Before He Cheats

Disclaimer: I own nothing! All characters depicted belong to Marvel and Before He Cheats is the property of Carrie Underwood.

She was furious. She was angry. She was pissed. The swamp rat was going to die.

She had found the black, lacey, frilly, barely there garment when she went to grab her purse in the back seat of his truck, the same truck he had left at home because he was 'just going out for a drink or two with the guys down the road' and he didn't want anything to happen to his baby.

The bra didn't belong to her.

She gritted her teeth and her knuckles went white from gripping the steering wheel with such fury. She reacted with pure instinct, jumping into the front seat of the truck, turning the key in the ignition and pushing the gas to the floor as she screeched out of the driveway.

She knew where he would be, where he always went, a small little jazz club in the French Quarter. As she sped down the road, images of the little hussy that would be trying to tempt him from her started to play out in her head.

She imagined that right now he was probably slow dancing with a bleached blonde tramp and she was probably getting frisky.

Right now he was probably buying her some fruity little drink because she couldn't shoot whisky.

Right now he was probably up behind her with a pool stick showing her how to shoot a combo.

She was so furious, she nearly missed the club. Slamming on the brakes, she stopped right in the middle of the street, luckily it was late and there were no other cars on the road. Not that she cared at that moment, the images still rushing through her head. What was so much better about some other girl?

Right now she was probably up singing some white-trash version of Shania karaoke.

Right now she was probably saying 'I'm drunk' and he was thinking that he was gonna get lucky.

Right now he was probably dabbing on 3 dollars worth of that bathroom Polo.

She gritted her teeth once more, almost unable to pry her fingers off the wheel, and stared straight ahead as the bouncer walked up to her with an irritated look on his face, ready to tell her off for parking so haphazardly in the middle of the street. As soon as he saw who she was however, he backed off, knowing that there would be hell to pay. She only came down to the club when she was about to pull the Cajun charmer out for the night, dragging him home in a fit of anger.

Finally, she stepped out of the truck. Emile had stepped out of the club for a smoke and she pounced.

"Where. Is. He." She growled at him in her southern accent.

Emile seemed to cower before the fire that was flashing in her eyes as he pointed into the club wordlessly.

Storming into the crowded club, she pushed past anyone who got in her way, unable to hear the annoyed protests as she shoved people out of the way over the music that filled the room. She ended up right behind him, but his attention was focused on the flirt before him, who looked almost as pissed as she was, though the woman's body language suggested that she was loving every minute of his charming banter.

The woman wasn't the bleached blonde that she had imagined. Instead her hair was a two-toned white and auburn, and her green eyes sparkled as she sipped her beer and he made some proposition, her come back coming out loud and clear, ringing with an accent that screamed Mississippi river rat.

A slight smile came across her lips as she realized that her husband was doing all the propositioning, the woman she had imagined as some stupid tramp, not allowing him anything more than to stroke her covered arm.

Still she could tell the woman was interested, and suddenly she figured maybe she could save this next girl a little trouble, because the next time that he cheated, she knew it wouldn't be on her.

She grinned wickedly as she turned, her long blonde hair whipping behind her as her blue eyes flashed with a strange fire and she strutted out of the club without a word of confrontation to her cheating husband.

She walked out straight past the bouncer and Emile, who both stared after her, shocked at the fact that she wasn't dragging Remy after her yelling and arguing.

The smile left her lips as she began to whistle some song she had been listening to on the way to the club. Remy was still inside, blissfully unaware of her slowly walking the length of his 'baby'. He cared more about the damn truck then he did about her.

Oh, he didn't know…

That she dug her key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive. Or that she took the switchblade from her boot and carved her name into his leather seats.

Emile's jaw dropped as she grabbed the bat out from the back of truck and he shot into the club., likely going to find Remy.

She didn't care. She took the Louisville slugger to both headlights, grabbed her knife again and slashed a hole in all four tires.

When she was done, she stood up, the grin returning to her face as she thought,

Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.

Remy ran out to the street with Emile following closely behind. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her leaning against his smashed up truck, her arms crossed underneath her chest and the bat still in her hand. She smiled evilly at him.

"WHAT DE FUCK BELLA?!" Remy finally managed to scream at her after a few moments of stunned silence.

The bat dropped from her hand as she pushed herself forward from his truck. Tossing him the keys, which he caught with a sort of shocked ease, she turned and walked away from him without so much as one word.

Oh, maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.