Savage Sins Read online

“Sure thing,” she said and went about retrieving the drink.

  I watched her grab the bottle off the top shelf, and I couldn’t help noticing how her dress hiked up along her pelvis, exposing just a hint of red panties. The sight of them stole my breath away.

  The two workers gathered on the opposite side of the horseshoe-shaped bar were laughing, and pounding bottles of beer. One was big and bald, not by choice of having taken a razor to the scalp to make him look bad ass, but naturally. The other guy was shorter but stocky and muscular. Like a fireplug and just as iron hard. Their eyes shifted from the bartender to me and back again. It’s possible they might have recognized me, but I didn’t take them for the literary types.

  There was a wide high def television mounted on the wall behind the two workers. A NASCAR race of some sort was going on. You know, like the Indie 500 or something. I didn’t watch car races because they bored me so it could have been anything. Still, for a second or two, I was mesmerized by the cars speeding around the ovular track. Problem was, by aiming my gaze at the TV, the two workers thought I was staring at them. Almost on cue, their faces went rock hard and serious.

  “You looking at something, pal?” the short, stocky one asked.

  A start in my heart. Mouth dry.

  “The car race,” I said. “Just watching the car race . . . behind you.”

  Big Bald Man turned to his friend.

  “He’s watching the car race,” he said. “He must like car races.” He laughed like something was funny.

  “Mark, be nice,” the bartender insisted, setting my drink down in front of me. “You too, Randy.”

  “They’re okay,” I said a bit under my breath.

  She shook her head.

  “They come in on Saturdays after work,” she said. “They’re a pain in my ass.”

  “Come on, Candy-sweet-Candy,” the one I took for Mark said. The bald one. “We’re just having fun with the guy. Isn’t that right, Mister?”

  I smiled, lifted my drink, then downed it lightning fast. Setting the glass back down.

  “I’ll take another,” I said. “And two beers for my new friends.”

  Short Stocky Randy’s eyes lit up.

  “Now you’re talking, pal,” he said, pulling down on the brim of his baseball cap. “I mean, you look like an asshole to me, but we’ll take your beer.”

  Candy turned fast.

  “That’s enough,” she barked. “I’m not paid to be a babysitter.”

  Mark looked her in the eye. “Just joking is all,” he said. “All in good fun.”

  She retrieved the two beers for them, poured me another shot, set it down before me.

  “Can I ask you a quick question, Mister?”

  She blushed when she said it like it took a lot for her to work up the courage to ask what she wanted to ask. And I guess I knew exactly what was coming.

  Nervously combing back her hair, she said, “You’re the writer? The famous one who lives in town? The author of Savage Sins?”

  My eyes shifted to the two clowns. They were trying their hardest to overhear the conversation.

  I nodded. “You’ve read it already?”

  She reached under the bar, came out with a hardcover edition.

  “Preordered on Amazon. Arrived this morning, and I’ve already finished it. I can’t believe you just walked in here. It’s like you were meant to walk in here.”

  “It’s like you were meant to walk in here,” Randy mimicked in a mock girl voice.

  She turned quickly. “Randy, I swear I will call the cops and have your ass pulled right out of here.”

  “No, you won’t,” Mark said. “You need the tips.”

  She turned back to me, turned her frown upside down.

  “Would you do me the hugest favor and sign my copy . . . Mr. Casey?”

  She set the book on the bar before I had a chance to answer.

  “Sure,” I said. Then, looking around, “But I need a pen.”

  Once more she reached under the bar, came back out with a food order pad to which a pen was attached. She freed up the pen and handed it to me. I opened the cover and pressed the tip of the pen to the mostly blank title page.

  “It’s Candy, right?” I said.

  She nodded again. She was so excited she seemed to be trembling. I started writing something. I wasn’t even sure what I was writing, I’d signed so many books the previous evening. My eyes were concentrated more on her body, her naked thighs and her leather boots, and the way her breasts filled out her flowery dress. She was years younger than me, but it didn’t seem to matter. She was old enough for anything.

  In the end, I wrote, “For Candy, all my affection.” Then I signed my name.

  When I handed it back to her, her hand brushed against mine. Rather, it didn’t brush so much as she made sure her hand touched mine. It sent a warm sort of shock through my system. A welcomed shock. It made me hard.

  Turns out, she was one of those fans who insist on reading what I scribbled inside the book right away. Her face turned red again.

  “All your affection?” she said. “You must have lots of girlfriends, Mr. Casey. At least, judging from the, ummm, sex scenes. Sooooo reallll.” Once again, she reached out, set her hand on mine and ran her purple manicured fingernails gently over my skin. “They really worked for me, if you know what I mean.”

  Maybe I was even blushing now.

  “Glad I could help,” I said.

  She hugged the book and eyed me like she wanted to hug me the same way. I couldn’t believe how hard she was making me. I felt strange about it on one hand, but on the other, all I wanted to do was go around the bar, pull up her dress, and fuck her on the spot.

  “Oh, can you sign a book for me, Mr. Casey?” Short Stocky Randy said in that same girl voice. “You make me sooo wet.”

  I drank down my shot, and Candy immediately poured me another.

  “That’s on the house,” she said, “because of those two assholes. And because you’re such a wonderful writer.” Then, stepping around the bar. “I’m the only one working today, so can you excuse me for a moment, Mr. Casey?”

  She left me alone with the two clowns and the road race going on behind them. The whiskey had given me some muscles, so I figured I’d have a little fun. Sliding off my stool, I made my way around the horseshoe until I came within a foot or so of Randy. Both of them were a little shocked that I’d approached them like that, and they immediately assumed a defensive posture, their elbows on the bar, both their hands wrapped around their mostly empty beer bottles.

  “Hey fellas,” I said, “you guys hear about Planet X? You know, the rogue planet that’s supposed to enter into our orbit this year, and destroy the earth?”

  I’m not sure why I was asking them this question, but it was the first thing that popped into my head.

  “So what?” Mark said, his eyes not on me but his beer bottle.

  “So, you see, Mark . . . can I call you Mark? You see, Mark, you might not see this on CNN or MSNBC and maybe not even on Fox News, but the government is currently rounding up citizens who are eligible to hop a series of flights off Earth to a special moon colony that was started in 1969 after the first moon landing.”

  Mark gazed at Randy as if I was fucking with him, which of course I was. But he smiled nervously like he wasn’t quite sure if I was fucking with him.

  Randy looked me up and down. “This is all bullshit,” he said.

  “Believe what will, Randy, my good man,” I said. “But surely you’ve seen all the fuss about a reusable rocket being developed by the Branson Virgin Airline outfit. You know what I’m talking about: a rocket that can land back on its base, and be reused again and again and again. What you don’t know is that it has been developed in association with NASA to ship one hundred thousand people off the earth starting later this year.”

  “How do you know this bullshit?” Mark begs. “I mean, I never heard nothing about it.”

  I nodded, pressed my lips together, inc
hed closer to the big bald man’s face.

  “You see what you just did there, Mark? You made a double negative.”

  “A double what?” he said. “The only double I want right now is Jack Daniels.” He laughed like he was the wittiest man on earth.

  “Well, double negatives cancel each other out, reversing your intended meaning entirely.”

  Randy poked me in the chest. “You’re some kind of a real asshole, man,” he said. “I’d watch it I was you.”

  “Well, you won’t be seeing me for long, because I’m one of those lucky souls who know better than to make a double negative.”

  “What the hell are you saying?” Mark pressed.

  “I’m saying, transportation to the moon colony is based entirely on IQ. Morons like yourself will be left here to die a miserable death when Planet X enters our atmosphere. That way, the population that survives on the moon colony will be far smarter than the idiots left behind to die on earth. The race will be culled if you will, and piece of shit bullies will be eradicated from the lineage. Darwinism at is best, I should say. Don’t you agree, Mark? Or don’t you know nothin’ about Darwin?”

  Randy reached out with his fisted hand like he was about to grab hold of my shirt, but I was quicker than him. Using the base of my palm like a battering ram I nailed him in the sternum proceeding immediately to the chin so that his head reared back against his spine. He dropped back onto the bar on the spot.

  I cocked my arm back and gazed into Mark’s eyes. He held up both his hands like he was surrendering.

  “Don’t want no trouble mister,” he said.

  I shifted Randy around so that it looked like he was simply taking a quick nap.

  “Enjoy your final days on earth, boys,” I said.

  As I came back around the bar and resumed drinking my drink, Mark picked up Randy, and dragged his now groggy partner out the door to their pickup. That’s when Candy came back in.

  “Where are those two assholes going?” she asked.

  “I think they’d finally had enough to drink,” I said.

  She smiled, set her hand gently on my shoulder.

  “That just leaves you and me,” she said before going to the door, locking the deadbolt. “How lucky is that?”

  By the time she made it back to me, she’d already pulled off her dress revealing hard, round titties, and those red panties. I separated my legs on the stool and she settled into me, pressing herself against my hard-on and kissing me with her tender lips and playful tongue.

  “What about the door?” I said. “People will see in.”

  “I know just the right place,” she offered, grabbing hold of my hand.

  Candy led me into the lady’s bathroom, which contained a sort of vestibule with a couch and wall of mirrors for women who wished to get not only a good look at their made-up faces but their entire outfit.

  “This won’t take long,” she said, sitting down on the very edge of the couch and unbuckling my belt.

  She pulled me out, took me in her mouth, and began to work on me, not fast but slowly. She took me in all the way, as though impervious to any kind of gag reflex. A true deep throat. She worked me with her hands and her mouth, and despite the whiskeys, I knew that she was right when she said it wouldn’t take long. But I didn’t want to finish yet. Not without giving her something in return.

  I eased her mouth off my cock, stood her up, pulled down her panties. Lifting her off the floor by her legs, she mounted me where I stood. She fucked me like she was riding a pony, her young pussy tight and hot around my cock. It wasn’t taking her long to cum. I could feel her tightening up like a heavy-duty spring, her fingertips clawing at my back. For a second or two, I was convinced she was going to tear right through my leather coat and shirt. She was that strong, that young, that determined.

  “It’s just like your book,” she said, her voice strange and breathless. “It’s like Savage Sins.”

  Then she came, trembling in my arms, her thighs squeezing my body with all their strength. I shot everything I had into her, and I knew she could feel it going up inside her. It was hot, and it was alive, and if I could have given her more, I would have.

  I let her down, and she kissed me for a long minute before we made out someone knocking on the front door.

  “My dress,” she said, as she stepped back into her panties, pulling them back up onto her hips. “I can’t just go out there, Mr. Casey.”

  “I’ll get it,” I said. “And under the circumstances, you should call me Vic.”

  She smiled. I kissed her again and made my way out of the bathroom and into the bar to retrieve her dress.

  Candy was already tending bar to the small gang of college-age kids who’d been knocking on the door by the time I made it back out into the parking lot and my car. Slipping behind the wheel, I suddenly saw the faces of Mark and Randy. I wondered if I’d seen the last of them. Something told me I hadn’t. One thing was for certain, I didn’t see any sign of them in the lot. But that didn’t mean they weren’t out there somewhere, looking at me. Watching me.

  I started the car, threw it in drive and pulled out of the lot. In just an hour’s time, I would be married to Stella and hating it.

  When I arrived home, Stella was already there waiting for me. She was wearing one of her long sleek black dresses with a pair of sexy black pumps. Her hair was freshly washed and parted over her left eye. Numerous silver necklaces rested against her exposed cleavage, including a cross that looked like it had to weigh a full pound. She also sported some matching bracelets that jangled musically whenever she made even the slightest of moves.

  Like always, she smelled good. Like rose petals. She looked at me with her big eyes . . . eyes that cut into me, not like lasers but daggers . . . and I could only wonder what had happened between her and Mackey today. But then, knowing what I had done at the bar with Candy, it just didn’t seem right to pry, even if we were about to get married.

  “You’re late, Vic,” she said while inserting an earring into her pierced earlobe. “We’re supposed to be at Allison’s in ten minutes to meet the Justice of the Peace.”

  “Justice of the Peace. You mean, as in a judge?” A question, for which I already knew the answer.

  “That’s right, Vic. He will make things nice and tidy for us.”

  I had nothing to say. She knew too much about me, knew too much about what I had done to those two married men. There was nothing I could possibly do other than kill her on the spot, and that didn’t seem like a very good idea at the moment considering people were waiting on us, including a judge.

  She reached out, set her hand on my arm.

  “Oh, don’t look so sad, Vic,” she said. “It’s just a silly piece of paper. When it’s all done, and your money is ours, we’ll buy a big house and we’ll make you a big study where you can write a hundred more novels.”

  “I guess that means I’ll have to kill a hundred more souls,” I said. “Correction. The Handyman will need to kill one hundred more souls.”

  Her eyes rolled in their sockets. “Whatever it takes, Vic. Whatever it takes to make art.”

  “I guess the devil exists after all.”

  I pushed past her into the bedroom and got dressed.

  Less than a half hour later, I was standing shoulder to shoulder with Stella in the middle of Allison’s living room floor. A judge stood before us. He was a small man, with receding white hair, a smoothly shaven face, and wet eyes. He wore a suit that was too big for him like he had recently shrunk two or three sizes. He didn’t seem like a judge at all. Like the kind of man who wouldn’t kill a fly just for being inside the house, but instead, he would gather it up in his cupped hands so he could set it free outdoors.

  Behind us stood Allison and Tara, both of them looking lovely and in long black dresses that were very similar to Stella’s, which told me they’d planned it that way. The aromas wafting around the place were terrific since there was a roast cooking in the oven. Dozens of lit scented ca
ndles were positioned all around the open spaces, and bottles of champagne chilled in large silver buckets of ice.

  The judge held an old, black leather-bound Bible in his hands. He turned to me, and he said, “Victor Casey, do you solemnly take Stella La Chance to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to have and to hold her from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until you are both parted by death?”

  The words wife and death were like bullets to the brain. But what the hell could I do about it? It was either say yes to it all or face my own destruction by lethal injection. That’s what all this came down to. My wife, or my life.

  “I do.” The words came out as brittle and dry as dead leaves.

  He turned to Stella. “Do you, Stella La Chance, solemnly take Victor Casey to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until you are both parted by death?”

  She shifted her focus from the judge to me. I didn’t want to look her in the eyes. They held a power over me that I could barely comprehend. But again, I had no choice. In her four-inch stiletto high heels, she was taller than me, and she didn’t look at me or into me, so much as down on me. Her eyes were beautiful and moist, and a big part of me wanted to jump into them, swim around for a while. But they were like Sirens, singing mermaids who lead the helpless ships of stranded sailors onto the rocks and their own horrible destruction.

  “I so very much do,” she answered.

  The flame from the candles flickered then, as though a stiff, cold wind had somehow just breached the house walls and circulated throughout the interior. Even the judge was taken by surprise. He peered over one shoulder, then the other, as if he sensed another presence in the house altogether. He wasn’t a religious man in that he didn’t wear the collar of the priest, but the Bible in his hands proved he was a believer nonetheless. As far as I could tell, that breeze had unsettled him. This was an unholy place, and he knew it. He gripped his Bible with white knuckles like it was his only lifeline out of there.