Master – 9.2

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Ch. 2     Ch. 3     Ch. 4     Ch. 5     Ch. 6     Ch. 7     Ch. 8     Ch. 9

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After ten minutes of silence, Ashley sighs, then holds out her phone out and drops it in my hand.

“My life’s in there.”

“Didn’t think you’d give it up.”

“The thought of you touching me is making me nauseous.”

I roll my window down and am on the verge of flinging it as far from the road as possible.

“Don’t! Just stuff it in your pocket!”

I load the gun, reach the phone out the window, then fire a bullet through it. The phone is blown to bits and scattered by the wind outside.

“What the eff? You killed it!”

I don’t respond. Mainly cause phones don’t die. Instead, I try to develop a plan for this hotel killing. Could it be a set-up, where the man in 203 is waiting for me? Don’t think so – it doesn’t seem like Master wants me killed. Not yet at least.

So why kill this person? And if I do, will Master even know? That question lingers in my mind for a while. He has men working for him in the real world – that much I’ve figured out. The thug who drugged me at my doorstep, the one driving the white van – at least two of them. I don’t believe in supernatural phenomena, but the thought of him having a peephole into my soul scares the shit out of me.

“Weren’t you supposed to be in the NFL or something?”

My eyes snap to Ashley, then cut back to the dark horizon out my window.

“Didn’t work out.”

She laughs. “Loretta made you quit, didn’t she?”

I show at her and hold up gun again.

“That’s what people say, she made you stop.” She dances her fingers through her bleached blonde hair. “God, if you get me on the news I’m gonna be so eff-ing pissed.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head. “You love attention.”

“I’m not wearing any make-up.”

I turn to face her. She is wearing make-up, and looks beautiful. Scratch that – the kind of good-looking playboy models are.

“So sorry I look so ugly,” says Ashley.

I don’t say a word. She’s fishing for compliments. That shit rubs me the wrong way. Some girls really are ugly, so I never understand why I’m supposed to reassure the pretty ones they’re still society’s A-listers.

“I said I’m sorry I look so ugly.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I hear her jaw snap shut and steal a glance – she’s got her arms crossed, and looks like she’s trying to shoot laser beams out of her squinted eyes. I can’t help but smirk for the first time all day.

“Why are you kidnapping me?” she says.

CLICK HERE FOR 9.3!

• Thomas M. Watt

ORDER MASTER NOW!

Master – 9.1

Click here to start from the beginning!

Ch. 2     Ch. 3     Ch. 4     Ch. 5     Ch. 6     Ch. 7     Ch. 8

Master comes out in 4 days! Pre-order NOW!

CHAPTER 9

It’s the last person I ever want to see – Ashley Dupont. My first real girlfriend. We dated through high school and the first two years in college, up until I got with Loretta. She’s also Loretta’s ex-best friend. And that’s a capital ‘X’.

“Are you… carjacking me?” she says in her typical high-pitched voice.

My gun hand won’t keep steady.

She blinks, then holds her pink nails out like an invisible plate rests on the top of her hand. “Like, for real?”

My blood boils. My adrenaline rushes. A realization has dawned on me – If I leave Ashley behind, she’ll be waiting to tell the authorities who I am and what I look like, not to mention the exact license plate number of her red mustang. I have to kidnap her. I aim at the diamond in her ear.

“Scoot over.”

“This is a jay-kay, right?” She looks around. “Some new reality show or something? Carjack your ex?”

The gun fires. We both jump. I accidently shot a bullet through her blonde hair and into her headrest.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Ashley scurries over to the passenger seat, then fastens herself in.

“Holy fuck, what is wrong with you! Don’t kill me!”

“No-”

“We were together for like, 6 years! What the fuck Phil!”

My arm is locked in the air, my eyes can’t stop blinking. I’m in disbelief – nearly killed my ex-girlfriend.

“You want the car? Me? What is it?!”

I shake my head, then cough and lower into the vehicle. My knees jam into the steering wheel, but I find the lever and scoot the seat back. I start the mustang, turn it around, then head for the Sheraton Inn. I let out a breath. Holy shit, I can’t believe I just did that.

“Where’s your phone?” I say.

“What’s going on? Are you gonna kill me?”

“Just give me the phone.”

“Did I do something? Why me?”

“The phone, Ashley.”

“Phil! You’re a criminal now? Why? What happened-”

“The phone goddammit!”

“It’s at home… Don’t kill me.”

I take a good look at her. She’s wearing a black mini skirt. Her legs are clamped together. “Take your phone out from under your skirt.”

“I told you, I left it at home.”

“I carjacked you. I’m not afraid to wrestle your legs apart.”

I can’t stop thinking about how close I came to cracking her skull open with a bullet. This sucks; every part of this sucks. I decide to give up on the phone thing. I’m a married man; the thought of touching Ashley inappropriately sickens me. Because I’m a married man and my wife is missing, not because I’m not attracted to her. Ashley is every man’s dream – she’s even better looking since I left her, in a materialistic sense. Her breasts perk up like they’re resting on an invisible shelf, and they’re twice as plump as they used to be. Plus now she’s got these big fisheyes like the Kardashians after applying ‘make-up contour techniques’. Ashley got work done, and the doctors knew what they were doing.

I hate every part of this. I hate that Loretta and Avery are in danger, and I hate that I’m on my way to a hotel where I’m supposed to kill whoever is in room 203. I don’t even know what I’m going to do when I get there.

CLICK HERE FOR 9.2!

• Thomas M. Watt

ORDER MASTER NOW!

Saturday Special – Relationship Advice

I give you, a second clip of me acting. Here’s the first if you think you can handle it.

I was visiting my friend in Portland when a few dozen beers led to some ingenious sketch ideas. This is one of them.

• Thomas M. Watt
• Author of Master

Best Quotes – #3

Thank you to Jacqueline Obyikocha who nominated me for this award. I’ve been selected to write 3 of my favorite quotes, and nominate 3 of my favorite bloggers to do the same. I will provide 1 quote per and nominate 1 blogger per day.

Today’s Nominee: Laura Pickren.

Congrats!

Steve Jobs was an influential man. I never knew much about him until recently. In one video I’ve been unable to track down, Jobs states that “influence is more powerful than control.” This really struck a chord with me.

There are different types of relationships, so many that I can’t even fathom attempting to list them one-by-one. The most common are: romantic, professional, and friendly.

It is becoming disturbingly commonplace for relationships to consists of one person attempting to exert control over another. The motivation to control is always the same – fear. Fear that someone will leave you, refuse to do business with you, or reject you. At its core, control is the action taken by people who wrongly believe they’re unlovable.

Used car salesmen, passive-aggresive girlfriends, and domineering father figures perpetuate stereotypes that I consider best represent controlling personalities. These types will trick, manipulate, and flat-out lie just to get others to submit to their will.

The reason I like Job’s quote so much is because it holds true. The fruitful relationships in our lives natural influence us – you listen to your best friend’s suggestion about what movie to see, the advice of a successful person encourages you to behave similarly, the loving support of your significant other lifts you when you are down.

Always remember: Fear controls. Confidence influences.

• Thomas M. Watt
• Author of Master

Come by tomorrow evening to read my second favorite quote!

Too Perfect Marriage – Part 7

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

“What’s your wife doin’?” said the driver.

“That’s not my…” Calvin shook his head. “I don’t know. She’ll be right back, though.”

“You better hope so, fair’s runnin.”

“She’ll be here in a sec, said she would.”

Calvin listened to “Bittersweet Symphony” on his Ipod again, and couldn’t stop replaying the kiss in his head. It’d been so long since the sweet ingredients of love had churned in his gut and been devoured by his heart. Marrying Bridgette was a blemish he’d been trying to paint around, but now that he was certain she was cheating and actively looking to kill him, brushing on a fresh canvas didn’t seem like such a condemn-able idea.

“Give her a call, buddy,” said the driver.

Calvin smeared his forehead. “Don’t know her phone number, believe it or not.”

“Ah, I see. Damn shame, thought you two looked good together. Good times end so fast.”

“You misunderstood. We’re gonna be together for the long run. Trust me.”

The driver adjusted his rear view mirror to catch a glance of Calvin, then sighed and turned away.

Calvin scoffed and shook his head. He tapped his fingers on his knee, then ripped the earbuds out and stuffed the Ipod back into his pocket. He checked the time – five minutes since she’d left. He ran a hand threw his hair, then fluttered his lips with an exhale and crossed his arms.

“Go in there and get her. Doin’ nothing for nobody, just waitin’ here,” said the driver.

“Be patient.”

“Huh?”

Calvin groaned, then whipped out a wad of bills from his pocket. He swatted them in the driver’s hand. “Here,” he said, then stepped out.

He paced toward the club with his head on a swivel. Shea said she’d be right back, but the fact that she hadn’t returned wasn’t a huge call for alarm – chances were, she had some choice words before parting ways with Brody and leaving his dirty dick for good.

Still, Calvin felt uneasy – he was convinced Bridgette and Brody were conspiring to kill him. He could afford to look for Shea, as long as he remained surrounded by others – narcissists murdered, but weren’t the type to ruin their reputations and risk prison time.

Calvin passed by people exiting the club, then made his way through the smokers near the back entrance. He tore the door open and came face to face with Brody.

“H-h-hey, Calvin! I was just looking for you.”

Calvin dropped back a step.

Brody proceeded forward, then swung his arm around Calvin and tugged him away from the club and toward an empty alleyway. “Your wife tells me you’re quite the guitar player-”

“Eat a dick,” said Calvin, throwing Brody’s arm from his shoulders. He turned around. Brody jumped in front of him.

“Easy, guy! … what’s with the constant hard-on for me?”

“Returning yours from my wife.”

The smokers outside raised their eyebrows and moved a little closer.

“What? Nooo,” said Brody. “What kind of monster you think-”

“Kind of monster who kills. I know about the gun.”

“What gun?” said Brody, with a chuckle. “Oh, you mean this?” He reached inside the flap of his jacket, withdrew a handgun, then casually pointed it at Calvin. “I like guns, so what.”

“Put that shit away,” Calvin said.

“Easy guy! you really think I would shoot you?”

“Thought Bridgette might cheat with a douche-bag, was right about that.”

Brody smiled. The smokers watched eagerly.

“This attitude of yours is very disheartening,” said Brody.

“I’m leaving with Shea.”

Brody quit smiling. “What?”

“That’s right. You can have Bridgette, she’s all yours. I want Shea.”

Brody scratched his temple and lowered an eyebrow. “But… why?”

“Because when you acted like a pompous ass in the limo she told me to ignore you, and that’s goddamn refreshing after being told ‘stop being an idiot’ for so fucking long. Because when I got my ass kicked by some clown inside she cared more about me being alright than how stupid she looked being the wife of a loser. Because when I say it’s a perfect moment, she makes it better.”

“But Bridgette’s a ten, and they’re both blonde, so…”

Calvin scoffed. “You’re a joke. Get out of my way,” he said, trying to move past.

Brody grabbed him by the arm, then yanked him close and jammed the gun barrel into his abdomen.

Calvin glared at him. “I’m not as funny as you think,” said Brody.

“Move the gun.”

“I’ll start with the trigger.”

Calvin forced his words through gritted teeth. “What kind of idiot kills in public? Look around, we’re surrounded. They’ve got cameras recording this.”

Brody didn’t flinch.

“Why kill me?” Said Calvin. “Take Bridgette, she’s all yours. Let me and Shea walk.”

“Nobody’s trying to kill you,” said Brody.

“Ditch the gun,” said Calvin.

“Problem’s Shea.”

“You don’t give a shit, you don’t even love her.”

“Not that simple.”

“We’ll see, guy,” said Calvin. He shoved Brody then hurried toward the backdoor.

“H-h-hey, buddy!” yelled Brody. “Think you’ve had a few too many!”

Calvin reached for the door, ripped it open, then lost his feet out from under him. Brody had tackled his lower half. The door fell closed, and Calvin found himself wrestling on the pavement.

“You’re not getting back at that guy in there!” said Brody. “Already caused a scene, now you’re embarrassing both of us!”

The onlookers didn’t intervene. Calvin struggled to peel himself free from Brody, who wouldn’t stop yelling.

“I won’t let you fight him! I can’t, you’re not in your right mind!”

Calvin managed to climb on top of Brody, then swallowed up Brody’s face with his palm. “Shut the fuck up!”

“You’re drunk!” said Brody. “Get off me, you’re drunk!”

Calvin reared back then slugged Brody across the face. Blood fired out from his mouth.

“Money don’t buy fists,” Calvin said, then tried to push himself up.

Brody grabbed Calvin’s white button down, then ripped him close and hissed into his ear.

“I’m not the breadwinner bitch.”

“What?”

“Shea’s loaded. Family inheritance.”

Calvin shook his head. “You’re talking out your ass-”

“Nothing to gain by killing you.”

Calvin’s heart raced. “So Shea is-”

“Dead,” said Brody, before taking a peek at his rolex. “Right about… now.” He laughed in his face, blood sputtering from his lips.

“No,” said Calvin. He shook his head, reached into Brody’s jacket, then yanked out the gun. “No!” He stood up and stormed into the club.

To be continued…

• Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 8 – FINALE!

“

Too Perfect Marriage – Part 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

“I had breakfast with Bridgette’s dad this morning.”

Shea quit smiling. Calvin walked around her and pushed through the dancers.

“Calvin, wait!” said Shea.

He split a couple apart and continued on. His eyes darted around the place, but it was hard to identify his wife with the rapid flash of strobe lights. Music pounded through the speakers. Sweaty bodies were everywhere – but where was Bridgette?

Calvin spotted a few of his wife’s work friends. They climbed the stairs. At the front of the pack strode Bridgette and Brody. It looked like they could be holding hands, but other patrons blocked his view.

“Dammit,” he said, standing on his toes.

Someone grabbed Calvin by the wrist.

“Shea, what does that look-”

The moment he whirled around, a fist came flying at his face. Calvin ducked down and narrowly dodged the flying knuckles. It came from a big fella wearing an extra large black shirt, gold chain around his neck.

“What the hell!” said Shea.

Big fella swung again, and socked Calvin in the stomach. Calvin fell back a few steps.

“Stop!” Said Shea.

“Ain’t about you girl,” said big fella.

Calvin lifted his gaze – bouncers were storming over and parting the dancers.

“Look me in the eye you little bitch.” Big fella cracked his knuckles.

“Who are you?” said Calvin.

Big fella grabbed a fistful of Calvin’s shirt.

“Calvin!” said Shea.

Big fella cocked his arm back and delivered another blow into Calvin’s cheek. When he reloaded for another punch, Calvin shot out his arm, grabbed his gold chain, then twisted it until Big Fella began to choke. Big Fella dropped to his knees and dug his fingers between his chain and neck, struggling to breathe.

Big Fella ripped the chain himself, and the pieces landed on the floor.

“You done it,” he said, then stood and slugged Calvin across the face

Calvin landed in a dive on the dance floor, pushing the legs out from those around him. He hurried onto his back, and found Big Fella pouncing to clobber him. Calvin brought his knee into his chest, then kicked Big Fella right in the teeth. Backlash sent big fella bending and twisting over in the opposite direction.

Bouncers tore through the crowd, pointing at Calvin.

Calvin sprung to his feet and grabbed Shea by the hand. He rushed toward the backdoor, using his front wrist to strong-arm through the dancers.

“Why did he attack you?” said Shea.

“You think I know?”

Calvin checked over his shoulder for the bouncers, and got an unexpected glance of Bridgette and Brody. Calvin stopped in his tracks.

Shea ran into him. He turned her around, then held her with his forearm wrapped around her neck.

“What are you-”

Shea followed the point of his finger. Brody leaned over Bridgette from behind the top balcony, with his hands holding the bar in front of her abdomen.

“Oh my God,” said Shea.

The bouncers were making headway through the crowd.

“Let’s go,” said Calvin. He charged toward the back door and yanked Shea along with him. He kicked it open, and the two barged into a crowd of smokers.

“Waddup?” said a smoker.

Calvin noticed the four men encircling him had baggy shirts and chain necklaces.

“Your face looks like pizza got stomped on.” said one of them.”Who you runnin’ from?”

“Nobody. Let me bum one.”

They scoffed. One of them handed him a cigarette.

Calvin lit up, then sucked the black ash into his lungs.

“What just happened?” said Shea. She coughed and looked away.

“You don’t smoke?”

She eyeballed the cigarette. “Not anymore.”

Shea plucked the cigarette from his lips, then jammed it in her own. She treated it like it were a CPR victim, and killed it in no time. Shea coughed, bent over and pressed her hand to her chest.

Calvin pat her on the back and helped her straighten up. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

“Am I okay? Don’t you think they’re cheating on us?”

“I don’t know.”

“We’re getting cuckolded… my life’s over.” Shea spun around and reached for the door. Calvin grabbed her by the wrist then tugged her back.

“That guy attacked me for no reason.”

“I know, I’m sorry but-”

“Don’t go in there.”

“My husband’s in there.”

“Bridgette can be sinister. She goes out without me, but something changed her mind tonight. I don’t think it’s love.”

“Calvin-”

“Bridgette brought a gun. Maybe Brody’s got it now. Does your husband know how to use one?”

“Oh my God,” she lifted her head and stared back into his eyes.

“What?”

“The knife,” said Shea. She checked him up and down, then pushed her hand into his chest and walked away.

To be continued…

• Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 5!

Donald and Thurma – Part 2

If you haven’t read part 1, start here.

Donald and Freddy sat at a back table, a beer to each of them.

“Who you keep staring at?” said Freddy.

Donald shook his head. “Nobody, forget it.”

“Don’t be a pussy. Who is it?”

“The girl I ran into at the door. She seemed nice.”

“We want bad bitches, not basic bitches. Where she at?”

Freddy poked his head up like an ostrich, prompting Amanda and Thurma to stop looking in Donald’s direction.

“The blonde or brunette?” said Freddy.

“God, you have to be so obvious?”

Freddy smacked Donald on the forearm. “You have to be such a bitch? Blonde one’s hotter, go for her.”

“No. I like the brunette,” said Donald, glancing at Thurma after he said it.

“Makes sense, you don’t have enough confidence to take down a tiger like that blonde. Girl got a dumper.”

“Tiger? Dumper? What?”

“Are you gonna go over there or just sit here and talk about going over there?” said Freddy.

Donald scratched the back of his head, then crossed his arms and sunk into the table. He took a sip of his drink.

“Let me finish my beer first. That way I have a reason to-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Freddy knocked the glass mug off the table. It shattered and the blue moon washed away.

“What the hell?” said Donald.

“Oh shit, looks like you need another drink! Now get your ass over there and talk to her.”

Donald bit his lips, checked out Thurma again, then stood up.

“Fine.”

“And remember-”

“What?”

“Be an asshole. Else you’ll be stuck in the friend zone again.”

Donald sighed. “Got it,” he said, then started over to the bar.

• * *

“Oh, he’s coming,” said Amanda, nudging her friend.

“Which one? The douche or the one who maybe lifeguards during rainy days in autumn?” said Thurma.

Amanda’s head bobbed back. “That was a pretty specific description.”

“Just tell me!”

“The tall one with the good-boy hair.”

“God no. Shit. I don’t want to do this. Come with me to the bathroom,” Thurma said, then stood up from her bar stool.

Amanda grabbed the bottom of her skirt and whipped it up.

“Stop!” Said Thurma, snapping back into her seat.

“Haha. You’re going through with this. Remember – demand respect.”

“By being a bitch?”

“Yep.”

“Oh shit. God dammit. Got it.”

The two went quiet, and Donald took the seat beside Thurma.

• * *

Donald turned to Thurma, and the two met eyes. Neither smiled, and both instantly looked straight ahead.

“Waddup,” said Donald.

“Who are you talking to?”

Donald looked at her. “Oh. Didn’t notice you there. You’re so short.”

Thurma raised her eyebrows, then turned to Amanda. Amanda pushed her so hard Thurma’s barstool rocked and sent her colliding into Donald.

Donald caught her in his arms. “Be careful! You okay…  idiot?”

“Yeah, I – What?”

“What.”

Thurma pursed her lips together. “You’re not good enough for me. Bye.”

“Oh. Ok,” said Donald. He began looking around for Freddy, but his friend had disappeared from their table.

“Who are you looking for?” said Thurma, hands to her hips. “And why are you still here?” She brushed one of her curly brown locks back behind her ear, then stood with her hands at her hips.

“More… bitches,” said Donald.

“You’re looking for more bitches?”

“Yea. Badder ones. You’re a basic… be-yotch.”

“We prefer the to be called females.”

“Oh ok. I’m looking for more females.”

“You sound like a moron.”

“Ok,” said Donald. Both opened their mouths to speak at the same time, then stopped when they thought the other person would. Neither said anything, and both looked away.

“You’re kind of a b,” said Donald.

“A b?” said Thurma, before pressing her tongue into her teeth. “What’s that b stand for, eh?”

“I said ‘B’, not ‘A’.”

They both smiled and laughed.

Something gave Donald a sudden jolt forward, and his momentum sent him shoving Thurma into Amanda. Both girls spilled their drinks all over their dresses, then stared at Donald with shark jaws.

Wide-eyed, Donald slowly turned around to see who had shoved him.

“Waddup bitches, see you’ve met my friend. Huge cock, case you were wondering.  Name’s Freddy,” said Freddy, as he extended his hand out for the girls to shake.

To be continued…

– Thomas M. Watt

Donald and Thurma – Part 1

Donald sat in the passenger seat of Freddy’s Escalade, still glaring at the same text:

I just think you and I are better off as friends.

He shook his head, then stared out the window.

“I’m telling you bro,” said Freddy. “You took too long to make your move. That’s where you messed up.”

“It shouldn’t be like that,” said Donald.

“Well it is like that! Girls like dudes who are aggressive. Stop pussy-footing around, I want you to be a man tonight.”

Donald scoffed.

“C’mon dude,” said Freddy. “This bar’s going to have a ton of hot chicks tonight. You’re gonna get yours, and you’re going to feel a lot better.”

“I could give two shits about getting laid,” said Donald.

“And that’s your problem.”

“Why?”

“She stuck you in the friend zone, didn’t she?”

“So?”

Freddy turned to Donald and raised his eyebrows. “What is the one thing that separates friends from lovers?”

Donald gazed at the text again, then sighed.

“You can’t be afraid to hurt their feelings. There’s a reason girls always fall for assholes.”

Donald stared out the passenger window for a bit.

“You hearin’ me bro?” said Freddy.

Donald stuffed his phone in his pocket. “Ok. Tonight we do it your way.”

• * *

Thurma and her friend Amanda walked to the bar together. It was only a few blocks from their apartment.

“I’m telling you!” said Amanda. “Greg walked all over you because you let him. You have to stop being so nice to these assholes.”

“I never said he was an asshole,” said Thurma.

“All guys are assholes.”

Thurma laughed.

Amanda playfully smacked her arm. “You think I’m joking, but I’m not. At least, that’s the way you have to approach the game.”

“What game?”

“Love! It’s a game, and if you haven’t figured that out by now than I’m afraid even I can’t help you.”

“Why can’t I just be myself and find someone who likes me for who I am?”

“Because that doesn’t exist. Guys like bitches and hoes. Which one are you?”

Thurma cracked a chuckle. “Neither, jeeze!”

“Well I’m a bitch.

“Not to me,” said Thurma.

“To guys I am. And you know what?”

“What?” said Thurma.

Amanda’s phone beeped. She held it out for Thurma to see, then smiled at her. “Oh, what’s this? Another ‘I’m sorry’ text? God, I swear I must have ignored a hundred of these already.”

“That’s mean.”

“All is fair in love and war Thurma.”

“So what are you telling me? I should just start acting like a bitch to every guy I talk to?”

“If you want them to respect you, than yeah.”

Thurma shook her head.

“One night. Just try it out! See how it feels.”

They reached the bar, and Thurma took hold of the entry door when Amanda grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her back.

“What?” said Thurma.

“I want you to promise me. One night.”

“Be a bitch?” said Thurma.

Amanda grinned. “Demand respect.”

“By being a bitch?”

Amanda looked off to the side, then shrugged.

Thurma rolled her eyes. “Alright. For one night.”

“That’s the spirit!”

She turned around and reached for the door handle again, but this time she met hands with Donald, who grabbed it at the exact same time.

“Oh,” said Donald. “Sorry.”

Thurma laughed. “It’s okay.”

“HEY! Let’s move it along here!” said Freddy, who came up quick behind Donald.

“Ya, please do,” said Amanda, before pulling Thurma away from them.

Donald entered the bar with Freddy, and shortly after Thurma and Amanda followed behind.

To be continued…

• Thomas M. Watt

The Worst Kind of Marriage – Part 6

Missed the beginning? – Click below

• https://thomasmwatt.wordpress.com/2013/11/02/the-worst-kind-of-marriage-part-1/

“What the fuck are you doing?” said Huerto. He was holding Amanda up, his fist clenching her hair.

Bethany concealed the knife behind her back. She did not want the sick-kidnapper to know she found it.

Four months since Bethany was taken from her normal life. Amanda just arrived, and it was Huerto’s intention to make a wife out of her. Bethany already was.

Huerto pointed the gun. “What do you got there honey?”

Bethany swallowed and looked at Amanda. The teenager’s face was bloodied from the beating. Her eyes were down and her blond hair was layered with red streaks from Huerto’s wet fingers.

“A good wife doesn’t hide things from her husband.”

Amanda lifted her chin. Her mouth was agape and jaw looked off center. She shook her head slowly side to side. She asked Bethany earlier not to put her life at risk.

Bethany bit her thin lips and squeezed her eyelids together.

“WHAT DO YOU HAVE?”

She sniffed. “A knife.” Bethany looked at Amanda again. The poor blonde girl wanted to live. She deserved to live and who was Bethany to jeopardize that for her.

Huerto spoke through gritted teeth. His face was pockmarked and his toupee a puffy bread loaf. “That’s not good of you dear. Not good at all. Bring it here.”

What is life?

“Now,” said Huerto.

Life is freedom. Life is laughing. Life was hers until Huerto took it away. Now he was going to take Amanda’s.

“Honey?”

Bethany stepped forward. This isn’t life.

“Give it here,” he said, dropping Amanda and flapping his hand together.

I’m already dead.

“Very good dear,” said Huerto, as Bethany took the knife from behind her back and slowly moved it towards his hand. “Now-”

Before Huerto could finish, Bethany swung the knife up and sliced it across his jugular. The rifle shot once into the dresser and he fell back. Blood sprayed everywhere and he knocked porcelain plates and china to shatter. He tried to yell but only sputtered blood and babble came out. Huerto swiveled his head side to side and stomped his heel into the ground. A puddle of blood oozed onto the wood floor.

“Let’s go!” Screamed Amanda. She stood and ran out.

Bethany took the knife and ran after her. She locked the door to the room once they exited and ran down the stairs. They smiled and reached the front door and heaved to pull it open then realized something.

The front door locked from the inside. The windows were all boarded up. Everything needed a key and they didn’t have a key. Huerto had the keys. All the keys. He also had a rifle.

The girls looked at each other.

“Do you think he’s dead?” said Amanda.

“He’s gotta be,” said Bethany.

A loud ‘thump’ came from upstairs.

Part 7, Coming Soon!

– Thomas M. Watt

The Worst Kind of Marriage – Part 5

Missed the beginning? – Click below for Part 1

• https://thomasmwatt.wordpress.com/2013/11/02/the-worst-kind-of-marriage-part-1/

Bethany finished up the stairs. She entered the room first, while Amanda followed behind. Huerto, The sick pervert who had kidnapped each of them and called himself a husband, was in the back, carrying his rifle with him.

Bethany looked to the bed. Her puddle of blood still remained. She clenched her stomach wound. She was dizzy.

Get a hold of yourself.

Bethany squeezed her eyelids closed, grimaced, then remembered she had one chance to escape.

Find the knife.

“Ok my little lady. Are you ready to get our wedding underway?” Said Huerto to the young blonde teenager.

Amanda sniffed, but did not answer.

“I love you, you know,” said Huerto.

Amanda sniffed again.

“Say you love me bitch!”

Huerto smacked the young woman across the face with his rifle. After she kept at a hunch and he started to swing again.

“HEY!” Said Bethany.

The pock-marked Huerto stopped. He looked at her funny, smirked then raised the barrel in her direction. “What was that, honey?”

“Don’t hit her.”

Huerto shifted the bolt handle then locked it down, loading his rife. “Dear, I’m beginning to wonder if you’ve forgotten how this relationship works. Have you?”

Bethany looked down. She spotted the bloody knife. It was on the ground behind Huerto.

“I’m the master, you’re the slave. Right?”

Bethany gulped. She looked at Amanda.

Amanda barely shook her head. “No,” she mouthed with her lips.

“Right?” said Huerto, holding the gun to Bethany’s pale cheek.

She finally nodded.

“All right, great!” He hugged Amanda in close with his free arm. “Let’s get the ceremony underway. Are you excited baby?”

Amanda didn’t answer.

Huerto threw her headlong into the desk near the window. “I said, are you FUCKING excited!” He walked over to her then kicked her in the stomach.

Bethany looked at the ground. The knife was in plain sight, and Huerto’s back was to it.

“ARE YOU?” Screamed Huerto.

Amanda cried.

Get it. Get the knife.

Bethany started after it, but as soon as she did Huerto whirled around and loosely aimed the gun at her. “Where are you going?”

Though she was curled up in the fetal position, Amanda bit Huerto on the front of his shin.

“Ahh!” He returned his attention to her and smacked Amanda in the ribs with his barrel.

Bethany moved fast, too fast. When she reached for the knife she kicked it instead. Over shoulder she saw the painful expression on Amanda’s face. The young girl bit Huerto’s leg again anyways, and dealt with the repercussions.

The knife had slid under the dresser. Bethany crouched to her hands and knees and reached for it. The blade cut her fingertip and she felt it spin away.

C’mon!

She could hear Amanda getting pummeled. Time was running out. Bethany lowered all the way to her stomach, felt around underneath, then finally took hold of the handle. She shimmied her arm back out, knife in hand. She gritted her teeth, shot to her feet, then turned around.

“What the fuck are you doing?” said Huerto. He was holding Amanda up, his fist clenching her hair.

Part 6, Coming Soon!

– Thomas M. Watt