by Kenya Wright
I stiffened. “You’ve always wanted me?”
“Yes. Always.”
Want or need? Love or lust? Serious or nothing more than a fling? What did she mean by want and always? How would it change her and me?
More people entered the club and rushed by.
She let go.
I moved away and straightened up.
“Okay.” She brushed back her hair with her fingers and shifted her expression to neutral. She looked relaxed as if she’d never confessed anything.
People pushed through the double doors.
And then, we were alone again.
“Alright.” She grabbed my hand and headed away. “I’m ready.”
“I’m not.” I stopped her from moving forward and pulled her back to me.
Others came in.
Some glanced at us.
Worry covered her face, but she played it off with a smile. “We should go, Hunter.”
“We’re talking about this.”
“Now you want to talk about it?”
“You damn right.” I inhaled her. “Now the gloves are off.”
“We’re not fighting.”
“What do you mean you’ve always wanted me?” I asked.
She blushed. “I…you know…well, what did you mean?”
“Everything.”
“All you said was aroused—”
“Because I was too scared to go further.”
She snorted. “You? Scared. I don’t think so.”
“York, Mrs. Ellen, and you are the only family I have.” My voice lowered. “That’s it. Three people. You think I want to change that to nothing? No one else is in my life.”
“That’s not true, Hunter.”
“If we go there, York and—”
“I don’t care what anyone says—”
“Of course, you don’t care,” I interrupted. “Because you have hundreds of family members, people who will always be there. Do you know if you’re lost, you can call many people to come get you? If you need a place to stay, you have tons of relatives’ bedrooms and couches for good old sweet cousin Zuzu.”
Sighing, I stared at her. “I don’t have that. You three are the only people who I would call. This means that things must be done carefully. Love has rules.”
Pissed, she rolled her eyes. “Love doesn’t have rules. I hate when you say that.”
“Zola! Come on, baby.” Alexander yelled out from the opened double doors. “They’re starting the first song. We need you up on the stage for a shot.”
She shook her head. “We’ll talk about this later.”
Did she just end this?
She stepped around me.
Frowning, I followed.
Goddamn it. My head isn’t even in the game right now. She’s fogging it up.
Alexander handed her a pack of Natural Health cigarettes. “Don’t forget to smoke a couple of these on stage. It will rejuvenate you anyway. I swear my blood pressure has gone down from smoking these—”
“She’s not smoking them.” I took the pack from Zola and slung them over my shoulder. They fell to the floor.
“Hey!” Alexander ran back to get the cigarettes. “What’s up with him?”
Only the gods knew Zola’s response.
As soon as we entered, music boomed around us, and there was no more time to think about what would happen to us. I had to stand guard and make sure I kept her safe.
10
Walking Through Hell
Hunter
The album release party was an odd spectacle to behold.
The thudding rhythm and the sour-sweet smell rocked me as I pushed through the heavy curtains inside the swinging door. In the dim red lighting, the eyes of the coat-check girls glowed and summoned.
I sniffed.
Do we have enough weed in here? Jesus.
I looked round. The music boomed from a four-piece band—clarinet, double-bass, electric guitar, and drums. Dozens of couples danced under the crimson lighting. The walls had been varnished black and mirrored the dancers on the polished surface.
Discomfort set in. The lighting made it impossible to distinguish features unless I was a few feet away. Plus, the red glow made it all macabre, like blood covered everyone.
We continued forward.
Alexander took us to another set of double doors in the back labeled VIP. He opened the doors as he held the pack of cigarettes I’d thrown on the ground.
We walked through.
The room was no more than a sixty-foot square. Around twenty tables packed this place. They called the club Lake of Fire, and it was hot like hell and thick with weed smoke and perfume.
Sweat beaded on my forehead. I wiped it away as we walked toward the center where a man sat on a throne.
This must be Trigger.
Lake of Fire was an odd name for a club. The words were symbolic for hell. That was what it was called in the Bible. Mom had recited two lines from revelations more times than I could remember.
“Do you hear me?” Mom whispered in my ear.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She cleared her throat and read from a book that didn’t exist in her hands. “And the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone.” She turned an invisible page. “Where the beast and the false prophet are and shall be tormented day and night for ever and ever."
I nodded.
“Be careful. The devil comes for even little boys like you.”
“Yes ma’am.” I pulled down my pants and bent over to take my whipping.
It didn’t matter what that women had said about the Lake of Fire or even God. In fact, I was getting annoyed that I was getting flashbacks of my mom more and more since being around Zola.
She’s bringing back these memories.
Either way, this club wasn’t what Mom yelled about.
Perhaps the club owner was a Nirvana fan. The band had talked about their own idea of hell in the song named Lake of Fire.
Regardless if it was the bible or Nirvana that inspired the owner, he’d created hell. It was Lucifer’s den. Satan’s playground. Hades’ hopping palace of fun. Almost every woman in there was nude—not half naked or barely dressed, but only wearing heels and smiles. Many of them lined the walls, holding t-shirts with Trigger’s ugly face on them. Some held hats and other Trigger merchandise. Every part of their body was exposed, nipples to the unshaved folds between their legs. Almost all were too young. Barely legal.
I couldn’t help myself as I whispered to Zola, “It looks like a lot of girls in here just celebrated their eighteenth birthday.”
Zola rolled her eyes at the craze. “Trigger took the idea of sex sells and ran too fast with it.”
“He sure did.”
The nudity gave the place an immoral feel, like a raunchy strip club filled with pregnant strippers strung out on heroine with purplish marks on their arms. Something a moral person wouldn’t want to fuck with. There damn sure would be no merchandise purchasing from me this evening.
The crowd thickened as we moved further into the place. I had no idea from looking on the outside, but the inside was separated into three levels. The dressed guests represented the uber-wealthy and celebrities. Many faces I recognized from tv or movies.
Three glass elevators stood at the back.
We followed Alexander and stepped on one. He had the pack of cigarettes in his hand. His gaze flickered back and forth to the pack and Zola’s free hand. I caught his attention and shook my head. I didn’t care how much the company had paid her to sell the cancer sticks, they wouldn’t force them down her lungs.
York and I need to have a serious talk.
We passed the second floor and didn’t stop. I checked out that level for a few quick moments. It had the things one would assume—velvet couches, two bars, and a DJ.
We stopped at the third level and left the elevator.
We entered the VIP section.
I scanned the spot. There were three exits. The on
e we came in. A red door behind the band. And a black one with a fire exit glowing above it. There must’ve been fifty people in here, not including Trigger and his entourage of six on the stage.
I eyed security. Two guys manned each exit. They had guns in holsters and looked prepared to use them.
Good.
On the stage, there were two bulky guys that must’ve been Trigger’s bodyguards. They sure acted that way, looking all big and bad as they glared at people snapping pictures. But they were chumps. Probably two of Trigger’s biggest friends he’d grown up with. To him, they were bad and strong. I was sure they had tons of stories. To me, they were baby lotion soft.
Dimmed lighting came from low hanging chandeliers, garnished in silver and twinkling gems. Trigger sat in the center on a gold throne. A red velvet rope surrounded his massive area. Black and red sheer curtains hung low from the ceiling and dipped down to the floor. Nude girls swayed and danced around. His entourage was a decent size—six idiots nodding their heads and happy to get a free ride on his back.
I scanned the rest of the place. Onlookers outside the rope stared as if in a daze, normal people who had been given the opportunity to stand on the other side and watch. Many had their phones out. The whole time I watched them, I wondered if they felt foolish. Sure, they were getting an inside look, but was it worth it to just stare at someone they loved through their phone? I would’ve rather been downstairs dancing.
Nude waitresses carried over massive trays with drinks. Everyone smoked Natural Health cigarettes. A few of Trigger’s buddies even slung the packs out to the onlooking fans. People hooted and screamed as they caught them.
It all reminded me of my mom and my old church. The congregation adored the pastor. Many of the women slept with him. Even as a kid, I was sure his wife knew. We’d had two statues in the front of the church—one of Jesus and the other of him. And the congregation stared at the pastor in a daze just as these onlookers drooled at Trigger, needing to idolize, yearning to be a part of something they thought they couldn’t reach themselves, hoping to touch the hem of gods.
Sometimes I didn’t know what was worse—organized religion or the illusions of fame.
I glanced at Zola.
She wore that mask I’d seen earlier—neutral and calm.
What is she thinking about? This isn’t her. Or has she changed that much? No, not my Zuzu.
Trigger spotted Zola and me. His gaze went to me and then he frowned. For some reason, that made me smile. Irritating him with just my mere presence had been the only upside of the evening. I didn’t know why he was annoyed. Perhaps those paparazzi on the outside and even York had a point—Trigger was brokenhearted over Zola. I’d gathered as much. Or, was it just the media being messy? One never knew in this time of likes and shares. These days, people were willing to sell their souls for viral fame.
I hit Trigger with a deadly stare.
Are you the one stalking Zola?
The rapper was smart enough to look away. In the past year, I’d heard some of his top songs just from walking across the street or sitting in a bar. He wasn’t my go-to musician, but everyone knew him. He marketed soda and headphones, sneakers and jewelry.
I’d had no idea Zola was dating him.
We paused at the velvet rope as his men separated the onlookers. Most directed their cameras to Zola and me, hoping to get some cool reaction, to be the first to tweet and post.
I leaned into Zola. “How long did you two date?”
She stirred a little on my side. “This is an awkward answer.”
“Why?”
“We didn’t really date. It was set up by his record label. He’s in a 360 deal.”
“Meaning?”
“In short, it’s an exclusive recording contract between a record label and artist. The company puts a shitload of money into them and then they have a percentage of all the artist’s income.”
“I don’t know much about the music industry, but isn’t that typical?” I asked.
“No. Before, the company was only paid from the music, maybe concerts. With the 360, they get income from everything—touring, live performances, merchandise, endorsements, movies, TV. Everything.”
“So, who’s really winning this evening? Trigger or the record label?”
“The record label, which is Cut Them Loose Entertainment.”
I nodded. “And Cut Them Loose thought it would help Trigger, if he publicly dated you?”
“Yes.”
“York signed you into a dating contract?” I growled, ready to choke him.
York knew better. Zola was more than the social media bullshit illusion. If she was going to date, it would be with someone she loved.
Trigger’s guards finally removed the ropes to let us in, but Zola didn’t walk in.
“No. York and I didn’t know anything about this.” She tilted her head close to my ear. “That’s why Trigger and I broke up. He never told me about the deal. He courted me normally, but to the record label, he pretended that I knew what was going on. He signed my name and had a fake lawyer deliver it to them on my behalf.”
Trigger’s at the top of my list now.
“I’d thought we were simply courting each other,” she continued. “We had some dates, but I wasn’t convinced on anything more. Before things became deeper, I ended it, and he cursed me out, explaining that this would ruin his career and I was bound to be with him in a contract.”
Sounds like a rejected stalker to me, out for revenge. Messing with his money would cause a lot of resentment. And her saying no would scratch at his ego.
Looking at the way naked women fed Trigger, I knew he hadn’t heard the word no a lot in his life. He probably thought Zola should’ve had more gratitude for him picking her.
“Interesting.” I guided us onto the stage.
Another throne sat next to Trigger. The rapper padded the red velvet cushion. “Zola, you look more beautiful than ever.”
“Thank you.” She sat down.
I leaned down to ask one more question. “How did you get this cigarettes contract again?”
“Through the record label. They came to York with the deal, thinking we knew what was going on.”
“And York wouldn’t ask too many questions for a three-million-dollar deal?”
“Pretty much.”
I rose and stepped behind her throne. The whole time, Trigger watched me with anger in his eyes. Cameras flashed around us. I was sure that glare at me would go viral by the morning. It was such small thing that could be made into a massive one, packed with tons of YouTube commentary and reaction.
What did the record label think about Zola and his public break up? They clearly didn’t try to fight her on breach of contract. Did he tell them what he did? Or is he working on getting her back?
Now on the stage, I took in the place more. Red decorated the other levels too. On this level, it was all black velvet and red lighting, polished marble floors, and cocaine on small glass tables. Trigger’s men snorted it up with rolled hundred-dollar bills. The guards stood in front of them when this occurred. Still, I was sure someone had caught it on the phone.
Stupid, wild, and young.
The rest of the tables in the space were black glass, stacked with bowls full of pills representing every color in the rainbow.
The music lowered around us. Trigger leaned Zola’s way, and I inched closer to them to hear their conversation.
“So, what’s up, Zola?” Trigger placed a crown on his head and winked at her. “I have a crown for you too.”
“Oh.” She looked at the gaudy thing in his hand as he tried to hand it to her. “You know what? My stylist told me I couldn’t put anything on my head.”
“Oh, word? I know. I know. Sistas don’t ever want to mess up their hair.” Trigger looked intensely. “But tell me this, Zola.”
“Okay.”
“How are sistas ever going to get a king to put a crown on their head if all they care about is not messing up t
heir hair?” Cocaine dust powdered his nose. He clapped his friend’s hand. “You heard that deep shit, motherfucker? I need to put that line in a song, man.”
Another guy high-fived him even though I doubted he’d heard Trigger.
Zola crossed her legs and glanced back at me in embarrassment. Her gaze begged me not to judge. I shook my head to let her know I wasn’t here for that. Being in the security world and guarding high-level people, this shit show was on a low level. The more power, the less rational of a mind. It broke something in people to control things. The more they dominated, the more they crumbled inside.
Security hadn’t patted me down, so I assumed everyone else in the club had guns. I just doubted anyone could use one like me. That confidence gave me hope for Zola’s safety this evening.
I checked my watch, already bored. This was all fake and staged. Not many cared about shit on this stage—not cigarettes or music, just drugs and fucking.
That last word stuck with me.
Fucking.
“I’ve always wanted you.”
A silly grin came on my face. I pushed it away fast. No one feared a grinning bodyguard. There was no reason for the good feeling to pour over me. I damn sure shouldn’t have thought about what she’d said.
Still, her confession had my cock waking up.
Zola, Zola. Are you sure you want to take it there with me?
The very idea of my acting on that confession could get sticky. There’d be no holding back, if I tasted her.
And I wouldn’t just fuck her, I’d give her this cock like I was in love with her.
Because I was.
It would be hot.
Wet and slippery.
And I wouldn’t stop until she came over and over.
There would have to be a conversation after it. She would want more. I didn’t know if I could do more. And what would the other members of my family think, if we did go there?
I continued to remain on guard while sexual thoughts of Zola filled my mind. Every few minutes, I glanced down to see her looking at me.
Fuck. Who am I kidding? Shit has already changed.
