The Bad Boy's Woman (Hidden Masks Book 2)

by Nia Arthurs

  Alex had already shifted to another song by the time I arrived.

  “You keep popping up everywhere,” I growled.

  “Hello to you too.”

  “How do you know my father?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Why did you come tonight?”

  “Where’s your girlfriend?” Alex craned his neck to see through the crowd.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  He smirked. “I saw her when she walked in. That black dress was stunning.”

  Disgusted, I leaned close. “Don’t look at Monique unless you’ve got a death wish”

  He laughed as if my threat amused him.

  I straightened. “You should leave.”

  “I was invited.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Alex pulled his hands off the keyboard. The music stopped abruptly.

  “This is going to be annoying,” he mumbled. Rising to his feet, he poked my chest. “Back off, kid. My business has nothing to do with you.”

  I brushed his finger away. “You’re in my house. Who do you think should back off?”

  His eyes sharpened and then, like a trick of the light, the expression vanished, replaced with a mocking smile. “This’ll be fun.” He grabbed a glass from the stand near his keyboard. “I’ll see you after the festivities.”

  Alex disappeared into the thickening crowd.

  I stalked after him when Monique slid into my path.

  “Hi.” She frowned. “Are you alright?”

  “Everything’s fine. Did you eat?”

  She nodded. “It was great.”

  “Yeah?” I smiled despite my self, affected by how cute she looked. “I’m glad you came.”

  “So am I.” She took my hand.

  The knots in my chest loosened.

  With Monique by my side, the night didn’t feel as taxing. I introduced her as my girlfriend and though some of Dad’s friends gave us side-glances, most of them were polite and gracious.

  I didn’t see Alex again so I figured he’d left like I’d asked.

  With him gone, I finally relaxed.

  The night went off without a hitch. As usual. Mom was the perfect hostess and Dad played his part to a tee.

  A few hours later, the party wound down and guests began to leave.

  “Goodnight, Alex.” Asher Harbot, my dad’s business partner, slapped my shoulder.

  “You heading out?”

  “Yeah, Rose has been on her feet long enough.”

  “Thank you for coming.”

  “Nice meeting you, Monique.” Asher nodded.

  “You too.” Monique smiled politely.

  Rose Harbot waddled toward me and struggled to give me a hug with her bulging stomach. She made it close enough and whispered, “I like her better than Marissa.”

  I snorted.

  Rose pulled back and then gave Monique a hug. “Let’s meet up as soon as I’ve popped this sucker out.” She pointed to her stomach. “Deal?”

  Monique laughed. “Deal.”

  When Rose pulled back, she unleashed a beaming smile on Monique before turning to me. “The world is so beautiful and diverse. You two are doing a great thing.”

  “Thanks?”

  Asher hustled his emotional wife out.

  I exchanged a glance with Monique.

  She massaged her jaw. “I didn’t know dating in high school was some grand feat. Or is it because I’m black and you’re white?”

  “She means well. Just smile and nod. This part will be over soon.”

  “You’re the expert.”

  A fresh set of guests appeared to say their goodbyes. Monique pasted a grin back on her face. We shook hands and hugged random strangers for the next fifteen minutes.

  By the time the crowd had left, Monique was close to collapsing.

  I pulled her to me and whispered, “Want a tour of the rest of the house?”

  She nodded eagerly.

  The first stop of the ‘tour’ was my room.

  Monique innocently followed.

  I—not so innocently—showed her why we didn’t need to go anywhere else.

  A few minutes later, my phone buzzed.

  I disconnected my lips from Monique’s and reached for the cell, half-annoyed with whoever was on the other end of the line.

  It was Mom.

  “James, are you still home?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I said, my voice husky and breathless. I ran a hand through my hair.

  “Come to the living room. Your father wants to talk to you.”

  I stiffened.

  Monique, who’d stuck close by while I took the call, tilted her head. “What did they want?”

  “I have to go downstairs.” I slid her hands from around my neck and shot off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

  She clamped down on her plump bottom lip, confusion in her eyes.

  That expression haunted me as I trudged down the stairs.

  If Dad intended on throwing his weight around tonight, I’d have no choice but to stand up to him. Monique was here. I couldn’t let her see me getting pummeled.

  5

  WILD REVELATIONS

  James

  I DESCENDED THE STAIRCASE. Listened closely to the stillness. Dad’s violence usually came on the heels of shouting and cursing. But it was quiet. Too quiet.

  What was going on? Why was it so still?

  Had he… killed Mom?

  I imagined Dad with his thick fingers around Mom’s throat. Imagined her struggling for breath, gliding on the tips of her toes as he held her up. Her eyes rolling to the back of her head…

  My steps quickened.

  I burst into the living room. Fists clenched. Prepared for a fight.

  But there were no signs of a struggle.

  My eyes swept the room.

  I noticed my mother first. She sat in the love seat, the full skirt of her blue gown tapering to the floor. Her pale hands were clasped delicately in her lap. There was no fear in her brown eyes but the tension in her shoulders warned she was waiting for something unpleasant.

  My gaze moved to Dad. He was a tall, intimidating man. Broad shoulders. Long legs. Big hands. I’d been on the other side of those palms more times than I could count. I knew first-hand how much they stung.

  Dad’s thick black hair stood on end. He’d tossed his tuxedo jacket. His tie lay loosely on his stomach. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the top. A glass of scotch swirled within his grip. He looked slightly crazed, as if he were unraveling beneath some invisible burden.

  My confusion doubled.

  Mom had sounded distressed over the phone, but I could see no signs of fighting. They were just sitting there. Still. Contemplative.

  “What’s going on?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Have a seat, James,” Dad said. His voice was deep, like a rolling drum.

  Tonight, he looked old. The big bad monster that towered above me when I was younger was shrinking with age.

  I woodenly moved to the sofa where Mom was and fell in beside her. My gaze caught on something that didn’t belong. Another man stood across from me. He’d been hidden from where I’d stood when I first came down the stairs.

  But there was no hiding now.

  Alex.

  “Hi, kid.”

  “What are doing here?” I bit out. “Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

  “James, that’s enough,” Dad barked.

  My lips clamped shut. Instinctively. It was a form of self-preservation more than it was a sign of respect.

  I glanced at Mom.

  She looked as clueless as I did.

  “What’s this about?” I whispered.

  She shook her head.

  “I have an announcement to make.” Dad hunched over. His white shirt strained against his broad shoulders.

  I leaned forward, trying to figure things out. “What does he have to do with it? Why did you invite him to the party tonight?”

  “Didn’t I te
ll you to shut up?” Dad hissed.

  Mom put her hand over mine. “Darius!”

  “Just give me a minute.” Dad tipped the glass of scotch to his lips and drank deeply. “This is important.”

  I glowered at Alex.

  He glanced away.

  “Twenty-five years ago,” Dad said quietly, “I met a woman at a music festival. Her name was Lyla. She was from a small town in Pittsburgh. We had a… relationship.”

  A buzzing sounded in my head.

  I saw where this was going, but I prayed with everything in me that I was wrong.

  “Unbeknownst to me, Lyla bore a child nine months later.”

  Mom trembled.

  No, don’t say it, Dad. Don’t….

  Dad continued robotically. “That child came to see me a few weeks ago.”

  “Darius…” Mom gasped, a hand to her lips.

  “We took a paternity test.”

  Silence.

  Mom and I held our breath, waiting for the words we could see coming but did not want to accept.

  “I saw the results.” Dad pointed a trembling finger at Alex. “This man is my son.”

  6

  MY DAD CAN’T KNOW

  Monique

  I FLUNG myself on James’s bed and stared at the ceiling. My toes curled into the sheets. My hair fanned out around my head. The style I’d spent hours creating had been undone by James’s slender and persistent fingers.

  His scent was trapped in the blankets. It was something musky. Manly. Expensive. I turned on my side and took a deep whiff, closing my eyes and savoring the fragrance.

  I probably looked like a crazy woman.

  I didn’t care.

  Every inch of my skin burned. I pressed a hand to my top lip. The slight pressure did little to stop the sparks that were still exploding from James’s kiss.

  It was my first time making out in a bedroom. Alone. With the lights off.

  The past few months, we’d stolen kisses in the library during tutoring or in between classes when he’d randomly corner me in a quiet hallway.

  My heart pattered.

  Things were escalating and I knew I’d need to have a conversation about boundaries with James.

  Soon.

  For now, I lingered in the excitement and thrill that swirled in my stomach. Seriously, in what world did a girl like me score the sexy, brooding musician?

  I checked my watch.

  When was James coming back?

  Weren’t you just saying you’d have a talk about boundaries?

  Tomorrow. We’d have that conversation tomorrow.

  James would probably laugh at me if he heard the back-and-forth of my thoughts. I imagined his smirk, the one where a corner of his lips tilted higher than the other. It was his signature ‘you’re weird but I think that’s cute’ look.

  He used it a lot around me.

  Man, I still couldn’t believe he was mine. Between the drama with my dad and his gambling debts and my fear of Tito potentially assaulting me last year, I’d been under so much stress that I’d forgotten what it felt like to be happy.

  To be normal.

  James was bringing it all back.

  “He’s taking a while,” I said, checking my phone for the time.

  Raised voices burst out in the distance.

  My smile dropped.

  I sat up.

  My hair fell over my face and I brushed it back, craning my neck toward the door in a desperate attempt to make out the words.

  “What’s going on?” I mumbled.

  My phone buzzed.

  Mom’s name appeared on the screen.

  Panic filled me.

  I answered. “What’s wrong? Is it Dad again? How much did he lose?”

  There was a pause.

  “Mom?” I yelled.

  “No, honey. Nothing is wrong.”

  “Oh.”

  She sighed. “How long have you been holding that in?”

  “I don’t know.” I picked at a loose thread in the quilt. “I’m just trying to be prepared.”

  “For what?”

  “Another crisis.”

  “Even if your father was gambling again, it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

  “How can you say that? You’re already working two jobs just to make the rent. My gig at the pizza parlor barely does anything to help and I can’t charge my boyfriend for tutoring so—”

  “Monique, stop. Take a breath.”

  I did.

  “Once again, let me make it clear. Handling the finances isn’t your responsibility. We’re the parents. You’re the kid.” She chuckled. “Sometimes you’re too mature for your own good.”

  “Are you sure Dad’s not gambling?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Relief spread through my veins.

  Mom chuckled.

  “Well, what’s up?”

  There was another pause and I held my breath until she spoke again.

  “Uh, your father wanted me to call.”

  “Why?”

  “I showed him the pictures of you in your dress tonight and he was concerned…” There was a scuffle in the background. I heard Dad’s voice rumbling. Then Mom came on the line again, “Hold on, sweetie. He wants to talk to you.”

  “Huh?”

  “Monique!” Dad boomed over the line. “Where are you? What are you doing?”

  There was no way I was giving him the details. ‘In my boyfriend’s bedroom’ and ‘fawning over his hot kisses’ were two statements a girl should never say to her father.

  “I’m still at James’s place.”

  “Listen to me very carefully, honey,” Dad said. “I know you feel a lot for this young man. You might even think he hangs the moon in the sky, but you have to be strong. Okay? Boys are only after one thing. They’ll do or say anything to get it. Lord knows I was one of them.”

  “Dad, what are you talking about?”

  “You’re only fifteen—”

  “I turned sixteen in December.”

  “Sixteen, fifteen. Whatever. You’re still a baby. My baby.”

  Mom’s voice sounded in the background. “Fred, give me the phone.”

  “Just be careful, alright, Mo? Don’t be pressured into anything.”

  “Got it, Dad.”

  Mom came on the line again. “Are you almost finished over there?”

  Something crashed downstairs.

  More screaming rattled the walls.

  My head whipped up. “Uh, Mom. Can I call you back?”

  I hung up and slid off the bed. Chucking my heels, I tiptoed across the room, opened the door and poked my head out.

  No one was in the hallway.

  I eased out of James’s room and moved toward the stairs. The closer I drew, the louder the voices became. The hall lights were blaring. Voices rang from downstairs. My fingers clanked against the wooden slats fused within the banister.

  I plunked down and pushed my head forward, staring right into the living room.

  James’s dad stood alone, a cold look on his face. I gasped, recognizing him from the newspaper and that brief moment in The Greasy Monkey last year when he slapped James in front of everyone.

  Mr. Sawyer looked as intimidating now as he did then.

  Across from him, Alex and James held a wriggling woman back. She wore a blue gown and sparkling diamond earrings.

  Mrs. Sawyer.

  “You’re embarrassing yourself, Natasha,” Mr. Sawyer drawled.

  She flung her head. “I put up with so much from you, Darius. So much. The only thing I asked was that you didn’t flaunt your dirty deeds in front of me.”

  “What did you expect me to do? Leave him in the streets? He’s my son.”

  “I expected you to handle this outside.”

  “The boy wanted to meet us.”

  “I don’t care what the boy wanted!” She shrieked loud enough to rattle the glass chains dangling from the chandelier. “How dare you bring a child you had with another w
oman into my house? How dare you introduce him to our friends without telling me exactly who he was first?”

  What was she talking about? What outside child?

  “Alex was simply another guest tonight. I did not reveal my connection to him,” Darius said.

  Wait, Alex?

  The same Alex currently holding back James’s furious mother?

  I gasped and then slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. Thankfully, no one seemed to be paying attention to me.

  “You’ve gone too far this time, Darius.”

  “James deserved to know the truth. He has a brother”

  “Half-brother,” James spit out.

  The silence that followed made me squirm.

  “I’m sorry,” Alex said. His head was bowed; his hair fanned his face and made it hard for me to read his eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just wanted to learn more about my father.”

  James scoffed. “If your father wasn’t Darius Sawyer, would you have been so eager to find him?”

  “That’s enough!” Mr. Sawyer yelled.

  Everyone froze.

  My heart quivered in fear. I knew he was a domineering man, but when Darius spoke the world went cold. It was hard to believe that someone as sensitive and kind as James had come from him.

  “Let me go!” Mrs. Sawyer demanded.

  Alex dropped his hands immediately.

  James held on.

  The tiny woman wrenched her arm free and stalked toward her husband. Nose flaring, she tilted her chin. “You sort your own dirty laundry, Darius. I will not cover for it. Do you hear me? I won’t!”

  Darius Sawyer turned red. His lips curled up, revealing even white teeth. “Remember who you’re talking to woman.”

  “I’m talking to my good-for-nothing husband!”

  “Good for—who pays for this house? Your car? Our bills? Who allows you to live an idyllic life where you do nothing but spend money on clothes and shoes while I work all day?”

  “Go to hell.”

  Mr. Sawyer’s eyes bulged. I could feel the rage pumping off him like steam.

  His hand lifted.

  I gripped the banister and half-rose from the step, ready to scramble down the stairs if the intent in his eyes and his body language became reality.

  Natasha Sawyer held her ground, unflinching.

  I saw Darius’s hand swing. Fall.