Murder For Hire Read online

  "Come see me first thing tomorrow," I pleaded.

  "Of course," she replied instantly, and that warmed my heart. Reluctantly, I went to my room. I had to prepare for my next teaching class, all the while counting the hours until Melissa would be in my arms again.

  Yet the next morning, she didn't show up. I knew my father went to work. I heard his car rushing away, so her failing to sneak into my room surprised me. I went in search of her, of course.

  Although I started to feel a bit hungry, I went to her room first. I heard strange noises coming from it that made me frown. What the hell is she doing? It sounded familiar except I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Without knocking, I entered the room and had plenty to see. As it turned out, Melissa was watching TV. On the large flat screen were the images of two people having sex. I recognized the characters immediately. The people in the video were the two of us. My blood froze inside my veins. I couldn't believe this.

  "What is that?" I demanded, approaching her.

  Melissa paled when she saw me. "Nothing." She fumbled with the screen and tried to turn it off, yet the damage was done.

  I already saw everything. Part of me wished I could unsee it. I felt violated, filmed like that in my most intimate moments. I knew most men were turned on by such things. Not me.

  "Were you filming us?" I asked although it was more than obvious that she had been doing precisely that.

  "It's just harmless fun." She tried to brush it off, leaning in for a kiss, and I moved out of her reach.

  "You were filming us having sex. That is not harmless," I snapped in return, working really hard not to let all my anger out.

  She looked at me, confused, startled. "Why are you overreacting?"

  It was my turn to show that same mixture of feelings. "Because you were filming us behind my back," I insisted.

  Couldn't she see or understand that this was a huge violation of privacy? More to the point, I hated people keeping secrets from me, especially regarding such vital things.

  It was bad enough that I couldn't remember parts of my life thanks to the seizures. It would be complete chaos if I couldn't trust my reality and people I was closest to, either.

  "I was planning on telling you," she was quick to defend. "But I wanted it to be a surprise."

  "A surprise?" I repeated incredulously.

  "Yes, something we could watch together," she said in a flirtatious manner.

  "Why would you think I would be okay with that?" I countered.

  "Dean, we all have kinks."

  "And this particular one can get us in a lot of trouble."

  "That's part of the thrill."

  "No, it's not," I insisted.

  "I was being careful," she tried to reassure me.

  I could only shake my head in disbelief. She was missing the point.

  "You had no right to do that. Was that the only time?" I pointed at the screen.

  Unfortunately, the frozen image of the two of us in an unflattering position mocked me.

  Melissa made a face while remaining silent. That unnerved me further. "Fuck, there's more." It was not a question but a statement.

  She filmed us God only knew how many times. I could feel I was on the verge of a panic attack by mere thoughts of all the files being scattered around with us fucking. If my father ever saw those . . . I stopped myself right there. It was bad enough I had to worry that he could walk in on us while we were together. Now I had an even greater source of stress, worry of him finding these videos.

  "How many times were you filming us without my knowledge?" I needed to know.

  She shrugged and I felt like screaming out of frustration.

  "I really don't understand why you are acting like this."

  "How many times, Melissa?"

  "I don't know. A couple of dozen."

  I felt lightheaded. "All the time?"

  She shrugged again. "Most of the time."

  I couldn't believe my ears. Why would she do something like that? Didn't she understand the danger?

  "I want you to delete them."

  "Dean, don't be like that. I promise you will like it," she tried to persuade me.

  Once again, she tried to kiss me, molding her body against mine. "There's something extremely sexy about watching yourself having sex."

  "No," I remained adamant. "Delete them all, and now."

  "No, I won't," she argued.

  I could only gape at her like a fish on land. "Excuse me?"

  "I won't do that. You're just being unreasonable."

  I was the unreasonable one?

  "Fine, then we're over," I snapped in return, taking a step back from her, tired of all this shit, all this drama.

  She looked at me as though not understanding English all of a sudden. I guessed my ending the affair did come kind of abruptly. I was surprised as well, yet it was inevitable all the same.

  "You betrayed my trust. Clearly you're not who I thought you were, so this ends right now."

  With that, I stormed out of the room.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I was beyond pissed off, to put it mildly. The discovery of sex tapes really threw me off balance, Melissa's responses to it, even more so. And she even had the audacity to turn it all on me, accuse me of being the unreasonable one when she was the one who’d lied, kept secrets.

  I was so done with her. Unfortunately, Melissa was not done with me. When I stormed out of the room, she followed behind me.

  "Don't you dare walk away from me," she said hotly.

  "I said all that I had to say. We're done," I threw over my shoulder, not slowing down.

  It was obvious she was startled by my reply because it took her a bit longer to reply. "Well, I don't accept that."

  I rolled my eyes, deciding I wouldn't engage with her further since it was obvious any kind of rational discussion was off the table. Melissa followed me all the way back to my room.

  "We're not done," she insisted stubbornly.

  "I don't give a shit what you think," I replied in the same manner.

  "I want you to apologize to me," she countered, raising her chin ever so slightly.

  I could only stare at her, stuck between laughing in her face and trying to shake her to see if there was an actual brain inside that head of hers since she acted as though she lost it someplace along the way. I chose the third option though.

  "Excuse me?" I was really curious to hear about what I should be apologizing for, according to her.

  "You insulted me back there, ended things like I was nothing to you. I deserve more respect than being treated like trash."

  That's her main issue? Was she not aware of how I felt discovering I have been filmed all this time in the most private moments of my life? Did she even care?

  This all felt like some weird ego trip to me. She was not hurt because our affair ended. She was hurt that I ended it. I felt disappointed realizing all of this.

  "You deserve respect?" I repeated.

  "Yes," she snapped.

  "Let's take a minute to talk about respect then," I replied, losing all semblance of calmness. Her words, actions pushed me over the edge, and I was pure anger. "Have you been thinking of me, respecting me," I mocked, "when you pulled this shitty stunt?" I challenged.

  "It was meant to be a present for you," she argued.

  "Over a dozen times?" Was she planning on making a mash-up? I really wasn't buying that. One time would be bad enough. Almost every time was unimaginably stupid, among other things. I said as much. "That was a violation of my privacy, not to mention there would be unimaginable repercussions if one of those videos found their way to my father." I felt like a broken record.

  "It's harmless fun, something that I enjoy," she tried to defend lamely. "Besides, we're all allowed to have kinks, preferences. I like to film."

  "True, but you do not have the right to film me," I insisted. "Especially not without my knowledge or consent."

  "Oh, grow up. You sound like a child," she sna
pped as though losing patience.

  That irked me to no end. Such a dismissive tone, disregarding my point of view or emotions on the matter, really reminded me of my father. It was a perfect replica of something he would say. They deserve to be together. The realization was sobering.

  I sound like a child? And you sound like a selfish bitch was on the tip of my tongue and I stopped myself in time.

  "Is that all? Did you say all you needed? Because I want to be alone now," I replied in a much calmer way.

  Sadly, Melissa was having none of it. She wanted to continue arguing. "I tried to do something nice and you completely overreacted. Started accusing me of being shitty, selfish, when all I ever think about is you. How to surprise you, make you feel better . . ." She pouted.

  Was she now seriously trying to manipulate me so I would feel guilty, forget what she did, and forgive her? Apparently, yes. It was disgusting.

  I knew she had skills. She had to, living with my father and all, but I never imagined she would turn around and try that shit on me. Why not? part of me challenged. And what makes you believe this is the first time?

  Both valid points. I refocused on the stranger in front of me.

  "Melissa, listen to me," I started really slowly as though speaking to a child. "You did a bad thing. By filming us, you not only hurt me, but that recklessness could potentially hurt us both at some point."

  I hoped that was clear enough why we had to go our separate ways.

  "I would never do anything to hurt you or us," she pleaded, taking a step toward me, and I held my hand up, preventing her from further advancement.

  Her words made no sense. She was still not listening. It was like speaking to a wall and expecting an intelligent, sentient reply. Melissa completely failed to see the point, and I was losing patience.

  "You say that, yet here we are," I pointed out.

  She made a face. "This is because of you. You blew everything out of proportion," she countered stubbornly.

  "You had no right to film me." To me, that was the only thing that mattered.

  "Right," she replied with a roll of her eyes, "because I wasn't there at all."

  This woman was infuriating.

  "You were, but that doesn't give you the right to make decisions that could affect both of us," I replied, raising my voice all over again. "And now, not only do you negate any kind of responsibility, but you are refusing to remedy this wrong altogether."

  "Remedy the wrong?"

  "Yes, by deleting the videos."

  "Of course I'm not going to delete them," she argued. "They're mine."

  I felt like shouting from the top of my lungs. This was frustrating beyond measure.

  "Fine. Then there's nothing else that can be said. Get out."

  "Excuse me?" She had the nerve to look offended. I was having none of that.

  "You heard me, get the fuck out of this room, you selfish, spoiled, crazy woman," I replied, losing it.

  With that, she slapped me. It stung, but I still felt the need to say something like you hit like a girl. Of course, despite my anger, I refrained from doing something like that. That would certainly prolong her visit, and I wanted her gone, like five minutes ago.

  "Are you done?" I asked in a bored tone. "Because if you are, I really want you to leave now." I didn't feel like I needed to insert any kind of threat there. If she had any sense left, she would recognize that this was over.

  She just looked at me.

  Oh, come on, give me a break.

  "Leave, Melissa," I repeated more sternly. Preferably, out of this house and out of my life, yet I would settle for her simply leaving this room.

  It was obvious my reply shook her a little. Then she slapped me again.

  Was she deliberately trying to piss me off further? I gritted my teeth. I would never hit a woman, but she was seriously testing my patience. Why was she doing this? What did she hope to achieve?

  There was such defiance in her eyes, and that wasn't all I saw. By her demeanor and stance, it was obvious that she was provoking me. Instantly, I understood everything. She was doing this on purpose, trying to goad me because she wanted me to hit her back. I was horrified, and all my anger vanished. All kinds of thoughts and emotions rushed through me in those moments.

  She was trying to elicit violence since that was something she was used to. It all fit. Apparently, that was how she perceived fighting, that it should end with violence. My father certainly believed in that. Yet as I’d tried to prove all my life, I was not my father.

  Melissa was a different story altogether. I perceived her as a victim of circumstances, a victim of my father, but now I had my doubts. I would bet good money this went beyond Carson and his mistreatment of her. Melissa acted as though she was used to being hurt by men. That saddened me.

  All the same, that did not mean I resolved her in any way. Her behavior was appalling. With all this understanding of her came something else. I pitied her. Who knew how many times men showed her that she was not valued, respected? Who knew how many times she’d ended up hurt simply by trusting someone she shouldn’t?

  Those kinds of things, especially in formative years, molded us into what we were today. Melissa simply followed the patterns she was taught to follow. That was beyond sad. To me, the fight was over.

  Seeing no other way, I opened the door and gestured with my hand. "Leave," I commanded.

  Melissa stayed put as though I didn't say a word, watching me intently for what I would do next, which only solidified my belief that she was expecting to get a beatdown and was confused by its absence. That was the only reason she was trying to elicit it on her own. To her, that was something that should have happened since she did something that angered me.

  Eventually sighing, I decided to let her be and have the room for herself, so I was the one who left without uttering another word. This time, she didn't follow me.

  I had a lot of steam to blow off, so I left the house and started running despite not being properly dressed for such activity. I felt like I had to. I had to do something to not go insane. Part of me worried I could suffer another seizure while being on the streets. Not even that stopped me.

  All the events from the last two days were on replay inside my head. All the occurrences were a true turmoil of emotions, from the blissful highs to the hellish lows. At first, I was so happy I'd been doing a great job, fooling around with Melisa in the basement, yet all that changed in a flash.

  We nearly got discovered by my father, and like that wasn't stressful enough, I learned Melissa had been lying to me. I couldn't help wondering about her character. If she kept something like that from me, had the audacity to film us for weeks, then who knew what other secrets she'd kept from me, or my father, for that matter?

  The possibilities were endless, jarring, and they chilled me to the bones. Exhausted, tired body and soul, and sweaty, I returned home none the wiser. I groaned, entering my room.

  Melissa was still there, sitting on the bed. This was the first time in my life I wanted to have a seizure simply so I wouldn't have to do this again.

  "What are you still doing here?" I asked simply.

  "We were not done," she countered.

  I felt like hitting my head against the wall. It would be a more productive endeavor than speaking with her.

  "Look, Melissa, I'm tired and not in the mood from another round."

  That was God's honest truth. As far as I was concerned, we were done and for good.

  "I'm sorry," she blurted out, taking me by surprise.

  For what? It was a long list.

  "I'm sorry for everything. I made a mistake."

  At this point, I couldn't say if she was simply telling me what I wanted to hear or if she was honest. I suspected it was a little bit of both.

  She tried to kiss me, as though in reconciliation, and I wasn't buying it. I decided to cut to the chase. "Will you delete the videos?"

  She remained quiet as though not knowing how to reply,
which said it all. Melissa looked remorseful enough apart from a small movement of her jaw. She was gritting her teeth.

  That sealed her fate. "That's that then. Good night, Melissa."

  She snapped from her stupor. "Dean, please."

  "No more. Please, just leave."

  This time she listened, and I was left alone with my screwed-up thoughts and screwed-up life.

  What else is new?

  Chapter Twenty

  In the last couple of days, Melissa did everything, well almost everything, in her power to make me reconsider and get back with her. She made me breakfast in bed, she sent a personalized I'm sorry card with her strip teasing. She bought me all kinds of presents, which I declined. Shortly put, she tried her best to seduce me back into her arms. I remained stoic.

  Despite saying sorry, I knew those were empty words because she never did the actual deed that could sort all this mess. Delete the damn files of us having sex. Of course I wouldn't resume our affair if something like that did occur, but my attitude, my opinion of her, would improve. The way things stood, she was nothing but a broken person who continued to act in her learned, harmful patterns, and nothing else. No one more than me knew how hard it was to break the cycle of self-harm, but at least I was trying to be a better person, and that saddened me.

  It went without saying that those videos of us together became my constant worry. When I managed to fall asleep, I was plagued with dreams of my father breaking into my room, trying to kill me after watching said scenes. Part of me even contemplated whether I should be the one confronting him about it and confess everything before he discovered it on his own, and I ruled against it. I wasn't suicidal.

  There was no scenario possible in which my father would take that lightly, simply forgive and forget. He would hurt both of us, and that stopped me from acting in any way. I hated my own weakness. I’d allowed something like this to happen. If I'd never had sex with Melissa, then I wouldn't have to deal with all this shit at the moment. My own eagerness and neediness for this type of pleasure had completely ruined me.