Page 32 of At The End Of The Day

What if something had happened because I’d slacked off? Everyone would be dead right now, including those innocent kids down there. I couldn’t let that happen again, I had to do better.

My pulse regulating, I went to the closet and snagged the first pair of sweats I saw, stepping into them and hoisting them to my waist. Tying the string, I plucked a tee shirt and pulled it over my head and shoulders. A creak outside my door warned he had skipped breakfast, for some reason. Tensing, I held my breath and smoothed the cotton down my torso.

When Vincent entered the room and our sights locked, my mood had only sunk further, for I’d found I’d been unable to hold his stare. I’d felt dirty, like, somehow, I’d betrayed him by making myself orgasm the night before. It only made things worse when all he did was jut his chin to acknowledge me, sit down, and light a cigarette. No words, nothing. Beyond pissed off about every goddamn thing, I just stormed out of the room and slammed the door, hurrying down the stairs. I needed to get the hell out of this house. When this was over, I was taking Piera and disappearing on an extended vacation far away from everything and everyone.

“You really are a bitch, ain’t you?” I grumbled when I entered the kitchen to find Tyler washing dishes yet again.

He just snickered and poured the water out the glass, setting it on the top shelf of the dishwasher. “You got a problem against men doing household chores?”

I snatched open the fridge and grabbed a beer.

“Dash. It’s eight thirty in the morning.”

Cracking it open, I slow blinked while taking a long swig. He rolled his eyes and returned his focus to the chore.

The fuse of my temper burning lower, I snapped off on him. “I just find you in here a lot doing dishes. She got that leash tight on you, huh?”

Rather smugly, he smirked and cocked a brow. “When my woman busts her ass to take care of her kids and cook a breakfast big enough for six, the least I can do is clean up afterward. Besides, when she lets me fuck her throat like a sloppy wet pussy, I will get on my knees and kiss her feet, if she asked.”

The floor fell out from beneath me and I choked on the beer, some of it spurting out past my mouth to wet the front of my shirt. Horrified, I gawked, nearly hyperventilating.

“You’ve seen what that woman can do. Don’t you think she deserves to be pampered?”

Dumbfounded, my mouth opened and closed but no words formed. Adding to my humiliation from everything else since being locked in this alternative world where nothing made sense, all I could think was, I’m busted.

Violetta hopped up the couple steps from the family room and paused, her brows lifted, her sight bouncing back and forth between us. “Uh.” She inched a little closer. “Everything okay?”

“Your buddy here seems to think me cleaning around the house makes me a bitch. I was just trying to explain to him how I do domestic favors as a show of gratitude for draining my nuts so beautifully every single night.”

Her head flew back with a hearty laugh, her cheeks blushing bright pink.

“What the…” Dismayed, my arms spread wide, my shoulders curling upward.

Flashing a seductive grin while sashaying over to him, she patted his butt through the jeans and purred, “Did you enjoy your show last night, Dash? We gave a little more gusto to make it a little more entertaining.”

For several moments, I just gaped, not moving a muscle. After nearly thirty full seconds, the pressure broke and I deflated. Chuckling under my breath, my thumb and fingers dug into my eyes. “Jesus christ, guys. Y’all got me fucked up right now.”

Going to the island, she folded her arms on the surface and bent over, a foot kicking out behind her. “By the way, for future references, I would never feed you or my brother any food that had been used in the bedroom.”

Again, I tensed, the humor waning.

“After we made one another cum many times with that cucumber, it went straight to the trash.”

Nothing else to do, I gave in to the humorous side of this situation and snickered again. “Oh, my god,” I groaned, covering my eyes. “Dude, this is jacked up.”

Tiny bare feet thudded on the floor, the kids in the living room making quite a ruckus, all of a sudden. Slightly concerned, we looked toward the opening of the family room, Eddie darting around the brick wall. Frantic, the whites showing around his dark brown eyes, he was pointing, flustered.

“Ty-Ty! You’re on TV!”

“What?” he snapped, shaking his hands and drying them on the cloth.

A third time since waking only ten minutes ago, my insides plummeted with dread. “What the hell?” I barked, the three of us rushing around to the living room.

Skidding to a halt behind the sofa, my jaw fell and I could practically feel my eyes bulging as a picture of Tyler at the Grammy’s last year filled the eighty inch screen. Violetta cursed under her breath, snatched the remote from the coffee table, and rewound the footage.

In a more concerning story this morning, two-time Grammy winning country star, Tyler Warren, is missing. Reports from his agent and uncle, John Warren, say he has not been seen or heard from since August eighth, when he visited Mobile, Alabama to handle some family affairs.

The report switched to Tyler’s uncles being interviewed, their expressions grief-stricken. We keep calling his phone, but it goes straight to voicemail. He isn’t responding to any form of communication, no texts, no email, it’s like he just vanished. He promised he’d keep in touch. Tyler never breaks his promises to me.