my hand, pulling me toward the exit.
My guards surround me with solemn faces and darting eyes. Chase takes position behind me with his hands lazily in his suit pockets, but he remains alert. Like the leader he is, Zepp stands proud in front of me with rigid shoulders and his chest puffed out. He scans the entire room with a sharp eye, taking in the surroundings like he usually does.
“Come again?” Seger chokes out, pulling me through the crowd with force. I hold him tight, almost falling over my feet.
“Fake eyelashes,” I say in a daze, looking at the fancy women to our right and examining the clumpy spiders hanging off their eyelids. Imagine if they just jumped off their faces and made a run for it across the floor, causing everyone to panic. Attack of the fake eyelashes!
“That’s what they used to be called.” I scrunch my nose when one woman looks at me, and her eyelashes move from their spot and sit askew on her eye. Gross. Doesn’t the glue make them stick better? How does that work?
Seger stiffens, his chest vibrating with laughter when he side-eyes me. “Right, Angel. Cumbrellas, mhmm. We’ll have to test that theory out sometime.” He says it so offhandedly I almost don’t catch the heat sitting behind his words when he struggles to get them out.
I recoil and stare up at him. “I don’t have fake eyelashes.” Never have and never will. Not with a name like cumbrellas. But it makes a girl wonder if the cum really slides off the eyelashes to protect the eyeballs. Because, I don’t think I’d want their salty swimmers in my eyes causing all kinds of problems.
“We can get you some, Sunshine,” Chase says, hiding his smile behind his hand. He chuckles a few times and then focuses on our surroundings.
“I don’t think that’s true, baby girl,” Zepp mumbles, looking over his shoulder.
His teeth sink into his bottom lip, fighting off a smile. What the hell? It’s not that funny. It’s history, damn it! Doubt seeps in when I look around, remembering the video I watched.
“But I watched a video of it on FlashGram,” I say in defense. "The lady said that’s what they were called.” I frown. She wouldn’t lie would she? Fuck, she probably made it up to get views. Shit.
A hot breath nips at my earlobe, and I jump, nearly yelping when he pulls me into him. “Well, we can test the fucking theory,” Carter says and then leans into me more, resting his lips against my ear. “We’re going to take turns coming all over your pretty fucking face. You better hope your eyelashes can handle it.” My face heats at Carter’s brash words, but a pleasurable tingle starts at the tip of my toes.
"Oh, yes," I mumble before I can stop myself.
Deep down my pussy approves, squeezing air. Heat pools in my center, and wetness seeps out when the visions swim through my head. Like a damn movie, I can see it now. Me dropping to my knees, letting them form a circle around me with their hard dicks out. They’d pump themselves in their hands, and I’d be waiting with an open mouth and fake eyelashes to protect my eyes from their salty sperm. They’d come all over my face, and then my damn eyes would burn because shit, cumbrellas are totally worthless–at least that's what fantasy me would think. I’d spit and sputter, and curse at them for getting cum all over my face, and then I'd choke and die. Dramatic? Yes.
“Come on, Angel,” Seger whispers, tugging me harder toward the exit a few steps away. A smirk graces his lips, and lust darkens his deep green eyes, knowing exactly where my mind went to.
"They won't work," I grumble, earning a chuckle from Zepp.
"That's why we have to try, right, baby girl?" Zepp asks in a low, gravelly voice.
My pussy perks up again at the sound of his voice. But then my imagination takes over. I really don't want to look like a dripping glazed donut. Or do I? Hmm. They might win this one.
"For science!" Chase snickers, slapping my butt and making me yelp.
I glare back at him, giving him my meanest scowl. But he just grins at me with the most innocent face. Looking behind him, I watch Carter drop away from us and dip into the crowd. He blends in, in his snug suit, heading in the opposite direction toward his father. I narrow my eyes, following his every agonizing step separating us. A burn spreads across my chest and aches with the distance he puts between us. His eyes never dart back to our group. Instead, he keeps his eyes locked on his father, who mingles with his brothers. Probably gossiping about all the menacing things they're going to do tonight after this sham of a charity event. Maybe we should put a tracker on their asses?
I purse my lips when Carter finally stops next to his father. That frightening, unreadable mask drops like a curtain over his face, hiding the true man beneath. A coldness glazes over his eyes, giving him the air of indifference. From here, he doesn't look like my Carter. He looks like the Carter I met the first week of school. Cruel, snarly, and completely uncaring.
