Respectable Riot

by Karen Renee

  “I got A.J.,” Beast said, rolling out of bed.

  “No, David. He must be getting sick or something, he’s never up this frequently. And stop calling him A.J., he’s an Adrian for certain.”

  Beast leaned into the bed and kissed my cheek. “How am I supposed to shorten that? I’m not callin’ him ‘Dree,’ and there’s plenty of great sports players who go by ‘A.J.’ He’s hittin’ a growth spurt, Janie-babe. If he’s got a fever, I’ll bring him to you. You know that.”

  I did know that. Adrian was nearly five months old, and in that time Beast always brought him to me. But if he didn’t need feeding or could be soothed back to sleep, he was certain to make sure I got my rest. Over the monitor, I heard Beast in Adrian’s room, and once again thanked God for our house.

  It had been a long road to getting our house. The beginning of that long road was on me. When Beast brought me to the ‘piece of land’ he claimed we had our eye on, I refused. It was the site of Paul Shapiro’s old house, which had burned to the ground. No way did I want to live on land that had so much bad juju on it. Beast guided me away from Reggie and said, “Honey, what you call bad juju was all brought on by me, Razor, Liar, and Roman. It ain’t tainted or haunted. Besides, we’re building fresh, and it’s the only way I can afford waterfront property. Because of the shit that went down here, we’re gonna get it for a fuckin’ steal.”

  I turned my head and looked at him from the corner of my eye. “Are we, um, cheating the system or something, here?”

  Beast shook his head. “Fire marshal reports the fire was started by a wayward bullet. That still doesn’t stop people from shying away from a place where not one but two people were killed. I can’t put you behind fancy gates, but God knows, even if you know the address, if you don’t know where the drive is, ain’t anybody findin’ our place. That’s security of its own sort, right there.”

  At the time, I fought my smile, but couldn’t stop the small curve of my lips when he was done. Whenever Beast was excited or adamant about something his Southern accent came on strong and thick, and I loved every minute of it.

  Once we bought the property, it took almost two months to get the old property razed completely. The new construction of our four-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath house took close to eight months to complete. So, we had been married for well over ten months by the time we finally moved into our home.

  By my calculations, Adrian was conceived in one of our many rounds of ‘christening’ the house during our first month living there. Or, if I were prone to believing things like it, I would credit drinking the water around Andrea, seeing as she was four months preggers herself by the time we moved into the house. My money was on Beast and my avid determination to sex up the entire house in as little time as possible.

  I was pulled from my recollections when on the baby monitor, I heard Beast’s husky voice singing ‘Azalea’ to our little boy. My nose started to sting because I knew that song was how Beast connected to his Grand-mere, and it was how he thought of me, as his first love —even if I knew I really wasn’t.

  A few minutes later, he came back to our room, sliding into bed carefully. I rolled into his body and straddled his hips. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I fucking love hearing you sing to our little boy, David. Tripping into your arms on one of the worst days of my life is hands-down the best thing that ever fucking happened to me.”

  His arms rounded my body and he rolled us to my side of the bed. “Clumsy, I’ve made lots of catches in my life. But catching you that day was the catch of a lifetime. Are you sure you want to wait a year for our next baby boy?”

  I dipped my chin as much as the pillow behind my head allowed me to. “We’re having a girl next, Beast.”

  His tongue traced my lips. “Not so sure you decide those things. It’s all about my swimmers, Azalea.”

  I grinned even as a curl rushed through my abdomen. “It can also be all about timing it with my cycle, Davy. So, what’s your hold up? Get to work and show me which one of us is really right.”

  “Gladly, Azalea, gladly.”

  THE END

  Sneak Peek at Starting the Riot

  Chapter 1

  Sorority Girl

  IT WASN’T UNUSUAL TO wake up in the middle of the night because of my roommate coming in late. In fact, it was a pretty common occurrence since we were both just over twenty-one and we were both sowing our wild oats. I rolled to the left to glance at my alarm clock. The blue digits were blurry because I wasn’t wearing my glasses or contacts. I could have sworn it read 5:43, but that couldn’t possibly be right. I closed my eyes and thought maybe I reversed the five and it was really 2:43. Prying one eyelid open, I looked again and saw a five, not a two. A bad feeling crept into my chest. Something wasn’t right, and I knew if I didn’t check on Simone I’d toss and turn the rest of the morning.

  I padded into the small living room. Before I could turn toward the short hall that led to Simone’s room, I noticed a shape slumped against our front door. My heart froze and I squinted. I didn’t know why I squinted. It was like ingrained stupidity...or undying hopefulness. I couldn’t see worth a shit without glasses or contacts, and not once did squinting at something make it so I miraculously could see it.

  Cautiously, I edged toward the front door, and the closer I got, the clearer it became that it was Simone leaned up against the door.

  “Simone,” I whisper-hissed. Tagging the light switch in our minuscule foyer, the overhead light came on and we both winced. My roommate wouldn’t open her eyes though. Her wavy brown hair was a mass of tangles and frizz.

  That bad feeling turned into a sharp sensation in my chest and my gut.

  “Simone,” I said in a stern voice. No reaction, not even a flutter of her eyelids.

  I grabbed her hand closest to me. Her arm looked okay and I could feel her pulse. I turned her arm and saw the angry marks on the inside of her forearm. Large oval bruises. I put my thumb near one and knew it had to be thumb mark from a man. Wracking my brain, I couldn’t remember what she wore last night before going out to the minor league baseball game for Thirsty Thursday, but I was pretty certain it wasn’t this shirt. The shirt she was in was large on her petite frame. I lifted her arm again and saw more bruises on the inside of her bicep, except these were in groups of four. It didn’t take a detective to realize Simone had been held down.

  “Oh, my God,” I said on a sigh.

  I stood up and went to my room to get my cell phone. When I came back to Simone, she was turning her head to one side and then turning it the opposite direction.

  “Simone, hon. Can you hear me? It’s Jackie.”

  “No, light Jack. Turn off the light.”

  I hit the switch and dialed 9-1-1.

  Minutes later, I struggled to move Simone’s weight away from the door, and opened it to three paramedics.

  “Hi. I don’t know what happened. This is my roommate, Simone. I heard her get in around a quarter ‘til, and I knew something was wrong. She doesn’t normally come in this late. She’s not responsive, and I think someone must have given her something.”

  A police officer showed up while the paramedics examined Simone and put her on a gurney. I gave the officer my statement, got dressed and followed the ambulance to the hospital.

  Simone was more alert when the nurse finally took me back to see her. She also didn’t seem very thrilled to see me. I wanted to hug her, but I had a feeling that wouldn’t be welcome at this point. Slowly, I sidled up to her on the exam table.

  “You doing okay?” I asked. Immediately I felt like a douche because Simone’s arms were wrapped tight around her middle, and it was abundantly clear she was anything but ‘doing okay.’

  “No,” she whispered.

  Her eyes were on mine and the light that normally shone from them was gone. Sadness and anger warred within me, but the anger was winning out. I wanted to hunt down the motherfucker who did this to her. She recognized the determined glint in my eyes.
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  “I was raped,” she mumbled.

  My heart broke and I decided when I found the motherfucker who did this, I was going to rip out his fuckin’ fingernails, then I was going to use those nails to hack off his dick. It would be time-consuming, but well worth it.

  I opened my mouth to say I was sorry, but my beautiful roommate spoke before me. “More than one guy, they said.”

  My breath left me and I closed my eyes. I opened them and Simone was looking at the floor. “Can I hug you, Simone?”

  “’Kay,” she whispered.

  I wrapped my arms around her as gently as I could. I murmured in her hair, “I’m gonna call your mom.”

  Her body bucked and I was forced away by her violent reaction. I couldn’t believe it.

  “No, Jacqueline. Do not call my mom. No way. Not my Dad either.”

  I stared at her for a very long moment. She needed her family. Anyone would, but her eyes pleaded with me and I nodded. Before I could say anything more, an older woman poked her head through the curtain opening.

  “Simone Barnes? I’m Jennifer Fiske with Victim’s Advocacy.”

  FRIDAYS I ONLY HAD one class. At the beginning of the semester I questioned what the hell I was thinking signing up for a Monday, Wednesday, Friday class, because having Fridays wide-open was one of the many great things about being a college student. I had deprived myself of this fabulousness by taking Dr. Kurji’s Transcendental Literature class, but Dr. Kurji was one of the coolest lit professors on campus. He was from India, but had taken the courses to become a full-fledged American citizen. He quoted Thomas Jefferson at the most random moments, but always tied the quote back around to the subject matter at hand with brilliance. I constantly marveled at how much more he knew about my country than I did or any of my classmates did, then my marvel gave way to shame because I had pride in my country so what kind of lazy schmoe did it make me to not know all these things as Dr. Kurji did? Yet, I loved his class, so that more than made up for the fact that it interrupted my Friday afternoons.

  Papers and books were rustling in the room, and the sounds gained momentum as more people did the same. I caught sight of the clock on the wall, and our time would be up in just a few minutes. The ninety-minute class seemed longer than normal because I felt so guilty for attending. I had offered to stay home with Simone, but she insisted I go to class.

  “Besides, I’m going to be in my room. My head is killing me, and the doctors gave me some high-grade pain killers. I took some and I’m gonna take a long nap.”

  I contemplated sticking around just in case, but I figured I would hit class in case she needed me to skip out on Monday instead. My guilt gave way to disgust with myself because I hadn’t paid much attention to anything said during today’s class.

  “Miss Eastmon,” Dr. Kurji called. “If I could have a word, please.”

  I placed my notebook in my bag, zipped it, and approached the lectern where Dr. Kurji was collecting his things.

  Resting a forearm on the top of the podium, he leaned toward me. “You were not here today. Your body yes, but your mind was elsewhere. This is unusual for you. Is everything all right?”

  My lips thinned as I took in a deep breath. “My roommate was attacked very early this morning. She doesn’t know exactly who did it, and she does not want to notify her family.”

  Dr. Kurji’s brows furrowed over his warm brown eyes. “No,” he whispered.

  I nodded. “And, she hasn’t said it, at least not yet, but I don’t think she’s all that pleased I called 9-1-1 to get her to the hospital and I gave a statement to the police.”

  His head nodded, and kept on nodding. When he stopped he gave me a piercing look. “That is a difficult situation. I am surprised you did not stay home today. It would have been excused, Miss Eastmon. Surely, you recognize that?”

  I smiled wanly. “I do, but she was taking a long nap, and I thought she might need me more on Monday, so this way, it might even out.”

  “Yes. I can see your logic,” he said. “Surely, your roommate’s parents will be notified by the police about this incident?”

  I frowned. “She’s an adult. She expressly said not to notify anyone else. I’m just not sure I can respect her wish.”

  “Indeed. A difficult situation you’re in, Miss Eastmon. There are counselors on campus; it isn’t only the victim who suffers from an attack. Suffering takes many forms, so do not hesitate to reach out for help if you should need it also.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Kurji.”

  Other students were trickling into the vacated classroom. Dr. Kurji grabbed his beaten leather satchel and walked me to the door. We split ways at the mouth of the hall, and I hustled to my car in the parking lot. It was three-fifteen in the afternoon, and at that time of day on a Friday it would be hit-or-miss as to how crowded it would be, but my gut, my heart and my mind had all three come to the same conclusion. Simone’s father needed to know, and since he was in town and Simone’s mother was almost four hundred miles away, I’d have to go to him.

  SIMONE AND I WENT WAY back. Way back to sixth grade, anyway. She and her mom moved to Ruskin, where I lived with my parents, after her parents were divorced. It wasn’t pretty, but from what I gathered from other friends who were children of divorce, it never was pretty. We became fast friends, and that didn’t change through high school. Both of us were good girls, relatively speaking, and we maintained high grade point averages. When it came time to apply for colleges, we both wanted to get away from home, but we didn’t want to get away from Florida entirely. As luck would have it, Jacksonville University accepted us both, and somehow we both landed scholarships that allowed us to attend the private college.

  My parents weren’t thrilled with the idea of me going to college in the northeast part of the state. When Simone decided she was headed to JU too, my parents relaxed, a little. Mainly, that was because Simone’s father was a Jacksonville native, and when he and her mother split, he stayed there. Hard for him not to, he had opened a biker bar early in his marriage; but after a while, it became clear to Simone’s mom he was married to the bar, not her. So, it was almost like I had a father figure nearby because even though Simone’s father lived in Jacksonville, she spent time with him in the summer. She and I were so tight, I wound up spending a week with her and her dad each summer from the time I was thirteen until I was eighteen. This was the other upside to going to college in Jacksonville. It was a city that was new to me, yet familiar all at the same time.

  Up until a year ago, we lived in the campus dorm. Then we moved into an apartment together in the Arlington neighborhood of Jacksonville. The area could be a little rough, but on the whole it was a hard-working area. It wasn’t far from Simone’s father’s bar.

  The name of his bar wasn’t exactly original. His name was Barney Barnes and his bar was called The Barnes Bar. I supposed when one had a shit name there were two options. Make do or change it. Obviously, Simone’s dad embraced his name and made the most of it.

  I pulled into the parking lot and noticed two men standing outside the doors. One was wearing dark sunglasses that were almost wrap-arounds. He was leaning against the wall, with a boot flat to the wall, and one hand held a cigarette to his mouth. The other man was standing to his right and talking animatedly. Both men had long brown hair, but the animated guy had his hair pulled back into a low pony-tail. The smoker left his dark brown hair loose around his shoulders. I turned off my car, and grabbed my small purse. Tilting my head from one side to the other, a satisfying crack filled my car and I sighed. My tension level was sky-high and what I was about to do wasn’t helping matters.

  “Time to get this shit over with,” I said to the windshield, and I opened my door.

  I slung my purse strap on my shoulder as I walked up to the doors. Since I was on a mission, I didn’t pay the two men outside the bar much mind. Just as my hand reached out to grab the door handle, I heard the smoker’s rough voice.

  “You’re in the wrong place, soror
ity girl.”

  I bristled at the comment, because I wasn’t in a sorority, and I really didn’t like people making assumptions about me or anyone else. It also didn’t help that my gut told me Simone’s membership in her own sorority most likely got her raped last night, but that was an assumption I was making, and I probably shouldn’t. I did my level best to keep my face neutral.

  I was ready to mouth off to him, but when I took a good look at this unruly guy, I knew he was not someone to be disrespected. Certainly, his black leather vest told me he was part of something bigger than himself, but it didn’t mean I would let someone like him run right over me with accusations of being a sorority girl. It wasn’t any of his business, and it wasn’t why I was there. I had to see Barney.

  I shook my head at both of them and opened the door. The smoky air assaulted me, and I suddenly wondered why these two were outside when, clearly, smoking could and did take place inside the bar. Oh well, not my issue. I moved directly to the bar and heard a low chuckle, along with two sets of footsteps following me inside.

  Putting my elbows to the bar, I noticed one of Barnes’s ex-girlfriends was behind the bar. She caught sight of me, narrowed an eye and recognition shifted into her gaze.

  “Shouldn’t have to tell you this, since you live with the girl, but Simone ain’t here.”

  The rough voice from earlier seemed smoother. Probably because it was very close to my ear. “Told you, you are in the wrong place.”

  I turned my head just enough to give him a scathing look from the corner of my eye, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say his lips twitched. The only reason I didn’t know better was because this man had a thick, dark mustache framing his lips, and it would’ve been part of a beard, but it appeared he’d shaved his chin and cheeks maybe two days prior.

  I turned back to the ex-girlfriend; her name had left my mind. “I need to see Barnes. Now.” I said through gritted teeth.