Covet

by Amarie Avant

  Though Damien had said he understood and accepted her apology, she still felt she owed him. Not the woman who’d given birth to her and abandoned her, but the helluva good guy so unfortunate to fall for Char.

  Digging into her satchel, Raven pushed past toys she often left in her purse and a wallet filled with coupons and fluff, to the spare key Damien had given her.

  She let herself into the house.

  “Char, Charlene?” Raven’s voice echoed down the sconce-and-crystal vase-studded hallway. Not one to invade someone’s personal space, she took an unsteady step over the threshold.

  She started for the chef’s kitchen, since her eight-month pregnant mother spent much of her time eating these days. An omelet was tightly covered in cling wrap on the island. Raven presumed the breakfast was for her. They’d been doing this play on a mother-and-daughter get-together for a while now, though the conversation and entertainment was stale. There were dishes in the sink and stainless-steel gadgets on the marble counters. But no super-gorgeous, self-impressed actress.

  The sound of rapid footsteps above made Raven’s gaze fly toward the ceiling. Something crashed. Her head cocked to the side for a second, fingers itching to grab one of the freshly-sharpened knifes from the block. This is not a friggen scary movie, Raven, stop.

  “Mo—” Raven caught herself from saying the dreaded word. “Charlene, hello?” She groaned, starting up the steps. Someone was asking for Meagan, voice heavy, laden with lust. “… c’mon, Meagan, fuck me like you did the guy.”

  What in the world is going on? Raven’s eyebrows knitted together. Meagan? The only Meagan she knew of was her mother’s character on that overly dramatic Deceptive Desires. She stood right outside of the upstairs office. If Charlene was cheating on Damien, she’d confront and run snitching!

  “Meagan, fuck me like the dude you met in Milan!”

  “My name is Charlene. Marcus, you need to stop now! I’m pregnant. The guy and I were acting …”

  Charlene took a sharp breath and looked into Marcus’s empty blue eyes. He laid inches away. Pieces of shattered glass surrounded them on the Oriental rug. Blood trickled at the side of his temple, into pale lashes, into his eyes. Turning her head slightly, she saw Raven’s knees pressed into his gut. Her daughter’s eyes were blue. The same icy-blue as Roy’s, the man who’d raped her twenty-four years ago. Not a hint of a calm sea, not one hint.

  Spots of blood sprouted on the fat folds of his neck as Raven pierced him with a shard of multicolored glass. It had to be a piece of her designer lamp. Almost like cat and mouse, the way Raven toyed with his pain.

  Raven seemed to be whispering in his ear, and his head bobbed up and down in sheer terror. Red tears began to stream down the side of his face and cheeks.

  “Raven,” Charlene found her voice. Her daughter continued to use the glass like an ice pick. “Raven!”

  Humanity returned to Raven’s gaze as she turned Charlene’s way. Then Raven hopped off of Marcus. She stomped down on his balls, twisting the heel of her favorite cowgirl boot. The sides of her mouth were skyward in contentment.

  “Get out, sick bastard!” Raven kicked him swiftly in the ribs.

  Charlene watched as the pig grunted, rolling over. Marcus crawled out of the room, holding his privates with one hand and clawing at tile with the other. Raven followed, kicking him every couple of steps. He must have toppled down the stairs, because she heard a sound that mimicked a spoof comedy. The front door slammed.

  Less than a minute later, Raven came to her side, breathing easy. The girl hadn’t broken a sweat. Hoisting Charlene into a standing position, Raven said, “Watch yourself. Sorry about your fancy lamp. Well, I’ll go get you some water.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Legs regaining their strength, Charlene held her growing belly and followed.

  While Charlene nestled on the bar stool in the kitchen, Raven handed her a glass of water. Charlene’s rich, dark-brown skin was clammy, her curly, black hair matted to her forehead. “Raven, when you came in … W-was he … D-did—”

  “I heard you fall. When I came in, that fat fuck was standing over you, pawing your breast. I slammed the lamp on his head.” Raven shrugged, leaning against the refrigerator door. “Who was he?”

  Slowly, air seeped back into Charlene’s lungs. Blood surged through her body as she told Raven how she met Marcus Weber. How she’d always felt something “off” about him. “Marcus is a movie producer. Damien is his agent. He asked me to give him a file this morning, since he’s out of town. Funny, Marcus is always on the west coast or New York, but he was here today. And he was adamant on having his case file. That bastard always gave me the creeps.”

  “Why haven’t you told Damien? He’d never do business with such a perv!”

  “Yeah, well, Marcus was Damien’s biggest client when we first met, and sent more leads his way.” She shook her head. “He always reminded me of Roy.”

  “The truck driver?” Raven twisted her index finger through her leather wristband.

  Charlene nodded but couldn’t read her child’s expression. “Sit with me. Your veggie omelet, just the way you like it, is right here.”

  “No, thanks. I ate a yogurt and apple this morning while working on Royael’s dress. Shit like this makes my stomach knot up.” Raven walked to the sink and turned on the water. “I was almost raped once.”

  She hadn’t expected Raven to open up so … calmly. She tried to get up, go to her daughter, but it felt like a giant had taken a sledge-hammer to her back. “What happened?”

  “Liam’s mother, Elise, sent him away before the start of high school. You don’t know how we met, huh?” With hint of longing in her voice, Raven poured soap into the sink. “Grandpa Otis always told me the story, loved to brag about it, though Liam always had claimed to remember being so young. Liam and I were two years old. We were in the church nursery during snack time. A three-year-old took Liam’s snack. Although, he was a fatty and didn’t need it, I smacked the girl silly. After that, we were an unlikely pair, until he moved away before high school. Anyway, back to the story. I started going with Chris. I didn’t mind being Chris’s shadow—a big part of me had left with Liam so who cares, right? Chris was very popular, too popular.”

  She winced, watching Raven put the clean omelet skillet onto the rack.

  “It was my fault, really. I saw the warning signs, but being with Chris erased all the gossip, every link to you. Some of the kids were their parents’ little devil spawns. You were fifteen when you left, the small town gossiped their ass off a year later when your parents brought back a baby. Their teen daughter’s child, no less. Char, you can pretty much think of any cruel story ever invented, add something biblical and snooty to it, and that’s the crap I was dealt. All the cruel stories that kids would say about you had disappeared, because he was revered–respected. Then Liam came back during senior year.” As Raven mentioned Liam’s name, Charlene knew it was with undertones of a deep, maddening love.

  She almost wriggled in her seat, recalling the day her daughter found her, asking her to come to North Carolina to save Otis. Liam had been with her.

  “Chris thought I was cheating. Truthfully, I was starting to fall in love with Liam, but Liam and I had only been best friends, so I wasn’t sure what I wanted. One night, I went out with Chris. I was so, so stupid. I was going to tell him that night that we were over. But he expected us to have sex and … and ... he, and Ch-Chris pinned me down on the back of his truck. When I got my chance, I took it.”

  Charlene couldn’t look in her child’s eyes as she thought of Roy. God, she didn’t believe for a second that Raven was a descendant of Jonathan Lemaître. She wouldn’t put it past Liam’s mother, Elise, for lying to her daughter. Raven had the same summer-blue eyes as Roy the Rapist.

  Charlene knew a good soap opera plot when she saw one. Elise Delacroix Lemaître was keeping her son away from Raven. Charlene wouldn’t say a word about the ridiculous DNA test their family had done with
Raven when she was eighteen—she didn’t want her daughter mixed up in the family. The Delacroix were never negatively spoke of and always in the limelight. As a celebrity herself, Char knew how impossible it was. Regardless of fans, and or in the Delacroix situation, being respected for business ventures, paparazzi were like flies who flocked around shit. The Delacroix's shit didn’t stink. And they didn’t want their legacy connected to Charlene’s bastard child. Charlene and a rapist’s—who she never knew of—child. Because Raven had eyes like her father. I’m afraid to look her square in the eye and tell her as much, but what’s the use, Liam didn’t want Royael anyway … So why divulge the truth that Raven is a sociopath’s daughter?

  Charlene noticed pink liquid and soap suds drip as Raven rinsed a glass cup. “Your hand.”

  Raven looked down to see blood mixed with soapy water.

  Guilt gnawed Charlene’s heart. She had just compared her child to a sadistic rapist and wouldn’t give her opinion about the Delacroix but hadn’t been that concerned with her daughter’s wellbeing after Marcus rushed out.

  Hurrying to the bathroom, she came back with a first-aid kit and started bandaging the cut. Charlene winced at the long slit. “You’re brave. You might need stitches.”

  “I don’t need stitches. Guess it happened when I picked up that shard of glass and started poking Marcus.” Raven gave a weak smile.

  Charlene doubted it, since Raven helped her down the stairs. But before she could counter, Raven asked, “So have you tried finding Roy?”

  Charlene’s face shook, cheeks trembling.

  “We should find him. He will pay.” Voice monotone, Raven’s beautiful face finely contoured into gold marble again. So unreadable.

  Los Angeles

  “This just in, megastar Char has given birth to her very first child at Cedar Sinai with lead casting agent, Damien Wright. Those are two friggen’ hot people, but they’re not sharing just the tiniest peek at their little chocolate drop, their beautiful baby girl …” The POWER 106 hostess said.

  “Oh, sheesh, let me turn down this mess,” Aretha said as Liam slid into the backseat of the town car with her. The partition for the driver was closed, so she pressed the side console.

  They greeted each other, and then Aretha tried to explain, “Every time I come to LA, my son has me hooked on this radio station. The music is too much for me. But the morning comedian …” She waved as if it didn’t matter. The car pulled away from his home away from home in Bel-Air.

  Her first child … What about Raven? Liam felt a weight on his chest as if he’d been insulted, too. With just these words, Liam was transported back to the small town of Bellwood where imaginations ran rampant on why the Shaw’s brought home an infant after her young mother’s untimely departure. It had been years since he was moved with emotion over his childhood best friend. But then again, it had been years since he had more than his own imagination and demons to taunt him.

  He supposed the actress never did bond with Raven, and that shit hurt like a fist to the gut.

  As the town car headed toward the gated entrance, Aretha handed him a cup. “Here’s your double shot of espresso. I need you in the present when we arrive at the hotel. The interior design crew has staged one of each of the various suites for approval.”

  “Thanks.” Liam wracked his brain for what Aretha had just said. She’d mentioned her son. Gaze narrowed just slightly as he glanced out the window, Liam tried to remember the teen’s name. “So, how’s Arthur?”

  “Humph, he could be more like you, I suppose. Just in some aspects,” Aretha gave a wry smile. “UCLA is kicking his behind. I’ll be frequenting the Santa Monica hotel as an ‘honorary resident’ if he doesn’t straighten up and fly right. Next step, the junior college back home, with Arthur fronting his own bill.”

  “Tough love is the best love.” Liam took a sip of his drink and allowed it to wash away his lie. The day he left Raven, he’d lost his ability to love.

  “You went out with Melanie last night?” Raven feigned happiness, sitting on the edge of her bed. She held her cell phone in one hand, strapping her combat boot with the other. Melanie was one of the lead singers at Manna Church where Raven joined. Growing up with church as one of the focal points of her childhood, Raven joined the choir after a few months in Texas when she felt a nagging in her heart. It was true that the entire choir had a crush on Stephen, the piano man, and Melanie was a kind heart. I’m no fucking good for Stephen, Raven told herself. Be happy for him; he deserves this.

  “Yup,” Stephen said. “Dinner and a movie.”

  “Oh, good.” Raven bite her lip. He was more of a jet skiing or dirt biking for a date kind of guy. In fact, Raven was more of a jet skiing, dirt biking type of girl, though her all-time favorite was bungee jumping. She and Stephen were the perfect sports couple. But Melanie was also in the choir, and she was the best choice for him. Besides, Raven had suggested the two go out as they left church on Sunday. Though he’d politely agreed, she knew her friend only did so to make her jealous.

  “Tell Royael I’m sorry I have to miss her dance recital today. Still mandatory overtime for Christmas, but I’ll take you Pizza Planet.” It was peak-season at his job, yet each year he made it a habit to be there for them.

  “All right, see you soon.”

  She grabbed her purse and went to find Royael.

  “Royael, I hope you’ve picked out what you’d like to wear,” Raven said, walking down the hall to her daughter’s bedroom. There was a mountain of colorful mesh tutus on the carpet, her daughter right in the thick of things. Except for her two long, silky ponytails, the girl wasn’t ready at all.

  Royael seemed to be so busy in choosing that she didn’t even notice as Raven knelt down next to her then caressed her soft cheek. She smiled as Royael’s cheeks pouted. “Listen, beautiful, Grandma Char’s plane should be arriving now. She won’t even get a chance to run home before seeing your ballet piece. So do you want to wear the pink tutu or the purple has always been your fav—”

  Harsh knocking caught Raven off-guard.

  She flew down the stairs to find Annette arguing under her breath. “What’s with all this ruckus?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell her granny to step back so she could check the peephole first. The familiar voice of Charlene started screaming on the other side. “Let me in now!”

  “Oh, Lord, is she all right?” Annette hastened to get the door unlocked.

  “Where’s Raven?” Charlene demanded.

  “Well, hello, Char.” Annette placed a hand on her hip and leisurely assessed Charlene. “Looks like you’re not bleeding or having any sort of emergency, which I would assume is the only reason you’d knock on my door like the Good Lord has never taught you anything.”

  “Mama, I don’t have time for this! Where is that girl? I know you like the back of my hand, and all you do is take up for her!”

  “Mom, I’m right here.” Raven peeked out from behind Annette’s large hip. She noticed her grandmother seemed to be holding up a hand as if she wanted her to stay back but didn’t understand her mother’s animosity.

  Charlene stepped inside and shoved a magazine in her daughter’s face. Eyes narrowed, Raven focused on the pictures of Trinity in a bassinet with a pink and white polka dot dress and matching hat.

  “Aww, my baby sister is so adorable.”

  “Really, Raven? I’ve offered you money. Finally coerced you into allowing me to pay for your photography school. But you can’t help being conniving?”

  Raven bit her lip in confusion; she turned to see Royael padding downstairs. But her mother stood in her face again.

  “Charlene,” Annette interjected, “you have no right stepping into our house—”

  With a manicured hand, Charlene waved her mother away. She started through the house and picked up a flower vase. “This looks new. Did you buy this with the money you got for fucking me over?”

  She slammed the vase into the floor. The sound of it s
hattering onto the vinyl kitchen floor caused Royael to cry hysterically.

  Raven shielded Royael and pointed up the stairs, but the child froze. “Go, now!”

  Charlene torpedoed toward a picture, snatching it off the living room wall. “This frame looks new.” She tossed it over her shoulders.

  “Mom, I don’t even understand what you’re accusing me of.” Rooted in the same spot, Raven turned the bangles on her wrist.

  “Do not call me Mom, ever again.” Stilettos clicking on the vinyl, she pushed past her daughter. Charlene picked up Royael and pulled at the girl’s clothes. “When did your Mama buy you this new-looking tutu?”

  Raven wanted to snatch her child away, but had two issues: one, Royael’s eyes bugged out in fear, and she didn’t want to add to such fear, and two, Raven was in total, utter shock.

  Out of nowhere, Damien stepped through the wide open door. “Calm down, babe.”

  “When did you get here?” Charlene’s anger was momentary fazed. “Oh, I figured you come to save everyone after I called from the airport. Damien, this is family business. You can go back home to watch Trinity.”

  He tried to put an arm around her. “Char, I am family. We are all fam—”

  Charlene wriggled free. Body shaking, snot and tears rolled down her face, Charlene looked square into her daughter’s eyes. “I won’t take this! Putting my baby’s picture on a gossip magazine. It’s manipulative!”

  “Mom, I didn’t do it! I would never sell Trinity’s first photos.” Raven’s body heaved.

  Damien tried to grab Charlene’s arm. She popped him with the rolled up magazine.

  “Charlene, you best be leaving now.” Annette pointed toward the door.

  In a few swift steps, she stepped in front of Annette, eyes pleading. “Mama, I said Raven tried to pimp out my family. She’s got this photography hobby, now the entire world knows what Trinity looks like. I wasn’t ready for everybody and their damn mama assessing my baby! Don’t you care?”