Free Best Man by Christine Zolendz

pipe. I could feel something happening to the ties—there was a bit of a stretch to them—a little give . Thank God for whatever cheap, shitty plastic they were made out of. He must have bought them at one of those dollar stores.
    He wiped his palm over his mouth, sliding his fingers along a perfectly sculpted goatee as if he was figuring something complex out in his head. His index finger tapped and rubbed at the bottom of his lip.
    I shivered again from another cold breeze and goose bumps puckered out all over my skin. Cardarrio cleared his throat in a low rumble, and I slid my legs forward in front of me. He watched them move. Then, he lifted his eyes to my chest and looked back and forth between both breasts. He rubbed his hands out in front of him and slid them over his knees. I knew instantly he wanted to touch me, and I didn’t have much time left before he would.
    I leaned further from the warm pipes, straining the plastic ties even more over the increasing heat.
    “Paulie,” Cardarrio grumbled low, never taking his dark eyes off me.
    “Yeah?” Paulie asked, before shoving the last bit of sandwich in his mouth and wiping his face with a handkerchief he kept in the front pocket of his shirt. It smeared a line of mustard across his chin.
    “Go make yourself busy,” Cardarrio said, still staring at me through narrowed eyes.
    “Doin’ what?” he asked, tucking the small mustard stained handkerchief back into his shirt and fumbling with his collar.
    “Go through her shit in the back rooms. S-l-o-w-l-y.” Cardarrio pronounced the word loudly, annunciating each syllable carefully.
    Paulie grimaced and flicked a quick glance between Cardarrio and me. “Go through her shit?” He let the end of the question trail off into whisper. “Yeah, sure. No problem,” he said, standing up and adjusting his pants and shirt. “I’ll just go through her shit.” He pronounced through as true and I couldn’t help but laugh.
    “What’s so funny?” Cardarrio asked as Paulie quickly busied himself somewhere in the back of the cabin.
    “The accent,” I replied, shrugging.
    “You think it’s funny, huh?”
    “No,” I said a little breathy, “I like it.”
    Cardarrio’s fingers fidgeted in between his knees again.
    It was hard as fuck to act sexy when you’re scared as shit .
    His elbows pressed down on his knees and he slowly leaned forward before he stood tall. Fingers pulled at his goatee again and moved back to rub at the back of his neck. “How well do you know that piece of shit mother fucker?”
    Oh, God, I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t actually ready for him to come closer; the plastic was still holding me against the pipes. I felt it loosening and melting, but it was too slow to do me any good.
    “You mean Luke?”
    He blinked his eyes really slow and took a step closer to me, nodding.
    “He’s the best man in my brother’s wedding,” I said hoarsely.
    “Best man?” he laughed. “He’s gonna be a dead man.” He covered the rest of the distance between us with quick steps and crouched down in front of me.
    Shit. Shit. Shit .
    Piercing spikes of adrenaline stabbed across my chest and sizzled like electric down my arms. My heart raced wildly just under my rib cage and a small whimper slipped past my lips.
    One of his hands instantly fisted my hair and yanked my head to the side, pulling my wrists hard against the hot pole. All I thought was good; I hope it melted through the plastic faster . The smell of it started to burn my nostrils. He pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of what must have been a frantic expression on my face. I pulled at the wires, but they still didn’t give.
    With him that close to me, Cardarrio’s face was beet red, and he was breathing hard. He jerked my head back further, and his eyes dropped down to my chest. The hand holding the phone reached for my tank top and pulled it down over both my breasts. He brought the phone up, aimed it again at me, and snapped