“Mr. Grayson.” Payton sighed impatiently. “I’m not convinced it is a bank. I am quite adept at finding out that sort of information. Yes, on paper, it appears to be, but knowing Saint the way I do…did…I do not believe that that is what is going on. I can’t prove it; it is just a hunch so I suggest you heed my advice and let this little charade of yours die. Now, if you’ll excuse me I—”
“Oh, no. I could never do that, Ms. Bishop. It’s time for Saint to be the new Wesley Snipes!” He burst out laughing; his stomach rolled with exuberance. “Your hunch doesn’t mean shit. We can use this to our advantage now so I suggest you get that snooty fox off your fuckin’ back and listen up.” He turned like a dime, rendering the bitch on the other end silent. He could tell what type of woman she was—too smart and full of herself for her own good. She was the type of woman that used flowery language to curse someone out, drank fifty dollar cups of tea and had strange sex fetishes that no one but her maid knew about. Public Defender or not, she was addicted to class, money, status, snubbing others and fucking her benefactors like a pro. He had her pegged.
“And that’s not all,” he continued. “Let’s get the police involved, too. Let’s get him on some embezzlement charges in that posh bank he works for, regardless of what you think it may actually be. The motherfucker still has to file taxes just like the rest of us.”
“You just don’t get it, do you?” she said weakly. “It does matter what it is! He is involved in some shit that I couldn’t decipher. It is powerful. It is dangerous. Have you seen the people coming in and out of there, Mr. Grayson?! They are mostly men, and not one of them was black. He’s got something going on! You better…watch…your step.”
“No, Saint better watch his step! I told you I don’t give a shit what it is! It could be a Satanic worship service for all I care! You just do what I tell you to do. You get a hold of the IRS, you get some documents drafted, some real official shit, and you get his ass hammered by the good ol’ government! He fucked with me, so it is time I fuck with him! You got it?! Once you take care of that, our business will be finished…unless you want more, of course.” He laughed.
He could hear the woman breathing heavily on the other end of the phone.
“I…I can’t do that. That’s lying to a federal agency and my license could be revoked and I would also face prison time,” she said in a monotone voice, as if unmoved by his entire spiel.
“Oh, cut the innocent lamb act, Ms. Bishop! When have you ever cared about lying?! You’re a lawyer, for God’s sake! That’s all you do is lie! As far as your license is concerned, you and I both know you hate your job right now because it is not what you sought out to do.” He pushed his hand in his robe pocket. “Besides, you will be paid so handsomely, it will afford you a brand new life. It’s the American way!”
“It’s not the Payton way,” she said humorously, causing a slow burn to start in his chest. The woman’s constant resistance was working his nerves. He’d been certain she’d want a bite at the asshole, but instead, she acted like what he’d done to her didn’t matter.
“You really are something else, you know that?” His eyes narrowed. “You raped a grown man! Shit, what is he? Like six three or four? He easily weighs over two hundred and twenty-five pounds! He is a big beast of a man, with those oddly colored eyes, but you took that motherfucker down…now that takes balls! According to this complaint, you threatened him, vowed to fuck up his marriage, and almost succeeded according to the paperwork Xenia submitted to have your ass investigated. Xenia had even filed for divorce; I wonder how he convinced her otherwise? Regardless, your plan backfired, but this plan that I have won’t.”
He heard the woman gulp hard on the other end.
“If you don’t do exactly what I tell you to do, you will be financially ruined your damn self. You committed a crime, Payton, a felony. You got a slap on the wrist. I can change that to being more like a bullet in a heart. It’s your call… Look,”—he laughed lightly. “Take some time to think about it, okay? But not too long. Your secret can be revealed to the world at the drop of a hat and you strike me as the prideful type. I don’t think you’d want anyone to know something like this, now would you? I’d hate to have to make a few phone calls that would undoubtedly change your life forever.”
Sinclair disconnected the call, feeling satisfied. He slid the phone across the desk then made his way into his luxurious bathroom. After sliding off his white robe, he turned the shower on, allowing it to steam up the entire enclosure. Before long, he was under the aquatic influence, in a serene daze filled with the illusions of sweet revenge. Retribution was so close, he could almost taste it…
~***~
Payton curled herself up into a tight ball, riding a state of shock. She sat there in a dark brown leather chair in her small and tidy office on West 125th street, looking looked out the window and watching the rush-hour lunch traffic. The honking, all of the people, the yellow cabs and the buildings everywhere — sprawling, enclosing her, hugging her back with a kiss of urban familiarity—felt like comfort. This was home. This was New York, and she thanked God that the man who just called her was so very far away. Life had been challenging, but she’d accepted that Saint was gone—more importantly, that he was a much different man than the one she’d fallen in love with all those years ago.
Something evil dwelled within him, and if it wasn’t evil, it wasn’t of this world. She tried to explain this to Mr. Grayson, the blackmailing fucker who threatened to ruin her with no provocation. Her thoughts drifted back to Saint, and their last encounter. Her intellectual mind at times found it hard to accept that he could be…whatever it was that he in fact was. When she arrived at his wedding, she didn’t have a clear plan. Payton had been running on pure adrenaline and if she couldn’t get her man back, she’d make sure their nuptials were ruined. Her jealousy toward Xenia had spiraled out of control but none of that mattered once Saint had gotten a hold of her, pinned her against a tree and turned into a creature of the night.
The way he’d gripped her arm gave her goose bumps all over again. All of that power in his touch made her melt in fear. He’d never laid a hand on her, never harmed a hair on her head during their relationship, but at that moment, he seemed to be fighting an urge to snap her in two. And then, she saw it…the worst of the experience by far—his eyes! They’d given her nightmares and still haunted her thoughts, and when Sinclair Grayson called and brought Saint up, she just wanted to pass out. He must’ve seen the real Saint as well, but as so many may have done, he dismissed his findings. So many times, she tried to convince herself that her mind had simply played tricks on her, that the stress from the entire sordid situation had kicked her in the teeth and rendered her null and void of sanity. But she knew deep down that was a lie—the man was brimming with something…something that could destroy her in a single bound.
That day when Saint had showed her his true colors, the trees had swayed away from the man, as if bowing to his power. The sky did strange things above their heads as he held her captive. His presence seemed to make the very elements bend and break, dance to his tune, his movements, desires and feelings. He hated her, and she could feel it, see it—at that point, she knew deep within her soul he was not the same man, not even close. A part of her still hated him, too. She’d lost her damned mind over his ass!
He wasn’t playing with her, and he meant what he said. Death was coming to her door if she tried one more thing, concocted any more plans to get him back or ruin his life. The treachery in his words, those haunting verses spoken in a million voices—the voices of a demon and his burning comrades. He’d warned her to stay away, but…if he truly wanted to kill her he would have at that moment. He probably didn’t have it in him or he was fighting the urge—fighting it hard, despite the hatred he felt for her. A piece of the old Saint she’d loved still lived somewhere within him. That was why he let her survive, and she was grateful. Every now and again, she wondered if Xenia knew what she was married
to—the thing that didn’t have a name. The man was clearly possessed and due to that realization, she’d made certain to steer clear. Yet notwithstanding, it sickened her that she still loved him, even after all she’d seen, done and heard. No one could take his place, but he was not to be hers, and after their last go-round, she was certain it was for the best.
She turned back to her desk and picked up her phone.
“Oh God.” She sighed. “I have to take care of this.”
She knew that man’s cell number by heart and prayed he hadn’t changed it, forcing her to do a bit more investigative work to find the new one. Her hand shook as she held the phone and her stomach roiled. If she gave Sinclair what he wanted, this could all be over, but if Saint found out about it, no doubt all bets would be off. The man would make sure she never took another breath, no questions asked. However, if she didn’t give the blackmailing monster what he wanted, and warned Saint instead of the fool’s devious plan, she’d be out on the streets, and that, to her, was the same as being good as gone. She had no family. Her friends had been fair-weather, and she was used to taking care of herself, but life was tougher now. She wasn’t a bubbly twenty-five year old fresh law school graduate anymore. Starting over would mean homelessness. And worse yet, the statute of limitations wasn’t up. She could do time for the sexual assault. If she did manage to bypass that, and the chances were definitely slim, she’d still end up with little more than the clothing on her back.
It would mean prostitution or some other form of degrading occupation, simply to put food in her mouth and have a roof over her head. You can’t be broke in New York City…and though she’d been severely downgraded, at least she was still practicing law and had a shred of dignity. She clutched the phone and swallowed as she punched in Saint’s area code. Then, she dialed the next three numbers, and froze…
He told me not to call again... That’s just an excuse! Shit!
But he would want to know this… If he finds out, I… But if I don’t, then…
I can’t!
She threw the phone across her desk, sank her teeth into her fist and wept like a baby. After a while, she got a hold of herself, and ran her hands along her charcoal gray skirt. She glanced back out her window with the pretty view, in the city so nice, they named it twice…
“Oh my God.” She quickly wiped a tear away, one produced from mounting anger. She didn’t like the feeling of being bent over a barrel with her hands tied.
What the hell am I going to do?
~***~
“I didn’t think you did,” Xenia said, her voice muffled as she spoke into the warm towel. Saint glanced at her from across the small massage parlor room. He’d stepped up his game by romancing her, taking her out to lunch, laying it on thick. He didn’t want her to suffer, and after all they’d been through, it was time to get things back on track. He scaled back his hours at work, and the woman was eating him up. He loved her new, vibrant smile. They’d started over, spent quality time together, loving one another as they should. Now that Sinclair was gone, she was happier on the set and seemed to have found her lost groove. He delighted in her exuberance. She filled his heart with something real.
“How long are we supposed to lie here?” he asked impatiently. He didn’t frequent these spas—this was Xenia’s thing—but it was her day, and she forced him to endure a cucumber facial and clay mask. He couldn’t believe she’d talked him into such mess, and he’d never admit that his skin now felt like a baby’s ass.
“Would you stop bellyachin’?” She laughed in the towel, her back to him. “We need to lie here for another thirty minutes, just like the lady said.”
He twisted his lips in annoyance as he watched her scoot a bit down her bed, a white fluffy towel wrapped around her glistening body.
“Hey.” He sat up on his elbow, tugged at the towel around his waist and crossed his ankles. “Can I have a kiss?”
“Saint, how can I give you a kiss when I’m way over here?” she asked sleepily. Soft, soothing music played while black stones, white pebbles and ivory candles filled the room.
“Well, I can come over there.” He started to sit up.
“No,” Xenia warned. She rose, her eyes hooded in total relaxation, reached up and retied the towel on her hair. “Why you wanna ruin this, huh? I thought you’d enjoy getting a pedicure, massage and facial,” she whined.
“I wouldn’t mind a facial.”
“You already had the—” she started and then checked herself, her lips twisted in faux disgust. “Boy, bye! Lie down!” she barked, as if she were really irritated. She lay back down on her side, her back facing him. He knew her better than to think she was pissed—and it was too late; he was gunning for her. Gripping the edge of his bed, he glanced at the clock on the wall. “Saint, are you still up? Lie down,” she commanded.
“Since you don’t want me to come over there, then come over here, and I’ll lie down.”
“Come over there for what, Saint?” Her lips pressed back into the rolled towel and pillow beneath her, muting her voice.
“A kiss, like I said.” He turned and lay back, waiting for her. He heard her exhale in annoyance before she turned back to face him. Soon, she was upon him. She placed her hand on his stomach, leaned down, and pressed her buttery soft lips to his. He reached upward to cradle her head over the soft towel wrapped around it, and pushed his tongue inside of her mouth. He moaned as they kissed. Her body relaxed against his and he trailed his fingertips up and down her arm.
“Mmmm,” he said, smiling as she pulled back from him. “That was good.”
She grinned down at him and turned to walk away but he took her hand, and made her stop.
“Let me eat your pussy…”
“Saint!” she whispered, as if someone may overhear them. “No! We are in the massage parlor.”
“Are we? I didn’t know,” he said sarcastically as he jerked her toward him, swung his arms around her waist and hoisted her up onto his bed. She squirmed about, trying to get away, laughing and cursing at him at the same time.
“Stop!” she cried, then burst out laughing when he wouldn’t let go. He removed her towel and let it fall to the floor, swallowing hard at the sight of her breasts. They were covered in oil, glossy, shined up beautifully. Her damn skin glowed as if it were made of dark caramel diamonds. He sketched her nipples with his fingertips.
“Sweetheart, you are so beautiful. I’m blessed,” he said sincerely. He reached up and unwrapped her damn hair. Thick, dark curls fell to her shoulders. “Come ’ere.” He gently slapped her thigh, then ushered her over his face.
Xenia looked around nervously.
“Come on now, stay relaxed. Don’t get worked up…move right over my face.”
She did as instructed, got on her knees and straddled his face. After taking a few moments to stare at her pussy, he reached up and opened the folds. He swallowed, looked at that beauty up close and personal, with everything in high-definition: the light sprouts of dark hair along her pubic bone, her glistening dark and pink folds, and her wet, pink entrance that made him almost cum on himself at that very moment. He was a mere inch or two away. He breathed in hard, taking in her aroma, loving the smell of his woman’s pussy—clean, feminine, intoxicating. With one hand, he gripped her hip, and with the other, he stuffed his towel over his pillow, elevating his head.
“Sit on my face, baby.”
Xenia lowered herself down, allowing no room for light or air. At the first flick of his tongue, she gasped and moaned, massaging her left breasts as she rolled against him. He hooked his arms around her lower back and sucked her pussy with an open, zealous mouth. She bounced and bumped against his lips, as he flicked his tongue eagerly over her clitoris.
“Mmmmm!” He delighted in the taste of her warm, flowing juices. His hand lowered to her ass cheek as he savored her flavor, smacking his lips against her pussy, his sucking loud and amplified. “You have no idea how good you taste, baby!” He shook his mouth over her puss
y, causing a vibrating sensation that seemed to send the poor woman into orbit as she cooed and fell slightly forward like a limp rag doll.
“Oh shit…Saint, shit…” She rocked hard over his mouth, suffocating him, but he didn’t care. He held her tighter, his nose and mouth digging into her pussy, his face wet with her goodness. His cock swelled and throbbed under the towel, saluting her the way she deserved. “Saint…Saint…Oh God….Saint…”
He kept right on, ignoring her warnings until he felt the sweet, salty emissions from her womanly zone. Gripping her tight, he made sure not one ounce was wasted as he gulped it down, feeling and tasting her cum hard in his mouth.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmured beneath her fleshy folds. She bucked, once, twice…and again. The massage table shook as she trembled. He kept holding her, allowing her to catch her breath as she finally came down off her high. After a while, he helped her get to her feet. She wrapped her towel back around her body, and weakly made her way back to her own bed. Although she said nothing, he didn’t miss how her body kept jumping and trembling with orgasmic aftershock waves.
A few minutes later, two women entered, both holding small wicker baskets filled with bottles of thick oils, assorted fruits, two chilled bottles of water, chocolates and crackers. One of them cheerfully announced, “Are you two ready for your foot massages? We’ve brought you a snack. I bet you both are famished!”
“I just ate.” Saint snickered, his gut bubbling with mirth.
“Mmm hmmmm, I’m ready,” Xenia answered, her tone weak, as if she could barely speak. Saint burst out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer. Everyone turned to look at him, then went on about their way.
“Wow, you look really relaxed!” one of the ladies said to Xenia, causing a giggle storm in Saint all over again. He’d just gotten quiet, and now, here he was an instant mess, as if he’d been smoking weed all day.
“Yeah, she does seem pretty relaxed.” He put his head down, trying to cool himself.
Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father Page 37