Cisero

by Shantel Davis

  CISERO

  By Shantel Davis

  Copyright © 2019 by Shantel Davis All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental

  Hi, again! I present to you all, Cisero.

  This is sorta like a personal project. I was writing “Demarco” when this story came to me and I ignored it, but Justice kept popping up in my head and wouldn’t leave me alone, so I started writing, but then I left it alone and wrote “The Maid”. Then I went back and was reading it and was like “THIS IS IT”. I personally LOVE it. It’s not as intense as “The Maid” and nobody is as crazy as “Adam” but it’s a nice lil in between piece of fiction. My editor said ya’ll gonna hate me for the Title, but there’s a method to my madness. LOL

  Enjoy!

  Prologue

  Even before the incident, I loved the rain. I always had, and now even more so. It may have sounded crazy, but I felt like the raindrops could go right through my skin, deep under bone and marrow to wash away some of the pain that kept me in a perpetual state of sadness. Sadness that at times had me questioning my purpose in the world. Why did I exist? Why had I survived?

  Those questions had been haunting me since I was fourteen. Four years later, and the answers still eluded me. If I didn’t have a purpose, then what was the point in living? There was no point, right?

  Which was why it was a miracle that I hadn’t slit my wrist. I’d thought about it. I wasn’t scared of death, had been on the cusp of it before. Brought to the brink by my own father when he shot me.

  Daddy had been an abusive alcoholic who terrorized his family. He used to beat my momma bloody for anything and everything. She breathed too loud? Punch! Dinner wasn’t on time? Punch! Dinner was on time? Punch! Then one day Momma got tired and tried to leave to be with her lover. Daddy beat her to death in front of my sister and me. We watched because we’d been too terrified to do anything else.

  When momma finally stopped screaming and stared blankly toward the heavens, my sister and I ran. Daddy cursed Momma’s soul while he made his way to the closet. He pulled out the old rusty .22 pistol he’d inherited from his father. After, he found Lovie and I in a state of shock hiding under the kitchen table. Without hesitation, he raised the gun and pulled the trigger. He then turned the gun on himself.

  Most times, when I close my eyes at night, I still saw the blood that had painted the white walls of our kitchen red. Smell the gun powder, like sulfur. Feel the burn of the bullet as it entered my chest. Something had snapped in me that day. I had survived, but sometimes I wish I hadn’t. Living with so many bad memories was draining. Trauma left scars that didn’t fade over time like bruises.

  Which is why anyone with a brain would probably understand why I was tempted to end it all, but I wouldn’t. I would never leave Lovie alone in this wicked fucking world. So, there I was dancing in the rain as I sang Nina Simone’s ‘I’m feeling good’ at the top of my lungs, hoping to convince myself that I was indeed feeling good. Wishing for lightness of heart or just a reprieve from hurting.

  My bare feet sank into the earth. Rain and tears mingled together as I spun with my face turned to the dark sky.

  “I’m feeling good!” I started screaming the lyrics when singing them wasn’t enough.

  Droplets of rain plastered my curly fro to my face obscuring my vision of the present, while I tried distracting myself from a past when beneath the pitter-patter of the rain drops, I heard his footfalls.

  “Justice.”

  Voice like thunder, the gruff resonance felt like electrically charged fingers caressing my skin. I stiffened but didn’t turn around. I had been avoiding him all night. Scared that if I saw him, I’d tell him everything I had planned, and he’d stop me.

  “Leave me alone, Cisero.”

  Cisero Charles, Summertime was the nickname I gave him when we were fourteen. Because every time he was in my presence that’s the song that played in my head. The song fit him so well. His daddy was filthy rich, and his momma was good looking, if the bleach blonde, blow up doll look was what a person was into. Him and his brother had earned nothing but had everything.

  He was the typical rich white boy. He had no worries and no obstacles in front of him to keep him from succeeding, or from being a good person, or from giving a fuck. But somehow, he still managed to be an insufferable, controlling asshole who was failing at school and in life. I had wanted to fuck him since I was fifteen for those same reasons. I was doomed to want things and people that were bad for me.

  “Come inside, unless you want to catch pneumonia.” His voice was a low growl that stirred something in me.

  If I were being honest, damn near everything he did stirred something in me. I didn’t know why I was so physically affected by him and most times I didn’t like it. It made me feel uneven and wrong.

  I tried to be diplomatic. “No, I’ll stay right where I am. Thank you, though.”

  “Come in, now, Justice, before I make you,” he growled again.

  My jaw clenched tightly. I hated when people told me what to do. “Fuck you. You can’t make me do anything I don’t want.”

  “Ah,” was his only response.

  He never really argued with me anymore, choosing to just tell me what he wanted me to do and expect me to do it.

  Unable to resist any longer I dared to steal a glance over my shoulder at him. I let my gaze roam over the tailored black suit he chose for the night. I was flattered. Cisero never attended his parents’ parties, and he dang sure didn’t wear suits, but he had for me. He looked flawless but pissed. Scowling, a large black umbrella kept him dry.

  I didn’t care about his mood. I was trying to fix my own, and he was interrupting. Choosing to ignore him, I went back to dancing and singing, hoping he’d fuck off. Next thing I knew, I was being covered with the umbrella.

  I angrily knocked his hand away. “No. Leave me alone, Summertime. I need this,” I said.

  Deciding I no longer wanted to be in his overbearing presence, I turned, prepared to run off.

  However, Summertime was an insufferable asshole, and before I could make my way into the night, he scooped me up from behind, wrapping me in his big arms like I weighed nothing. He carried me like I wasn’t five-nine and over two-hundred pounds.

  I kicked out my feet trying to break free. “Let me go, Cisero.” He pulled me closer, tighter against his body. His erection pressed against the small of my back.

  Ignoring my protest, he carried me to the back door as I futilely struggled. He was too strong for me to get lose, but I couldn’t make it easy for him. I stopped resisting, clamped my mouth shut and went limp in his arms once we entered the house to keep from drawing attention to us. The living and dining room were full of people. People who were there for my going away party. People who I hated or didn’t know and damn sure didn’t want to party with. They’d only come to see the spectacle that was me.

  Cisero slowed long enough to open the basement door then down, down we went. His expensive dress shoes making a tapping noise on every step. Once we cleared the steps, I felt safe enough to speak.

  “Put me down, Cisero.” I snapped.

  “I plan to,” He responded as he carried me in the direction of basement free standing shower, I already knew what he was about to do.

  “Summertime, you know my brand of petty. Do yo
u really want to do this?” I asked, an unspoken warning in my tone.

  “Yes, Justice.”

  That was all he said before he dumped me onto the tiled floor of the shower stall. He pushed a button, instantly hot water sprayed down on me. The warmth chased away the cold numbness the rain had left behind along with what little bit of patience I had for Cisero when I was in one of my moods.

  Irked, I grabbed him by the lapel of his jacket before he could right himself. I pulled him down towards me.

  He yelped when the water hit him. “What the fuck, Justice? Let me go,” he snapped and struggled to back away without hurting me, which allowed me to hold on to him until his blond hair was fully saturated. Only then did I let go.

  When he stood, the excess water cascaded from his hair down his face further wetting his clothes.

  I laughed. He sneered at me. His jaw tight, eyes blazing. He was so fucking beautiful. I rolled my eyes then swept them down his six-foot frame. His white dress shirt was sticking to his skin and see through, displaying the sinewy muscle underneath. His body was sick. His everyday gym routine had cut his bulky frame into perfection. Damn. It was a shame such a repressed asshole lived in that glorious body. He played the role of the black sheep, but he was the perfect son doing whatever his father wanted.

  After I’d looked my fill, my eyes made their way back up to his face. I found him still glaring at me, his lips pulled into a hard line.

  “You look like a wet evil Ken doll,” I said.

  He sneered at me. I threw my head back and laugh too hard and too long at my own joke. Mostly to cover up that I was feeling sad and lonely.

  He cut in. “Are you finished?”

  I shook my head. “No. You should have let me be.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I would have, but…” He mumbled the rest under his breath so low that I couldn’t hear, and then he started to pace.

  “But what, Summertime?” I asked.

  He paused. I studied him so long I could hear the gears grinding slowly in his head. For a full minute he said nothing, just watched me. It was hard for me to sit there without fidgeting with him looking at me like that, but I knew I needed to. He was working something out in his head, something that had to do with me. I didn’t want to disturb that. Maybe he would figure out how to explain why there was so much energy between the two of us.

  I waited, and waited, just to be left disappointed. “Nothing at all, Justice.”

  He pivoted on his heel then stalked off in the direction of the washer and dryer.

  The tension between us was alive, a living entity that we fed with our weird ass energy and his response was nothing? That was what he had come up with?

  I shrugged. It didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. I would be leaving soon. Snatching my eyes away from temptation, I stood and turned off the water so I could remove my wet wrap dress. I pulled it over my head leaving my body covered with only my lace panties and bra. When I turned around to throw the dress outside of the shower stall, Summertime’s eyes were glued to me, his breath puffing out in short gasp like he was panting. I let the dress drop with a heavy thud to the floor.

  His stare was so intense I could feel it. My stomach somersaulted; my pussy dampened.

  I knew Cisero wanted to fuck me as badly as I wanted to fuck him. I’d caught him jacking off in my bedroom last year while holding my dirty panties at his nose. He still didn’t know I saw him. Didn’t know that I knew the only reason he refrained from indulging himself in what I freely offered was because his father told him I was off limits.

  His daddy was saving me for himself. He mentioned the fact that I looked like my mother every chance he got. They’d been fucking for years before Daddy killed her.

  I knew I could have forced Cisero’s hand if I wanted. I thought about sneaking in his room, crawling under the covers and sitting on his dick just to say I did it. He wouldn’t have rejected me. But I wasn’t that pressed.

  Might as well fuck with his head, I thought. Since I had to finish getting undressed anyway, I would see if I could tempt him to disobey his daddy. It took no time for me to remove the strapless bra I was wearing. My double Ds bounced once when set lose then settled. Cisero sharp intake of air made me smile wickedly and feel bolder. Next, I slid my panties off and dropped them to the floor.

  I struck a pose. Hip cocked and head thrown back. Plump lips on full pout.

  I sang his nickname. “Summertime.”

  That snapped him out of whatever haze my size sixteen body had him in. His violent blue eyes rose from my tits to my face.

  I spread my arms above my head. “What you gonna do? I’m leaving tomorrow. This is your last chance,” I offered.

  Again, an all too familiar sneer curled his lips. He growled. “You’re playing games, little girl, dangerous fucking games.”

  Disappointed, I dropped my arms and waved him off. “You’re two years older than me, cut the little girl bullshit.”

  With his jaw hard set, he had to grit out the next words from between clenched teeth. “I call you what you are regardless of age. You’re a little girl in a grown woman’s body. Immature and spoiled. You left your party to play in the rain.”

  My hackles raised. “I didn’t ask for the fucking party. As a matter of fact, I asked your mother not to throw a party. I don’t know most of these people here and the ones I do know I don’t like. Your mother threw a party for her benefit. She wanted to parade me around. The daughter of the dead maid that she took in. Look at her she’s been accepted to Harvard and Yale despite her circumstances, because of us. You know her father killed her mother, right? We gave her the best tutors. She’s been to counseling. The best of everything. Blah blah blah, we fixed her.”

  I mocked his stepmother’s fake upper crust accent. She was a Becky from the trailer park in Clearwater who happened to fuck her way into some money, I wished she’d get over herself.

  He sneered and clapped sarcastically. “Good job, Justice. Mock the woman whose been taking care of you for the past three years. “

  After I woke up in the hospital seven days after being shot, I was told Lovie had went to live with her father in California. I was supposed to go to foster care before Charles Charles—yes he had the same first and last name—pulled some strings so he and his family could take me in. My mother had worked as their maid for twelve years before she had been murdered. I hadn’t met them until they came to pick me up from the hospital though. I knew of the father. I had walked in on my mother whispering on the phone to him when Daddy wasn’t home.

  “Reluctantly and barely. We have maids, and if it wasn’t for your father, I’d be wherever l’il girls with dead mommies and daddies go.”

  He held up his hands in faux surrender but remained silent because he knew I was right. His stepmother didn’t care for me. Hell, she seemed to have nothing but disdain for everyone but him. Their relationship was odd, and whenever I saw them together, I always got the feeling I was missing something. Like the explanation for them lay at the tip of my fingertips, but I couldn’t grasp hold of it. If someone told me they were fucking, I’d believe it.

  Our silent standoff became uncomfortable.

  “Are we fucking or—”

  Before I could get the rest of my words out of my mouth Cisero had closed the space between us, his hand went to my throat. My back slammed against the cool shower stall. Heated blood rushed through my veins. I wanted him so badly at that moment my entire body vibrated.

  He dipped his head. Our eyes collided. “I want to fuck you so bad, but I know better. You’ll ruin me, and I can’t survive this place if I allow you to strip me bare,” he said.

  He sounded a bit overly dramatic, but I understood his sentiment. In the daylight, his father was a successful real estate developer. At night he dealt with shady people, and he often took his sons along for the ride. I knew he made them do evil things in his name. I had seen the bloody clothes and bruised knuckles. Ironically, the father neve
r had either.

  No one knew I knew. I’d heard and seen a lot since I’d been living in their house. It was easy to be invisible in a place where I really didn’t matter.

  “I don’t like you enough to ruin you, Summertime. I just want to fuck some of the smugness out of you.”

  It was true. I didn’t particularly know if I liked Cisero or just liked the idea of him.

  His eyes darkened and his grip on my neck loosened. He leaned into me. We were so close he could breathe for me if needed. I took advantage of the closeness. On tipped toes I rose, leaned in and ran my tongue up his scruffy blond jawline.

  “Or you can fuck the sadness out of me, maybe?”

  He hissed. His eyes clouded over. “Fuck,” he groaned low.

  His hand fell from my neck to my hip. He massaged the meaty flesh, kneading it, his other hand did the same to my right breast.

  “Just one time, one time to get her out of my system,” he muttered so low that I didn’t think he meant to speak out loud.

  I encouraged him to put both of us out of our misery.

  But nothing in life ever worked in my favor. Seconds later he violently shook his head, pulled back and stared down at me. Just as suddenly as he had snatched me up, he let me go.

  “I can’t do this,” he said.

  “Why deprive yourself?” I asked.

  “Because there’s an order to things,” he said cryptically.

  He stepped out of the shower stall and started pacing back and forth. I shivered from the loss of his body heat.

  “What does that mean, Summeritme?”

  “It means I will not put my dick in you, at this moment. No matter how much I want to,” he said then sighed before scrubbing his face with his hands.

  He looked torn and tortured by his words, but after years of him denying me, I took them as rejection and the bitch in me reared her ugly head.

  “It’s okay, Summertime. Since I’m horny and you’re not willing. I guess I could take Gabriel up on his offer. Your brother could be a good substitute for you.” I laughed like a madwoman to further toy with his mood.