The Damned

by L. A. Banks

  They had more important things to deal with than this! Why couldn’t she give up a lock!

  Marlene had maturity; that had to be it. While on the other hand, his woman seemed to have no memory of even the recent past, and Damali could only focus on ridiculous shit. Yeah, he’d gone out drinking. So! Yeah, he sorta missed the old life. And? He wasn’t no choirboy when she’d met him, and she needed to get over it. Fact was, all of them had to be flexible and change, like Rider said. But change was a two-way street. So, what did she want from him?

  Carlos stood in the driveway looking at the family house. He didn’t want to go in, but where else was there to go? If he took his Jeep and began driving into town, that joint practically rolled the pavement up near midnight. If he drove farther into the tourist areas, the whole American-family-on-vacation groove would truly work his nerves, especially knowing half the tourists were probably already contagious. But it was time to get his hat and be out for a coupla hours.

  Adjusting his duffel bag on his shoulder, he walked toward his Jeep. The plan was simple: drive till he ran out of gas, refill at a truck stop, and push forward to L.A. Talk to Yonnie; figure out something to stem this tide of demon food fleeing over the portal walls. Get a hotel room, get on the mental phone, tap Gabrielle’s head, and start looking for solid leads from his old world, as well as get some permanent real estate to set up a new base of personal operations.

  Within twenty-four hours, he’d wire transfer some money and throw down his American Express card and get some real custom-tailored rags from Rodeo Drive so he could operate, since time was of the essence. Next stop from there, go visit the Lamborghini dealer, and find his boys from the old neighborhood to custom-kit that bitch out—transportation was a must. Build an arsenal in the new joint, and order some electronics, an HD-TV; stock his bar; call his boy, Yonnie; order furniture to his liking; maybe even pick up a rottweiler puppy. Whatever. All of this could be accomplished in one night and one day, and he’d be good to go.

  Then, he’d contact so-called home and let the squad know where to reach him if things got hectic. They could inform Damali, if they had a mind to. Fuck it. He would do this Neteru thing his way.

  She watched him from the shadows, deciding how to approach him. Summoning up her nerve, Juanita sipped in a shaky breath and willed her legs to walk forward. There had never been a time since the church in Philly when she’d had the opportunity to be alone with him and away from anyone else so they could just talk. It was now or never. The memories simply wouldn’t fade. He was still her papi … even while loving Jose, and her papi was still just as fine as ever and getting dogged by a woman who clearly didn’t know what she had. Damali was crazy; but she wasn’t. If girlfriend wasn’t treating Carlos right, she would.

  The look on his face drew her from beyond the shadows. For a moment, all she could do was stare at him, remembering what his hands felt like, the sound of his deep whispers in her ear, the way his full mouth tasted … those intense brown eyes with black lashes that lowered slowly when he laughed, or wanted to make love. She let her gaze pore over his face in memory before fully stepping into view, taking in every inch of his bronze skin, down his throat to his hard chest and fantastic six-pack that was visible even under his shirt. She’d always loved the slight cleft in his chin and the way he walked, almost more of a lope than taking steps … had always loved him from the start … woulda given her life, cared for his momma, woulda had his babies, whatever he’d wanted, if he’d never let her go. And if he ever breathed her name like he had before … ’Nita … consequences be damned, she’d go to him whether he had fangs or not.

  A curvaceous female form stepped out from behind the house and approached him slowly, making him jerk his attention toward her. Oh, man, just the person he didn’t want to see.

  “Hey, Carlos,” Juanita said shyly, half waving and coming nearer.

  “Hey, ’Nita,” he grumbled and hoisted his bag into his Jeep.

  “I was just taking out the trash and heard someone in the front yard.” She looked up at him, coming closer than he wanted. “Guess I’m still a little jumpy when I hear stuff, you know? I’m pretty freaked out, but I’m trying not to panic. I know you got this covered, right? It’s gonna be okay, right, Carlos? You could always make things work out. I have to keep believing that.”

  He nodded. “You’ll get used to being freaked out and then just dealing. But, yeah, baby, I got dis. Don’t worry.” He tempered his next response, fighting with the urge to argue with anyone in earshot, because in truth, Juanita didn’t have anything to do with his foul mood. “Look,” he said more gently, “none of this is normal. You’ve been through a lot, and having your senses on point ain’t a bad thing—that is the only thing about all of this that’s normal. So keep being jumpy, right through here.”

  She nodded and leaned against his Jeep. Her sad smile and big brown eyes made him remember just how pretty she was and how gentle her heart could be. Guilt stabbed him as he stared at her. It was obvious that they both quietly remembered what they’d shared, but were unwilling to speak on it. It was better that way.

  “You going over to D’s after you get some more clothes?” she asked softly.

  “No,” he said, not wanting to discuss Damali with anyone. “I need a break. Might drive up to L.A. for a few days. I’ve got some contacts up there. Sitting on some Indian reservation worrying ourselves to death ain’t accomplishing shit.”

  She looked at him, her eyes containing a request to possibly come along, but her smile seemed to hold the question in check. “Oh,” she murmured. “Under different circumstances, I’d ask you if you wanted somebody to ride shotgun.”

  He smiled. “Under different circumstances, I’d ask you to go with me.”

  They both glanced back at the house.

  “Thanks, again.” He hesitated. “No. Let me say this right,” he murmured, gathering her hands within his and staring into her eyes. “Thank you, Juanita, for always having my back, for stepping in to guard my mother and grandmother … even when you didn’t know that’s what you were doing. I don’t know what to say, but I really appreciated that. You were always there … no matter what I was doing, what crazy life I was leading, you know?”

  “I loved you,” she said in a patient tone just above a whisper. “Would have gone to Hell and back for you, too, baby.”

  He dropped her hands slowly before he forgot the present. “You did, time and time again—especially when I was building my street business. But you weren’t supposed to be in that, you deserved better. I ain’t gonna let nothing happen to you here, either.”

  “Is that why you left me, Carlos?” she asked, stepping closer and looking up at him. “I need to know that, now more than ever before.”

  He nodded and looked away toward the house, unable to continue to stare into her deep, brown eyes. “That is the only reason we broke up when we did.” He returned his gaze to her and something within him, reflex memory, made him trace her cheek. “You deserved better than I could give you, then. I had all the money in the world, but it was dirty money, drugs had funded what I owned, and the life was mad-crazy…. You wanted children, a clean life, stability. That was something I didn’t have to give.”

  “Then,” she said softly, covering his hand against her cheek and closing her eyes. “You didn’t have that to give me, then.”

  “Or now,” he said, gently slipping his hand from beneath hers to jam into his jeans pocket. “My brother, Jose, got that for you now. He’s a good man. Once we squash this current bullshit, you two have a life and a future.”

  “What’s so different about this life and the old one?” she whispered, looking up at him in the moonlight. “It was dangerous then. It’s dangerous now. There were predators then. There are predators now. We were worried about family then. We’re worried about family now. I don’t see the difference.”

  Carlos closed his eyes and let out a patient breath. Women had some tricked-up logic, and it was beginni
ng to twist his. Juanita was stirring him in ways that he shouldn’t remember … and the fact that she’d always accepted him—the good, the bad, and the ugly, and still had his back, was beginning to corrupt his judgment.

  “The difference,” he said, opening his eyes and staring at her hard, “is that this time, whatever dangers we all face, it’s for a worthy cause.” His comment sounded like something Shabazz would have said; in fact, he was sure the older brother had told him that, too. But it worked under pressure, and Juanita would have to accept what he’d just said. If he made the move that his body was suggesting, all hell would surely break loose in the house before dawn.

  “I suppose you’re right,” she finally said.

  Carlos almost let out his breath hard in relief. “You and Jose go way back, too. You met him first. You loved him hard. Remember that, ’Nita. Like I said, he’s a good man and deserves your all. Lord knows, I can’t give that to you the way he can.”

  She nodded and stepped back, a sad smile still resonant on her face in the darkness. “He and I were together when we were just kids.” She chuckled sadly and pushed her hair behind her ear. “We were running from demons, then. He brought me here, long after Rider had left … and we shared that wonderful summer. Then, the shaman said they needed to make us forget about the demons so we would have peace, but they made us forgot it all—because if we didn’t, I wouldn’t have met you, he wouldn’t have rejoined Rider to hook up with the team. It all came back slowly over time as we walked over our old haunts, like ghosts of the past. I guess I was just her placeholder.” Again, Juanita pushed the hair behind her ear that kept spilling forward.

  He watched the way she did that, remembering. Her hair was so soft, like dark, silken threads. Her gaze searched his face, and he could feel her absorbing every detail of his mouth before she swallowed hard.

  “You were never her placeholder,” Carlos said quietly. “You were …”

  “The one who was there when you needed a woman to love you more than her next breath. The one who was supposed to have your babies, if that’s what you wanted.—and you didn’t. Not from me. I was supposed to whisper in your ear in bed at night … reminding you to do the right thing without making you angry. I held her place, because she wasn’t supposed to do that for you, then. She had to remain a virgin. And not just sexually. You wanted her to stay pure and separate from that part of your life. But not me.”

  “Oh, baby … listen …” Carlos said softly as tears rose to her eyes. He wanted to hug her so badly that his arms ached. “Com’ere. It wasn’t like that.”

  “I’m infected,” she whispered, hugging herself. “Dirty.”

  “I’m immune,” he said quietly.

  Slowly Juanita filled his arms with quiet defeat.

  By instinct, he stroked her hair as she laid her head against his chest, and he could feel her holding back an intense sob as she breathed in stilted shudders.

  “I held her place in your family, Carlos. She was supposed to be rising in her career as a singer and out slaying demons. I wasn’t supposed to be anything special. But you needed someone there to look after your momma and grandmom so you could go out into the world and become all that you are now.”

  He nuzzled her hair, remembering how good it smelled, what it felt like on his face when it spilled forward to wash him in silk. The debt burden on his shoulders increased by another soul weight and made him kiss her temple. “You are special … your heart is one of a kind.” He let her go slowly because there was more than her soft sighs that he also had to remember. He watched her draw away slowly and lean against his Jeep again, hugging herself to replace the loss of their embrace.

  “Jose is a lucky man. Not many get to go back to a woman like you and pick up where he left off.” He raked his hair to give his hands something legitimate to do.

  “I know … but, after time and distance, and things happening … sometimes the heat can change.”

  Her statement was too profound, and his strange curiosity about the inner workings of the female mind drew him.

  “I hear you,” he said, “but, after y’all work through the changes, you can get that back, right?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, pure honesty threading through her voice as she hugged herself tighter. “Sometimes, it’s like we’d never been apart, and then there’s this wall of private experience that we’ve had in between, and we can’t share that with each other, so … it creates a … I don’t know what it creates, but something always gets lost in that in-between. Am I making sense?”

  She was making more sense than she could ever know. He nodded and sighed.

  “Then, I guess you have to work on creating something new.” He glanced back at the house and then at her. “If we hooked up again, we’d have that black box, too. Comprende?”

  Juanita looked at him, an old blaze smoldering and consuming her eyes deep within her irises. “Yeah. I know. But … I remember too much sometimes….” Her husky voice trailed off as she stood straighter and pushed off the Jeep. “What am I supposed to do with that?” Her gaze trapped his mouth, and then sought his eyes. “Or, let me ask you … What do you do with that?”

  Carlos swallowed hard and found the tree line. “I tuck it away in a black box in my head, ’cause I love my brother, and ain’t trying to hurt nobody ever again in life.” He folded his arms. Shit. He shoulda said because he loved Damali … why hadn’t that come out of his mouth, too?

  “You’re right. Guess I was just tripping down memory lane because my man came in this morning with the wall, and I knew where he’d been.”

  Now she had more than his full attention. His line of vision snapped away from the tree line and captured her eyes. “Talk to me, ’Nita. For real.”

  She shook her head. “It’s my trip, not yours. Go to L.A., be safe, and when you get settled, let everybody know you’re all right, cool?”

  She came in close to him and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, and then brushed it away with a featherlight touch of her fingertips. “I’m crazy, Carlos, to think I might be in love with two men at the same time. You’re right. He’s the one, now, I guess, and always has been. Forgive me for trippin’ out here tonight.”

  He could only stare at her. Women could do that? Be in love with two men at the same time … beyond sex, heart deep, like that? Part of him was oddly jealous. It was an ego blow to know that someone else had taken his place so thoroughly, so completely, to be equated with the singular love that she’d always had for him alone. Now, he had to share that—even though it was the right thing to do and made sense.

  He battled with his irrational feeling as he moved away from her. His emotions were all jumbled, but they were what they were. True, he’d wanted her to be happy with somebody new … but not totally to the point where it eclipsed him. The whole conflict was also doing weird things to his libido. Right now, looking at her, remembering, thinking too hard, he was almost ready to ask her to go with him to L.A.

  “Your eyes are glowing silver,” she finally said with a smirk when he’d offered no comment. “I suppose it’s time for me to go in the house.”

  “Yeah, baby. Go back in the house. I’ll watch you to be sure you get in safely.”

  She didn’t move for a moment. “Remember that night you called me out of the house and I came to you?”

  Again, he didn’t answer her, shame halting his words. How could he forget calling her past his mother and grandmother’s prayer barriers for what might have been his first real throat feeding? He didn’t want to ever have to remember that or ever think about that.

  “My soul knew what you were then, and it didn’t matter,” she said in a breathy whisper. “At that moment, I wanted you so badly that I would have been with you no matter what the final consequences.”

  She allowed her words to fall between them in an open offer. He knew what she was saying, just like she did. The ball was in his court.

  “Go in the house, Juanita,” he whispered, but not as fir
mly as he should have.

  “Your eyes haven’t glowed for anybody in a long time,” she said as she brushed past him, allowing the body contact to linger before they parted. “I’m flattered that I was the one who brought the silver back. I didn’t mind being her placeholder. Ever. Thank you for that.”

  “De nada,” he murmured, and watched her leisurely stroll down the path and up the steps, her round backside sashaying as she sauntered away.

  The screen door slammed behind Juanita and snapped him out of the trancelike sensation. Carlos opened his Jeep door with care and slid into the seat and started the engine. Instant images slammed into his brain in jagged still frames as he backed out of his space and pulled onto the road. A Navajo blanket covered his woman. Male hands ran down her arms and made her shiver. A mouth nearly caressed her throat. Her eyes closed. He could feel the desire thick and hot within her. She laughed from way down in her soul—someone had made her laugh and had filled her with sudden joy, even with everything going on. He could taste iced tea in his mouth. Her eyes opened wide with surprise and also disappointment. Her ache to be touched by this intruder was palpable. He could feel her body sway to the invitation. The male smelled like Ivory Soap.

  Carlos gripped the steering wheel. If he’d known all that, then fair exchange was no robbery—he should have told Juanita to get into his car. She had every right to be salty, if all that had gone down right under both of their noses. He’d been blind, but women always had superior second sight. He owed Juanita for that, now, too. Once again, girlfriend had had his back … like Damali should have, but didn’t.

  Yeah, he knew the blanket that rested on Damali’s bed; it was the blanket that had made him sick, it was so hot … the bed that she couldn’t get into with him … the blanket that she slept beneath each night … fibers that were alive with another male’s energy. Juanita didn’t have to say a word. He knew the Ivory Soap and the scent that went with it, and the brown eyes that drank Damali in. Juanita’s touch had transmitted that knowing to him … as did her sad agony for having to still compete—when Juanita shouldn’t have had to compete for anything or anyone at this point. Just like he shouldn’t, and Yonnie shouldn’t.