by Tiana Laveen
With Hunter, none of those issues existed, and she simply wasn’t accustomed to this. She had a hard time accepting that someone so imperfect could treat her so, well, perfectly…
It wasn’t her first time questioning him, at least in her mind, but it would have to stop. He’d done nothing to warrant her suspicions, she realized that now. In fact, he was doing what she’d asked: Respecting her household as a woman raising her daughter, and now someone else’s, too.
I am just so in love with him. The thought of this not working out makes my head and heart hurt. He’s funny and sexy as hell! He is soooo damn good with kids, period. It was a hoot watching him play with all the children in my family on Christmas Day. He turns into a big kid. There’s just something endearing about a guy who is good with youngsters. He helps me with my bills though I never asked him. Hell, the man bought me a gorgeous house that he’s going to fix up and make even nicer. Hunter is easy to talk to, despite how he shuts off at times. Even in those moments, I still feel like I can tell him anything, and he always has an interesting perspective. Tisha and Olive love him to death and so do my parents. I just have to stop trying to find the tiny tear in the fabric, and put this garment on. Wear it with pride…
“Baby!” he called out from the first floor, shaking her out of her thoughts. She stepped out into the hallway.
“Hey Hunter, what’s up?” She leaned over the catwalk railway.
“They said the chair we’d ordered was on backorder and they didn’t know until this morning, but they brought the newer model, which is pretty much the same, just cost about forty dollars more. Are you okay with that? They said they’d knock ten dollars off for the inconvenience. I told them it was fine but I probably shoulda asked you first.”
The men were getting ready to haul a big ass desk up the steps.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll pay the difference. Let me get my credit card.”
“No, I took care of it, Nita. I just wanted to double check.”
He returned to talking to one of the guys, micro-managing as usual and bossing everyone around. She smiled down at him, still smelling him on her skin, all over her body. Her pussy and ass continued to throb from his intrusion, and she loved every bit of his rich, masculine, earthy aroma and the way he left her body tingling.
Tyrant… you take my breath away…
My brother told me that I don’t know compassion or compromise. I just pretend I do to get what I want. Justin had told me that one time when we’d gotten into an argument when I was still in prison. I never forgot his words. Justin is just too much in his feelings for my liking, kinda like a girl, but I love my brother, and I like him, too. He’s a good person. I don’t blame him for what our father did. He had nothing to do with that. Honestly though, I can’t say he was wrong in saying that I am cold-hearted and ruthless, although he’d said it in the heat of the moment. The problem is, I acknowledge it, but I just don’t fucking care.
Some have accused me of being a sadist, of enjoying inflicting pain. I do. But that’s only in a boxing ring or when someone tries to get over on me. I’ve had ex-girlfriends say the same, that they think I get some sick joy out of hurting them, even seeking revenge. That’s true, too. But it doesn’t apply to everyone.
For instance, I have no desire to hurt, Nita. All I want to do is protect her, love her, and fuck her. As I sit here watching my girlfriend laughing and speaking with my grandparents, I’m thinking about how I’d like to take her somewhere and bang her. That’s because she changed clothes in the car, fearing she wouldn’t make a good impression with her low cut blouse. I pulled over to the curb and watched her dig around and slide on a more conservative shirt from her bag. She even changed bras… It took all of me to control myself, to not grab one of those big, soft titties and suck it until there was nothing left. I think about fucking her a lot, actually, regardless of the fact we have a very active sex life.
She’s got these big, juicy nipples that feel like grapes against my tongue. I’m greedy when it comes to her. She’s sexy… her body is amazing, she smells good, looks good. She’s good for me. I don’t feel uptight when I’m around her. She’s not involved in any bullshit. She doesn’t do drugs or drink too much, either. I feel like I can fucking breathe when she is with me. I am jealous though, and I hate that, but I can’t help it. I don’t like it when guys are scoping her out when we’re together, but at the same time, I wouldn’t want someone no one else wanted, either. On top of it all, I know her ex still loves her. Fucking chump. I’m confident, don’t get me wrong, but he’s the type of guy a lot of women go for. This isn’t any gay type shit, but he’s a nice looking man. He’s educated, shit like that. He talks proper, all that shit. He has a nice car and home; he was just very young when he and Nita were together. They were each other’s first love, and that’s not something that can be forgotten.
He may not be in love with her, but who wouldn’t love Nita? She’s just that amazing. She has no idea the hold she has on me. I’m powerless when it comes to her. She’s an independent woman, but she bows to me in bed… She submits sexually. And that’s what I need. That’s what I want. It makes me want to tear the whole world up for her if she asked me to.
I love dominating Nita in bed. She’s becoming more and more open to new things. She was never a prude, but far too reserved at first. Now, she goes with the flow. I am a hunter when it comes to sex. I’m an aggressor. What I like is making her scream my name… making her lose control… maybe even feel a bit scared of what I might do next. She tells me my moods, when I’m angry, are unpredictable. But isn’t there predictability in that within itself? Most importantly, regardless of that, she can rely on me.
I can feel however the fuck I want to feel, that’s my business, but I don’t let that ruin my decisions now. When I tell her ass I am going to do something, I do it. I want this woman. I promised I would try to meet her half way. She thinks I’m stubborn, courageous, and focused. I am all of those things. But she knows I’m not a person who likes to talk about emotions… about how I feel. I think it all in my head, but I won’t say it. I hate weakness, but I don’t mind uplifting people I love when they’re down. She knows that’s how I am, and that it doesn’t mean I don’t care; in fact, it’s just the opposite.
She’s had enough disappointments. That’s what makes this so much scarier. I mean, quite honestly, there are a lot of men who wanted my girlfriend before she met me, but she’d sworn off men for a while after the last guy she was with. She had decided to be celibate at the time. Now here she is, with two of the people I love most in this world, and she has no clue that this is the final step to something bigger…
No, I didn’t buy her that fucking house for her to live in with just Tisha and Olive. That’s what I told ’er though. I had to. I don’t think the timing is right for me to move in with her, but with everything that happened with Noah, and all this other shit, I just wanted a new start for all of them. But I am always in the equation. I don’t do things like that out the kindness of my heart alone. I want something in return. More times than not, it’s just appreciation, but this time, it’s a lot more. Still, I wanted to do this the right way, you know? I’ve got a plan…
“Awww! You were sooo cute! Look at those big green eyes!” Nita squealed, dragging him out of his deliberations.
“Grandma, don’t show her these old pictures. Come on.”
But the old woman took out more and more photo albums, slammed them on the coffee table, and carried on. They all had their bellies full after a big dinner of homemade chicken and dumplings.
“Hush, Hunter. Nita wants to see them!” She smiled and flipped to a specific page. “Oh yes, there’s our daughter, Heather, in the hospital havin’ Hunter. She was about to give birth. She was in so much pain, refused any medication, but she was still so happy.”
“Oh, Hunter, your mother was so pretty.”
“Wasn’t she? Just a gorgeous girl. She was a tiny little thing too, Nita, built like a dancer,” Grandma said proudl
y. “No one could tell she was even pregnant until the last month of her pregnancy. She was so excited to be having a child!”
Grandma turned to another page and there were his parents, both holding him in their arms. He couldn’t have been more than a few days old.
“There’s Hunter’s father,” Grandma said quickly before turning the page once again. “Oh! This was his ninth birthday! He got a bike!”
Hunter sucked his teeth and turned away. They were all sitting around, laughing, having a good time, except him.
“Hunter,” Grandpa’s gruff voice broke through. “Come outside on the porch with me. We’ll let the ladies have some time alone.”
Hunter stood and followed the old man out. The front screen door slammed against the frame. Grandpa pulled out a cigar from a small tin container and passed him another. He lit his, then Hunter’s. They stood there smoking, quiet for a bit, staring out into the front yard at the mulberry trees. He smiled sadly, recalling how he loved eating their fruit; so much so, sometimes he had a terrible tummy ache. Grandpa burst out laughing, coughed, then started laughing again.
“What?” Hunter asked with a smile.
“I had no idea you liked Black women. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a cutie, but I was just surprised when you two came walkin’ in here.”
“Yeah? I’ve dated some… If I find someone attractive that really is all that matters to me. Not into the whole race and skin thing, regardless of the opinions of some of the people I used to hang with as a kid.”
Grandpa nodded in understanding.
“We never raised you that way, anyway. That isn’t Christian. People are people. When I was workin’ at GM for all of those years, there were plenty of Black guys who were good folks. Don’t get me wrong though, I’m honest enough with myself to admit that I’ve got prejudices, said some things I shouldn’t have, I know it. But I never wanted anything unfair passed onto you. Anyway, she seems like a real nice lady. Looks like you’ve got a winner.”
“She is. She’s smart, too… resourceful. I’ve been trying to convince her to go after a managerial job in her company. Encouraging her. She can do it.”
“I’m glad you have ’er. She definitely seems to have some sense, unlike that silly girl you brought over that one time. Trash!” The old man grunted then huffed in disgust.
Hunter blew out smoke and chuckled. “You sound like Grandma now, always calling people trash. You know some people call me trash, too, right?”
Grandpa shrugged.
“You’re not trash. You’re a fighter. They don’t know what happened to you… We do.” The old man’s voice cracked as he looked away. “So, I heard you and that boy have been talking. Justin.”
“My brother… yeah.”
“Yeah, him.” Grandpa took another puff of his cigar and stared out into the street. “Hunter, I know you don’t like talking about what happened, so I don’t bring it up, and hell, I don’t either, but I need to tell ya that your father has been snoopin’ ’round here.” Hunter faced his grandfather, his blood running cold. He was seconds away from going into a rage.
“My father? He’s still in prison. You mean calling?”
“Yeah, callin’ and, uh, writing letters, too. We’re ’bout sick of it. He knows you don’t live here anymore, but he has been begging us to tell you to call him.”
“He’s been trying to get Justin to get me to talk to him, too. I refuse. I wish he would just leave me the hell alone. He needs to stop calling and writing you. I’m going to put a stop to this.”
“I don’t know what’s going on.” Grandpa shrugged. “Maybe he’s sick or something. He has a lot of nerve, though. A lot of nerve!” The old man’s voice shook.
Hunter patted his grandfather’s back, and from then, they just enjoyed the breeze. It was still Winter, but Spring was definitely sprouting. Little buds were on the trees and a sweet smell perfumed the air. When they walked back inside, Nita and Grandma were sitting side by side, still flipping through the photo albums. Grandpa slipped past him to go to the bathroom while he just leaned against the wall. Nita looked up at him for a brief moment and smiled. He winked at her. As she sat there with his grandmother looking at photos of him as a child, he imagined her doing the same one day, perhaps showing photos of their daughter or son to his grandparents. What a beautiful notion…
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Living to Fight Another Day
Mötley Crüe’s, ‘Dr. Feelgood’ played loud through the indoor stadium speakers. Thick steel chains hung around him like rattling curtains, ringing at the slightest touch and making him feel more like an animal trapped in a cage.
Prison.
A flood of discombobulated memories flooded his brain. But no, these chains represented freedom. They swung to and fro, singing songs of iron liberation. His new boxing manager materialized at his side, easing onto him, slick like grease. He tapped him on the back, then left soon thereafter.
As the music blasted, he focused back on the chains, which swayed like vines from a jungle tree, hanging from an arched doorway that had the keys to his future. Beyond them, people shouted and twirled flags about, some undoubtedly inebriated, there to simply egg on those around them. The crowd was loud, massive, and on their feet, cheering and screaming with excitement as his opponent stood in the ring, putting on a buffoonish show in a pair of shiny red boxing shorts with white stripes down the sides. Hunter took a step back, staying shrouded in darkness behind that curtain of chains. A brown towel over his head caught his sweat.
The six foot three heavyweight adversary, a Detroit native by the name of ‘James the Joker’, known for his ‘fake-out’ throws, fast hits, and silly antics, was bouncing around like a ball, his cropped red hair and pale flesh covered in ink that gleamed under the harsh lights.
Hunter slid the towel off his head and placed it on a nearby chair. He tugged on his thick metal dog collar that was wrapped around his neck. A chained leash was attached to it, giving him the appearance of a wild dog someone had tried to tame. Hunter thought the whole getup silly, but Johnny had assured him crowds ate shit like that up. Wesley, his trainer, crept up beside him and placed his hand on his shoulder.
“You’ve got this, Hunter. I know it’s your first time in front of a crowd this big, and James is the town favorite, but you’ve got some advantages over him. Play on his weaknesses, just like we went over.”
Hunter recalled the many tapes he’d watched of the guy fighting. The fucker was good. But he was better.
Hunter stood straight, banging his boxing gloves together as the music switched to his theme song: ‘Bad Boyz’ by Shyne. The tune blasted through the speakers as he sauntered out with an entourage consisting of Wesley, two trainers he’d also sparred and worked with, and a couple good-looking scantily clad ladies wearing his colors of silver and black that matched his shorts.
“WOOF! WOOF!” the announcer spoke into the microphone, rousing the crowd. “Aaaaaaaand, here we have the notorious underdog, in this case, theeeeee under-wolf! He hails from Saginaw, Michigan. Coming in at six-five, two hundred eighty-two pounds, ‘Tyyyyyyyyrant, the Wolfe!!!”
Boisterous cheers and screams erupted as he made his way down the aisle, the dizzying bright lights flashing all around. The music transitioned seamlessly into ‘Hungry Like a Wolf’, by Duran Duran as he got into the ring. One of the girls removed the dog collar and chain from his neck, held it up with a big smile, and disappeared with it out of the ring. He bounced in place, warming up his muscles, and then he and the other fighter approached each other, leaving a mere two feet of distance. They mean-mugged one another like sharks after the same prey. The referee stood nearby, a middle-aged White guy sporting a black and white striped shirt. Hunter glared at the boxer who’d just put on his silly show, and the man’s expression mirrored his. Then his opponent sneered and grinned, but Hunter kept an impassive demeanor until he was prompted to go to his corner.
He sat down in the small chair, receiving a swig of water and
his mouthpiece. He tried to spot Nita, her father, Justin and Ethan in the audience, but he couldn’t find them. He didn’t worry though; he knew they were there.
“Remember what I told ya,” Wesley yelled to him over the noise. “You’ve got this! You’re a beast! Pure, rare talent, man… I believe in you!” The trainer punched his shoulder and crawled out the ring, but stayed close by. The music died down, and the referee summoned both boxers to the center of the ring. Hunter half listened as the guy talked about good, clean fighting and all the other shit that had to be said before things got crazy.
In his opponent’s eyes, all he could see was his father. It was the oddest thing. The man looked nothing like him, but something about the dude’s energy, his aura, as Nita would say gave him that vibe. He didn’t like it. Hunter grew angrier and angrier – so much so, it felt like all sounds and sights were muted, and it was just him and this jackass standing there, face to face. The bell rang. They bumped fists and one of the women held a flashing sign announcing, ‘Round 1.’
His damn heart was about to pound right out of his chest. The pair danced around one another, checking each other out, practically sniffing one another like stray dogs. Suddenly, the guy made a jab that sliced the air like a sharp blade, barely missing him. The crowd began to cheer louder. He kept moving, looking for a chance to pounce on the dude’s weak spot, a dislocated shoulder from two years ago, and then pound it to death. The bastard swung again, this time getting him in the shoulder. The crowd once again filled with energy, some even chanting the bastard’s name, pumping him up, urging him on.
Hunter’s head began to throb in the worst way. He could hear people yelling, ‘Hit ’im!’ His patience drove people crazy. He’d noticed it during practice; the crowd growing restless as if this was some silly mating game. Boxing was the only activity with which he exercised patience. He didn’t want to waste energy because when he unleashed, he planned to put his all into it. He always bided his time.
