Like Magic had texted me, Trey was there, standing in the center of the 25,000-square-foot space. The door creaked as it closed and Trey turned, facing me with a grin. I didn’t bother to adjust the temperature of my stare. I kept it cold, I kept it real. There was no need to tell any kinds of lies now. This was going to be straight business.
My steps were silent as I approached, and as I got closer, the ends of Trey’s lips dipped a bit, his smile no longer so wide. I wondered what it was that he noticed. He’d been in enough situations with me, was it my clothing? Or the fact that he couldn’t hear me approaching? That there was not any semblance of a greeting on my face?
“What’s up, bruh?” Not giving me a chance to respond, Trey said, “This is some space here.” He looked around at the brick walls of the old building. “I can think of a lot of things we can do with this, together.” He faced me again. “Together . . . as brothers. That’s what you said, right?”
My stare didn’t make him back up or back down. Not that I expected he would. He just gave me that hard stare back.
I spoke my first words. “You fucking my wife?” I was never a man who wavered, who changed my mind. So, there was no need to spend any time, play any games.
For a moment, there was no smile on his face. But what was so surprising to me was that he didn’t seem pressed by my words. Like he’d almost . . . expected me to ask him this question.
He shrugged. “So you know about that, huh? Who told you? The blackmailer?”
Now I was the one who was pressed. Because that did shock me on so many levels—the most important one . . . if he knew about the blackmailer, he’d spoken to Tiffanie. Within the last few hours. That meant they were still hooking up. That meant more hurt. From both of them.
But I wasn’t going to answer any of his questions. And I told him that by asking my question again.
“Not yet,” he said, and I knew he was telling me the truth. Because if he were hittin’ my wife, he would have definitely wanted me to know. His words gave me a moment of reprieve, and took a little bit of my hurt away. But he gave it all right back to me. “But, I know this”—he didn’t pause, he didn’t stutter—“I can have her any time I want.”
I was ready to end this now, but I swallowed my rage for the greater good. There were still a few facts I needed to know. I needed information, but I stayed silent, because Trey would tell me more on his own than with his answers to any questions I could ask.
When I didn’t say anything, he chuckled. “Don’t you want to know what this is about?”
I kept my stare steady and my mouth closed.
Like I expected, Trey did just the opposite. With a shrug, he said, “You screwed me and I wanted to screw you.” He chuckled and held up his hands. “Well, not screw you, but your girl.”
“Yo, son. She’s not my girl. She’s my wife.”
Now he laughed right in my face. “So that’s all you have to say?”
“Just want to remind you of the difference. Just want you to understand why this is on a whole ’nother level.”
He said, “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, but I can tell you this. If I’d gotten here a few weeks earlier, your girl would’ve never been your wife.” He spat those last words at me. I shook my head; it was a signal. I was trying to help Trey out. Let him know that he needed to shut up. But Trey only knew one way; Trey only knew how to be Trey.
So he kept talking, “Your girl is so green, it was like plucking a new flower.” He laughed again. “Was she a virgin or something when you hit her?”
My lips pressed together, my fingers curled into a fist. In that statement he revealed so much. Told me what and how it had gone down.
Trey’s glance lowered to my hands, then he lifted his eyes to mine once again. “What? You wanna hit me?” He did a little bouncing move with his shoulders like he was giving me a dare. “You mad? You wanna fight?” Then he stopped moving, hardened his face and his words. “Well, now you know how I felt. Now you know how it was for me when you left me in that prison to rot!” His eyes glared and his nostrils flared. His breaths were rapid and shallow. And now his hands formed fists.
“Do you know what it was like in there? All that time?” he shouted. “You left me alone in there!” His voice kept rising. “No calls, no visits, no nothing!”
Over the last few days, as I’d tried to figure out the reason for Trey’s betrayal, my thoughts kept returning to his time in prison and how he got there. I’d kept rolling it over, going over our conversations in my mind, but had pushed aside thoughts of this being his reason, because I had explained it all to him . . . how many times? I just couldn’t believe this was something as simple as a grudge. That was the problem, though . . . Trey was simple.
“I was abandoned by the man who had always called me”—he paused long enough to shift his tone from anger to sarcasm—“brother.”
I wondered what would happen now if Trey learned the truth? About the money on his books or about the attorney who worked all seven of those years to get him out. Not that it mattered, because how could he take back the ultimate betrayal? How could he take back what he did to my wife? And the truth shouldn’t have been what mattered. What should have mattered was that we were brothers, we were fam.
“So now you know how it feels to be tossed aside like trash by someone who was always supposed to have your back.”
Any issues between us could have been worked out . . . except for this.
I said, “You know that’s not how it was, right?”
“What?” he growled. “You talking about my grandmother? Because you took care of her?” He swatted the air as if to push his questions aside. “You were supposed to do that, bruh, ’cause she took care of you as much as she took care of me. If it wasn’t for her, there would’ve been days when you wouldn’t have had anything to eat and no place to sleep. So don’t give me that bull about you had my back with my grandma.”
His words about Ms. Irene were the truth. Which was why, no matter what went down in this warehouse, I was always going to take care of her.
“So,” Trey began, “what happens now?” Then, with a smirk, he asked, “You want details?”
He had long ago entered the danger zone, and my only explanation was that the seven years he’d been away must’ve erased his memories. He’d forgotten that I was Damon King. It was that or he was counting on our connection. I wondered if he realized yet that our connection had been completely violated and our bond totally broken.
“No details needed, son. You answered the most important question I needed to know.”
He smirked. “And what question was that?”
I only answered him inside my head: Now I know you hit on Tiffanie, not the other way around.
When I said nothing, he shrugged. “Whatever.” Then he added, “So what do we do now? Where do we go from here?”
I kept my stance and my silence.
He said, “I’m thinking that now that everything is out in the open . . . I don’t want her anymore. You can have her . . . back.”
I growled.
“And maybe, one day, we can get back, too. ’Cause this loyalty thing is supposed to work both ways. Maybe that’s a lesson that your father should have taught you.”
I didn’t even try to stop that muscle in my jaw from dancing.
“So we good?” It only took him two seconds to raise his fist to give me dap; but I moved faster. By the time his fist was chest level, my Glock was pointed at my target—his heart.
He blinked more than a few times, and his eyes got wide. He took a step back, but that was only reflex. If he’d had time to think, he would’ve been dumb enough to take a step toward me.
Then, with a smile and a little shake of his head, he said, “So what? You gonna shoot me now?”
I didn’t say a word.
“Over a female?” he as
ked with incredulity.
I didn’t move a muscle.
“I can’t believe you gonna go out like this over some chick.”
I pressed my lips together. Now I needed to calm my jumping jaw. I needed every part of me steady.
“She doesn’t care anything about you.”
I wasn’t sure if that was another taunt or something he believed as fact. Either way, now I had to speak. He wasn’t going to his grave thinking that. “You’re wrong. She loves me.”
He shook his head. “Then why was she so easy?” He paused. “You wanna know how easy she was?”
That was confirmation, on top of what I already knew. I raised my Glock just a fraction higher. And for as long as it takes for an eye to blink, Trey’s eyes flooded with fear. But the problem was, his fear didn’t stay. Maybe if he was afraid, maybe if he’d begged for his life, this wouldn’t have been so easy for me.
“So what? You gonna kill me. Just ’cause I took your girl?”
I gave him a slow nod.
He released a roar in my face, laughter that didn’t seem to stop, and I let him have those moments. When he finally got control, he held his arms all the way out, making a T with his body, making my mind focus on that for a moment. His voice brought me back to my purpose.
“Go ahead, shoot.” He said it as if he didn’t think I ever would. “If you want to choose a ho over a bro, do what you gotta do! ’Cause you know”—he brought his arms down and with one fist pounded his chest—“I fear no man!”
“Then you’s a fool!”
And I pulled the trigger.
A single shot, that’s all I needed.
I was that cat. I was that onetime gangsta.
It was quick, the way Trey’s eyes showed shock in the instant that he stayed standing, and then he dropped, first to his knees, before toppling onto the floor.
My hands were still raised, my finger still on the trigger, and when he was completely motionless, laid out on the concrete, I lowered my gun. By the time I knelt over him, his eyes were closed. By the time I pressed my fingers against his neck, his breathing had stopped.
I didn’t hear Magic approach, but I felt his presence when he stood over me. I lifted myself from the floor and gave him a nod. “Do what you do best, Magic. Make this disappear.” He reached for my gun and I gave it to him, knowing he’d take care of that, too.
Then, without even glancing back at the man who, for more than thirty years, I’d considered my brother, I walked out of the warehouse. Now I had business to take care of at home.
40
Tiffanie
I had been on my knees, hunched over the edge of the sofa, for hours, or so it seemed. I was praying and praying, though my petition to God didn’t have anything to do with me. This was my fault, so I expected no mercy. My prayers were for Damon instead. I prayed that God would lessen his pain, reduce it to almost nothing, and heal Damon’s heart so that one day he wouldn’t even remember this, maybe wouldn’t even remember me.
The thought of that, the thought of no longer even being in Damon’s memory, made my heart grieve, but this is what I wanted for the man that I loved so much. This is what I wanted because I’d taken so much from him.
Now I had to take steps forward, positive ones for Damon. The first step was to pack my bags; I’d done that as soon as I came home—went straight into our bedroom and, with my hands still trembling, gathered as much as I could. I might as well have been packing with my eyes closed, too, as I went to the dresser, flung drawers open, and tossed items into the suitcase. I only packed a few things; I’d need time and help to get all of my clothes. But I had enough so that I could leave tonight and not have to bother Damon with anything more than arranging a time to get the rest.
Once my bag was packed, I was tempted to do what I’d almost done the morning of my wedding, when I wanted to take the coward’s way out and get on the first plane to anywhere. But that was my head. My heart told me that I had to complete this second step. I had to face Damon; I owed him that, and he deserved that.
There was no way I could sit around and wait, though. The silence alone would drive me to take that coward’s way. So, instead of running, I knelt. And instead of worrying, I prayed.
“Dear God,” I whispered over and over. I wasn’t sure what else to say, so I just closed my eyes and reminisced. About the years I’d had with Damon. About how he’d loved me before I’d loved him. Of how his love was sincere and complete.
I thought of all he’d given me beyond his love and of what a gift he’d been to me. And I thought about what I’d done to curse the blessing that was my husband, and those thoughts of Damon made my mind drift to that night before and the morning of my wedding. And then to that dream I’d had of Damon. With his gun. Raised and centered on me.
My eyes popped open.
“Oh my God!”
I was still on my knees as the dream replayed, though, this time my eyes were wide open. I remembered running, screaming, certain that I was about to die.
“I have to get out of here!”
I couldn’t stay and face Damon. I couldn’t tell him what I’d done. The man I’d married was a good man, but he’d come from someplace dark. He’d never told me all that he’d done, but I had no doubt of what he could do. Yes, he’d changed, but had he changed in his core?
I jumped up. Reaching for my suitcase and purse, I paused and wondered if I should leave him some kind of note. No! I’d send a text or an email later, explaining everything. By then I’d at least know where I was going. But right now, I had to get out of this house.
With a breath of determination, I stepped forward, looked up, and froze. My heart went straight into heart-attack mode.
“Damon,” I whispered.
How had he come into the house without my hearing him? It was like he’d snuck up on me. I didn’t hear the garage open, the house door, his footsteps.
In my head, the dream played again.
All I could say was his name, as tears burned my eyes. Slowly, I set my roller bag aside and watched his glance shift from me to my suitcase.
I expected that when he brought his eyes back to me, his face would be scrunched in a frown. But there were no lines of confusion anywhere on him. It was as if he had no questions.
Did he know? Had the blackmailer contacted him? Had Trey?
“I . . .” I had to pause, because there was no way he could understand my words with the way my lips were quivering. “I . . . have . . . something . . . to tell you,” I stated with a courage that I didn’t really feel.
He shook his head, and I didn’t know what he meant by that. I didn’t have time to ask him, though, because suddenly he moved, in quick steps that shocked me, scared me, and brought him into my personal space before I had a chance to blink twice.
I wanted to back up, because there was no way to tell Damon what I needed to say when he was standing so close. It was bad enough that I was going to break his heart; I didn’t want to be near enough to hear it cracking. And I certainly didn’t want to be so close that in his anger he would do to me what I’d seen in that dream.
But the backs of my legs were already pressed against the edge of the sofa and I had nowhere to go. I tried to find my voice to do what I had to do anyway. God would just have to take care of this.
Before I could speak, he said, “I have something to ask you.”
His voice was softer than a whisper, but his tone? That was hard. And that was when I knew for sure. He knew! He had to know. And now he wanted me to tell him.
I was scared, but I felt ready. I formed my lips to speak.
He asked, “Do you love me?”
I blinked. And blinked. Blinked again.
“What?”
That wasn’t the question he was supposed to ask. But he repeated it.
“Yes!” I didn’t hesitate thi
s time. “Yes. I love you so much. I have loved you for so long and for so many reasons. I love you in . . .”
He interrupted my words, pressing his lips against mine, and for a moment, I stood there with my hands at my side, with my eyes open.
What was going on?
There were so many questions going through my mind and so many answers that I wanted to give him. But right now all I could do was close my eyes and open my mouth and let my husband in.
It was long, it was sweet, it was the best kiss I’d ever had.
When Damon stepped back, I felt a bit dizzy. But once my legs steadied, my thoughts did, too, and I went back to wondering. What had just happened? Had that been a real kiss or was it a kiss good-bye? And there was still the question of all questions: Had Damon found out?
I took a deep breath. “There’s something I have to tell you, something you need to know.”
He shook his head. “I know all that I need to know.”
I tilted my head, confused.
He said, “I asked you what was most important to me. And you said you loved me.”
“I do, Damon.” My lips went back to quivering. “I really do.”
He shrugged. “That’s all I need to know. And all you need to know is that my love for you is unconditional. As long . . . as you . . . love me, it’s always unconditional.”
I mashed my hand over my mouth to hold back my sobs. But it didn’t work, not when Damon pulled me toward his chest. What was he trying to tell me? That he knew and he forgave me?
No, it couldn’t be that. No man would forgive what I’d done. Especially not that easily. No man would forgive without someone paying a price.
A whole bunch of minutes passed before I stepped back, finally somewhat composed, ready to ask my husband all the questions that were swirling around in my head.
But, as my lips parted, he held me close and placed his finger over them. He nodded toward my suitcase. “That’s a good idea. We need another vacation.”
I didn’t bother to remind him that we’d just returned from Dubai. And when he took my hand and led me upstairs to our bedroom, I didn’t bother to tell him that the sun still hung high in the sky. None of that mattered.
Lust Page 28
