Sleeping with the Frenemy Page 4

  Both Teresa and Gilberto stood in the kitchen, and when Gen nodded in their direction, they did the same, watching them leave. Gen didn't say a word to her, not that Deborah cared. She didn't think she could hold a conversation at that moment, her whole body tense with anxiety at what Genevieve had bought her. She'd hope it wasn't another outlandish sex toy used to invade her body as a form of love shared between them.

  Tremors almost overtook her body, and when they reached their bedroom, Gen turned, her face full of worry and her eyes cloudy with torment.

  “Oh dearling, I'm so ashamed about our argument we had this morning. You know how nervous I get right before the end-of-the-quarter meeting I have with my stockholders.” Gen waved her hand as if the incidence was of no real consequence.

  Deborah smile didn't reach her eyes. “I know full well how nervous you get. We all have our moments where things get the best of us.”

  Gen gave her a warm smile, and when she pulled her in close for a hug, Deborah went into her arms stiffly. She rested her head in the crook of Gen's shoulder and closed her eyes.

  This would be one of the last hugs she received from this woman.

  “I love you so much. Please forgive me for the way I overreacted. I know you would never do anything to hurt me intentionally,” Gen whispered in an impassioned plea.

  Like you've done to me time and again, to the point where I've wanted to kill myself? Deborah remained unyielding in Genevieve's arms.

  Genevieve cupped Deborah's face and placed her lips over hers. Deborah waited for Gen's tongue to slither in, as was her usual custom when she kissed her, but instead she left her lips over her own. Tears from Genevieve's eyes fell and landed on Deborah's cheeks. A watery sigh escaped Genevieve and without stopping the kiss, she backed into the bedroom with Deborah in her arms.

  When Genevieve finally released her, Deborah went to sit on the bed. Gen stopped her and lifted up a dark purple box. Deborah's eyes went wide, and when Genevieve held it out toward her, she took it.

  “Just a little something from me to you…as an apology.” Gen winced when she spoke the last word and tugged on her diamond earring.

  “There's no need for you to apologize. It's all forgotten,” Deborah said automatically and quickly opened the package. She covered her mouth upon seeing the risqué purple and black lace negligee. “It's…gorgeous.” I'll look like a prostitute wearing this.

  “Put it on,” Genevieve ordered softly and Deborah took off her pajamas. When Deborah was naked, she glanced up at Gen's face. Gen's eyes sparkled as she licked her lips, her eyes zoning in on the belly chain.

  Deborah lifted the velvet chemise over her head. She tugged the tight fabric down and sucked in her breath as it bunched around her hips. Finally she pulled it down over her thighs, but it rode up high, showing off the curve of her ass.

  Gen held up her hands to her face and laughed. “You're so beautiful! Turn around in a circle.”

  Deborah turned around a few times. When she finished her third rotation, Gen walked over and linked their fingers together. She backed her over to the oversized cream-colored chaise longue in the corner near the window and made her sit.

  Gen whispered something Deborah couldn't catch as she knelt down and slid her palms up and down her legs. She lightly scratched the top of her thighs with her nails, and kissed her with more passion than before.

  Deborah fell back with Gen hovering over her on her palms, nipping and tugging on her lips. Deborah could barely find any enjoyment in the desperate kiss, and whimpered in pain as she tasted blood. Gen lifted her mouth and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. Her eyes brightened and her tongue lapped gently over Deborah's mouth.

  “My poor darling has a cut on her lip? I hate to see you in pain. Does my special girl want me to kiss her someplace else to make it all better?” Gen asked in a baby-sounding voice, and with a wicked smile, dropped her face down to Deborah's stomach.

  “Yes, please,” Deborah replied softly and stared up at the ceiling, lifting her arms over her head as Gen's breath washed over her pussy and thighs. And when Gen began to lick and suck her cunt, and her sharp nails dug into her legs, she bowed her back and willed her body to enjoy Gen's administrations. She instantly went wet since a tongue and mouth, regardless of it being Gen's, made her respond.

  As Gen took her time eating away at Deborah's core, the sounds of her mouth slurping and sucking loudly, Deborah moaned and sighed at the same time—coming violently. Gen's mouth worked her over as Deborah thought out her plans: the plans she'd been making for a very long time to escape from this monster, who'd rather see her dead than allow her to leave alive.

  Chapter Five

  All of Deborah's secret preparation over the past year would come to pass with Genevieve attending her stockholder meeting like she did twice a year. She'd end up staying overnight in Las Vegas, Friday to Saturday, without Deborah by her side. Deborah wasn't needed since Genevieve didn't want her to mingle with the business men and women Genevieve controlled, much the same as she did with her wife.

  As the sun rose on that Friday morning, Deborah made slow, tender love to Genevieve, knowing it would be the last time she'd ever kiss her, smell her, and feel her body against hers. No words were exchanged between the two. Deborah had no more to give. Genevieve's jealous rages had destroyed everything special between them.

  Now she waited on the front steps after sharing empty goodbye kisses and fake promises and admissions of love from her that Genevieve was totally unaware about. Deborah kept her smile in place and waved as the limo left, taking Genevieve three hours away where as soon as she arrived at her destination, she'd call to check to make sure Deborah was there to receive her call.

  She'd be in for quite the surprise. Deborah would be long gone, vanishing into thin air where Genevieve would never find her.

  Gilberto came up beside her, silent as the car turned the corner and rode away on the main road. Deborah finally released a sigh of relief, then looked at the dark, brawny man standing beside her.

  “Were you able to get everything you needed for my trip into town today?” she asked him.

  Gilberto nodded. “The documents, including the directions you need, are in the backseat. Also the funds you gave me on Tuesday were put in a special account only you can access.”

  “And I can assume the funds I gave you and Teresa have been taken care of as well?” Deborah asked.

  “Yes, ma'am. You'll be very pleased how everything has turned out.”

  Deborah smiled up at him and nodded. “Very well. Why don't you start the car while I go upstairs and get my purse? We can't be late for my spa treatment.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Murnay,” Gilberto responded stiffly and Deborah walked back in the house where Teresa waited, wiping her eyes with a tissue. Deborah walked up to her and pressed a palm over the older woman's cheek. Both women stared at one another with tears in their eyes, and finally Deborah broke away and climbed up the steps.

  She went right into the bathroom where she knelt down near the toilet and threw up her breakfast until she was dry heaving. Her nerves were at an all-time high and the moment she left this house, she'd constantly be looking over her shoulder, for she was about to betray Genevieve in the worst possible way.

  If Genevieve ever found her, she'd kill her.

  * * * *

  Deborah sat in the backseat looking out the window, clutching a large nondescript brown bag where she put away the documents Gilberto had referred to. She wouldn't need them right away, but she kept them close so as not to forget to take them later on. She tried to keep a clear mind, but her thoughts kept wandering back to the note addressed to Genevieve that she left with her wedding band on top of the dresser in the bedroom, in which she expressed her love, as well as her horror at the abuse she suffered all those years by Gen's hand. She explained how she couldn't take the pain any longer and had to take her own life to escape her suffering.

  “Mrs. Murnay, we should be arriving at the spa
in less than ten minutes,” Gilberto said from the driver's seat.

  “Thank you, Gilberto…for everything. I sincerely don't know what I would have done if not for you and Teresa.” Deborah cleared her throat, holding back the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes.

  “I wish I could have done more,” Gilberto replied, his eyes full of discomfort as he looked back at the rearview mirror.

  “Please don't blame yourself. What happened to me is all on my shoulders. If I had left the first time Gen hit me, we wouldn't be in this situation. And now…”

  “And now what?”

  Deborah went to play with her wedding ring when she noticed her finger was bare. She sighed brokenly, blinking away her tears. “And now we've come to this.” She leaned forward as the car turned to the right and down the street. “I know we've been over this a million times before. But, when a few weeks have gone by after my ‘death,’ you and Teresa should go back to your family in Mexico. Take the one hundred thousand in that secret account your friend helped you set up, and disappear. I don't think Gen has power to reach you out of the country, but you never know.”

  Gilberto parked the car and laid his arm back over the seat. “Deborah” Gilberto cleared his throat as he paused. It was the first time he ever called her by her first name. “Don't concern yourself about me or my sister. We'll be fine. Your wife knows nothing of our family. We made certain not to. Teresa and I will stay around until she thinks you're truly dead,” Gilberto said the word “she” as if it was a curse.

  Deborah gave his hand a slight squeeze. “I'd hate to think you or Teresa could end up as victims of Genevieve's rage. If she ever found out your part in my—”

  “She never will, Mrs. Murnay,” Gilberto said strongly and pulled his arm away. “It's time you went to your appointment. You wouldn't want to be late.”

  Deborah nodded and glanced inside her purse. She took out her sunglasses and the belly chain Gen had given her for their anniversary. She untangled the chain from her glasses and palmed it, almost giving it to Gilberto, just as she had done with most of her jewelry over the past year for him to sell and raise enough money for not only her, but for him and his sister. But she didn't think this piece of jewelry could be sold. It was too unique. Instead of putting it back in her purse, she put it on her seat. At least if the car was found, not only would Genevieve have her wedding ring, but the chain as well to remember her by.

  Deborah pulled on her sunglasses and swung her hair, giving Gilberto a bright smile. “You've been a great friend. Please tell Teresa the same when you see her.”

  Gilberto nodded and stared straight ahead, mimicking the action he usually did whenever he drove Deborah into town.

  She nodded and got out of the car, leaving him behind as his cell phone went off. “Hello, Mrs. Murnay. Yes…your wife has arrived at her appointment safely.”

  Deborah walked ahead, her face blank as Gilberto talked to her wife, who called to check in on her.

  * * * *

  Two hours later, Deborah had been waxed, massaged, and given a manicure and pedicure. She glanced down at her nails painted with clear nail polish. She couldn't have them with any color whatsoever so as not to be noticed.

  Her cell phone vibrated. Genevieve had called two times and left a text message telling her to call her as soon as she finished. Deborah put her phone back in her purse. There was no sense in calling Gen. She'd said her goodbyes to her that morning.

  Taking a deep breath, Deborah walked down the hall to the reception desk. She backed against the wall and took out the spare set of car keys Gilberto had given her, along with the other essentials. Knowing time was of the essence, she turned around instead of going out the front. She walked toward the back where another door would take her into the side parking lot.

  Deborah didn't run. She even nodded at the employees as she passed them by. Her legs didn't tremble as she walked out the back door and across the pavement to the car. Instead of using the electronic key chain to unlock the car, she slid the key into the lock and climbed in. Closing her eyes for a moment, she inhaled and started the car. Less than a minute later, she drove out of the parking lot and down the main road.

  The drive took around fifteen minutes. Deborah chewed her nails the entire time, ruining her manicure. She was a ball of tension, constantly looking out the rearview mirror, expecting to be pulled over by a cop, or for some crazy reason for Genevieve to be right behind her, having figured out what she'd done. The road Deborah drove on was practically empty, and when she drove off the highway, she clenched the steering wheel harder. Her knuckles were almost white under her usual lightly bronzed skin as she turned off the road and farther away from the urban area, leading her to a more rocky section surrounded by big boulders and mountains in the distance. Deborah didn't park the car near the picnic tables or where the hiking trails began. She drove further in, trying to keep her cool as she passed one or two empty cars.

  Finally she parked the car near the entrance of a small bridge that had been under construction for more than a year. The two-lane bridge led to the other side and around the bottom of a small mountain. But Gilberto had informed her when the discussed places for her “suicide” that the bridge was out of commission. It was desolate—and perfect for what Deborah had to do.

  Keeping the car running, Deborah got out and carefully stepped up on the bridge. She went to the edge where the river was high enough that as soon as the car hit the water, it would be carried away. Luckily for her, it had been a wet season, a bit out of the ordinary from the dry conditions that usually led to a drought. From the way the water crashed and flowed, the rapids swirling under and beyond her, she had picked the right place to commit her fake suicide. If all went well, the car would be beaten up, pulled under the waves, and taken miles downstream. Perhaps days would go by before it was found and people believed that her body was eaten by whatever fish lived in the river or the rocks, tearing her corpse to pieces.

  Deborah checked her watch. Genevieve would be arriving at the hotel and calling either her or Gilberto again since Deborah had never answered Genevieve's original calls or text messages. She threw her cell phone, the last form of communication she'd have with her wife, into the rushing water.

  She got back in the driver's seat and pulled the car in reverse until it faced the edge of the ravine. She put the car in neutral and walked behind it. Flexing her arms, glad she'd used weights with a trainer, she walked a few feet away, then suddenly sprinted toward the car. With her fast momentum and her pushing, the car began to roll, picking up speed, and with one final push, the car fell to the water below. The crash came seconds later, a loud boom ricocheting around her. She went over to the edge and watched the smashed vehicle in the water with its wheels up, willing it to start moving.

  After a few tense-filled minutes, the car circled around in the rough waters and floated down the stream, bobbing in and out, hitting huge rocks sticking out, causing glass to break and metal to screech.

  Deborah quickly glanced through her oversized bag, pulled out a white scarf, and wrapped it around her head. The disguise wasn't much, but it would keep her protected from the sun. Glad she'd worn her Keds and comfortable capris, she climbed over the barrier blocking the bridge and ran across to where she'd find the road and the ride that would take her to the bus station and to freedom—sweet freedom!

  Chapter Six

  A clean-cut, dark-skinned man a good decade older than her waited in a red Corolla on the side of the road. He had rolled down his window and called her by her name, confirming he was a friend of Gilberto's. She got in the car, her heart pounding rapidly as he drove away, not speaking again until he parked at the bus station twenty minutes later. He handed her a disposable cell phone and instructed her to only use it once—to call Gilberto when she arrived safely to wherever she was headed, then to throw it away. He also gave her a white plastic bag with a baseball cap and a T-shirt with some sort of sports logo, recommending she go change in the ba
throom before the bus left.

  Deborah thanked her driver, and as she walked swiftly toward the bathroom, he drove away. She tried her best not to look wildly around. Again fear overtook her, knowing Genevieve could appear at any moment. No one was in the bathroom when she went inside. She went into a stall and peed since her bladder was ready to explode. She pulled on the T-shirt that was a size too big for her, put up as much of her hair as she could in a black band, then fit the cap on her head. When she finished, she went to the sink and washed her hands. When the door opened and people came in, she dropped her head and walked out to her waiting bus.

  She gave her ticket over to the driver, went in the back and into a seat in the far corner, and hunched down so her face couldn't be seen from the window. She tried to stop her teeth from chattering, not from the cold but from the fear flowing through her body.

  When the bus drove away, Deborah closed her eyes and silent tears fell down her cheeks in near relief.

  * * * *

  The four-hour bus ride was uneventful. By the time the bus stopped in the town of Rockfield, it was near dusk. On stiff legs, Deborah walked off the bus with the rest of the passengers, clutching her bag and rolling her stiff shoulders.

  She'd only been to Rockfield a number of times since her mother had been admitted into the retirement facility there. The urge to go see her mother first and foremost was strong, but she couldn't yet. She was exhausted, sweaty, and hungry. First, she needed to get to the hotel indicated in the directions written out for her.

  The small, five-story hotel was a few blocks away. She hurried along, keeping her head down the entire time, and when she walked up to the front desk, a polite male hotel clerk welcomed her. Deborah smiled through trembling lips and said she was staying for the night and should have a reservation waiting for her under the last name Smith.

  “Why, yes, Mrs. Smith, your husband checked in earlier in the day,” the desk clerk explained and gave her the electronic key to her room.