by Asia Marquis
“I get it,” I say, pressing my hand against his chest tenderly. He looks down at my hand and his anger melts away. “Focus.”
Someone bursts into the restaurant breathing heavily.
Hunter starts toward the door. “Jeremiah?”
“Officer Green, I have some information for you.” The older man hands me a piece of paper. It's the same kind as was in Mr. Young's journal, one edge ragged from being torn out. I look up to Hunter, who looks at me.
“The torn out page,” I whisper. Slowly, I unfold it. On the page is only one sentence, near the top. It's scribbled more than anything, a hastily written note. There are a few drops of blood on it.
Tell Vera I always loved her.
“What the hell?” Hunter says, looking from the page to Jeremiah. “What does this mean?”
“I don't really know, officer. But I have more.”
“Wait,” I say, deciding for the moment to ignore the brain-exploding message. Mr. Young loved my mom? “How did you get this?” I look out to the street, to his van. It suddenly hits me: the man who pulled up when Hunter and I were in the mansion was Jeremiah. “Why were you in the mansion?”
“I was his gardener. He hired me as soon as he arrived, and treated me more like a friend than an employee. Before he died, he set up an ongoing payment so that I will continue to care for the mansion. I think he knew he was going to die soon.”
I feel like Jeremiah isn't telling us something. I know he always loved Mom, but there's something else to this. I'll have to ask him later.
“You said you had something else,” Hunter says. “What is it?”
Jeremiah stands up straight, looking around the restaurant. “Well, officer, last time I was there I noticed something shiny glinting in the corner of the room where Mr. Young died. Mr. Young had the foresight to install a security camera before his death. Now, I don't know how to work computers, but I think the camera was streaming and recorded by the computer in his office.” He fidgets with a button on his shirt. “At least, I think so. The wires are connected to the computer.”
I look to Hunter, my eyes wide. “We have to go check it out.”
The three of us pile into Hunter's car. I'm feeling good about this, even though it's all an awful tragedy. I'm just happy to have enough proof to get Lucas out of my life for good.
That happiness quickly fades when we pull up to the mansion and see that it's being patrolled by three men. Three men with very large guns. They don't look especially kind.
“Who are these guys?” Hunter asks Jeremiah, who shrugs.
“Never seen them before.”
“Shit,” Hunter says. He watches their movement, trying to find a pattern, but there isn't one. “They must just be hired thugs. No doubt hired by Lucas.”
“What are we going to do?” Jeremiah asks, biting his fingernails. “They look dangerous.”
“I have a gun, but I assume you two don't?”
Jeremiah and I both shake our heads no. “Well, we can't turn back now. Jeremiah, you and I are going to deal with the thugs. Destiny, you need to get inside and get the video.”
“What?” Jeremiah says. “She can't go in alone, we have no idea how many there are!”
“Can you think of a better idea?”
I gnaw on my bottom lip while looking at the men walking around. Hell. “No, this is the best idea there is. I'll go in and get the video from the computer onto my phone. I just hope Mr. Young has a wire for the transfer. I'll follow you guys in.”
We all get out of Hunter's car and follow him up to the bushes in front of the mansion. Hunter counts down from three on his fingers and then runs, screaming, into the group of men.
They're taken by surprise! Jeremiah grabs one and slams his head against the ground, a sickening thud letting us know that he's surely knocked out. Hunter slugs one in the face, giving me an opening to run into the mansion.
I run past the group of men, who shout for someone to stop me. A bullet sings past my head and hits a mirror next to the staircase as I ascend it, running as quickly as I can. Time dilates, going slower as my adrenaline starts to pump through my body.
I run past the bedroom, past the bathroom, and into the office. There's the computer, still showing stock market charts. Taking the mouse in my hand, I start opening files, looking for anything that might hold security information.
There it is. Securecom Videos, in the documents folder. I double click it and look for the date that Mr. Young died, opening that. I found it!
I fumble with the drawers, looking for a wire to transfer the file. There's nothing. Shit, shit, what am I going to do?
Something explodes behind me. I whip around to look, and it's a glass vase shattered from an errant bullet from outside. There's only one way to get this video. I pull out my cell phone, double click the file, and get it playing.
I don't watch the video, but I hear the shots that kill Mr. Young. I focus my eyes on the door, looking for anyone to pass by or come looking for me. I don't look at the screen until it goes black, the video over. I put my phone back into my pants and turn to run out the door.
As I reach the staircase, I hear booming footsteps behind me. Against my better judgment, I turn to see a huge man in body armor gaining upon me, a gun pointed right at my head. I scream and try to run faster, but he pulls the trigger.
A bullet hits my arm.
“Come back, little girl!” He yells, laughing. He has a Russian accent. “Let's have a talk!”
Another shot hits the wall dangerously near my head. I start down the stairs, but either because I'm woozy from blood loss or scared to death, I end up tripping over my foot and falling down the rest of the stairs. My whole body hurts. I hear another couple of shots, but I don't know where they're coming from. I cry out, and someone picks me up.
Opening my eyes, I see that it's Hunter. He looks at me, and I turn to see that the man who was shooting at me is slumped over on the floor. Blood is spilling from his head.
It's disgusting, but I'm overwhelmed with gratitude. I press my lips to his, tears streaming down my face. I could have died. I could have died because a stalker ex boyfriend killed his own dad.
“Did you get the video?” Hunter asks. He's carrying me out the door, where I see Jeremiah. Sweat is dripping down his face, some blood from his nose, but he doesn't seem to be in bad shape. I sigh with relief and nod.
“I couldn't find a wire, but I recorded the screen with my phone. It should be enough to prove that Lucas killed his father.”
Hunter sets me down on the front steps, then holds out his hand. “Can I see the video?”
I hand him my phone, and then lay on my back. The sky is bright blue, without a cloud. We all just almost died, and the world shows no evidence for it. Nothing has changed, except us.
Jeremiah and Hunter watch the video. I hear the bangs of a gun in the video again, and a grumbling from Jeremiah. “I knew that son of a bitch did it.”
Hunter watches the video again, then pockets the phone. “I'll have to buy you a new one. This is evidence now.”
I nod as Jeremiah tears off a piece of his shirt. “Grit your teeth, girl.” He wraps the shirt around my arm, which almost hurts more than just letting it bleed out. “You're going to be fine, the bullet just grazed you. You'll need to see a doctor soon, though, to be sure.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling drained. There's no more adrenaline coursing through my body. Now all I have left is the fear I had to push down. My breathing picks up, but then Hunter holds out his hand.
“Come on. Let's go show this to the police chief.”
He helps me up and holds me close for a few minutes, before they both help me to the car. On our way to the precinct, Hunter calls the police and has them send some cars out to clean up and collect evidence of what happened.
Hunter holds my hand the whole way to the precinct, not once letting it go. This small comfort is enough to keep me from hyperventilating. His presence keeps me from diving deep down int
o anxiety, and for that I'm more thankful than I could ever repay.
At the precinct, Hunter has a secretary bring us coffee while he plugs my phone into his computer.
“I'm going to copy this video to the computer for evidence, and then I need you to delete it, Destiny.”
I nod. I haven't seen the video, and I don't want to. I don't need to watch someone get murdered. Still, Hunter plays the video one more time, to see it on a larger screen. I do catch one thing.
The man who Lucas is setting up to 'shoot himself' has his face fully bandaged. When Mom met Mr. Young, she didn't see his face. “Why is his face bandaged like that?” I ask, jumping as the shots go off and, from the corner of my eye, I see the man slump over and Lucas walk out of the room.
Jeremiah shakes his head. “I never asked. However, one night when Mr. Young was drunk, unusual for him, he told me that he was worried his son would come back for him. I never pry, so I didn't ask about it, but he told me that there were rumors Lucas killed someone, his girlfriend in high school, and was expelled from the school. Mr. Young sent him away to boarding school after that.”
“Jesus,” I say, my hand wrapping around my own neck. I've seen too much today, heard too much today. I suddenly want to do nothing but sleep for a few weeks. The stinging pain in my arm reminds me that I need to call a doctor tomorrow.
“We have to show this to my mom,” I say as Hunter hands my phone back to me. “Before I delete either video.”
“Do you really want Vera to see someone get murdered?”Jeremiah asks. I think about this, but I say nothing. I'll keep it as proof if she needs it, but I won't make her watch it.
“Either way, we need to go arrest Lucas before he catches wind that his thugs were taken out.” Hunter takes my hand. This time, our car is followed by two other police cars. None have their lights or sirens on, opting for the element of surprise.
When we pull up to my mom's house again, it's lit up. They must be having dinner, Lucas must be totally unaware of what's about to happen.
Once all three cars are settled, Hunter turns to me. “Stay in the car. Everything seems peaceful now, but it might not-”
“Put your hands up!”
On the porch, Lucas has my mom held against him, so close it would be impossible to make a clean shot. He has a gun pressed against her head. Mom is crying, her hands shaking even more than normal.
“Mom!” I scream, trying to get out of the car.
“No! Stay here, Destiny!” Hunter gets out and points his gun at Lucas. “Lucas Young, you're under arrest for the murder of your father. Drop your weapon and let go of the woman.”
Lucas hesitates, his eyes flicking to Mom to Hunter, before he curses. He throws Mom down the steps. She falls flat on her face as Lucas runs off towards the back yard. Hunter runs after him.
I push the door open and run to Mom's side. “Mom! Are you okay?” I say, helping to flip her over. Her nose is bleeding and she's sobbing.
Jeremiah is suddenly right next to me, pulling my mom up and into his arms. He cradles her, pressing her natural hair down with his hands. “Shhh, Vera. It's going to be alright. Let's sit in a cop car, you'll be safer there.”
Jeremiah helps Mom to the car. I watch them for a moment before I hear two gunshots in the distance. The other cops jump back into their cars and speed off towards the sound.
I wait, watching the road apprehensively. Please, don't let Hunter be hurt. Please, God, don't let him be hurt! I look to the sky and pray, my hands clenched together and tears running down my face.
I don't know how long I stand like that, waiting for my prayers to be answered, before I hear footsteps and the sound of heavy breathing behind me. I turn to look, and there is Hunter. Sweat is dripping down his face and he's leaning over breathing heavily, but he's okay!
Running to him, I feel him all over, checking for blood. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Frantic, hysterical, I feel like I'm losing my mind. I find no wounds, but I keep checking and double checking until Hunter stops me by bringing me in for the tightest hug I've ever had. A bear hug, safe and protective.
He pulls away, and then his lips meet mine, and he kisses me hard. He kisses me again and again, his lips pressing against the tears on my cheeks. “I'm okay,” he says between kisses. “And Lucas is being driven to the station right now.”
“Oh, thank God,” I sigh, crying more now. This time, they're tears of relief.
“It's over.” He says. We both turn to look at his car, where Mom and Jeremiah are both crying and comforting each other. It's a sweet scene. Eventually, Jeremiah notices us watching and says something to Mom before coming to talk to us.
“So, is everything okay now?”
“Yes,” Hunter says. “As okay as a murder ever can be.”
“Good. Vera's doing okay. I started looking into this because I couldn't stand to see such a beautiful and good woman end up with such a viper. She's shaken up, but I'm going to make sure she feels safe tonight.”
I look up to Hunter, and we both barely contain our giggles until Jeremiah walks away. “They're cute,” he says.
“Very,” I reply. I slip my hand into his as police sirens wail in the distance. Even though Lucas is going to be locked up, I still feel uneasy. There are still unanswered questions. When did Mom and Mr. Young know each other? Who is my real father? Was Mr. Young my biological father?
I feel myself sinking into anxiety again, until Hunter presses a finger under my chin and lifts my face up. He kisses me, sweetly now, and the anxiety slips away.
I'll figure out the secrets of Bedford, in time.
Busty Black Cougar
BWWM Interracial Erotica
Ever since I can remember, I've been friends with Jerome. His brother, I could take or leave, but he's not the focus of the story. For that matter, neither is Jerome. I'm sorry, this is a little hard to get everything straight -- so much has happened in the past few hours and I've only got a little time before I pass out or get back to... well, I'm getting to that.
So Jerome's been my friend since I was a little kid, and so when it was time for him to move out to school, way out in Boston, it made sense for me to offer to let them use my truck. Since I was free that day, I came on out to help him move. There were, I guess, four or five of us? Jerome and Andre and me, I knew about. But their mom, she came, too. Andre drove her out, and nobody told me until we were in Boston, ten hours from anywhere that I ever knew.
It feels weird to call her by her name, even after all this time. Even though we're both adults now, she's always been "Jerome's Mom" or "Missus DeAndre". But Imani was there to help out. She was dressed the same way she always was, and I couldn't help but notice her cleavage. She wore these light t-shirts that I could only assume were nice and cool in the southern heat, but they had necklines that tickled a young man's imagination. Her dark skin... oh, it was perfection.
I hope I don't need to say that I have had a few masturbation fantasies about her -- some of them, she damn near caught me at! But it was all the stuff of fantasies, right? In all honesty, Imani's... I don't want to badmouth her, but she can be a pain to handle. You know 'those' Black mothers; she fits the mold to a T. Sour to a fault, always trying to get Jerome to study more, do this extracurricular, and so on. I guess that's why he moved so far away.
I guess if someone's qualified to tell her kids what to do, it's her. She's the dean of admissions at a fairly prestigious university down here, though I can't exactly say which here for risk of being sued! Of course, none of these names are quite right, either. She could get fired over what's to come, and that's the truth. But I don't think there's any harm in it, so I'm sharing the story, if not the specifics.
We were moving boxes, carrying boxes... I ended up spending the afternoon setting the computer wiring up. It was fairly easy work, but the sort of thing that wears on you if you do it too long. So I wanted to get back on the road and relax. I figured once my head was clear, and I was out of the big city, I'd get a hotel.
That's where things got a little complicated: Imani didn't have a ride home. It didn't seem like a big deal, of course; not at first, anyway. I would drive, sure. She could be hard to handle in large doses, but it would only be another night and day.
The trouble started when we closed the door in the car.
"What is that smell?"
"I don't think my car's that dirty, missus DeAndre."
She snorted and rolled her eyes.
"David Smith, do not call me 'Mrs. DeAndre,' I haven't been married since you were in grade school, and no, it's not dirty. It smells like some kind of awful fruit."
"Is it mango-ey?"
"Yes, why? Do you have a mango in the back seat or something? David, that's disgusting."
"No, ma'am; It's just my air freshener." I struggled to maintain my calm in the face of the immediate criticism. If she'd had such a problem with my car, why couldn't she have waited for her damn alky son to take her? I reached up and pulled a cardboard "If it's a problem, just toss it in the glove box."
From that moment on, it was like I was learning to drive again. A constant, unending stream of 'slow down!' and 'signal sooner!' and being told that I was in the wrong lane for esoteric reasons I couldn't begin to guess. I kept my mouth shut tight. I wish I could say that I had the grace to keep my face plain for the drive, but I could tell that I looked about ready to spit. I don't know whether Imani noticed or not, but if she did, she somehow found the capacity not to criticize that, too.
I pulled into the parking lot of a Motel 6 at eleven thirty at night, and I was ready to drive off without her if I didn't know what was good for me. I walked in and asked for a pair of singles.
"No way, David, look at those prices! We'll just share a double."
I gave her a look. The number one thing I didn't want was to share a room with her, and I was tired and frustrated enough to forget that I knew better than to argue with her.
"Mrs. DeAndre--"
"I told you not to call me that, David!"
It came out loud, perhaps louder than she'd intended, but she practically screeched it.