TODAY, WE ARE THRILLED TO WELCOME OUR GUEST AUTHOR, R.D. (RUSTY) TRIMBLE, WHO IS SHARING CHAPTERS 12 AND 13 OF HIS NOVEL, 'THE HITMOM' #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat ***WARNING - ADULT CONTENT***

TWELVE

Chelsea had left Beth at the coffee shop after about an hour of getting to know each other. Beth had been "on the job" for two years after deciding her prior profession as a programmer was dull.

Thus, Beth enrolled at the Police Academy, and it agreed with her. "Now, here I am, with an exciting job where I can help people." So, they parted ways, with Chelsea promising to call upon her if she needed a friend, and then began the drive home.

During the drive, the image of Detective Dan Bryant filled her head. The detective reminded her a lot of Grissom in a lot of ways. Like her late husband, Dan was not exactly George Clooney, but indeed handsome in his own way, and from Beth's words after he had left, a "good egg and a credit to his badge."

"Why do I think about him? I may not like it, but I am married and should not entertain thoughts of this guy I just met." However, the image of Detective Dan Bryant did not leave her head; somehow, she felt this was some kind of a premonition and would not let go. If Chelsea had believed in psychics, this would have frightened her, especially when she saw Matt's car in the driveway when he was supposed to be at work.

Chelsea decided to park around the corner and approach the house from the backyard since it didn't have a security door camera like the front. This really feels paranoid, but there is something off here, she thought to herself as she opened the back gate silently and crept to the door that opened into the kitchen.

"Shit!" Chelsea whispered as the door squeaked to remind her that the hinges had begun rusting months ago. "Damn, asshole! Just another unfinished "household project" Matt had promised to undertake but had clearly put at the bottom of his priorities, only one rung below his wife and kids."

Chelsea murmured, "Lazy prick." Then, in a fretful tone, she left the door open and tiptoed across the kitchen. Sneaking into her own house to spy on her husband was a peculiar sensation, but her instincts were screaming at her that something was wrong.

The door to the living room opened much more quietly, and she peeked her head through. Chelsea first noticed that the faux silk curtains, in royal purple, had been drawn closed. This lent darkness to the living room, which was only broken by the light of Matt's laptop on the coffee table and a slight sliver of illumination from upstairs…from her bedroom.

Chelsea's mind was jinking about in a dozen different directions at once. Her argument with Matt, her acrimonious meeting with Peter and Cal, her subsequent firing, learning her dismissal was preplanned, and now the bizarre surprise of her husband's car being in the driveway. Each of these tiny melodramas was connected as part of a more significant nexus of events, and it was disquieting as hell.

Chelsea felt her heartbeat increase as she crept slowly up the stairs. Each slow footstep seemed to happen as if in a slow-motion dream sequence. She clutched her hands together nervously, imagining that every touch of her foot upon the steps created a booming echo for Matt to hear. Still, it became evident that an even louder, more strident noise came from upstairs.

A woman's voice, high-pitched and moaning, was resounding out of their bedroom and bouncing off the walls. Either Matt was having diarrhea again and screaming like a little bitch like last time, or a woman was

pretending to have an orgasm. The latter noise seemed more likely, as she made that fake sound numerous times when Matt decided to have sex with her.

The source of the noise became even more apparent as their bedsprings began creaking. Matt is probably watching porn and pleasuring himself with his jack pump, Chelsea mused. She remained relatively unconcerned since it would not be the first time she'd walked in on her husband giving himself a full-service lube job.

Yet, as she reached the top step, this notion became unlikely, as the woman's distinct voice emanated from her bedroom. Chelsea knew that this noise was not coming from Matt's phone, the television, or Matt himself. No, the noise came from a woman wailing in an overdramatic chorus with the creaking bed springs, and the noise reached a chilling, earsplitting crescendo.

Chelsea entertained the notion of fleeing down the stairs quietly and forgetting this moment, as she did not need any additional emotional turbulence. Still, she held firm, realizing need or not, this turbulence was already in her life, and ignoring it would not make it go away, as anyone who listened to a Taylor Hicks concert could attest to. No, leaving is not an option.

"Yes, yes, yes! Oh God, they don't make men like you! Do me harder! Harder! Harder! Oh yes, harder! Yes, yes, yes!"

The door was cracked open, and Chelsea was no longer scared but determined and filled with resolve. Chelsea knew what the noise was and casually strolled into her bedroom. "Ninja-esque" would describe how stealthily Chelsea sauntered in. She was now standing close enough to Matt to grab his shoulders, had she desired. Instead, she watched with defiant anger (she had passed heartbreak long ago) as her husband pounded away at his female paramour from behind. Then Chelsea's nose wrinkled as the room suddenly filled with a putrid scent that rivaled the world's worst fart.

Almost an afterthought, Chelsea returned her gaze to her husband as he finished, and the aforementioned stench of fecal matter quickly magnified one-hundredfold as a glob of brown matter dropped onto the bed as Matt pulled out. It was absolutely grotesque and appalling, and Chelsea could not at that moment decide whether Matt's infidelity or the stench unsettled her more. At least there was not a pink sock to be seen, though it would have been hard to tell because of the mess all over her rear end.

The woman turned to face Matt. This relieved Chelsea's eyes since her ass resembled the face of Augustus Gloop after falling into Wonka's chocolate river. However, this relief changed to further disgust as Chelsea recognized her as Andrea, Matt's supposed niece.

The three of them looked at one another in stunned disbelief. However, Chelsea also had eyes on their bedding and rued the idea of ever sleeping under those covers again.

Andrea, finally realizing what was going on, recognized Chelsea and shrieked. Chelsea shook her head; at least this shriek was genuine.

THIRTEEN

Chelsea felt bile rise into her throat and resisted the instinct to flee the bedroom and vomit into the toilet, instead swallowing it back down. Still, vomit would probably smell better than the oozing brown smear dripping onto her bedroom floor.

Matt's head had been frozen like a frightened mannequin, but he finally began to move his lips to speak.

"Chelsea! What are you doing here?" Matt's voice trembled with anger. It was, she knew, the penultimate trapeze act of a guilty man.

Undaunted, she shouted, "I am watching your niece shit on my side of the bed and trying not to lose my breakfast. What the hell are you doing here?"

Andrea did not wait for Matt to answer. Instead, she turned towards him with eyes filled with outrage and hurt. "Your niece? What the hell is the matter with you?" She looked back at Chelsea. "Is that what he told you?"

"Yes, this was how he explained the pictures on his phone and the occasional social media posts in Coronado." Chelsea turned to face Matt again. "I guess I was a bigger fool than you thought."

Andrea, no longer wanting to be a part of this melodrama, began to rise, but Matt shoved her back onto the bed, saying sternly, "I am not done."

Andrea slapped Matt across the face. Matt winced, but more because the girl's hands were covered with her own excrement, and some of it smeared on his lips, giving him a brown mustache.

Chelsea laughed mockingly at her husband. "Hey, I guess it is true; shit does splatter when you slap somebody." She turned towards Andrea and said, "Thanks for proving that point. Now, please, wash your hands and get out of here."

Andrea tried to rise, but Matt pushed her down. "I said I am not done with you, bitch!"

Andrea did not appreciate the physical force nor the word bitch and punctuated those feelings with a hard kick to Matt's groin. She followed that up by pushing him off the bed.

Standing up, Andrea screamed at him, "Don't ever come near me again, you two-timing son of a bitch!"

She quickly grabbed her clothes and began towards the door, only to stop abruptly as she met Chelsea's withering gaze.

"Chelsea, Matt told me that you two had split up months ago, I swear!"

"Your tiny ass just shit on my bed and floor. I don't need your mouth to do the same to my ears. Just get out before I forget how to be nice."

Andrea took the heavy hint and moved fearfully past Chelsea with her clothes under her arms, her body still reeking of excrement as she walked down the stairs.

I must have scared little Miss Donkey Punch; she ran outside, still nude.

Matt shouted at her. "You couldn't show some human decency and let her wipe her ass or take a shower?"

Honey, the Dirty Sanchez she just gave you is the least of your worries.

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Amazon link: https://a.co/d/0iumnmMO

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Author R.D. Trimble

AUTHOR BIO

Rusty “R. D.” Trimble is the author of over twenty books, including his best-selling novels “Preying Moon” and “Viktor: Vampire Usurper”. His Young Adult novel, “Middle School Madness: A Strange First Week” also won two awards.

A transplanted San Diego native, Rusty resides in Hillsboro, Oregon with his wife, two kids, and (hopefully) will be adding a dog or two to the mix soon. At present, he is working on the sequel to this novel, his own comic book, and pursuing voice acting and cover design. He is a diehard San Diego Padres and Seattle Seahawks fan… Go Seahawks!

SOCIAL MEDIA

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COMING SOON: On Sunday, 8th March, we are thrilled to welcome our guest author, Gillian Godden, who is sharing Chapter One of her novel, 'Rough Diamonds'.