Luxe

by Ashley Antoinette

  She picked up her phone as her mind drifted to Noah. She just wanted to get out of there. She wanted to go back home where she belonged. Iman was her crutch in L.A. He was the only thing keeping her off the streets, and landing back in them would only sabotage her recovery. She needed to go back to Flint. She had clearly overstayed her welcome in L.A. Noah would come to her rescue. She was sure of it. All she had to do was ask.

  She put her pride to the side and dialed his number.

  “Hello?” he answered, voice groggy as she realized that he was asleep. She had forgotten the time difference between Michigan and California.

  “I’m sorry, Noah. I really need you right now. Can you come get me?” she asked as she began to cry softly.

  “Come get you? B, where are you?” he asked, suddenly alert. He had known her long enough to realize when she was really in distress. She had been on his mind ever since they last spoke. She hadn’t sounded like herself then and she didn’t sound like herself now. He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the Bleu he used to know. He could ask those questions later, however. He turned over to make sure that Naomi was still asleep and then hopped out of their king-size bed to make his way into the hallway.

  “I’m in L.A. at a friend’s house, but I just need you. I just want to come home,” she whispered truthfully. “Please just come. The address is Seven Five Eight One Lions Estate,” she whispered. “It’s in Calabasas.”

  “I can just send for you, B. I’ll buy a plane ticket in the morning,” he said.

  She closed her eyes, because he didn’t understand her plight. She was a recovering addict. If she left Iman’s on her own, she might never make it to the airport. The urges would flood her, and she would find herself back on skid row, searching for something to satisfy her cravings.

  “I need you to come get me, Noah. I promise I will explain later. Just please. I’ve gotten myself into some things I can’t handle. I need you.”

  Iman walked in and she ended the call abruptly. The sight of her crying tore him to pieces.

  “I’m leaving,” she said.

  Iman crossed the room and placed both hands on the sides of her face. He rested his forehead against hers and kissed her lips. “Don’t leave me, Bleu. I’m not whole without you, ma,” he answered.

  “You’re married,” she whispered. “You’re married. She shot at this house today, Iman. You’re hers.”

  “I’m yours,” he replied.

  “But you’re not,” she cried.

  “I’m leaving her, Bleu. I told her when you first got here that I wanted a divorce. My attorney delivered the papers to her today. That’s why she came here. I’ve still got some business to work out with her family, street shit, but that has nothing to do with her. I just want you. I would have said something sooner, but I was holding my cards, focusing on getting you healthy. You can’t leave me, Bleu. I’ve got everything—cars, money, power—but all this shit is shallow without you. It’s worthless,” he said. His words were melting her. Her heart urged her to do one thing, while her mind told her to answer the phone that was vibrating in her pocket. She knew it was Noah, but she ignored it because Iman was saying all the right things. She loved this man and yes, he was complicated and he came with baggage, but she was too. She was a recovering crack addict and yet he still loved her. Her baggage was a lot heavier than his. Who was she to walk out on him?

  She kissed him back passionately as she pulled at his clothes. They were in love, they were in lust, and nothing, not Tan, not Bleu’s fears, not her addiction, was going to keep her and Iman apart. He picked her up, carrying her up the stairs as they kissed, and then laid her gently on the bed. She felt different in his arms, less timid, as if many men on the streets had put her on her back. He closed his eyes to dismiss the thought from his head because he knew it would haunt him forever if he dwelled on it. He was just grateful for her presence, and as he slid into her love he knew he was never letting her go. He rocked. They rocked as their bodies moved to the beats of their hearts. Their lovemaking was epic. The hardness of him, inside of her, her wetness, it was the perfect combination, as if he were designed to fit inside of her. He was the key to her lock. He growled in her ear as he sped up, feeling his tensions rise and rise. She moaned, clawing his strong back until she reached bliss and he exploded inside of her.

  It was imperfect, but at the same time it was just right and neither of them wanted it to end.

  * * *

  “Are you sure I should be here for this? This is Tristan’s father you’re meeting with. Maybe I should—”

  “This is your home now,” Iman said. “You don’t have to go anywhere.”

  “Do you mind if I just skip dinner? I don’t really have it in me to sit in front of them. You’re divorcing her because of me. I don’t think it’ll be friendly if I’m there,” she said skeptically.

  “It’s just business, ma. You can play the back if you prefer. Sandoza might cut me off because of the shit between me and Tan, but I doubt it. Perhaps you should sit this one out,” he replied.

  The doorbell rang and Bleu nodded. “I’ll be upstairs.”

  She started up the stairs as Iman answered the door, but when she heard the voice of his guest she froze in fear.

  “You’re looking good, bro. Looks like you’re doing better. Come in,” Iman said.

  “Thanks, fam.”

  It only took two words for her to recognize his voice, and when she turned around Cinco stood in the doorway, shaking hands with Iman. Cinco looked up with one good eye; a patch covered the other. A large bubble scar was visible on one side of his shaven head. She had done a number on him. When he saw her his face turned to stone. Tension filled the air.

  He’s supposed to be dead. How is he not dead? I saw him lying in his own blood, she thought frantically. Iman looked up at her.

  “I see why shit between you and Tan is rocky,” Cinco said as his eyes never left Bleu. “A pretty little piece like this—”

  “Where is your manners?” an older gentleman said as he stepped into the house behind Cinco. “That’s your sister’s business. I don’t care who you’re fucking. I’m not wearing a skirt.”

  “Sandoza,” Iman greeted the old man, pulling him in for a hug. It was evident that there was no love lost.

  Iman turned to her. “You might as well come down, ma. Let me introduce you,” he said.

  “Please,” Cinco said as she sucked her teeth as he stared at her with vengeance on the brain. She could see his malice … feel the energy coming off of him, and she trembled as she descended the steps cautiously.

  “Bleu, this is Cinco, and this is the man that taught me everything I know … Lisbon Sandoza,” Iman introduced them.

  “So this is serious?” Sandoza asked. Bleu kept her eyes on the floor as tears pooled in them. She was panicking. She could barely breathe as Cinco stared a hole through her. Why he hadn’t busted her out she didn’t know, but she could feel his hatred for her.

  “It is,” Iman confirmed. “Tan and I have been unhappy for a long time, Sandoza. I loved her once. I still love her. I’m just not in love with her. Once the anger goes away she will admit that she doesn’t love me anymore either.”

  “You will do right by her in the split,” Sandoza said sternly.

  “I wouldn’t play it any other way,” Iman replied. “I hope this doesn’t stop our business.”

  “You make me too much money for it to stop anything, but I need Cinco to be pulled closer. You need a right hand,” Sandoza stated.

  Bleu stepped back. “Excuse me,” she said. “It was nice meeting you.”

  She damn near ran up the stairs, her legs were barely stable enough to carry her. She went into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. Leaning her back against the wall, she placed both hands over her mouth in horror.

  Her tongue started to tingle as the back of her throat closed up. She was getting the urge. She wanted to smoke so badly. She had to get out of there. She needed som
e fresh air. She needed to run. Cinco was alive and he knew her whereabouts. It was only a matter of time before he reached out and touched her. Aysha’s brutal murder popped into Bleu’s mind. He’s going to kill me, she thought. She grabbed the keys to one of Iman’s cars and her bag. I have to get out of here.

  She snatched open the door, but when she did the devil was on the other side.

  “Remember me, bitch?” Cinco snarled as he put his hand around her neck, choking the life out of her. Bleu wanted to scream, but she couldn’t find her voice. He pinned her up against the wall. “Thought I was dead? I should watch you die right here, you dirty bitch.”

  She clawed at his hand desperately as urine streamed down her leg. She was terrified.

  “If you want to live you’re gonna do exactly what I say, whenever the fuck I say. That little plot to kill Iman? It’s back on, bitch, and you’re going to help me do it,” he said. He pulled out a $20 pack and her eyes sparkled. It was like she was hypnotized. She could smell the dope through the Baggie. “Yeah … bitch … you remember this shit? How it feels? How it tastes? This will make you a little more obedient.” He slipped it into her purse and gave her neck one last squeeze before letting her go. “I’ll be in touch.”

  She ran down the stairs, crying silently as she raced out of the front door. She was desperate to get away from there, but even more desperate to use the dope that Cinco had slipped her. It had been so long and she had tried so hard, but the drugs were burning a hole in her handbag. Cinco’s presence was too much to deal with. It had pushed her over the edge, and as she climbed into the car she knew that she was too addicted to ever let go. She might as well drive away. She might as well never look back, because Cinco would torture her if she stayed and with him around she could no longer resist her addiction.

  EPILOGUE

  Three months, seven days, six hours, and twenty-two minutes. That’s how long it had been. “One day at a time. Every day counts, every hour, every minute, every second,” Bleu whispered as she sat in her car, surrounded by the darkness of night while gripping the steering wheel for dear life. There was urgency in her tone … panic … fear, because although she was completely alone she was afraid of herself. Her heart pounded furiously. With the power of thoroughbred horses it beat, causing her shirt to rise and fall with her distressed breaths. She could feel herself weakening as the tears slid down her face. Mascara marred her flushed cheeks. Snot rested on her trembling lip. She needed help. Three months, seven days, six hours, and twenty-three minutes. It was how long she had been clean. She distinctly remembered the last hit she had taken like it was yesterday, and the thought of the euphoric rush it gave her caused her to become aroused. Her nipples hardened and she clenched her thighs, because the possibility of feeling that type of high once more was seducing her. Her knuckles turned white as she held on to the steering wheel with a death grip. She wished that she could glue her hands to it, to stop herself from doing the inevitable.

  “Please, God, please,” she whispered, but she knew there was no use in praying. She had prayed for everything her entire life only to end up empty-handed and disappointed. The devil had ahold of her. It was like her soul had been compromised from the moment she had taken her first breath. That was the only explanation for her hard-lived existence. Nothing came easy, and anything good that came to her was quickly taken away. One blast. That was all it would take to end her misery. She had not thought about getting high in three months. In fact, a huge celebratory trip had been planned to commemorate the one-year mark. She had done it. She had kicked the vicious drug habit that had taken ahold of her. She had lasted three months seven days, six hours, and twenty-four minutes, but now it was calling her.

  She reached into her bag and pulled out the package. It was eerie how the rock cocaine seemed to sparkle in the Baggie. She poured the small rock out into her palm and marveled briefly. She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry as her body craved the drug. She could feel the hair rising on the back of her neck. It was like a thousand bugs were crawling up her legs, starting at her toes and making their way up her thighs, to her spine. She itched, she wanted the hit so bad. With her emotions on 10 she was susceptible to sabotage. Overwhelmed by desire, she turned her purse upside down, causing all of the contents to spill over her front seat. Grabbing the water bottle from her cupholder and a ballpoint pen out of the mess, she was on a hunt for paraphernalia. She rolled down her window and poured most of the water out. She was like a surgeon as she drilled a hole into the side of the bottle. She bit the end of the pen, causing the ink vial to come out, hollowing out the shell of the pen. She had done the routine so many times she had it down to a science. Most crackheads would just hit the rock straight out of the pen, but Bleu liked to think she was above that. That desperate toke would only lead to burnt lips and fingertips and she had her looks to uphold. In the thick of it she had glass pipes, but the poor man’s version would work just as well … she was chasing the high and it didn’t matter at this point how she caught it. Her eyes searched through the mess on her passenger seat until she found a condom and a cigarette. When she had picked up the habit she told herself that nicotine was the lesser evil compared to what she could have been smoking, but in her heart of hearts she knew that a true addict always kept cigarettes handy. The ash residue from cigarettes was necessary to make a functioning crack pipe. She held the cigarette between both lips while her hands opened the condom. She threw the sticky rubber out of the window and then used the foil wrapper to top off the water bottle. She emptied the ashes onto the top of the foil and then inhaled sharply as she placed a nice-size rock on top of it all. Her eyes were as big as golf balls as she applied the flame. Her long red stiletto nails far fancier than those of any crackhead anyone had ever seen. The rings on her fingers far too expensive be on the hand that was hugging the makeshift pipe. This wasn’t supposed to be her life, Bleu was supposed to be so much more, but as the tears slid down her face and the smoke accumulated inside the bottle she couldn’t help but think of how this tragedy had begun … it all started with just a little Adderall and speed. Who would have thought it would have ever gotten this bad? Three months, seven days, six hours, and twenty-five minutes were all wasted as she wrapped her lips around the hollow pen.…

  * * *

  The approaching headlights that shone directly into her car caused her to toss the homemade pipe onto her passenger seat before she could even take a puff. When she saw Noah’s face her heart stopped. She climbed from her car and looked back up toward the house. She was terrified. The devil was inside. She had thought that she had killed Cinco. How had he survived? No, here he was, back to wreak havoc on her life. It overwhelmed her, pushing her back to the dangerous edge that she had narrowly escaped from. She looked up to see someone exiting a big-body Benz, and when they locked eyes she gasped in shock.

  “Noah,” she whispered in disbelief as she climbed out of the car in shock. She felt like she was dreaming as she held her hand up to her eyes, frowning as the lights shone in her eyes. She ran up to him, crying, distraught, as he welcomed her with open arms.

  “What’s wrong? B, I missed the shit out of you. What’s wrong?” he asked as he held her close, holding the back of her head so that she could cry on his shoulder. It felt so good having her in his arms. Their bond was so familiar, but everything about her was different. He pulled back and stared her in the eyes. “You’re scared?” he said, knowing her, reading her like the back of his hand.

  “Just get me out of here … you have to get me out of here.” Her voice was frantic as she looked back to the house to make sure that Cinco hadn’t pursued her.

  Iman came out of the house and stood at the top of the steps as he looked down curiously at Noah, holding his girl. He placed a hand in the pocket of his Gucci slacks. “Bleu!” he called to her with authority.

  “Who the fuck is this nigga? This who you scared of?” Noah asked defensively as he pushed her behind him, squaring his stance as he ice-grilled
Iman.

  “Who the fuck are you? On my property, talking to my bitch? Shit can get real ugly real quick out here, partner; I advise you to mind your business,” Iman said sternly, face calm but voice cold. “Bleu, let’s go—”

  She went toward him, but as soon she took a few steps Noah called her. “Bleu!”

  She stood in the middle … between them, conflicted. She loved them both. Each of them had a piece of her. Both expected her loyalty, but she didn’t know whom to extend it to.

  “Bleu…” She looked to Iman.

  “Bleu…” She looked to Noah.

  When Cinco came out of the house she stared into his eyes, his evil intentions shining through.

  “I can’t do this.” She ran to her car full speed.

  “Bleu!” She ignored Noah, distraught as she pulled away from him as he tried to grab her arm. She hopped into her car and sped off, leaving them both standing there, watching her flee. She didn’t know where she was headed. She didn’t know what she would do. She didn’t know whom she should choose.

  Bleu!

  There was no one else in the car. The voice that was calling to her was her own demon’s. She was too overwhelmed … too emotional … too afraid. These mixed feelings were the makings of a disaster for her recovery, and although she had escaped Iman and Noah, she was still faced with a choice, a deadly one. Crack was the one calling her name now. The question was … would she answer it…?

  TO BE CONTINUED … LUXE 2: Coming Soon

  In Winter 2016

  Ashley Antoinette Presents

  Luxury and Larceny: I by Ty Marshall

  &

  Luxury and Larceny: II by Dream Collins

  Two thrilling stories set in the world of Luxe!

  For more information visit AshleyAntoinette.com