Manik

by Amo Jones

  Her body is still jolting from the aftershocks, but her swollen lips open and wrap around it and she sucks herself off.

  Ah, how ironic…

  “X”—2Chains

  We reach the bottom of the stairs again after whatever just happened upstairs, and Aeron turns me around, so my back is pressing against his chest—which is still bare. He does something to the cuffs behind my back and then suddenly the tight clamps are free—thank god, because it was feeling uncomfortable.

  I bring my hands to the front, turning around to face him again while stretching my wrists out.

  “Sleep.”

  My eyebrows pull together. “What? Is that all?”

  He chuckles. “What the fuck you want from me, Beat? A fucking declaration of love just because I had my mouth on your pussy? Get the fuck downstairs.”

  I didn’t expect anything, but it felt like I had no impact on him. He blew my mind with oral sex, and I barely touched him. Literally.

  He wouldn’t even let me reciprocate, or even have sex. He didn’t have sex with me. I don’t know whether I should be honored or insulted. I choose neither and decide to ignore the elephant in the room.

  He opens his mouth, but shakes his head and retreats backward. “Go to bed, Beatrice.”

  I stay put, watching him leave and shut the door behind himself.

  Hopefully, I can go home soon.

  Shutting the basement door, I pull my phone out of my front pocket, hitting dial on my dad’s number.

  It rings twice before he answers. “Syn, everything okay, boy?”

  Time to test the waters and kick it up a notch.

  “Yeah, everything is fine. Listen, you know I love playing these tricks when needed, but I ain’t with it with this chick. She won’t breathe a word about what she saw—I’ll put my own ass on it.”

  Silence.

  “Dad?”

  “She’s a liability, Syn. You may be comfortable offering your ass up as her protection—but I’m not. Wait until I see you. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Is that Daddy?” Katiya says from behind me and I quickly spin around, nodding.

  “I don’t think I’m putting my ass on the line because I don’t think she’s a liability.”

  More silence.

  “Syn…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Has something happened?”

  “What?” I recoil. “No, no.”

  Fuck, I probably answered too fast.

  “You answered too fast. Listen to my next words very carefully, Syn. You are not to go near that girl again. Lisus.”

  Before I can ask why the sudden urgency for me not to go near her, and ignoring Katiya glaring at me, Dad continues. He exhales. “Let her go.”

  “What?” I snap, shocked that he agreed. What the fuck is he playing at… I feel like I’m in the middle of The Matrix.

  “The risk is too great with her there if you’re feeling something for her, but, Syn, have eyes on her—or I will, you understand what I’m saying? I want you to watch her closely with every step and wait for my next command. She may be out of that house, but she’s not out of our possession.”

  This is next level. I thought I had this, but like always, he does something fucked and gives me an order that’s way out of left field.

  Distraction.

  “I’ve just started working on this album. I need to be focused and not run bitch on a bitch.”

  “Syn, this is an order.”

  “Why do I get the feeling this is deeper than what it is?” Give it up.

  He hangs up.

  I flip off my phone, just as Katiya leans forward and snatches something from my back pocket.

  She grins, shaking her head and twirling Beat’s panties around her finger. “These are new, so don’t worry, they’re not mine.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fuck off, Katiya. I’m not in the mood.” I push off the wall and make my way down the long hallway, toward my bedroom door.

  “Ae?”

  I pull the door open, looking at her over my shoulder. “What?”

  “Are you guys letting her go?”

  “Yes.”

  For now.

  I haven’t seen Aeron for two days, but the night after our…whatever you call it… I got more sleep than I have the whole time I’ve been here. I could give credit to the orgasm, but I’m not sure whether that would be true.

  I miss dancing. I miss the old studio I found when I got to New Orleans. I miss the dusted mirrors and the old boom speaker that would play any song and I’d just roll with it. I miss Kyle and his obsession with fried ice cream—and the shitty way he makes a grilled cheese. I miss my crappy and severely underpaid job, and I miss the simplicity of life, like inhaling the fresh early-morning air when I’d take a run because it’s that glorious moment right before the world wakes up and pollutes the oxygen with their anxiety and problems.

  He said that he’d let me go, but he had also threatened my life, his sister had also blatantly said something similar, so why the shift. Maybe it was just all in my head.

  The door opens and footsteps start down until I see Aeron land on the bottom step wearing light jeans that have tears and holes in various places as well as something scribbled with a black felt-tip pen on the side, it takes me a couple seconds to realize that scribble says Calvin Klein, because of course they do. He’s also wearing a dark blue hoodie.

  “Hi,” I whisper hoarsely and then clear my throat.

  He strides closer to me, his hands pressing into his pockets. His head tilts and I try to force my attention away from him because the intensity of being in the mere proximity of Aeron is too much, let alone being pinned down by him with his glare. “I’m going to say these next words, and you’re going to understand them and not cause me any fucking issues.”

  I agree with a nod.

  He continues. “I’m going to take you home. I’m going to have eyes on you until I am certain you won’t rat. I’m going to be watching you very fucking closely, Beatrice, so you even so much as breathe in any direction that I don’t like, and I’m hauling your ass back here and tying you back up to that bed—understood?”

  My knees are shaking and inside my head has erupted with one hundred thousand fireworks labeled with the words ‘relief,’ but I nod my head, trying to keep my cool. “Understood. Completely.”

  He steps forward and smirks. “I might even leave Katiya with you.”

  I shrug. “That’s fine.” I actually like Katiya so this wouldn’t be a huge discomfort for me.

  He nudges his head toward the stairs. “Go.”

  My feet are moving, but my heart is pounding at one hundred miles an hour.

  I’m leaving.

  I’m going home to see Kyle, back to my shitty job—if I still have one—and back to my life. Well, sort of. With the addition of having Aeron burned in the back of my head. I start walking up the steps slowly but pause when I feel like he’s not following.

  Turning around, I cross my arms in front of myself when I catch him staring pointedly at my ass. “Aeron…” I warn.

  His eyes snap up to mine. Even in the few minutes that he has been here, I can feel the different shift in him. It’s not an obvious one, but at least he’s not looking at me like I’m Hitler all of the time. It’s now moved to just most of the time.

  “What?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything.

  His jaw clenches a few times, and then his eyes slant. Looking into his eyes is like looking into the center of a storm, one that will suck you in and spit you out. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t have to,” I murmur, turning back to walk up the stairs.

  “Beatrice!” he orders, and my feet stop instantly from his tone.

  I turn to face him, and this time he doesn’t seem to be battling with anything. It’s as though he has made his decision. “Run, and I’ll catch you. I may enjoy the feast, but I fucking love the hunt more.”

  I turn back around and carry on until he
passes me at the top of the stairs.

  He continues to lead me through the house, bypassing all of the doors that lead off. We go into the main foyer where twin stairs elegantly lead up to what I’m guessing is more bedrooms. A chandelier teases its position over me with little black diamonds that are pointing toward the glossy deep purple and cream marble floors. The walls are all black with random artwork scattered throughout. While heading to the front door, my eyes catch the art, and there’s an interesting mix of them. Some are portraits of Tupac and Biggie, and some I recognize as the rebellious art of Banksy.

  “Getting a good look?” Aeron asks, opening the heavy wooden front door.

  I smile, passing him through the entrance. “I was admiring your artwork.”

  “Biggie and Tupac?”

  I shake my head. “No, Banksy.”

  He shuts the door and my eyes burn from the sudden sunlight. I feel like I haven’t seen the sun in decades, but that’s short-lived when I see the matte black Lamborghini parked at the front. Black wheels, black windows—it’s everything that I would expect someone like Manik to drive.

  He unlocks it and I slip inside, feeling every bit out of place sitting on the Italian leather seats that are way more comfortable than what they look.

  Manik gets into the driver’s seat and roars the car to life.

  I reach aimlessly for the seatbelt and clip it in. “Um, I’ll show you where I live.”

  He chuckles, and I shoot back in my seat as he floors it out of the U-shaped entry to his mansion. “It’s cute that you think I don’t know where you live, Cub.”

  I turn slightly out toward the window to watch his house disappear. It’s the first time I get a look at it, and my mouth almost drops to the ground. It’s a four-pillar home, looking completely traditional, but instead of it being painted in white, it’s pure black.

  As we pull down my street on the other side of New Orleans, Aeron breaks the silence. “You’re going to tell your roommate that you were with me.”

  “Okay,” I answer, my heart thundering in my chest. I’m almost home. Almost home.

  So why is there a slight nudge in my chest that has me trying to grasp at thin air. An empty pit of longing has started to throb deep inside of my stomach.

  He pulls up to the front of my little loft style apartment. “You’re going to tell him that we had a fling.”

  I look directly at Aeron now. “Well, I guess that wouldn’t be completely unbelievable, oh yeah, except that I lost my phone…”

  He reaches forward and unlocks the glove compartment, pulling out a brand-new iPhone. He hands it to me. “Here. I’ve already had your old number transferred over to this sim card. Katiya will be here later tonight, and Beatrice?” he says, just as I grab the door handle to exit and run to my front door. “Look at me.”

  I exhale, turning to face him again.

  He searches my face. “Don’t let my sister fuck you.”

  “What?” I laugh. “Aeron, I’m not bi-sexual. I’m completely straight, and anyway, even if I was, what would it really be to you?”

  He grins, leaning backward onto the door and slightly turning to face me. He runs his index finger over his upper lip teasingly. I feel like I’m a puppet for his amusement. “New rule.”

  “Nope, you said that there were only two rules.” I throw up deuces. “You can’t go adding on extra ones when you feel like it.” I’m obviously getting bold with my home in the background, like a safety net that will catch me if I fall.

  His eyebrows raise in challenge. “What I say goes, Cub, actually, I’m going to expand on this rule. Don’t let anyone fuck you—period. You wanna get fucked? You call me. No one else.”

  I freeze all movement. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was trying to… no. Can’t be. “Manik—”

  “—And call me Aeron, my cock prefers it.”

  I squeeze the door handle in an attempt to calm down. I’m going to need a long dance session after this week. “How is that rule relevant to me snitching?”

  He chuckles, reaching forward until his hand clamps over mine on the door handle. He flicks it and the door raises. “Nothing has anything to do with you snitching.”

  I climb out of the car as the door closes again, and before I can say anything else, he speeds off and I’m left standing there, wondering how the hell all of the last week happened, and what the shit did he mean by that last sentence of nothing being anything to do with me snitching.

  I’m about to bounce toward the door, deciding to leave it all alone for now when it swings open and Kyle is standing there wearing loose basketball shorts, no shirt, and about a week’s worth of beard on his face. He scans me up and down and then runs down the steps and yanks me into a hug.

  “Kyle?”

  “Where the fuck have you been, Beat? I called the police and reported you as a missing person and everything!”

  He’s still squeezing me, and the smell doesn’t go unnoticed. “You smell. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine!” He pulls back, his hands squeezing my arms as he scans my face. “You have a swollen nose and a cut on your hand.”

  “And one on my gut, listen, I’m okay. I had an… interesting week.”

  I walk up the stairs, climbing them two at a time while needing some space to think of what I’m telling Kyle. I need to be believable or he will call me on my bullshit.

  After he follows me inside, he kicks the door closed and I inhale softly, relishing in the smell of being home. Safe. At least for now.

  “So? So, fill me the fuck in!” Kyle yells, his hands going up over his head. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week and, also, the smell issue is a real thing. Has he showered?

  “I’m sorry, Kyle, I—” God I’m about to look like such a piece of shit right now. “—I was with Manik…”

  His body stills, his mouth opening and closing. “What?” Then he looks me up and down again and narrows his eyes. “Where are your clothes?”

  “Oh, um, I didn’t have any and I didn’t want to come home to grab some, so his sister let me borrow hers.”

  He raises his eyebrows again. “His sister, as in the little socialite that runs boss-bitch everywhere and anywhere she can?”

  “Katiya, yeah, though I don’t know if she runs boss-bitch everywhere. Also, she’s coming to stay with us tonight and will be here for a little bit. I’m so sorry that—”

  “—Nope. No! Fuck off. I just got you back, I’m not sharing you with anyone.”

  I step forward, my hand coming to his cheek as I run my palm over his beard. “I’m okay, Kyle. I’m so sorry for everything. I lost my phone and I don’t know your number by heart—” I flash my new phone. “So, I didn’t have the means to text you.”

  “How’d you afford that? You finally dip into the trust?”

  “No. Aeron got it for me because it was his fault I lost it in the first place.”

  Leaning up on my tippy toes when I can see he’s going to continue with his interrogation, I try for distraction and wrap my arms around his neck before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I’m sorry, Kyle, but I’m okay—I promise.”

  He searches my eyes, and I see the moment his shoulders slump. “Ok, but don’t ever pull that shit again, Beat, I’m fucking serious.” I let him go, itching to go to my room.

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  He relaxes and runs his hand over his face. “Better shave this and call the po-po. This whole thing has been a cock-block for me.”

  I laugh, for the first time in a week my chest warms with love. “Sorry for that too.”

  He rolls his eyes and walks past me, going straight for the bathroom which is downstairs. Our living areas are all downstairs, but our two small bedrooms are upstairs. It actually used to be one large bedroom, but a couple years ago Kyle built a wall to cut it in half. So yup, you guessed it, I’ve seen and heard a lot of Kyle’s… long nights. He’s calmed down a lot lately, and usually goes back to their place but there is
still the occasional night that he will bring one home. Or two. There’d been three once too. And from downstairs, you can see everything that happens up there, you just can’t see it from the inside of our bedrooms, and you can only get to my bedroom through his bedroom. It’s probably why Kyle and I are so undeniably close, and probably why I’ve already decided that I won’t be leaving New Orleans any time soon. I would say never, but the commitment attached to the words “never” and “ever” give me hives.

  He opens the bathroom door again, popping his head out until steam drifts out from behind him. I giggle.

  “Also,” he adds, narrowing his eyes at me. “She’s sleeping in your room.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine!” He shuts the door, but then it opens again, and his head comes back out.

  “Question…”

  “Nope!” I ignore him, stomping up the stairs toward my room, leaving his laughter crackling behind me.

  I sink onto my bed and exhale. I can’t believe I’m home. Back in my room.

  I look around and see everything is completely untouched. My drawers are still cracked open a little, the evidence of me being in a rush to work that afternoon. My bed is still unmade and everything in this room smells like me, but I don’t smell like me.

  I smell like rich Italian leather, rose petal soap, and a hint of Aeron’s cologne. It smells impeccable. So unique and different.

  That throbbing in my stomach begins again and I roll off the bed, making my way to my dresser to take some clothes out.

  “Aw, boo, that’s the look of sadness in those eyes,” Kyle says from behind me. I look over my shoulder slightly and see him leaning on the door frame, a towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping down his body. “I’m jealous.”

  I snort, pulling out panties—because I have none on—and some yoga pants with a loose white t-shirt. I will never leave my yoga pants again.

  “That was an awfully short shower, Norris, why the rush?” I quirk my eyebrow, shutting the drawer with my hip. My nickname for Kyle is Norris, as in Chuck Norris, because the first time I met him, he told me he was Chuck Norris’ nephew. What’s more stupid is I believed him.