19. Layne

Chapter nineteen

Layne

D id Wes just confess to being a serial killer? Well, not really a “serial killer”, more like a vigilante that is hellbent on making the world a better place.

The weight of his words is overwhelming, filing my thoughts. He shared the heartbreaking story of his poor little sister, whose life someone stole from her. How he made the personal decision to seek vengeance, it should repulse me from a societal standpoint, that the man whom I gave my virginity to kills people. But it doesn’t, not even a little bit. I see inside Wes’s heart and I know he is doing it with a purpose.

What does that say about you Layne?

I push aside the negative voice inside and climb on top of him, straddling his waist. His eyes, still wet from the tears, peer into mine. “Were you expecting me to run?” I say, swiping my thumbs under his eyes to wipe away the moisture.

He grins as his hand wraps around my throat and pulls my face to his. “No, I didn’t. Okay, maybe I thought you’d run. But then I remembered that you didn’t run that very first night. You’re just as fucked up as I am. We’re a perfect match for each other in any life.” His words warm my heart.

It’s feeling that way.

“How the fuck are you so perfect?” He crashes his lips into mine for a long kiss.

“I’m far from perfect,” I mumble against his lips. “Perfect really doesn’t come to mind when I think of myself.”

I pull away, realizing he said that he knows where my father is. “I want him dead, Wes. He shouldn’t get to breathe another day. His lungs should burn the way mine did while he and my mother killed me.”

Wes pulls himself up to a seated position. His fingers trace my jaw. “You say the words, baby. You say them and he’s dead.”

With no hesitation, the words flow effortlessly from my lips. “I want him dead.”

“Done.”

Wes pulls me back into his embrace, and I’m overwhelmed by his comforting scent. Smoke with cedar and a hint of the ocean. “God, Layne. Thank you.”

I giggle at his words. “For what?” His lips find my neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses and bites, making me moan.

“I’m grateful is all. For your kindness and all the ways you show it to me. You’re accepting of every part of me, especially the darkest parts.”

I realize I just sealed the fate of my piece of shit father, and while I should feel remorse. I don’t. Just knowing that he will no longer breathe the same air as I do makes me feel lighter. All that matters to me right now is this man, that is offering to free me from all the hurt.

“Come on, Ma Petite Mort , let’s order something to eat and then go sleep,“ Wes orders Chinese food, from the only place that is open this late, at my request, and once it arrives, I realize how hungry I am .

We have the array of take out containers spread out across his bed. He reaches for a remote and clicks a button. A projector screen drops from the rafters, and a streaming service menu appears. He hands me the remote. “Pick something to watch. I’m gonna grab us some drinks.”

When he returns, we settle in and devour the food, watching the movie I picked, and laughing at the cheesy lines and horrible acting. Wes laces his fingers in between mine, bringing my hand to his lips. “Can I ask you something?” I nod, swallowing the egg roll I had just shoved into my mouth. He turns to face me, and I feel like this is going to be a serious question.

“If I asked you the right way,” he clears his throat, “you know, like normal guys do. Would you say yes?”

My mouth hangs open. Is he doing what I think he’s doing? Is he asking me to be his girlfriend? No, Wes made a joke about marrying me. Oh fuck, is that what he’s about to do? My mind flashes back to his comment about the courthouse and the look in his eyes right now tells me I’m right. Oh, fuck. Breathe, Layne don’t pass out.

“I know it’s crazy. Fucking certifiable,” he chuckles, “but I can’t live my life without you being mine. Layne, this is the strongest desire I’ve ever had. You opened my eyes to a new possibility. A wife, fuck even kids.”

Kids? He wants kids.

It dawns on me that I didn’t even think about using protection when we had sex. Fucking idiot. As a virgin, I never considered the idea of contraception. Why use birth control when you aren’t having sex.

Wes studies my face, “What’s wrong?”

“Okay, this is going to sound stupid, especially since we’ve already had sex multiple times now. But, I know I’m clean being the virgin and all…” I nonchalantly wave my hand around trying to find the words to ask if he is clean too .

It click and he realizes what I’m trying to say. “You’re the only person I’ve been with in over a year. I’m clean, baby.”

Phew, thank goodness for that.

“What if I don’t want children, though? Would you still want to spend your life with me?” Kids were never part of my plan.

My words make him draw in a breath and he ponders what I’ve said. “Of course, I would. I’ll get a vasectomy tomorrow, if that’s what you want.”

Fuck, this man is amazing.

“I wouldn’t do it tomorrow,” I laugh, shaking my head at his willingness. “How about we sleep on it?” Wes is gorgeous, and I bet he would make the prettiest babies. I’m just hung up on my parents being so shitty that I assume I will be, too.

“What is it, baby? I can see you mulling over something.” Wes’s eyes search mine, concern all over his face.

“What if I’m as bad a parent as mine were? I would never forgive myself for bringing children into this world only to hurt them.” My heart flutters as his fingers weave in between mine, bringing my hand to his lips.

“Impossible,” he says, placing the softest kiss across my knuckles. “I’ll bet that you’ll make an amazing mother. Look, this isn’t something that has to happen right now, though. We have forever to determine if we want kids.”

When it comes to spending forever with someone, Wes is ideal. In a strange fucked up sort of way, that is. Even though he started out as a stalker, he is so much more than that now. I trusted him with my body, and all he’s done is treat it with love and devotion. He cares about my mental well-being, wanting to make sure my abusive father never hurts me again. Why wouldn’t I want to spend forever with him?

“Ask me again.” I whisper.

Wes’s eyes widen, the smile creeping across his face says it all. “Yeah?” He climbs off the bed and gets down on both of his knees. I scoot myself to the edge of the bed. Wes spreads my thighs so he can situate himself between them. My heart is on fire for this man, on his knees in front of me. “Layne Murphy, I know this is fast and we still have so much to learn about each other, but we can do all of that and more over time. Will you make me the happiest man in existence and marry me?”

I nod, the tears already forming in my eyes. Wes shuffles to his bedside table to grab a piece of rope. Then he comes back between my legs grasping my hand with his free one. He wraps our hands with the rope.

“I didn’t write these, but it’s a long-standing tradition in my family to recite them. My parents immigrated here from Scotland with me when I was two, so these are traditional Celtic vows. Let’s see if I remember them correctly.”

If he doesn’t I know them. Being Irish it’s kind of a thing in our culture.

Wes takes my hand in his, and begins, “You cannot possess me, for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give. You cannot command me, for I am a free person, but I shall serve you in those ways you require, and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand. I pledge that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night and the eyes into which I smile in the morning. I pledge to you the first bite of my meat and the first drink from my cup. I pledge to you my living and my dying, each equally in your care. I shall be a shield for your back and you for mine. I shall not slander you, nor you me, honoring you above all others, and when we quarrel we shall do so in private and tell no strangers our grievances. This is my wedding vow to you: Our love is never-ending, and we will remain forever equals in our marriage.”

Wes leans over and snatches up his pants, rummaging in his pocket. He produces a small black box and stays down on both knees, not just the traditional one knee. “Is that a yes? I need to hear the words, Ma Petite Mort .”

When the fuck did he have time to get a ring?

My body propels forward and our lips connect, kissing him with such a burning passion.

“Yes,” I whisper into his lips, “it will forever be yes. I’m Irish Wes. I know those vows very well.”

I bring our bound hands to my lips, pressing mine to the top of his. “You are blood of my blood, bone of my bone. I give you my body, that we may be one. I give you my spirit until our life is done.”

“I thought Murphy was of English origin. Some stalker, I am.” He snorts, and has a look of embarrassment about him. “I couldn’t even get your family’s origins correct. Hope you don’t mind a Scottish last name. It’s going to be Larimore for the rest of your life.” Wes unties our hands and lifts me back onto the bed, pushing the hair from my face.

“It’s perfect. So you gonna to whisk me away to the Scottish countryside and marry me in a field?” I joke, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Would you like to?” His voice carrying a serious tone. “I want to travel around the world with you Layne,” his lips tenderly kiss my ear, “and fuck you in every single city we go to.” Wes clears his throat and pulls back. “First, we need to deal with your father. Then we can talk about traveling. We can get married tomorrow. Better text Atlas and tell him you need him to be at the courthouse tomorrow.”

With a delicate touch, Wes slips the ring on my finger, and I admire the vibrant green of the beautiful emerald. He understands that I’m not the conventional type of girl who likes diamonds. Wes gets up and cleans the mess from the takeout as I reach for my phone to text Atlas.

What to say, so that he won’t think I am insane?

Layne: Okay, don’t freak out. I need to ask you to do something for me tomorrow. No judgment.

Atlas: …

Atlas: I am the king of no judgment, bitch. So hit me with it. I’m still mad that you didn’t tell me about your mystery man and that you ditched me at the show. He is HOT, by the way!

I smirk and text back.

Layne: We’re getting married tomorrow. Would you be willing to come to the courthouse as a my man of honor? Then we can party afterward?

Atlas: Only if I get to pick your dress.

Layne: So is that a yes?

Atlas: Do I get to pick your dress?

“Atlas wants to pick my dress,” I shout to Wes, who’s cleaning up the dishes across the loft in the kitchen.

He comes into view and shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t care what you wear, baby. That’s all up to you.” I bite my lip and respond.

Layne: Okay, you can pick the dress.

Atlas: What time do I need to be there?

“What time should he be there?” Wes walks back over to the bed, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“Tell him to be there by three-thirty. I have an in with the judge who will do all the paperwork, so he’ll squeeze us in.” He tosses the towel on the bed and bends down, kissing my neck. “Hurry, baby. I want my dessert.”

Layne: Be there by 3:30. Gotta go, love you!!