Everyone except Brother Hall and Aeron.
Chapter 13
Misogynistic Missionary
“Teach me how the hell to do it then, since you think you’re an expert.”
“This is the first crash-test dummy that I actually like, so pay close attention because this won’t happen often.” Two voices bantered back and forth somewhere nearby.
I tried opening my eyes and it felt as if my eyelids were attached to one hundred pound weights. They were so heavy that lifting them seemed to drain me of all my energy. There was no way this shit could possibly be happening again and I exhaled an indignant breath beyond furious at the fun the two of them were having at my expense. None of it made sense. I ate the same things Mirna ate—I didn’t touch the champagne or drink anything and still my ass was stuck going through this bullshit again.
As their conversation registered in my head I realized why the fingerprints on my side and back were so odd looking. They weren’t the bishop’s; they were Mirna’s.
“Flip her on her stomach; it’s my turn to get this shit going.”
The bishop’s strained grunting and the sound of sheets sliding were the only indicators that I was being repositioned. Breathing now seemed harder, and even though I’d tried to suffocate myself the night before, the thought now had me in a panic.
“Baby, gimme that candle,” the bishop’s voice was directly beside my ear and I screamed, cried, and cursed him in my mind, praying for a chance to at least bite him.
Strawberry-scented wax filled the air and as it scorched my back all the way down to the crack of my ass. Searing pain ran along its path and scorching every single one of my nerves. The skin on my back was on fire and I began grinding my teeth together to block out the pain. I could feel everything and the familiar tingling in my toes was evidence that I’d be able to move if I wanted to.
It’s time, it’s time, it’s time.
I waited until he pulled all the way out, leaving my ass feeling equally raw and just as sore as my back. The sound of the Bishop and Mirna kissing passionately beside me riled my temper. I knew I’d only have seconds. Edging my hand up under my hips I slid my fingers in between my legs as deep as I could from the angle I was lying in.
In one swift movement I pulled the wadded up toilet paper from inside myself where I’d hidden it. Yes, right up in the baby maker like a damn drug mule. My fingers quickly unraveled the paper that had turned into a semi-hardened shell. Turning my head in their direction I could see Mirna on top of the bishop. I dove at them, slicing wildly in every direction, a small razor in each hand. I was hell-bent on revenge and nothing was safe as I lashed out, shredding sheets and pillows.
One, two, three . . .
It was as if they were momentarily stunned at my sudden mobility. There was no fight or flight; the Bishop and Mirna were both stupefied. He was sputtering, his eyes bulging out of his head in shock, and I couldn’t make out what he was saying over the sounds of my angry breaths and slashes. I’d somehow tapped into a deep and hateful place. It had me growling a low predatory sound with every slice. Controlling my hands was frustrating and I still couldn’t fully sit up because the drugs were still wearing off.
Five, six, seven . . .
I counted in my head the number of times I slung the blades in their direction.
An angry red gash opened across Mirna’s lower back and she wailed, rolling onto the floor in agony, momentarily escaping my reach. I leaned over, grabbing the candle from the side of the bed, smashing it against the fat pig’s forehead. The glass shattered and piping hot wax covered Bishop’s face and eyes. He squealed and flounced around on the bed before going into convulsions.
Pathetic muthafucka having a seizure or some shit? Well, looks like we’ve already got one down, I answered my evil inner twin as I pulled myself down off the bed and stalked Mirna as she crawled pitifully toward the bedroom door.
When I’d taken my shower I had no real intention on doing what they’d made me do. I’d broken one of the razors, removing the twin blades and burying them in the center of a wad of toilet paper. In prison I’d seen Aeron do it with razors when she wanted to hide them in plain sight on the wall. She’d wet and then smooth the toilet paper out until it was almost see through, and it would harden like paper-mâché or plaster. I had no clue if it would even work with a ball of moist toilet paper but what the hell did I have to lose?
This was all supposed to go down in the kitchen when the bishop was at work. I was supposed to get Mirna first and then wait for him to come home and catch him off-guard. Thankfully the stuff they gave me wore off early for whatever reason. No one was ever going to humiliate me again and especially not under the guise of helping me. Antonia had to learn, these two needed to learn, and if my dearest, sweetest Dontay didn’t give me the right answers he’d damn sure learn as well.
Mirna moaned from the force of my weight as I hoisted myself up and sat on her chest.
Dontay was out there somewhere and he was either thinking he’d pulled off the crime of the century or was sick to his stomach for having to do what he’d done. Aeron said money unmasks people and from what I’d seen of the bishop and his so-called godly wife maybe Dontay wasn’t what I thought he was from the jump. Lost in my thoughts, I’d momentarily forgotten all about Mirna as she squirmed beneath me. Sneering down at her in disgust I thought about my life, the things I’d worked and longed for.
“The two of you could have easily helped me or sent me on my way. So tell me, Mirna, what turns good Christian folk into hostage-taking rapists? Is it the lust or the power?”
I waited for her answer and had to give her credit, for even now she glanced in her husband’s direction for support. He’d stopped moving and was either dead or unconscious.
She stared up at me as her eyes did that shimmery dance that eyes do just before the tears start to fall. Under normal circumstances when a person cried I’d have felt bad, but her tears only made me impatient and irritated.
Her voice was a quiet, shaky whisper: “Kevin said that he bought you from a man. I don’t know which man, I never asked. The man didn’t want you anymore and Kevin bought you, that’s all I know.” Time stood still as the meaning behind her words settled into my being. Not only had Dontay played me for all of my money and my clients’ money, but he’d also sold me? Like I was property? No, wait, like I was his property?
Fuck this, fuck her, Now is just as good a time as any to learn how the game is played. She is in the way, Bishop is in the way, they are all in the fucking way. At one point in time Antonia was on that list. You can either handle your business or get handled like business. Sounds like he’s trying to handle you like business. I suggest you go handle him.
I couldn’t have agreed with myself more.
Urban Books, LLC
97 N18th Street
Wyandanch, NY 11798
Friend or Foe Copyright © 2013 Amaleka McCall Torch Copyright © 2013 Chunichi and Meisha Camm Church Girl Copyright © 2013 Ni’chelle Genovese
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-6228-6235-1
This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.
Submit Wholesale Orders to:
Kensington Publishing Corp.
C/O Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Attention: Order Processing
405 Murray Hill Parkway
East Rutherford, NJ 07073-2316
Phone: 1-800-526-0275
Fax: 1-800-227-9604
Girls From da Hood 9 Page 31