Chapter 18: Marge's Wrath and a Serendipitous Find
@Liquid Trust
When the banging on the kitchen door started, a naked Lauren was happily preparing lunch while Travis was working out in the basement gym he had built since he moved in with Lauren.
The pounding was furious, a sharp staccato that shook the frame. Lauren, humming and wrapped only in a flour-dusted apron, glanced at the clock. She hadn’t expected anyone.
She opened the door to a blast of cold air and Marge Hildebrand’s livid face. Marge’s eyes, lined in smudged black, raked over Lauren’s state of undress, the happy glow on her skin, and narrowed into slits. “You,” Marge spat, pushing past her into the warm kitchen.
“Marge? What’s wrong?” Lauren asked, clutching the apron closed.
“David!” Marge whirled, her voice a shrill knife in the cozy room. “I had him in my car, his face buried in my cunt, lapping like a man at his last supper.” Her words were graphic, crude. “He was hard as a rock, moaning into me, and then he just… stopped. Pushed me away. Said he couldn’t.”
Lauren’s blood turned to ice. The guilt, so blissfully buried under Travis’s hands and mouth, surged back, acidic and choking.
Marge took a step closer, her perfume clashing with the scent of cinnamon. “He was furious. He wanted nothing to do with me. He snarled something about you betraying in with some fucking trust.” She studied Lauren’s horrified face. The pieces clicked. “You. You did something to him. That bullshit at the wedding.”
“That bullshit at the wedding.” Marge’s eyes drilled into Lauren, reading the confession in her trembling hands and pallid face. “You spiked his drink, you stupid little bitch. You used something on your own husband, and when he got his bearings back, he turned on both of us! What the fuck did you do?”
Lauren backed into the counter, the edge digging into her spine. “I didn’t… It was... It was supposed to make him happy. Help him find his own love. So we all could be happy and friends... Sofia told me it would make him agreeable. For me to find a woman like you. Someone who will keep him on his toes. It was supposed to give everyone a happy ending!” The justification sounded pathetic, even to her.
“Agreeable?” Marge barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. “He was more than agreeable in my backseat. He was a goddamn starving man. Then he just… shattered.” She mimicked the action with her hands. “Started yelling about betrayal, about you. He shoved the door open and took off down the street, still zipping his fucking pants.”
The image seared Lauren’s mind: her loyal David, humiliated and enraged, fleeing into the night. A sob ripped from her throat. “Oh, God. What have I done?”
“You ruined a perfectly good fuck is what you did,” Marge sneered, but her anger was cooling, morphing into something more calculating. She watched Lauren unravel.
She watched Lauren unravel. The confident, satisfied woman from moments before was gone, replaced by a trembling specter of regret. Lauren’s hands flew to her mouth, as if to physically trap the sobs fighting their way out.
“I never should have listened to Sofia,” Lauren choked, the words wet and broken. “I never should have used Liquid Trust.” Her eyes were wide with dawning, horrific comprehension. “David must have gotten the antidote the same time we did. The wedding cake. It freed him, and he knows!”
Marge stood perfectly still, her earlier rage replaced by cold, focused interest. She was a predator sensing a fresh opportunity.
“He knows what I did to him!” Lauren wailed, slumping against the refrigerator. “He knows I tried to make him your adoring lover. He knows… knows I chose Travis over him, even after the antidote freed my mind!” The confession was a gush of poison, leaving her hollowed out and gasping.
With a sudden, frantic energy, Lauren yanked open a drawer beside the sink. She rummaged past measuring spoons and twine before pulling out a small, unmarked cardboard box. She stared at it with pure revulsion, as if holding a live viper.
“This is all that’s left of that sin,” she hissed, and with a violent heave, she threw the box into the kitchen trash can. It landed with a soft thud atop coffee grounds and eggshells. “I’m done! I have to find Travis!”
Lauren turned and fled from the kitchen, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood as she ran toward the basement stairs, screaming her lover’s name. The apron fluttered behind her, a meaningless flag of surrender.
The kitchen fell silent. Marge’s gaze drifted to the trash can. Her wicked smile returned, slow and sure. She stepped over, reached in without hesitation, and retrieved the box. She didn't open it here. She tucked it into her large purse with the care of someone receiving a holy relic.
She let herself out the back door, the cold air a balm to her scheming mind. In her car, under the dim dome light, she lifted the lid. Nestled in foam were three glass vials of clear liquid and a single folded sheet of instructions. The smile on her painted lips was one of pure, avaricious delight.
“Tony, Jimmy, and dear sweet David,” she murmured to herself, tracing a manicured finger over the vials. “My own devoted, badass lovers.” She imagined their strong hands on her, their mouths worshipping her body, their will sublimated entirely to her pleasure. The fantasy was so vivid it made her thighs clench.
She started the engine, her plan already crystallizing. She needed a venue, an event. Something that would bring all three men within her reach. The neighborhood block party was next weekend. It was perfect.
Meanwhile, in the basement, Lauren crashed into Travis’s arms as he emerged from his workout, shirtless and sheened with sweat. “David knows! He’s free, and he knows everything!” she babbled, her tears soaking his chest.
Travis’s body went rigid, his soldier’s mind assessing the new threat. He held her, his grip firm, grounding. “Then we face it,” he said, his voice low. “Together.” Travis pulled the woman he loved and the mother of his unborn child into a fierce, supportive embrace.
At Jimmy's house, Tony and Sofia padded barefoot down to Jimmy's kitchen. Jimmy had been up for hours and already had a coffee brewing. His gaze at his brother and his new wife was inquisitive. Obviously, he knew that Tony had spent the night with Sofia since his older brother was not on the sofa when Jimmy got up.
The rich, bitter scent of coffee filled the sunlit kitchen. Jimmy handed mugs to Tony and Sofia without comment, his raised eyebrow saying everything. Tony accepted the mug, his knuckles brushing Sofia’s as she took hers. A current, simple and human, passed between them.
“So,” Jimmy finally said, leaning against the counter. “You two look… less like you want to kill each other.”
“We’re figuring it out,” Tony said, his voice a low rumble. He watched the steam curl from his coffee. “There’s a lot to figure.”
Sofia nodded, cradling her mug in both hands. “The wreckage of our old marriages is everywhere. Then there’s what was done to us—taking something real and cranking it up to a scream.” She looked at Tony, her dark eyes serious. “We have a new life coming. We’re legally bound. So we start there.”
“We’re going to get counseling,” Tony stated, as if committing the plan to stone. “Proper help. Untangle the programmed shit from the… genuine parts.” He glanced at Sofia’s abdomen, his expression softening with a responsibility that felt entirely his own. “We see if we can build something real from this.”
Jimmy gave a slow, approving nod. “Good. That’s… adult of you.” He sipped his coffee, then his face clouded. “Speaking of untangling, we’ve got another problem. David is AWOL. His truck’s gone from the hotel. Phone goes straight to voicemail. Lauren isn’t answering either.”
Sofia looked up, puzzled. “I thought Lauren and Travis were finding him. At the reception, after we planned our visit to Jeannie and Max, she said they had ‘something to take care of’ while we went to the penthouse.” Her brow furrowed. “I assumed they were getting David away from that vile Marge woman, freeing him from the Liquid Trust Lauren used on him.”
Tony’s head snapped toward her. “Lauren used it on David? When?”
“At the reception. Right before everything went to hell.” Sofia’s voice dropped, ashamed. “She called a week before the reception and asked for my help in getting David to be 'as in love as we were'. In my programmed state, I thought immediately of Liquid Trust and told her how to get it. She used it on David and delivered him to Marge Hildebrand. Marge programmed him in her own twisted desires.” She pulled her phone from her robe pocket, her fingers moving swiftly. “I have proof. I saw them.”
She set the phone on the breakfast bar. The video played silently: the hotel balcony, the hazy glow of party lights. David, his dress shirt open, moving over Marge Hildebrand where she was bent against the railing. His body moved with a driven, rhythmic intensity that was horrifying to watch.
“God,” Tony breathed, his stomach turning.
“Wait,” Jimmy said, snatching the phone. He zoomed in on David’s face, pausing the video. He studied it, his tech-trained eyes analyzing the pixels. “Look at his face. Not the surface expression—look at the micro-expressions. Around the eyes. The tension in the jaw under the motion.”
He was right. Beneath the act of passion was a terrifying rigidity. David’s eyes were screwed shut, not in pleasure, but in a kind of agonized concentration. The muscles along his jaw were corded, locked tight.
“He’s fighting it,” Jimmy whispered, awe and horror mixing in his voice. “The programming is driving his body, but his mind is screaming. Look. He’s furious.”
A cold understanding settled over the kitchen. Tony looked from the frozen image of his friend’s tormented face to his brother’s. “He broke free when we all did. The antidote in the cake.” The pieces slammed together. “He came to his senses while he was… with her. And then he knew what Lauren had done to him. What we all let happen.”
Sofia covered her mouth. “He risked everything. And we left him trapped like that.” Her words were thick with guilt. “Now he’s out there, alone, with all that rage. It’s not just at Lauren or Travis.” She met Tony’s gaze, her eyes wide with dread. “It’s at me.”
The comfortable morning silence was gone, replaced by a pressing, urgent chill. David wasn’t just missing. He was a betrayed brother, armed with a builder’s strength and a heart freshly carved out, loose in the city. And they had to find him before his rage, or the people who’d caused it, did something irreversible.
And they had to find him before his rage, or the people who’d caused it, did something irreversible.
Tony was already moving, his coffee forgotten. “Jimmy, think. Where would he go? Not home. Not to a bar, not like this.”
Jimmy’s mind raced, his fingers tapping silently on the countertop. “Somewhere private. Somewhere he has access to but no one would think to look.” He snapped his fingers. “Your house. The one you shared with Jeannie. It’s been empty for a month since you were on your honeymoon with Sofia. You gave him a key for contractor access last year for the deck project.”
“Of course,” Tony said, the logic cold and clear. It was a place of failure, now sitting empty. A perfect tomb for a man feeling betrayed. “Let’s go.”
Sofia placed a hand on his arm. “I should go to Lauren’s. Travis will be there. If David’s rage is aimed at me for supplying the Trust, Lauren’s guilt is just as deep. We need to… present a united front. Or at least understand the damage.” Her expression was pained but resolved. “You two find David. I’ll face the other half of this.”
They moved with a grim, coordinated purpose. Ten minutes later, Tony’s truck peeled away from the curb with Jimmy riding shotgun, while Sofia took her own car in the opposite direction, toward the Jensen house.
Ten minutes later, Tony’s truck peeled away from the curb with Jimmy riding shotgun, while Sofia took her own car in the opposite direction, toward the Jensen house.
The silence in Tony’s truck was thick, charged with the image of David’s agonized face from the video. Jimmy stared out the window, his fingers drumming a nervous pattern on his knee. “He’s gonna be raw,” Jimmy finally said. “I mean, think about it. His body was hijacked. His wife handed him to another woman like a gift basket.”
“I know,” Tony muttered, gripping the wheel. The familiar streets blurred past. “And we were so wrapped up in our own hell, we left him in his.” The failure sat like a stone in his gut. David had always been the steady one, the reliable foundation. Seeing that foundation crack was terrifying.
Seeing that foundation crack was terrifying.
Tony killed the engine a block away from his old house, the silence after the rumble absolute. The colonial stood dark, the FOR SALE sign staked in the frost-tipped lawn looking like a grave marker. No lights glowed behind the blinds they’d chosen together.
“Truck’s in the garage,” Jimmy whispered, pointing to the barely visible chrome bumper through a side window. “He’s here.”
They approached not as intruders but as penitents. Tony used his key, the click in the dead quiet sounding like a gunshot. The air inside was stale and cold, smelling of lemony polish and emptiness. Floorboards groaned under their weight as they moved through the hollow living room.
A sliver of light leaked from under the kitchen door. Tony pushed it open.
David sat at the breakfast nook, his back to them, staring at the blank wall where a family calendar used to hang. A half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker sat beside a heavy framing hammer. He didn’t turn.
“You took your time,” David said. His voice was gravel, stripped raw.
“We just figured it out, Dave,” Tony said, holding his hands up, palms open. “Jimmy found the video on Sofia’s phone. We saw… what was happening to you. We came straight here.”
David finally swiveled. His eyes were bloodshot, but they weren’t wet. They were flat and hard, like river stones. A fresh, angry scrape ran from his temple to his jaw. “Four hours. I’ve been sitting in this tomb for four hours, remembering my wife’s hands feeding me that champagne. Remembering that old bastard’s hands on her. Remembering every second of that woman’s taste in my mouth while my brain screamed.”
He stood up, the chair legs shrieking against the tile. He was a big man, built by labor, and his fury made the room feel smaller. “Where is she? Off fucking the colonel? Did she even look for me?”
“She thought you were with Marge,” Jimmy offered, his voice cautious. “She and Travis were supposed to find you at the reception.”
“But they didn’t,” David stated, the words final. “They chose each other. Fine. That’s her choice.” He picked up the hammer, hefting its weight. It wasn’t a threat to them; it was an extension of his rage. “But he was supposed to be better than that. He was Travis. And now he’s just a thief in a retired soldier’s skin.”
His gaze locked on Tony. “And Sofia. That poisonous bitch. This all traces back to her. The idea for the drug. The video for her fucking scrapbook. Turning Jeannie into a puppet for that quarterback. Turning you into her compliant husband.” He slammed the hammer head into his own palm, a sharp, punishing crack. “She’s the root. I want to see her.”
“You can’t,” Tony said, stepping forward. He kept his voice level, a counterweight to David’s storm. “Not like this. And it’s not that simple.”
“The hell it isn’t!”
“She was the first victim, David.” Tony’s words cut through the anger. “Months before our anniversary party. Her ex-husband, Larry, used Liquid Trust on her. He was sloppy. He didn’t want a loving wife—he wanted an amoral hedonist. A psychopath who got off on chaos. She was programmed, just like you were.”
David stared, the hammer lowering an inch. The information was a wrench in the gears of his pure, clean hatred.
Jimmy moved to the fridge, pulled out three cheap beers left by the realtors, and cracked them open. He slid one down the counter to David. “The antidote was in the wedding cake, man. We took it to Max’s penthouse. Jeannie’s free. Max’s goons are free. Everyone who ate it is free.”
David caught the beer, his knuckles white around the cold bottle. He took a long, brutal pull. The fizzy, bitter brew replaced the phantom taste of Marge. “Jeannie’s clear?”
“She’s shattered, but she’s herself,” Tony said, nodding. “We left her with Dee and Dan-Woo. The programming’s broken. For everyone. Including Sofia. What you saw on that phone, what she did… that wasn’t her. Not really. And it’s over.”
David was silent for a full minute, the only sound his rough breathing. The foundational anger didn’t disappear, but it shifted, spreading its weight across new, complex ground. The easy target was gone. “So what now?” he finally asked, his voice drained. “My wife is carrying another man’s child. My friends were all part of some fucked-up sci-fi nightmare. And the woman who started the avalanche gets to walk away clean because she had a bad trip first?”
“No one walks away clean,” Tony said, his own guilt laid bare. “We all have wreckage. Sofia has to live with what she did while under that influence. I have to live with marrying her while I was under it. You…” He met David’s gaze. “You get to decide what you do with your fury. But you don’t get to direct it all at a victim.”
David set the beer down with a definitive clunk. He looked from the hammer in his hand to the hollow house around them. “I need to see Lauren,” he said, the words less fiery, more resolved. “I need to hear her say it to my face. And I need to look that old man in the eye before I decide what to do with this.” He hefted the hammer once more, then set it down on the counter, leaving it behind.
He walked past them, toward the front door. “You driving?”