Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father
Page 35
“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that,” the feminine automated voice repeated.
Resorting to old-fashioned dialing, she punched in his cell number as if the phone itself were responsible for the news she’d received.
“Saint Aknaten speaking…” came a sleepy voice, devoid of care.
“Don’t you answer the phone like that! You know damn well who this is and why I’m calling.”
“Xenia. You don’t want to do this with me. I have some information for you so before you get your butt on your back and try to tell me that I shouldn’t have gone over there and spoken to Liz, you—”
“You spoke to Liz? Oh my God, it’s worse than I thought!” She held her forehead.
“I’m leaving the office early. Matter of fact, I have my suitcase in my hand right now. Meet me at home. We are going to have a meeting.” And he abruptly hung up the phone.
Xenia looked at her phone in disbelief.
That son of a bitch…
“Hey kids, we gotta go!”
“Awww, Mommy!” they protested.
“I’m sorry. I know I promised and we just got here, but I will make it up to you.” And with that, she gathered her children, headed to the car, and drove home trying desperately to talk herself into not ripping her husband a new asshole as soon as she stepped foot in the door…
~***~
Xenia found it odd that Saint didn’t join them for dinner. Matter of fact, he’d been incognito for hours. She only knew for certain he was home because the Lamborghini he customarily drove to work was back in the stable with the rest of his boy-toys. She could count on one hand how many times he’d been home in time from work and missed the family meal. But this time, to add more insult to injury, he’d locked out the world. The hand-carved mahogany den doors were bolted shut. She’d knocked several times, only to be told via a muffled gruff voice, “I’m not hungry. Come back when the children are in bed.”
It was as if her husband had been kidnapped by the body snatchers. Saint was never one to run from a verbal beat down, regardless of who it was coming from, yet he seemed to be averting the very serious problem at hand. The man had showed his ass at her job, and after receiving further information from her intern, he handed in evidence of his little behind the scenes investigation and a meeting was scheduled for early the next morning—a meeting Xenia wasn’t invited to. All the big guys would be there, the station figure heads who took their royalties without putting in a day of work and played golf on the weekends. If they were pulled away from their recreation, there was usually hell to pay. Her not being invited was a good thing, for once. She swung like her children at the park on that notion, pumping her legs as fast as she could on a heavy sigh of relief. As she cleaned up the kitchen, she’d stop every now and again while the children played. She’d walk up to the doors, tempted to knock again. She knew the man had received her one million text messages and calls to bring his narrow ass out of there. His non-action was only throwing fresh fuel on the forest fire within. He’d cut off access with little regard and that fed on her anger. Each second turned into steely minutes that accumulated like a pile of rusty razor blades she wanted to throw at him once those doors opened wide.
Unbelievable!
She set a glass in the sink with a heavy hand—a miracle she didn’t break it. The minutes turned to an hour and there she was, looking at a dark sky as the faint scent of cherry cigars wafted through from the den. Isis seemed clingier than usual, experiencing frequent break-downs as bedtime approached. She watched ‘The Princess Frog’ with the children before making them retire for the night. When the house was quiet, she debated rapping on the door, but decided a good shower was in order first, hoping against hope it would temper her nerves so she could speak to him in a calm manner. Less than thirty minutes later, she was clean and ready to do some dirty battling. Dressed in a long, silky sky blue gown, she descended the steps, crossed the vast marble floor past the piano and the large chandelier that bathed the space in a mellow glow. Standing before the double doors, she took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
She grabbed the silver knob, turned it clockwise and entered. The scents of cigar smoke, intoxicating musky cologne and Saint’s natural aroma inundated her. Through the smoke, she spotted the man sitting in a large black leather chair with silver stud buttons. He wore black satin pajama pants, his chest bare. The new tattoo seemed to glow against his chest, with her name in bold, black letters right above his heart. His hair was brushed away from his face, and under the lights, the dark waves deepened to blue. He sat with his legs far apart, his bare feet flat on the floor and one hand limp across the broad arm of the chair. The other held his beloved cigar to his lips, the same lips that kissed all of her body that morning. The same lips that said dirty, delightful words in her ear on a daily basis. The same lips that gave people encouragement and empowerment and now, the lips that went and yelled at Liz, cursed out a studio bodyguard and barely uttered a word to her in the last four hours. A thick curl of smoke rose from the side of his mouth. His smug expression unnerved her, dared her to give him a piece of her mind.
“I’m done asking you why you do things like this anymore,” she began. “You say you want me to work there, but your actions show otherwise. Thankfully, I haven’t been fired. Saint, we’ve been down this road before. I told you I wanted to quit on my own accord. You are making shit hard for me. I already had it planned to report Sinclair, Saint! This is unprofessional—you bursting in there like some Neanderthal.”
“Xenia.” He dragged the ‘a’ out as he spoke so coolly, so calm. “You had no evidence. You walking in there talking about Sinclair is bothering you would have only made you look ridiculous in their eyes and by the time he would’ve gotten done with you, you wouldn’t have a career in media at all, let alone the station. I know what you had planned…” He smirked. “I applaud you for gearing to take action, but you are too late, and it would’ve backfired. The voicemails…he could have even explained his way out of that, called you insubordinate and stated his temper got the best of him. The people you work with don’t give a shit about anything that doesn’t directly affect their pockets. They’d just replace your ass. That’s not the end result we wanted, is it?”
She wanted to smack the smirk off his face. The motherfucker may have been right, but he didn’t even give her a chance.
“I’m not you, okay?” He raised an eyebrow. “I have no one to impress. I don’t have an image to uphold, and that’s been most people’s main issue with me. What you see is what you get.” He inhaled the cigar and casually set it on the ashtray next to him while blowing more rings out the side of his mouth. “Now, I don’t give a shit about reputation. I told you,”—he pointed at her, his eyes narrowed, his tone even—“that the next damn time Sinclair pulled some shit, that was it. When have you ever known me to say that someone had one more time to do something, and I didn’t take action when that person fell short?”
“That’s not the point! This isn’t about—”
“It is the point, Xenia.” He leaned slightly forward. “For you, how I treat this family, how I treat the people I love, it is predictable. I have written my own rulebook, and I follow that motherfucker to a ‘T’. I called you this morning, baby…” He smiled at her, an all-knowing smile that unraveled her from head to toe.
“I called you to see how your morning was going and to tell you to knock ’em dead. But, this particular morning…”—He shook his finger at her— “…something wasn’t right with my baby. I asked you about it. I said, ‘What’s wrong, Xenia?’ You told me ‘nothing’, you were just distracted. You were distracted all right…that motherfucka left you two crazy ass voicemails and has been on your case! He is paranoid because once again, Sinclair has done some shady dealings to try and get money, and the chickens have come home to roost! It could never be some shit he’s done; it is always an outside party. Never mind that though, I really don’t give two fuc
ks about how that man’s brain works and why; all I know is he threatened my woman. I met with him, let him know I was the wrong man to fuck with, Xenia.”
“Saint, you did the—”
He put his finger to his lips, smiled and said, “Shhhh…” in a whisper.
She could not believe what she was seeing and hearing.
“He heeded my warning for a while, but soon he was up to his old tricks again. Then, you and I get into it about him because you are trying to save face,”—he let out a laugh of disgust—“trying to not let him rattle you. You don’t want your ‘Neanderthal’ husband doing anything uncivilized, uncouth. Fuck puttin’ on airs, Xenia!” His jaw tensed and twitched. The man was livid. Her pulse accelerated, and she swallowed, hard.
“You have no idea how serious this shit has gotten! I had to do this! The man has a damn bounty on his head. He needed to be removed from you immediately before you got wrapped up in the crossfire! He has a cocaine habit that runs him over $30,000 a damn month!”
She was certain her blood pressure had just soared.
“Yeah, now does that sweeten the reality being served, Mrs. Aknaten?! You’re dealin’ with a loose cannon! He has unpaid bills out the ass! I’m tired of arguing about this mothafucka! Did you know he is getting paid way under what he is worth to be the producer?!” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “Do you know why? He volunteered for this shit and just wanted in! Now he’s fucked himself. The station snatched his ass up when he offered them a deal they couldn’t refuse and being the greedy mothafuckas they are, they did it without doing the proper credential and background checks because Sinclair Grayson is supposedly a great catch! He knew all of this when he proposed it. The man is a damn nut, but he is far from stupid as far as the nature of the people he works with. Now, he is suffering because he was bent on revenge, using you as a catalyst…like your career and our life is some plaything, a damn toy.
“He is getting what he deserves and this time,” he pointed at her square in the face, “he is going to know once and for all, he doesn’t want to play ball with me ever a mothafuckin’ ’gin! He is lucky I didn’t wait for his ass after work, and blow his fuckin’ head off! That was for you, Xenia.” He gritted his teeth. “So you wouldn’t have that type of press ’cause I sure as hell don’t give a fuck if he lives to take another damn breath!”
She stood there, frozen. She hadn’t seen Saint this angry in a mighty long time, and it was absolutely frightening.
“You fuck with my woman, my seeds, my family, you’re dead!” He stood from his seat, snatched his cigar and took a long puff before returning it to the ashtray and extinguishing it, grinding it into the container with a snarl on his face.
Much to her surprise, she was speechless. Saint zoomed past her as if she were a mere piece of furniture. Before leaving the room, he stopped to look her up and down, lustful heat in his eyes. Then, suddenly, he moved and the smoke seemed to follow him, swallowing him whole, leaving only his deep, vibrating voice that echoed out these words:
“Now come with me upstairs, damn it. I have some tension I need to release, and your body is required…”
~***~
“Mr. Grayson, there really is no further discussion. We checked the information provided by Dr. Aknaten, and upon our investigation, all of the information presented has been substantiated, minus the sexual harassment charge. You are dismissed of all your duties, effective immediately.”
Sinclair’s ears burned and he thought he’d soon be a victim of cardiac arrest. He clutched his chest, believing he’d fallen inside of a horrible dream at warp speed. He was told in advance that Xenia’s piece of shit husband had come up there trying to ruffle feathers, but he had no idea the man had gone to this extent, to actually provide paperwork as proof of the accusations—and worse of all, he gave tape recordings of his voicemails and sent even more damning evidence via Fed-Ex. He’d planned to sink his teeth into Saint weeks ago, but then, bigger fish were caught, and he had to fry them before they rotted and left a stench at his feet. It was a vicious cycle. He was stressed out, so he smoked, and he smoked a bit more, but his habit was now out of control and he rued the day he snorted his first line. Things didn’t seem so clear anymore. His business acumen suffered and he felt like he was losing his mind.
There’d been a time when everything he touched turned to gold; now business deals were falling through. Promises made were broken—deals and investments that would have made him a billionaire. His hard earned money was discarded like flyers on Hollywood Boulevard, and all he was told was, ‘Better luck next time.’ The threatening phone calls had began…the shit had hit the fan. He knew in his gut that Saint had something to do with it. People who were once thrilled to speak to him suddenly weren’t returning his calls. Xenia all but laughed at him, as if he were some rodeo clown hired to entertain her, and now this! Those damn files!
Sinclair had paid big money to have them sealed—including all information of past arrests. He had no idea how Saint got his grubby, meddlesome hands on them, but he knew he was going to make that son of a bitch pay. He had nothing to lose at this point. People he had made deals with were calling asking questions and soon, the questions became threats. Before he could finish forming his internal thoughts, the security staff that used to nod to him and greet him with a ‘Hello, boss’, were roughly escorting him back out to his car.
“Your stuff will be boxed up and mailed to you,” one of them offered before disappearing back inside of the studio. He was treated like some groupie who’d wandered in off the street when just the day before, he was upheld like a king of the damn world.
Sinclair sat in his car and fumed. He gripped the steering wheel then banged on it, as if it were a vending machine holding the last candy bar in all of kingdom come.
You want to play this game with me, Saint? Threaten me! Get me fired! Fine! It’s my turn. You took my girlfriend, my money, my reputation away, I’m going to do much worse to you and just when you think it’s over, it will begin all over again!
Sinclair clutched his cell phone and dialed.
“Yeah. Look, I need you to get some information for me,” he barked into the phone. “I don’t care! You will get what you want; I’m still good for it. Yes, this is about Saint! Who else would it be about?! You just stay close to the pulse and tell me anything you hear, do you hear me?! Good…now, he dug up some shit on me and used it. I need you to do the same… Get on it.” He hung up the phone and looked aimlessly out his car window.
Everyone has a past, Dr. Aknaten. I see you found out about mine, and now, you are destroying my life for yet a second time. It’s time you know how it feels. Let’s bring some of your skeletons out the closet, shall we?
~***~
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The red lights pulsed like engorged, electrified veins. Saint was dressed all in white from head to toe, including his white fedora hat with the matching white and black feather. He traced the brim of his hat with his index finger as he sat lazily in the overstuffed white leather chair.
‘Let Me Love Down’ by Ready For the World played as Saint mouthed the words, falling into the moment. The strong Oriental musk incense wafted past Xenia’s gyrating frame while she gripped the long silver pole in the red room…
The evening recreation wasn’t pre-planned. They’d returned home after a wonderful evening and before long, they were kissing and holding each other as they walked up the steps. Like a blurred vision stitched together in lust, Saint briefly recalled punching in the code to their secret in-home getaway. The door slid open and revealed their treasure trove of naughty and nice. He never got tired of the warm smell of leather, the sparkling collars around her neck and the look in her eyes as he made her body feel things in brand new ways. Since the birth of Isis, the television show, and Saint’s increased workload, red-room lovemaking had been limited, making this a special treat.
They’d just returned from a roaring 1920’s themed party, an invitation from one of the
actresses on ‘Days of our Lives’ that had gotten chummy with his wife, the new sensation on the block. They’d had a fun time; he rubbed elbows with some people he’d only seen on television, but more importantly, he couldn’t keep his eyes off his Xenia. She seduced him with the way she moved at the party, dressed in her little black flapper outfit and a faux skinny cigarette dangling in between her fingers. He was a gangster, equipped with his gun and stacks of money collected from the make-believe speakeasy and mafia shakedowns, and she was a sensual dancer wearing a black lace necklace, a short dress with a thousand dancing fringes, and dark red lipstick—the ensemble giving her an alluring, and mysterious aura. When they returned home, Chantel lounged in the living room and the children were sound asleep. He promptly paid the woman and solicited his wife, just as he would have had he truly seen her dancing and moving around like a temptress in a jazz age club, enticing him to the point that he had to have her. He insisted that all she keep on were her red boa and those damn six-inch stilettos. He leaned back watching with appreciation her hips gyrate in time with the beat.
Xenia was definitely caught up in the moment and he was hypnotized by her quick adaptation. Her short jet black bob wig framed her beautiful face to perfection and gave a more youthful appearance. He slicked his tongue real slow over his bottom lip as she continued her sensual performance, exciting him to the point of no return. The lights were in a frenzy—shades of blood dancing along the glossy curves of her body as the Five Footer Crew rapped, ‘Walk Away.’
‘There’s so much pain without thought…’
His dick strained against the thin cotton pants, begging to be released from the tight confines of his underwear. He ran his hand along it, giving a comforting pat as if to say, ‘In due time.’ The woman jumped on the pole, her thighs clenched around the damn thing. Her ass bobbed as she humped the shit out of it, making him jealous of an inanimate object. He leaned in closer and he studied the juicy slit of her pussy. The sight of it—ripe and glistening—launched him straight into the eye of a sexual storm.