“You should’ve kept her as a bottom ho, because that’s all she is, a ho with class.” He laughed. “Yeah, that’s Xenia all right. She can fuck her little ass off, can’t she? You enjoyin’ that shit no doubt. And I’ll give it to her, she can be really sweet, and her body, whoa! That shit is a thing of fucking perfection. And look how old she is now…still putting these young girls to shame. Fuck man.” Sinclair gleamed. “When I saw her on the show, all those memories rushed back. She is one of the prettiest bitches I ever fucked with, and believe me, I’ve had some dimes… Hey, what’s your favorite body part on her?” the man taunted, trying his damndest to get Saint to do something, anything.
“Let me guess, her lips right?! Her lips are un-fucking-believable… Big ass, Angela Jolie suckers! I used to have some photos of them matter of fact…wrapped around my dick!”
He paused, waiting for a response from Saint, a rise. He received nothing, only Saint standing there with a slight smile and his hands clasped. He let Sinclair continue, uninterrupted.
“Xenia got a mothafucka with some cash. That’s the one thing she did right, that I can understand. And knowing you, you’ll get back on the top of your game,” he observed with reluctant admiration. “But…I believe in the Bible. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, Dr. Aknaten. You had some goons come after me, I had some goons come after you…You had me go to prison…you will be going to prison as well. You fucked up my reputation, yours is now shit on, too. You see?” Sinclair glared at him like a mad man. “It’s perfect, we’re even now.”
“You said you were going to call this off if I gave you the money.”
“Yeah, I said a lot of things and usually, I am a man of my word, but fuck you, mothafucka,” he said coolly as he flashed the gun, taking it into his hand. “I’m not going to shoot you, because I want your pretty ass to go to prison and get that ass fucked over and over. I want you to have to wash a mothafucka’s clothes. I want you to have to eat shit that tastes like somebody’s damn armpit after they’ve ran a race. I want you to be afraid you’re going to get shanked over some damn cornbread or shoes. I want you to feel what it feels like to be locked up in a cage with a lunatic and pray you don’t lose your damned mind, too. I’m getting out of town tonight, starting a new life. The life I would’ve had, had you not come and got pussy whipped, and fucked up the entire rotation. No man, this ain’t over. All this money did,”— Sinclair shook the envelope at him—“was ensure that I don’t come to you for seconds. Now that, you have my word on. I ain’t callin’ off a damn thang. No hard feelings…” Sinclair grinned.
“And take those damned sunglasses off. I want to look in your eyes before I walk away, and leave you standing here, looking stupid!”
Saint grinned back and cocked his head to the right.
“What are you, Stevie Wonder? It’s fucking two in the morning! Take those glasses off and stop bobbing your head around back and forth like there is a damn ribbon in the sky for our love!”
“As you wish then.” Laughing loud and louder, Saint gripped the side of the black glasses and snatched them off. The dog jeered and barked loudly, then cowered and whimpered.
Sinclair looked at him in disbelief, then stepped back, gripping his gun, shaking in his spot.
“What the…! What the fuck is going on with you, man? I will blow your damn ass away if you come one step closer to me.” He nervously fumbled with the envelope, shoving it into his jacket pocket.
Suddenly thick roped chains and glimmering shackles dropped from the ceiling, clanking together and swinging like a little girl’s braids. Music began to blare from four speakers hidden behind a stack of old worn drapes…
Stevie Wonder, coincidentally, chimed in with the classic hit, ‘Superstition’, in loud, base-filled stereo. Dust, as if a storm was moving throughout the place, ushered in internal trade winds. Soon, the music transitioned to a different song as if an invisible DJ were spinning records.
Gucci Man rapped, “Lemonade.” The bass was so loud, the windows in the warehouse vibrated and rocked.
Sinclair’s head darted around in all directions as sounds boomed from every corner, his hand wielding a death grip on the damn gun. He pulled it out and aimed it at Saint. Saint began to dance and laugh, clapping his hands to the beat as Sinclair screamed out. “Shut the fuck—”
But a pair of strong arms reached out and grabbed the bastard before he had time to finish his tirade and properly shoot. Jagger emerged from the darkness, snatched him from behind and bent his arm so hard, the gun fell to the ground in a loud clank. Lawrence came out of a cloud of smoke, a sinister smile on his face, his long black hair blowing gently behind him like a damn cape. He gripped the fallen weapon and disappeared back into the white haze so fast, moving in reverse, like someone had a remote control pointed at him, controlling his movements—as if the man was never there. Meanwhile, Saint got carried away by the music…
“Coward ass… yellow stripe, you a yellow back AK hit your dog and you can't bring Old Yeller back…You know you a scary cat!” Saint rhymed the lyrics, his laughter now echoing throughout the warehouse while Sinclair kicked and screamed as if he were being stabbed to death. No. Stabbing would be far more pleasant than what Saint had in mind…
Jagger slowly dragged Sinclair away, kicking and screaming. The man’s struggles made Saint feel warm and fuzzy inside. Jagger kept going until the smoke covered them up, ate the scene in one gulp. Saint turned toward the dog. He slowly approached the poor, shaking beast, broke the thin chain restraint with his bare hands and commanded him to leave the warehouse. The dog scampered away until he was seen no more. Saint looked at the opened door and jammed it closed with his mind then finished his dance to the song, slowing his fancy footwork. Opening his mouth, he expelled a thick red cloud that matched the color of his pupils…
“Hey Sinclair?! You know how you liked seeing my wife’s lips around your dick? Well, it’s your turn to get down ’nd dirty. I guess you didn’t get enough of that in prison, huh? Get ready to suck your own gun, and shit, mine too! Yeah, mothafucka…suck on that shit for a while, mothafucka. We about to party tonight! You have my word on that, Mr. Grayson, and unlike you, I plan to keep it…”
~***~
Xenia tossed and turned. Saint said he would be gone all evening, that he had an emergency meeting but she knew deep down what the deal was. Saint was out handling someone. She could feel it; she felt the man’s heart beating out of his chest as she gripped her breast, her ribs throbbed and ached and a thin layer of perspiration coated her skin. He didn’t give any explanations, just left it at that as he looked into her eyes and kissed her lips before slipping out the door. The last few weeks had been extremely stressful, but she refused to buckle to the pressure. She wouldn’t let Saint see her cry, wondering if her man would be taken away from her, thrown in prison with the key tossed away like a mere afterthought. He was quite diligent in getting his affairs in order, and she was right there, listening, reassuring him, and telling him morning, noon and night that he wasn’t going any damn where. She needed to say it more, to convince her own self, rather than him. Regardless of the outcome, she was going to be there for him until the end. She hoped and prayed that he was correct. He told her he had a plan that may stop all of this nonsense once and for all, but if it didn’t work, she’d prepared herself for that outcome as well. She was his wife, his woman, his best friend and not even prison would keep her love away from him.
She pushed the thoughts aside, slid her nightstand drawer open and scowled at her father’s photo. Her eyes watered with hot tears, cascading down her face. She quickly wiped them away and shoved the damned thing back in the drawer. She hadn’t heard from the man since she’d given him the check, but she knew he’d be back. She still hadn’t told Saint or anyone else a damned thing. She needed to get this taken care of, once and for all. In her mind, she plotted and schemed, nursed a desire for revenge, but just the thought of it never gave her the satisfaction she sought.
&n
bsp; No, this couldn’t only reside in her mind. She had to move forward, to make him understand that she wasn’t the same little girl he’d left behind. She was a grown woman; full of ideas, and living an oddly fantastic life with a beautiful man who was stark raving mad, but she loved him all the same. She was now a mother of three wonderful blessings, and her boys had been growing attached to the tyrant. It broke her heart that she’d been duped, even though a small part of her always believed he couldn’t be trusted. She surprised herself at the realization, that she wasn’t as shocked as she’d thought she’d be upon discovering he was up to his same old tricks. A part of her actually felt relieved that she hadn’t wasted valuable years chasing him like Porsche did, and that she had been right to ignore his calls over time. It hurt, but she’d survive. She was no longer Daddy’s baby girl. Another tear fell down her cheek, and she swiped it away with the back of her hand.
She had no daddy, no father no papa…but she had her self respect and she had her true family—and that was what would see her through…
~***~
Lawrence brought in three folding chairs and Saint sat in one under a bright white light. His cigar smoke perfumed the dank air as he leaned back and blew out small, tight, perfect rings. The chains clanked back and forth, as though the ghost of Jacob Marley hovered high up in the sky, about to visit Scrooge. Matter of fact, there was a ghost high up in the sky—Sinclair by his arms, his exhaustion already setting in as he swung around helplessly.
“How you doin’ up there?” Saint laughed as he looked back up at the guy, who had been stripped down to his black silk boxers with ‘Little Devil’ along the waistband in small print.
“You know, Sinclair, some people have business sense, and some people have common sense. Few have strong suits in both. Let’s take you, for instance.” Saint crossed his ankles as he peered up at him. “You can lay a track and make it fit for God. I gotta hand it to you, I’ve heard some of your genius, and damn, you really do have talent. You see, I’m a music lover and I know good music when I hear it. Some songs have great lyrics but terrible beats. Most songs have mediocre beats and mediocre lyrics. But the songs you touched had great beats and you were right. Even if the rapper didn’t hold his or her own, you made them sound like magic. That’s talent. You persuaded an ear to believe the song was awesome, when only half of the delivery was. But…none of that matters anymore.” Saint shrugged. “Thanks for sharing with me your thoughts a few moments ago. Now, it’s my turn. First of all, Carlton.” Saint laughed as if he were high. “Yeah, yo’ name Carlton tonight…anyway…” He tapped ashes from his cigar onto the ground.
“I didn’t call anyone on your ass. Let’s get that straight. I don’t know how they tracked you down, and I don’t give a fuck. It happened, you made that shit happen by fucking with the wrong people and biting the hand that fed you. At no point did you take accountability for anything you’d done. Now, enough of that. You have disrespected the game, man.
“You trusted a woman like Payton!” Saint closed his eyes and sighed. “Payton, the woman you called and blackmailed. Payton, the woman who, you knew from the police report, was a scandalous, vengeful bitch who sold her soul eons ago. You two make a perfect match actually, because neither of you care about anyone but your goddamn selves! Wait…” Saint shook his head. “I take that back. You’re not on Payton’s level. You see,” Saint said, leaning forward. “Payton is crazy. But… she’s also brilliant.” Saint tapped his temple with his index finger, the cigar wedged between it and his middle finger. “She had a rough life, but she is a survivor. She is cunning. You seem to gravitate toward women that have backgrounds like that, even to extort them. It says a lot about your character.” His eyes narrowed to slits as he took another puff of his cigar and looked up at Sinclair. The man continued to moan and sway in the air.
“She will always land on her feet because she will do whatever she needs to do to make it through any situation life throws at her. That’s what I used to admire about her—her resiliency. You got a cobra out of its cage, shoved it in your pocket and expected it not to bite you! Just wow, man.” Saint smirked and shook his head in disbelief.
“I knew you couldn’t have pulled this shit off by yourself, man.” Saint took another leisure puff of his cigar. “It was just too seamless and the shit was back to back, like heavyweight body shots! I only know one person who knows how to fuck someone up to that level, and yeah, that would be Payton but I give you props, because it was in fact your brain child, so you’re not exactly an infant as it pertains to scheming.”
The chains rattled as Sinclair tried to move about, over thirty feet in the air. He’d drop to his death if Saint had it his way but in the way of Lawrence…patience, grasshopper. Jagger stood off to the side, his arms crossed over his massive chest, his facial expression placid and bland. Lawrence sat in a chair in the near distance, leaning forward, his eyebrow arched as if studying for a midterm.
“You’ve brought us to this moment in time. I gave you so many chances, man. So fucking many.” Saint shook his head in disbelief and slapped his knee. “I was going to bide my time, and pay you back for all of this aggravation in due time, but after you sent that silly, half witted twit to slice Xenia’s brakes, well Sinclair, I knew your ass had to go…” Saint leaned back in his seat and watched Sinclair dangle for a while, enjoying the show. He decided he wanted to entertain himself a bit more so he stood before the man and as he trembled. With one hand, he held tight to his cigar; with the other, he made the dust swirl around him and shot his palm in the direction of Sinclair, causing the dust to latch hold to more dirt and debris and fly up into Sinclair’s face, spelling out the word…D.E.A.D.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Sinclair screamed and writhed about after seeing it, the debris clumped together, moving about in front of his sweaty face, his eyes bulged and voice cracking. The word fragmented and slowly drifted away, but it had been read loud and clear. Saint laughed so hard, he held his stomach, took a puff of his cigar and bent over at the waist in hysterics before making it back to his seat.
“You uh pussy, man.” Saint crossed his ankles. “Now, back to what I was saying…. You said you didn’t want Xenia hurt, oh yes you did. Your pride got fucked over. You see, there are three things you don’t fuck with when it pertains to a man. You don’t fuck with his money, that’s number one.” Saint counted off his fingers while the cigar dangled out his mouth. “You don’t fuck with his woman; whether he loves her or not is beside the goddamn point.” He took another puff of his cigar then placed it beside him...let it float in the air while he continued his discussion. “We feel like we own the pussy of our mate, you know this, it’s the code. And lastly, his pride. For you, in your perception, I’d done all three to you. For me, there was no coming back from that. I get it, man. Now, you see though, you can’t come at a cat like me and get away with some shit like this. You thought I was crazy the first time you met me, but you forgot about that or no longer cared.
Saint folded his hands into his chest as he made his point. “You see, crazy mothafuckas don’t care about consequences, Sinclair. You should’ve listened to Payton when she told you to stay away from me the first damn time. Payton ain’t scared of shit, and the fact that she’s scared of me, well, you should’ve heeded that. Even just meeting a woman like her, over the phone or not, you can tell she’s the type of woman that if the boogie man came after her ass, she’d make that motherfucka bow down.
“You didn’t pimp her, she pimped you. Just like you, Payton is all about getting over and saving her own ass, for her own interests. Let me let you in on something. Payton was my patient.” He grinned. “Yeah, she came to me wanting to sort out some shit, but she really didn’t, actually. You know what really happened? What really happened was she was in a relationship with a man who told her she needed some help. He didn’t like how she acted in bed. She was too fucking aggressive.” Saint laughed. “Like a damn animal, right. So, she wanted to find out why.
She came to me. She was honestly interested in what I had to say, so we had good sessions but she found herself no longer giving a fuck about her relationship, and instead, wanted to fuck her doctor. Me, being the horny, no good mothafucka that I was at the time, didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. She’s beautiful, right? You’ve seen her. Not in person, but oh yes, you’ve seen her. So, that’s just one tiny example Sinclair, of the type of woman she is, okay? You think women are just people you can use and abuse, get some shit out of. Well, you fucked with the wrong one this time, playa. Okay, moving along.” Saint stood slowly from his seat and smiled up at Sinclair. The man looked like an odd bird flying high above with silver twisted wings. He reached for the one of the chains and yanked it with brute force, causing a gut-wrenching scream from Sinclair as it tightened around his wrists, tearing at his skin. Blood droplets fell to the concrete floor, mixing with the layer of light brown dust and grime. It was raining crimson, raining deceit and torture.
“Please!” he blubbered. Saint could just make it out, coming from behind the rag stuffed in his mouth.
“Please what?” Saint smirked up at him, toying with the chain, pushing it with his fingertips, making it swing back and forth. “You weren’t begging when you were standing here in my face telling me eye for an eye, now were you, Mr. Underrated? You weren’t pleading your case with me when you told me you used to have photos of my wife’s mouth on your cock, now were you, Mr. Grayson? I don’t recall one…damn…plea for leniency.”
“I worked too damn hard to get where I am, to have the family I have, the company I have and the company I keep! My life has been an uphill battle and I’ll be damned if I were to let someone as fucking frail minded as you come and wreck shop! You aren’t worthy to take someone like me down!” Saint jumped back when urine began to rain down.
Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father Page 77
