Excerpt: Quack

When he rounded the corner, he saw it.

His wife, skirt hitched up around her waist, taking it from behind from their gardener. He couldn’t remember exactly what happened next. He knew that he stood there for a minute, mesmerized, watching the gardener pumping in and out of the woman who had promised to love, honor, and cherish him until death do they part. Beads of sweat rolled down his magnificently bare chest, splashing onto Lindsey’s bare buttocks. He could hear their muffled grunting, the slick smacking of flesh on flesh, and incongruously, her earrings tinkling as they rocked back and forth against the kitchen counter.

His counter.

That’s when he lost it. He saw flashes of red as the roses he’d been holding went flying past, and then heard glass breaking as the vase shattered on the imported tile Lindsey had ordered from Italy. He ran forward, ignoring the shards glass gouging into the bottoms of his feet, and grabbed the first thing he laid hands on. Then he remembered seeing a meat fork sticking out of the gardener’s back and twin rivulets of blood.

Curses in Spanish and blows from the gardener’s fists and steel toed boots rained down on him, and he fell to the floor. Onto the glass and water and blood from his ruined feet. Lindsey’s screeches rivaled a 747 passing overhead. The gardener landed a blow to his right temple.

Then blackness. When he came to, he was cuffed in the back of an ambulance and he could hear Lindsey screaming in the background, something about "divorce" and "alimony" and "pressing charges, asshole."