In Cw — How Do I Live Without You, Ralph's wife, Cheryl, had been caught cheating by Ralph with Ralph's best friend and Cheryl's boss. He'd dropped her like a hot potato. Five years go by and he meets, falls in love, and asked Francine to marry him.
Two weeks after their engagement is announced in the newspaper, his ex-wife show up insanely begging for him to forgive her for her sluttish actions. Ralph refuses and his ex swears to prove to him that she should be forgiven.
His ex has his fiancée drugged and raped and blackmails her, putting her through the same trials the ex had been forced to endure. In fact the fiancée was forced to do things far worse. She is quickly broken and turned out.
Ralph finds Francine in their bed after the pimp that won her had sex in with her in Ralph's bed and leaves videos of Francine's graduation from loving fiancée to prime whore. He also leaves a note saying he'll be back to pick up his new whore when she heals from the abuse she had taken at their last fuck session.
Ralph has his ex arrested for what she had done to his fiancée. He goes home to an empty house.
Ralph hears a recorded call on his home phone from his fiancée's pimp telling her to come to his house to turn a trick with a client.
Ralph parks in front of the house and verifies her car is there and men are coming and going from the front door. He's sure it is a whore house.
The last scene is Ralph in his pickup truck deciding she is no better than his ex-wife and he starts his pickup, puts it in gear and pulls away leaving his fiancée to the mercy of the pimp.
I had several feedbacks about the story's conclusion being poor and leaving the reader wanting more. Goodness. Don't you readers know me by now? I almost always leave you wanting more and deliver a finale story a few days after the first one hits SOL.
And so dear reader, our story now picks up at the instant How Do I Live Without You ended.
I'd like to thank estoude01 at mac.com for editing this work.
I pulled away slowly from the shadows where I'd been parked. I was sad beyond human endurance. My breath caught in my throat. I was wishing I was dead. First my wife had turned into a slut, now she had succeeded in turning my fiancée into a whore.
The radio was playing the refrain of a Mary Chapin Carpenter song, I Take My Chances.
Now I can cry until I laugh and laugh until I cry
So cut the deck right in half, I'll play from either side
I take my chances, I pay my dollar and I place my bet
I take my chances, I take my chances every chance I get
I take my chances, I don't cling to remorse or regret
I take my chances, I take my chances every chance I get
I take my chances
The meaning of that refrain grabbed me even as I was wiping a tear from my eye. I slammed on the brakes. The truck slid to a stop at an angle in the middle of the street.
I just sat for what felt like an eternity listening to those words ringing over and over in my mind.
It suddenly dawned on me. I'd brought all of this on Francine! She'd be safe at home if she hadn't taken up with me. She'd be the wonderful woman she was when I met her if she hadn't been the victim of my demented ex-wife.
My mind was a whirling caldron of confusing thoughts and emotions. This was not her fault, it was mine! What the hell was I thinking, just driving away like that? I had to fight for her. Maybe I'll never understand what she has turned into, but I've got to give her a chance to turn back to what she was. I was Special Forces. I can do this!
I pulled the wheel tightly to the left and turned the truck around. I braked and put it in park. I climbed down from the cab with my keys and pulled the seat forward to get access to the rear of the cab. I unlocked a long narrow case that was bolted to the truck's floor and extracted the weapon. It was my pride and joy an Orvis over under 12 gauge shotgun, a loving mix of highly tempered steel blued to an almost jet black with a finely crafted and oiled oak stock.
It could stop a mature black bear. I know because I'd stopped one just the year before in a hunting trip to the Great Dismal Swamp in northeastern North Carolina.
I'd had the weapon custom made. I didn't go in for bird hunting so I'd had the gun designed for big game, with a closed choke built in. A closed choke insured the shot maintained a tight pattern as it rocketed through the air.
If you've ever seen such a weapon in use, you've seen what a closed choke, double-aught buck shotgun will do to a target. A small set of closely spaced holes in a two or three inch pattern at the entry and a huge six to eight inch crater blown away at the exit point. It's not pretty. But then it is to stop big game, like black bears. Or pimps.
I reached into the built-in compartment in the rear of the cab and removed the box of double-aught shells. I broke the breach on the gun, dropped in two shells, and snapped it closed. I stuffed the remaining twenty-two shells into my pants pockets and inside my shirt. I'd need to get at them quickly when I made my move.
I began walking toward the whore house. I stopped and went back to the truck. I snapped my ignition key from the key ring and started my truck. I left it idling as I walked toward the house.
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911. They answered, this is 911 what is your emergency?"
"My wife's car has been stolen."
"Is your wife okay? Any injuries?"
"Then I'm sorry but it's not an emergency, you'll have to contact police and report the theft to them."
"But ... But ... I'm too busy to call over the place. Can't you just report it?" I sputtered sounding irritated.
"No, I can't, sir, you can contact them yourself. If you're too busy now, call them tomorrow morning." With that the 911 operator disconnected my call.
I took my copy of Francine's car key off my key ring. Quietly opening her car door, I got in, laid the shotgun next to me on the passenger seat, started the car and backed out into the street so the car faced the front door. The front door was only one step up from the ground, so I was sure the car would easily climb over it. It was a large double door made of phony looking carved wood. If the doors were as shoddy as they looked, the car should easily make toothpicks out them.
I put the car in first gear, picked up the shotgun, snapped the safety off and placed the barrels of the gun on the dashboard so they pointed out the windshield.
Taking a deep breath, I revved the engine, popped the clutch and aimed the car at doors.
Wham! Crash! The doors simply disappeared as the car blasted through them. The car ended up ten feet inside the house. There were two men sitting on the couch directly in front of the car. They seemed frozen in place by the arrival of the car not three feet from where they sat.
One seemed to come out of his fog and started to reach into the inside of his coat. I squeezed the trigger and watched his head disappear in a red cloud. I touched the button that flipped the gun to the other barrel and took out the other man before he could ever recover from his initial shock.
I jumped from the car as I broke the breach open and dropped in two new shells. Snapping the gun closed I headed for the steps that lead upstairs. I was sure the whores would be kept upstairs in the bedrooms. As I hit the top of the steps, I saw a large man appear from a door on the right side of the hall that extended from the stairs to the back of the house. He had a pistol in his hand and yelled "What the fuck do you want?" Suddenly he seemed to recognize me. He smirked, "Shit. You're little Frannie's almost husband. Well, wimp dick, she's in back taking care of a couple of my best customers. Why don't you go home and maybe I'll send her back to you tomorrow sometime. Just leave before I fucking kill you." He'd pointed to the door at the back of the hall when he said that she was in back.
He started to bring the pistol up toward me and I simply leveled the shotgun and blew the gun from his hand. Of course his hand basically disappeared with the gun. He turned to run back into the room he'd come out of so I aimed and fired the next volley of buckshot into his right knee.
That knee also disappeared. He was now permanently crippled.
I made my way to his side as I reloaded the gun. I was almost to his writhing body when the door to room at the end of the hall opened and a very frightened looking man stuck his head out. I leveled the gun and ordered, "Out. Now."
He slowly came out with his hands up. He was naked.
The pimp had said a couple of his customers were with her. Watch it Ralph old boy, this is a setup. I thought to myself as the man walked a few steps down the hall but always to the side of the hall. This would give whoever was still in the room a clean shot at me.
I ordered the guy to stop and wait where he was. I moved my eyes between the man standing naked in the hall and the slightly open door that he had come out of. Suddenly the door moved inward and I saw a hand with a gun poke out. I didn't even think I just reacted. The shotgun spoke and another man was heard moaning as a very large hole appeared in the bedroom door, just about where he was standing.
.... There is more of this story ...