Devils Due

Foreword: READ THIS FIRST!

First, let me again thank my lovely and talented wife (Black_Dragon_Princess) for her input on and proofreading of this tale. I love you, sweetheart! :)

This is probably going to be my last submission to the

Loving Wives

category, folks. Not saying the ride hasn't been a rollercoaster. In fact, it's been pretty damn fun, sometimes. What I'm saying is that I'm going to devote more time to writing in other categories, as well as my novels.

Also, being a husband and father, working my day job, and writing those novels takes up quite a bit of my time. Sorry to say it, but Lit comes in a distant fourth in that order.

Since I've never written a

"Hubby Runs Away"

tale before, I figured I'd give it a try. The main problem for me, is that I prefer to face my problems head-on, rather than run away from them. With me, "Fight" is always my default response, whenever I'm faced with a "Fight or Flight" situation. It's also going to be another long one, probably even longer than "Equalizer."

Disclaimer: This is a work of

FICTION!

That means it's

NOT REAL

, for all the "super-realists" out there! If you take it too seriously, that's YOUR mistake!

Anyway, finding a real reason for Hubby to ghost instead of fight, took a lot of thinking on my part. The ONLY thing I could think of, is if he absolutely couldn't stay and fight. So, that's the situation in this tale.

FAIR WARNING

: If you are a cuck, bull, hot wife, swinger, swapper, or someone who sympathizes with, or condones any of the aforementioned alternative lifestyles, DO NOT READ THIS TALE! It WILL piss you the hell off! I'm not, nor will I ever be wired to write in any of those genres. No apologies for that.

(SPOILER ALERT)

This isn't a hardcore BTB, either. The wife doesn't get killed or mutilated in any way.

ALSO: If you have a stunted, underdeveloped, or a complete lack of a sense of humor, stop reading now and move on to something else!

Oh, and this tale takes place in my "

Knights & Rogues

" literary universe. Don't worry, though. No "supernatural, paranormal, fairytale bullshit" in this one. Unless you've read some of my books. Then a name or two might jump out at you.

All original characters, and this tale itself, are Copyright © 2016 by Michael Erickston (me). If any of my characters bear a resemblance to anyone, living or dead, it's pure coincidence. That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it!

Before I forget, this tale, like many of my others, features a relationship between a black woman and a white man (BWWM). If that isn't your thing, just move on to something else.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

. Any complaints dealing with any of the above issues, are now officially NMP as usual. If you read it and complain about it anyway, I'm just gonna laugh at ya. :D

Everyone else, please enjoy the ride! :)

I.D.

*****

Wicked. Stupid. Fuck! That's what I was, seeing the situation I was in. Fuck, how didn't I see it coming?! Shit!

Dammit! I should probably tell ya what's going on, here. Best to start at the beginning, though.

Prologue: Luck o' the Irish... not!

1989 - 2008

My name is Richard Donnelly, but everyone calls me Rick. I'm the son of James and Erin Donnelly. Yeah, full blooded South Boston Irish, here. Hot temper? Check. Iron jaw? Check. Fists calloused from multiple fights? Check. Stupid fuck from Southie? Check. Yeah, I grew up in South Boston, where the Irish Mob ran the show. There have been a few movies about it. Those movies barely scratched the fuckin' surface, though.

Life wasn't easy on us. Mom and Dad did what they could for me, but school still sucked. I had a few close friends, but there were always stupid fuckin' assholes around, too. I never shied away from a fight, and I usually ended up either in detention, or suspended. It took me two tries to get through eighth grade, because of stupid fucks picking fights with me. I won more than I lost, I'm proud to say. No matter what, though, I'd promised my Mom that I wouldn't do or sell drugs.

Why did I promise her that? Simple answer: She died of breast cancer. By the time the doctors caught it, she was already in Stage 4. Nothing they could really do for her. I made her that promise on her death bed, right before I started High School.

Dad took Mom's death really hard. He soon found himself at the bottom of a whiskey bottle, every damn night. Luck of the Irish? What a fuckin' joke!

If you want to know what the luckiest day of my life was, it was when I got arrested at the age of 17 for assault and battery. Hey, the asshat that I smashed was trying to rob Old Lady O'Connor. Not in

my

neighborhood, dammit! I guess if I'd stopped beating on him when he finally let go of the purse, I wouldn't have faced any charges. Was I that smart, though? You already know the answer to that.

The cops pulled me off the stupid fuck and slapped me in cuffs, as I wailed away on Dwight Fisher's face. Imagine the scene in

Game of Thrones

, where Jon Snow is beating the shit outta Ramsay Bolton, and ya get the idea. My fist, his face, 'til the fat lady sings. Or in this case, 'til a couple of Boston's "Finest" pulled me off the fucktard!

Anyways, to make a long story a bit shorter, I only got six months in Juvie for that dust up. Thanks to witnesses who testified that I was only helping out our neighborhood matriarch. The judge wanted to make an example of me, though. Hey, it coulda been a lot worse.

Strangely enough, I didn't get into nearly as many fights in the joint, as I did on the outside! I had to fight one guy on my first day. After that, they left me the fuck alone. Go fuckin' figure, right?

While I was inside, my life took another shit biscuit on me. My Dad died. Grams and Gramps found him after he didn't answer his phone for two days, and they went over to check on him.

From what they told me, he'd drunk three fifths of Jameson, and that was all she wrote. He never got over Mom dying, and I hoped they were together in Heaven. At least they let me out, to attend his funeral.

Yeah, it hurt like hell! But that was when I met Ms. Murphy. Ms. Amelia Murphy was an older black lady, who acted as a counselor in Juvie. She was the no-nonsense type, but deep down, she had a heart of gold.

After hours of talking through my problems, she asked if there was anything I liked doing as a hobby. When I told her that I liked computers, since I'd fixed my Dad's PC a few times before he died, she asked if I would like to train on them. I jumped at the chance!

She set everything up for me, for after I got out. She talked to Grams and Gramps about it, and said that the City of Boston would foot half the bill for my training. They footed the other half. With my credits from the education in Juvie, I went on to finish my junior year, and managed to keep my nose clean through senior year, too.

Ms. Murphy stayed in my life, even after I got out of Juvie. She and her daughter, Alysha, became regulars at Grams and Gramps' place for Sunday dinner after evening Mass. Alysha was a year older than me, and I went over to their house some nights, so she could help me study. It didn't hurt that she was wicked hot, either!

Nothing happened, though. I guess it was the color barrier, or whatever they call it. I was scared to ask her out, thinking she'd probably turn me down flat. For reference, she looks a quite a bit like Aja Naomi King, but taller and with bigger tits. I eventually came to think of her as my best friend. She already saw me as one of her best friends, so that made it easier.

So, yeah. I'd gone to live with Grams and Gramps McKinnon, Mom's parents, after I got out. Dad's folks died before I was born, so I never knew them. Senior Year, I had a breakout season in Baseball, and ended up with a full ride scholarship to the University of Florida. Hey, I thought my luck was finally turning around.

Part 1: Damn Yankee!

2008 - 2015

Now, Mom and Dad raised me to always treat women right. They taught me that if a lady was in trouble, to do what I could to help her out. So in my freshman year as a Gator, I ended up in my umpteenth fight. The result of which, led to my first date with Sophie Randall.

Fuck, she was hot! Sophie wore her long red hair in a ponytail, most of the time. When several frat boy fucktards tried to get her to go with them, and she told them fuck no, I had to step in. It was just their shitty luck that I'd just finished batting practice. I was on my way back to my dorm, bat in hand.

I know what you're thinking. No, I never went

looking

for trouble. Trouble just had a way of

finding

me. In this case, I wasn't going to allow Sophie to get raped by these stupid fucks.

When two of them grabbed her, I saw red, and not the red on her head. So, with aluminum bat in hand, I waded into the fray. Nah, I didn't go in swinging wildly. Shit, gimme some credit here! I used it more like a night stick, using each end to deliver shots to ribs, nuts, or to the jaw of an unlucky fucktard. I took a few hits, myself, but not enough to feel through the adrenaline. I'd feel it in the morning, though!

Nah, I didn't try any of that "let the girl go" shit, either. I fuckin' hate clichés, ya know? Besides, why warn the stupid fucks? No point to it, really. If anyone has a problem with me not fighting "fair" then they can go fuck themselves.

Sophie had called Campus Security, while I beat the shit outta those fucktards. They arrived just after the last douchebag hit the ground.

Their first act was to slap me in cuffs, of course. I wasn't any stranger to police procedure, but Sophie squared it all away with a few statements. She identified me as the guy who'd rescued her after those fucktards tried to manhandle her over behind a dumpster. I looked where she pointed, and sure enough, there was a dumpster! So,

that's

where they'd planned to take her. Oh, well. At least they wouldn't get her, now.

Once they got their reports filled out and took our names and student ID numbers, they let us go. In turn, they placed the fucktard frat boys in cuffs and called the local cops to come get them.

"Are you ok?" I asked. "Did those stupid fucks hurt ya?"

"I'm ok, thank you," she replied in her southern drawl. She smiled as I stood there. "Your eye is gonna need some attention. Why don't y'all come back to my dorm room, and I'll give you some ice for your eye. I'm planning to go for a nursing degree, so you're in good hands. What's your name, sir?"

I laughed at that last part. "My name's Rick Donnelly, not 'sir'. I already know that you're Sophie Randall. We have English 101 together."

"Oh! That's right! You're the new shortstop, ain't ya?"

"That's me. You a Baseball fan?"

"Are you kidding? I

love

the Devil Rays!" Sophie replied, making me smile. Super cute, sexy, smart,

and

loves Baseball? Fuck yeah! "Now, c'mon. Where y'all from?"

"Boston," I said, smiling as we started walking towards her dorm. "South Boston, if it makes any difference."

"So, you're a

Yankee

," she snorted and gave me a disgusted look. When I raised an eyebrow, she laughed lightly and winked at me. "Don't worry, honey. I

love

your accent. It's

cute

!"

"Well, your accent is sexy as fuck," I retorted, before my mouth filter could kick in.

"Well, ain't you a smooth talker!" she laughed again.

"Sorry about that," I blushed. "No filter, sometimes. We're kind of blunt, where I come from."

"I think 'blunt' is an understatement, Rick. Don't worry about it, though. I like bluntness. It shows that y'all are honest. C'mon up, we're here."

Sure enough, while we'd walked and talked, we'd also arrived at her dorm. I checked my watch, and saw that it was only a little past 9pm. I remembered from orientation that dorm curfew hit at 10.

"Lead the way, Sophie," I shrugged.

Once we got to her room, she gave me an icepack in a towel, and I put it on my eye. In spite of that, I knew I'd have a shiner, the next day. But with the ice pack on, it wouldn't be as swollen, so there was that.

"So, what's your story, hon?" Sophie asked, once she'd given me a few Band-Aids for some scrapes on my jaw and arms.

My green eyes looked into her blue orbs, and I ran my hand back through my reddish brown hair. I just felt the need to be totally honest with her. I told her about my life in Southie, and how badly it had gone, so far. I didn't leave out anything major, even telling her about my stint in Juvie.

"Y'all have had it kinda rough, huh." She said, sympathetically.

"That's one way to put it," I shrugged back with a smirk. Then I had to go and open my big mouth again. "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you're wicked gorgeous!"

"Wicked?" she said, raising her eyebrows with a look of confusion mixed with offense.

"Sorry, 'wicked' means

totally

or

really

, as in you're really, totally hot!"

"Well, thank you, Rick," she said and blushed. "You're

wicked

cute, yourself."

"I prefer 'ruggedly handsome' with a face full of character, but I guess I can settle for cute," I shrugged again. Then she surprised the fuck outta me by giving me a really hot kiss.

Before I knew it, I'd dropped the ice pack, my arms went around her, and we engaged in a full contact game of tonsil hockey! Holy Mary, Mother of God! I felt my cock getting harder than a fuckin' girder, and almost as big! That woman could

kiss

! She broke that sexy fuckin' kiss way too soon, though.

"Slow down there, cowboy," she giggled, as she saw the confused look on my face. "That was a 'thank you' for saving me earlier. It wasn't an invitation into my panties, though. You should know that I'm a good girl, not some sorority slut. Ok?"

"I understand," I nodded and gulped. "I just really want to kiss you, some more. You're wicked awesome at it!"

She giggled, retrieved the icepack from her bed, and gently placed it over my eye again. Then she leaned in, and gave me the softest, sweetest kiss that I'd ever had. "Now, you just hold that in place, ya hear?"

"You got it, girl," I replied, holding the pack over my developing shiner. Then I looked around the room, noticing that the other bed didn't even look used. "Don't you have a roomy?"

She giggled again. "Nope. I guess I got lucky on that. The girl who was supposed to room with me, got expelled before I even got here. Nobody would say why, though." She shrugged as she finished the explanation.

"Shit, you got better luck than I do!" I chuckled and shook my head.

"Well, Mr. Donnelly," she said, giving me a sexy smile while biting her lower lip. "I think your luck is about to change for the better. And so is mine."

^^^^^

The next three years flew by, but in a good way... mostly. The frat boys that assaulted Sophie got expelled, since... surprise, surprise, it wasn't their first near miss with a rape charge. In fact, the Sophie incident turned out to be their third strike. Stupid fucks.

Sophie and I started dating, and I excelled at Baseball. What can I say? I know how to swing a bat! No pun intended. I also excelled with Sophie, and by our third date, I slid into home. Pun intended. She "scored" several times on my home run, too. Ok, ok. Enough baseball sex puns... for now. Honest!

Most of our dates went great, and the sex was awesome! That is, until I discovered a dark side to my redheaded love. You know the saying, "red on the head, fire in the bed?" Well, she also had a fire inside her head. Even though her eyes were blue, they turned nasty green whenever she saw me even talking with another person of the female gender.

First time we had a huge fight, I stood my ground while she called me everything but a Child of God. Then I told her, in no uncertain terms, that if she couldn't trust me, we were done. Then I walked out on her. No, I hadn't cheated on her. I wouldn't cheat on her. Shit, I thought she would've known that by the end of Sophomore Year!

I took that time, after our breakup, to get my CompTIA A+, Network+, Security+, and Server+ certifications. Those tests are wicked hard, but I passed 'em all. Hell, it kept my mind off the shit biscuit my love life had turned into, anyway.

Sophie and I didn't talk for five weeks, until she sent me a text, asking me to meet her. I seriously considered telling her to fuck off. Maybe in hindsight, I should've done just that. But shit, I couldn't see the future! I was young, stupid, and fuck if I didn't still love her! When I met her at what used to be our usual spot, she sat beside me and wouldn't look at me for a long moment. When it was obvious to her that I wasn't going to say shit, she spoke.

"I'm sorry, Rick," she whispered. "I'm sorry about what I said, after I saw you talking to that bitch."

"Ok," I said. "Sophie, if you don't trust me, there's nothing I can say or do to make you. Since you never asked, Kate was telling me that she and Ted wanted to invite us to their engagement party. I had to go alone, because you don't trust me. By the way, Kate isn't a bitch. You should've known that."

Then she surprised me as the waterworks started. She held her face in her hands and bawled her eyes out. It broke my heart, so I leaned over and put my arm around her shoulders.

"I'm so, so sorry, Rick!" she sobbed, wrapping both arms around me. "I should've trusted you, baby! I will from now on. I promise! Please give me another chance. You won't regret it!"

"Why

don't

you trust me?" I asked, now curious.

"You remember when I told you about Mom and Daddy getting a divorce?" she asked.

"Yeah, but you never said why," I recalled.

"Daddy cheated on Mom," she sniffled, looking me dead in the eyes. "When I told Mom that I was dating you, she said that all Damn Yankees were the same. Daddy's from New York, originally."

"Well, I ain't from New Fuckin' York," I snorted in derision. Yeah, you know about the Boston-New York rivalry, right? If you don't know about it, crawl out from under your rock!

"I know that, baby," she said, tears still streaming down her face. "Mom wouldn't stop talking about what you'd end up doing to me, though. She just

knew

that you'd cheat on me, or betray me somehow. I'm ashamed to say that I listened to her. You have to believe me, Rick. I love you, and I swear to God, I trust you! Give me a chance to prove it, ok?"

A bit dramatic? Damn right, it was! Did I believe her? Yeah, I guess I did. The make-up sex that night was fuckin' wicked awesome!

We dated throughout the rest of college. Sophie helped me a lot, when in my Junior Year, shit went sideways for me again. Twice. In rapid succession. No joke.

First, Gramps died of a heart attack, followed shortly after by Grams. No, she didn't die of a heart attack. She died of a broken heart, since Gramps was the love of her life. She just didn't want to go on, without him. To anyone who says that dying of a broken heart is a myth, fuck you. I know it's true.

Coach Winston gave me two weeks to fly back to Boston, and get my shit sorted out. I also got special dispensation from my professors, telling me I could make up the work when I got back. The shit being double funeral arrangements. Ms. Murphy and Alysha helped, of course. God Bless them, always! Grams and Gramps had decently sizeable life insurance, and they named me sole beneficiary in their joint Will.