Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father

by Laveen, Tiana

  “I’m gonna get cha, Jagger.” Saint put his hands higher up in a classic Muhammad Ali pose as his feet danced around the ring. He and Jagger continued to move around one another—the other man taking swift jabs in the wind, inches away from Saint’s face. “I’m just studying you is all, seeing how you work, letting you get winded and when I get a hold of you, you will—”

  BAM!

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Jagger burst out in uncontrollable laughter and ran to the side of the ring holding his stomach.

  “Saint! Are you okay?” Raphael called out. “You need to zap him, beam him across the room or whatever the hell you do!”

  “No powers.” Jagger snapped his head toward Raphael. “No way will that work. We all know Saint is stronger than me in that regard. He’d win. This way, the fight is fair,” Jagger warned.

  “It isn’t fair! You are trained to kill! You were in the Marines!” Raphael protested angrily.

  Lawrence remained silent, holding his arms across his chest. He was his usual quiet self, only this time, he appeared to be in heavy thought as he observed his two friends trying to possibly murder one another.

  Saint remained on the ground, looking up at the ceiling as tiny birdies, twinkling stars and bright four leaf clovers danced around above him, just like in the cartoons. The right side of his head throbbed and his body felt as if it were turned up a million degrees until it and the sun were equals. He rubbed his jaw, convinced a tooth was loose. The man was powerful. He hit so damn hard, it took his breath away, made him briefly question his whereabouts and left a dull, throbbing pain on the point of contact. Jagger had landed a punch that warranted him the unofficial, undisputed, heavy weight champion of the Angel Child world. And to be so solid and built like a brick, the man moved fast, putting Saint at an even greater disadvantage.

  It’s Traci...

  Slowly, Saint got to his feet, dusted his knees off, casually rubbed his face and squinted, trying to pretend that he wasn’t seeing two of Jagger in the near distance. He started to move around again, jogging in place, concentrating with all of his might.

  “Now listen, you need to learn how to fight like this, Saint. All of that crazy street fighting you and your boy did here back in the day won’t save you from certain people—people like me.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Saint noticed Raphael sneer. He was now no longer sure if Raphael liked his new friend, and Jagger didn’t appear to care either way.

  “You can’t use your powers on someone in broad daylight or in a crowd if you are attacked, Saint. That would bring too much attention to you. How would you explain such a thing? What if someone whipped out their cell phone and filmed you red-eyeballing someone, hmmm? Or not touching anyone, having them float through the air like you threw them? You can’t create daggers in the air, summon demons, start fires or create holograms of yourself or any of that other stuff you did in the past in these situations. It just has to be you and your hands.” Jagger looked at him sternly, raising his hands even higher in the air, his fists shining under the lights.

  “You’re stronger than when I first met you. And that is my doing,” Saint panted as he bounced up and down, his socks sinking into the large blue mat.

  “Your doing?” Jagger’s eyebrow shot up as he continued to move around Saint, circling him like a bull thirsty for the freshest blood…planning to take him down once more no doubt. He could smell it all over the man. He had one aim, two goals—to humiliate Saint in front of his peers, but also to teach him, and teach him good.

  “Yeah, I introduced you to her, made you pursue her. We get stronger when we are with our soulmate. This is my fault.” Saint grinned as he regained his strength. “Had I known we were going to fight today, I would have prepared better. That’s okay, though. I am about to fuck you the hell up, man.” Saint ran a hand along his swollen jaw.

  Jagger jabbed at the air, his fists slicing it in invisible sections. “True. I’ll admit to that. I am stronger since you introduced me to my girlfriend. Regardless of that, you won’t always know when you are going to fight…should I have sent you an email?” he jested. “A psychic wave? A clairvoyant telephone call?”

  Saint remained quiet as he continued to survey the man in front of him. He was finished playing with Jagger. He could see now that this was far from a game. The man truly meant to harm him, to teach him a lesson. That was Jagger though. He didn’t see pain as others saw it. For him, pain was simply a part of life to be used as a stepping-stone, to gander crucial information about a system failure…

  “Are you blocking, man?! You’re cheating!” Jagger screamed, face twisted and eyes glowing bright blue as the heavy, dark brows above them dipped into incensed wrinkles above the long bridge of his nose.

  “No,” Saint stated simply. And he was telling the truth.

  “Then why all of a sudden can’t I feel your energy anymore?” Jagger calmed, but only a little.

  “I have no idea, Jagger.” Saint continued to study him, concentrating with all of his might. “I am unable to tell you why you can or can not do anything right now.” He enjoyed seeing the big, burly man squirm in his muscle-bound, tatted-up skin. Then, the brightness in Jagger’s eyes increased, and before another second was born unto the world’s life clock, their bodies collided and their screams echoed throughout the gym, causing a nearby window to crack, crash and shatter. The pieces fell to the ground in a serrated orchestra. Other sounds and voices came through muted, as if Saint had stuffed cotton in his ears. The room became brighter, almost blinding, and then he felt it, the familiar warm wetness. His sensitive sense of smell soon picked it up—fresh blood, and not just any fresh blood. Premium. The kind emitted from a wounded Angel Child. A few moments came and left, leaving the two men in a heap, their bodies twisted in their respective placements on the mat. Saint’s blurry vision lessened, and now he could see it well. Jagger had been hit…and hit hard.

  Although Saint made a half-hearted attempt to keep his gloating grin at bay, he failed miserably. Jagger glared at him, his irises now jade green.

  “You son of a bitch,” he blubbered. A smile creased his tanned face. He ran a hand along his right pec and winced. “You fucking connected, you hit me…and the shit hurts. It really hurts!” He coughed and laughed, grunted in pain, then laughed again.

  “Don’t forget your lip. I got two shots in, fucked up that top lip of yours too,” Saint teased as he got to his feet. Jagger’s blood tinged his knuckles. He tried to ignore the pain in his chest as he stumbled to the corner of the ring. Colliding with Jagger with no spiritual armor hurt like hell. It was just mano y mano, and though Saint took great pride in his physique, worked out religiously and for the most part, ate healthy, Jagger had heavy bones. His build was different from Saint’s, more like a player for the Giants…not the football team, but real giants, like Jolly Green… Ho, Ho, Ho…

  “Yeah.” Jagger got to his feet and ran his thumb along his busted mouth, picking up blood. “You got my damn lip. That was good, Saint.”

  “Are you two done yet?” Raphael asked in protest. He looked at Lawrence, who stood still as if he were simply watching paint dry. “And what about you, Lawrence? I thought you were the voice of reason between these two fools? You should have jumped in and stopped this mess.”

  “Raphael, man, you—”

  “No.” Lawrence shook his head, his expression stern. “Saint, I’ll address this.”

  Saint nodded and stood next to Jagger, giving Lawrence the floor.

  “Raphael, I know you love Saint, but you simply don’t understand. Saint needs this. A person like him will be in danger if he doesn’t have additional skills more finely tuned. I realized this after the situation in Egypt. He was not taught this as a child as we Jagger and I have been, so he will have to be taught now. Remember how mad you were when you found out he went to Egypt and, as you all say, ‘dealt’ with his cousin without telling you?”

  Raphael nodded, shooting Saint an evil glar
e, one that promised some sort of retribution for the double-crossing from a best friend.

  “If Saint was not a naturally good fighter, he would’ve been killed. Powers or not. This is not a game!” Lawrence, a man of natural quiet reserve, appeared angry beyond consoling. “If he would have known how to fight more effectively, and not allow Nzism to drain him that way, the fight would have ended much sooner and Saint could have been home faster, alleviating him and his family undue stress. His cousin knew Saint was at a disadvantage, so your friend suffered the consequences. The next time someone comes after him, he can use a blended version of his street fighting skills and the fine art of classic boxing. He will need these skills as back up when he can’t use his powers, or his spiritual battery will be run down.”

  “But Jagger doesn’t have to do this!” Raphael pointed to the big, hulking man, his eyes darkening with rage. Saint sensed that Raphael was angry to the depths of his core, and it was coming from somewhere he hadn’t seen in quite some time. He knew part of it was because he’d left his best friend out in the cold to run off and handle business without him. But there had to be more to it than this. Saint made a mental note to address it. “He can teach him how to fight without trying to fuck him up.”

  “I’m not!” Jagger interrupted as he wrapped his hand in tape. “Raphael, look—”

  “No, you look, mothafucka! You are as insane as Saint, but at least he has a good heart! I can see through you, man!” Raphael gritted his teeth, pointing an accusatory finger at the goliath. “I should’ve jumped in there and fucked you up my damn self!”

  Jagger smirked and turned his back, continued to wrap his hand and calmly exited the ring to go to the restroom.

  Saint remained quiet, out of respect for Lawrence having the floor, though it took everything in him to do so.

  That man you are fucking with risked his life last year to help protect my family, Raphael! He got hurt trying to protect my wife and children! You are barking up the wrong tree…

  “Raphael, Jagger respects Saint too much to try and do permanent damage to him. Besides, Saint heals too quickly—the pain wouldn’t last long and that swollen face of his will be gone by the morning if not sooner. Jagger is an exceptionally skilled fighter, and if Saint can learn to fight like him, without using any powers, he will be much safer.”

  “My boy can already fight! He didn’t use any of these powers you all have when we were younger, he would just kick a mothafucka’s ass, and not too long ago, when he came home to New York, he and I had to deal with some dudes I knew.”

  “Yes, I heard.” Lawrence pushed his hand in his pocket and rocked back on his heels as he listened to Raphael defend his friend.

  “They got out of pocket. He didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, Lawrence. It was just an old-school beat down.”

  “That may be true, but as Jagger said, Saint is a street fighter, Raphael. There is a rhythm, an art to fighting. Saint can kick ass, we know this, but that isn’t good enough. I’m trying to tell you there are times when we have nothing, when we are drained or a situation arises where we can’t pull any tricks. He has to be able to do the least amount of work with the most strength, quickly. That is why boxing is a sport. I have no doubt Saint could beat up most of the men that may approach him to hurt him. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to fight him if he were worked up and angry, but even I know how to box properly. I am trained in several martial arts.”

  Raphael huffed and spun in a circle, his hand on his hip.

  “Okay…I understand, I think. I still think Jagger is an asshole.”

  Lawrence and Saint glanced at each other and grinned.

  “He is a good guy, Raphael. It’s just that Jagger sometimes comes across wrong. He isn’t graceful and he has a strong personality. He doesn’t mean any harm. He is doing this because he cares about Saint, just like you do. And yeah,” Lawrence smiled, “I’m sure a bit of his ego enjoyed punching the crap out of him. With guys like these two,” he pointed to Saint, “that’s common. It’s like a sibling rivalry, but there is love and respect between them. I wouldn’t steer you wrong, man.”

  Raphael nodded, although he still didn’t look convinced.

  “This is serious though. We are in existence to protect people. We have to know how to defend ourselves in all circumstances, Raphael. Saint being a good fighter is not debatable, you and I both agree on that, but that doesn’t change what I’ve said. The way he fights naturally could cause him to be open to death.”

  Raphael gave him a puzzled look.

  “Did you see how he had to lie on the ground for a while before he could stand back up that last time Jagger punched the hell out of him?”

  Raphael appeared to be deliberating then nodded.

  “That wasn’t because he was physically tired, per se, Raphael. It was because, like a battery, he needed a quick recharge. He was drained, spiritually drained. If his punches can be more productive, he won’t have to wind himself down like that as often. Jagger allowed him the break, but out there on the street there are no breaks and ones that are stolen could cost the man his life.” Lawrence let the haunted words linger in the air. “This is about survival.”

  Lawrence lifted the ropes and entered the ring.

  “Saint, you’ve been itching to fight for weeks, and you’ve been rather irritable.”

  Saint sighed and looked over at the shattered window then back at Lawrence. He knew it was true. Even Xenia had warned him he had one more time to get smart with her, and it would be his ass…

  “Jagger and I have been talking, and we both agree it is time he train you, but we knew you’d refuse his help. This opportunity tonight fell in our lap. Now, you are able to see what you’ve been lacking, and all that you have to gain.”

  “Lawrence.” Saint peered at his friend. “Tell me what you and Jagger have been cooking up? What do you know?”

  “I honestly thought you’d already read us.”

  “I didn’t. I told you both that out of fairness, I would not read you unless there was some sort of emergency.” Saint sighed. “I have been feeling out of sorts lately and I am feeling overly protective about Xenia…I don’t like that. I get irked, really pissed off and then she and I fight because—”

  “You don’t want her to go anywhere.”

  “Yes. If something ever happened to her or my kids, man, I’d—”

  “Kill everyone in sight,” Lawrence finished his thoughts once more. “What started it all?”

  “I’m not sure. It is really like I just woke up one day and looked at her and thought, ‘She might be in trouble.’ It didn’t feel the same as with her pregnancy with Isis though, or anything like that. This is more like an annoyance, one that can grow bigger, out of control.”

  “Okay, well, whether it is a figment of your imagination or not, let’s make sure you have the skills you need to deal with all of it.” Just then, Jagger reappeared. He gripped the rope and pushed his body through with a new glimmer in his eye—refreshed. He pushed his gloved hands together and winked at Saint, then handed him a pair of gloves as well.

  “Alright Saint…let’s do this! Round two!”

  “Ahhh man!” Raphael slumped away and sat on a chair nearby as the two men once again faced each other and fought and cursed for many hours to come…

  ~***~

  CHAPTER THREE

  Several days later...

  Saint rubbed his right nostril and sniffed like a puppy that had been caught out in the rain. He flexed and unflexed his fingers; his wedding band, embedded with rows of diamonds, shined brightly under the posh restaurant’s receded ceiling lights. He checked his sterling, diamond and black onyx Rolex—one minute after noon on a dreary spring day on Rodeo drive in Los Angeles. For a moment, he sat like a statue at the prestigious Urasawa brasserie while catching his distorted, crimson reflection in his glass of red wine. He couldn’t wipe away the sneer from his face. Although he’d tried to honor Xenia’s wishes, he couldn’t in the end. As
he made love to her, he could feel her tension. Something was going on at the set again that surpassed her initial confessions. He’d encouraged her to go back, take her power, and not allow anyone to steal her dream. In that moment, as her pussy clenched around his cock, he was working her stress away, but he had been well aware it would return the following morning as she dressed to enter a den of purgatory, ran by none other than her ex-boyfriend. He tried to be grown up about the shit, remaining calm as she told him all the things the man said to her, the way he touched her… She knew however her husband could only take so much, and the woman didn’t want him to turn into a brute in her honor. Xenia felt she had the shit under control, but felt it her duty to be open and honest as to what the mothafucka was doing.

  She warned him, and he promised he wouldn’t deal with the fiend head on, but as he pushed inside of her day after day, he didn’t miss how she was all twisted up, and he’d had enough. No one would make his baby feel like that...no one.

  He caught his image once again as torrid thoughts ransacked his brain. His lips curled at one end, hanging on to a whisper of a smile even as his temper rose and surrounded his heart, making him crack his knuckles to try to keep the fight in him at bay.

  He cleared his throat and leisurely opened up the all too familiar menu, perusing the items, knowing in advance he’d be ordering a full entrée of bludgeon crab—that’s right, because he was itching to tear a certain someone from limb to limb, break them down to their original composites of nothing more than live matter. Tissue and blood, scrambling under a tight deadline to focus, get together, and make a zygote. The restaurant normally didn’t open until 6 PM, but he’d pulled some strings to get a private lunch time fare from the famous Chef who served the best Japanese upscale cuisine in the country, possibly the world. Regardless of his aristocratic surroundings, Saint was irritated. He hadn’t felt this thirsty for blood in a long while.