Savages

239

Lado crawls into bed.

To give the wife a little.

What she needs, a good stiff dick.

He nudges his between the warm cheeks of her ass and rubs it up and down, seeking an invitation.

Delores gets up and out of bed. “Give it to your putana. I don’t want it.”

Lado’s in no mood. He has a lot on his mind. The war, the tombe, now the attempt on Elena and increased security on her brat of a daughter, who doesn’t think she needs security. And now Delores forgets her place. “Get your butt back here.”

“No thank you.”

“I said get your fucking ass back in this bed.”

“Make me.”

Okay, that’s a mistake.

He’s out of the sheets in a flash. She’s forgotten how quick he is, how strong he is—the first slap sends her reeling against the wall, her ears ringing as he grabs her, throws her on the bed, lands on top of her, pins both wrists above her head with his one big hand.

He pushes her thighs apart with his knee.

“This the way you want it, bitch?”

“I don’t want it.”

Maybe not, but she gets it.

He takes his time, too.

Afterward, coming out of the bathroom, she says, “I want a divorce.”

He laughs. “You want what?”

“A divorce.”

“What you’re going to get is a beating,” Lado says, “you don’t shut your mouth now.”

Delores backs into the doorway. “I already talked to a lawyer. He said I’d get half the house, the money, custody of the kids …”

Lado nods.

He could beat the fucking shit out of her but he has something worse for her than a beating. He smiles and says, “Delores, if you go through with this, I will take the kids to Mexico and you will never, ever see them again. You know that’s the truth, you know I’ll do it, so stop acting foolish and come back to bed.”

She stands in the doorway for a few seconds.

She knows him.

Who he is.

What he does.

She gets back in bed.