Aced

THE MOTHERFUCKER IS DEAD.

My feet pound the sand. One after the other. My cadence: Fuck. You. Eddie.

Angry strides eating up distance but doing absofuckinglutely nothing to lessen the rage. All they do is put more distance between paparazzi sitting at the public entrance to the beach and me.

My lungs burn. My legs ache. My eyes sting as sweat drips into them. I pick up the pace. Needing the exhaustion, the sand, the space to clear my head before I turn around and head back.

Fuck. You. Eddie.

I push myself to the brink of exhaustion. As far north as I can go before I’m bent over, hands on my knees, gasping for air. And even fatigued the image doesn’t go away. Won’t go away.

The picture he took.

Ry’s face is in the corner, mouth open in protest, one hand reaching to cover her breast, and the other reaching out to cover the camera lens. But the joke’s on us. It wasn’t Ry he was taking a shot of. Nope. She was just the frame around what Eddie wanted more: Ace sitting between the dent of her thighs. White diaper. A mess of dark hair. Mouth open crying. Face beat red.

One day old and already thrown into the goddamn inferno of chaos that is my life. Used. For money. For revenge. To hurt us. Take the purest thing in my life and use it to hurt me.

Not fucking cool. That’s sleazy. Unacceptable.

Fuck. You. Eddie.

I turn back south. My feet move again. Arms pump. My leave from reality only temporary.

I sure hope that cool half a million he just pocketed was worth it. When I get done with him, he’ll realize that damn photo cost him so much more.

Now I have to face Rylee. Tell her the man who took our moment, our piece of peace, has stolen from us again. Took the control to introduce our son to the world in our own way. Made Ace a pawn in this fucked-up game of his.

Fuck. You. Eddie.

Rylee’s face fills my mind: eyes wide with panic, voice wavering, paranoia over the windows consuming her. And now I have to go add a little more crazy to her chaos.

On top of everything else I’ve already heaped there.

Too much. Just too goddamn much. Open ends. Unexpected surprises. Forced hands. Uncontrollable situations. The never-ending unknown.

Fuck. You. Eddie.

CJ’s words were gasoline added to a wildfire already out of control. What had his answer been when I asked him how that little fucker keeps getting the upper hand in this goddamn game of payback? The only power Eddie has over you is the reaction you give him. My response? A curt Fuck you.

He holds no power over me. None. I’ll let him think he does, but his hand’s been dealt. Cards are on the table. He may have the wild card.

But I’m carrying all the aces.