Free Mayan Lover by Wendy S. Hales

Gwen
smiling and laughing, the two men at her table digging beside her.
When was the last time John had heard her laughter? As if on cue, the
song ended and that laughter rolled over him with a wave of
nostalgia. The lights darkened on the last photo, showing the big
guy’s bared ass entering water with Gwen swimming farther out. Son of a bitch.
    When the music started, he recognized it
immediately—the song she secretly played all the time. The one
John had thought was for him. She sang it to another, poured herself
into gyrating … for him. The bottoms of her butt cheeks peeked
out from her shorts. Even her T-shirt slogan was about sex. Whore .
He’d always gone so easy on her. Blamed Maggie and other
people’s influence for her bad behavior. Only punished her for
her unwillingness to listen to him … obey him … let go
of her friendship with Maggie that was holding their relationship
back. When the guy practically took her on the barroom floor, John
knew without a doubt what he needed to do.
    “Jorge, my friend.” John smiled
nicely at the man who had silently watched his wife degrade herself
in public. “I think I might need a gun.” Jorge’s
startled, suspicious expression had John trying to explain. “I
don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m just afraid that guy won’t
let me talk to my wife … won’t let me convince her to
come home.”
    “No, señor. This is Belize. Gun
laws are strict here.” The suspicious look in Jorge’s
eyes remained. “Maybe you should calm down before you talk to
your wife.”
    John caught the foursome standing to leave out
the corner of his eye. He stood and placed his hand on Jorge’s
shoulder. “You’re right, Jorge. I will go back to my
hotel and see if she will talk to me in the morning.” Not
fucking likely. John controlled his steps till he got out the
door. He leaned down to pull out the hunting knife he’d
purchased the day he’d arrived from under his pant leg and ran
around the building just as Gwen exited the bar with the man’s
arm slung intimately over her shoulder.
    Out of the smoke-filled bar and under the street
lights, the guy looked even bigger. He towered over John’s six
foot one height by at least three inches. The dark tan shade of his
skin made Gwen’s pale completion look freakishly white. They
walked toward him, too engrossed in conversation to even notice him
in the shadow at the end of the building.
    John lowered the bill of his cap and stepped
around the corner. Grabbing Gwen’s elbow the second she stepped
into view, he jerked her from the man, shoved her back to the bricks,
and pressed the blade to her throat. He met the fury in the guy’s
eyes dead on. “Keep walking, buddy.”
    “Arka, do what he says,” Gwen
squeaked from beneath him.
    Maggie and the other guy stepped beside the big
guy. Maggie gasped. “John, what are you doing? Let Gwen go.
This can’t end well. Think about it.” Always the voice of
reason. Maggie had talked him into letting Gwen go two years ago, and
look what that got him.
    “This is your fault, Maggie. She never
would have left me if it weren’t for you.” John felt the
tears burning his eyes, which just pissed him off more. He looked
back at the guy Gwen had called Arka. “You should thank me.”
He pressed the blade harder.
    The man’s deep voice was pacifying. “I
can see you’re … hurt, but I don’t understand
why?’ His English was heavily accented.
    John snorted, determined rage coursed through
him with single-minded intent. “Did you know you were fucking
my wife ? She’s defiled beyond redemption.” He spat
the last words into Gwen’s face. “Broken my heart for the
last time.”
    “John, please. I’m … sorry,”
Gwen pleaded.
    “Sorry!” The violent beast in him
roared to new life. A knife was too kind for her. He moved the blade
to her heart and took her throat in his hand, choking off her airway.
“You have no idea how sorry you are.” Her lips turned as
blue as her eyes