Saint's Salvation_The Seven Deadly Sins

by Tiana Laveen

  “Your dick is throbbing so hard in my ass…” She chuckled lightly. “It’s been a while. I must’ve tightened up. We shouldn’t wait so long I guess to do it between sessions.” She winked at him.

  “Did I hurt you, baby?” He slid his dick slowly out her warm sheath and approached the shower.

  “No, it was just a bit tight initially. That’s what I mean. You always make it nice.”

  He nodded in understanding as he turned the water on full blast and stepped in the enclosure. Xenia stood at the sink cleaning herself up. After washing her pussy and ass, she prepared for her usual night time routine. He caught glimpses of her putting oils in her hair and admired the way she moved. Her body reminded him of an orchestra—her legs the percussion, her arms the strings, her heart the brass, her voice the woodwind section, and her gorgeous face the conductor.

  She’s so beautiful. Damn.

  Minutes later, he completed his shower and stepped out to stand beside her with a towel wrapped around his waist. Xenia was filing her nails, going to town on her left pinky finger.

  “Hey baby, I’m going to read Isis a bed time story and then make sure Hassani and Dakarai are in the bed.”

  “I can read her one,” she offered as she leaned close to him and layered his cheek with sweet, warm kisses.

  “No, it’s cool.” He took a Q-tip and cleaned his ear. “I promised her.” Xenia stared at her cuticles, then reached for her tweezers. “I shouldn’t be gone for more than ten or so minutes. I’ve brought some wine up and a couple of glasses.”

  “Oh, good. With the day I had, I need it. And before it slips my mind, I invited Mama for a visit.”

  “I like how you just slipped that in.” He grimaced and shook his head at her, not amused when she sheepishly grinned and laughed. “Can’t you just go see her? Why does she have to come here? I mean, shit, we’ve got Skype, Facetime, all that shit. Don’t make us all suffer.” At that, the woman slapped his wet shoulder.

  “Ow!” He ran his palm over his flesh, pretending to be badly wounded.

  “Anyway, she’ll be coming soon. She needs to relax, and so do I! But the lovin’ you put on me tonight definitely helped!” She smiled and cast him a wink.

  “You know I have to make sure my queen is taken care of, just like you always take care of me. You’re too damn good to me … thank you.” He wrapped his arm around her, brought her close, and stole a kiss.

  “You’re welcome.” She kissed the tip of his nose and placed her hand against his cheek. “Whatever is going on, I’m right here…” She spoke softly and sincerely as she looked into his eyes. “We’re all right here, Saint. Stop thinking you have to do everything by yourself, that you’re on your own. You’ve got your family, now. You’ve got Krishna, Lawrence, Jagger, Cruz, all the Angel Children in this city! You are not alone. This is no one man army anymore, okay?” She framed his face with both her hands now, drawing him closer, making him feel protected and cherished.

  “You always know what to say to me.” She smiled at his words as he turned and made his way out of the bathroom. He made a beeline towards his pajama drawer and pulled out a pair of silky white pants he’d purchased from Lord & Taylor.

  “Saint…” she called out over the burst of the faucet water.

  “Yeah, baby?” He slid the pants on, adjusted his dick just so, then searched about in the drawer for the matching top.

  “Let that silver streak that’s trying to come back in your hair grow out for a change. I told you it’s sexy. I saw your little box of dye … Just for Men in black. I’ve got the right mind to throw it away,” she teased.

  “You dye your hair too, Ms. Xenia Clairol! Why can’t I?”

  “Because my gray doesn’t look good on me, that’s why!” she said with an attitude. “Don’t get dealt with, boy. I paid you a compliment.”

  “It’s sexy, huh?” He grinned, loving it when she gave him accolades.

  “Very much so. I really should be encouraging you to dye it actually because I see even more women looking at you when we’re out. Just let nature do its thing.”

  “How sexy is it to you? Enough for me to eat your pussy in a couple of hours and hit it again right afterward? What you gave me wasn’t enough.” He smirked, but still, he hoped she’d take him up on his offer.

  “You are wearing me out. I thought we were getting too old for this marathon sex!” She laughed as he spotted his shirt and slid it over his head, buttoning the thing swiftly. He glanced at the clock across the room.

  “You know this isn’t going to ever stop as long as I’ve got blood pumping in my body,” he said. “You need anything? I’m on my way out to see the princess, the jester, and the prince hermit of isolation,” he teased. His children were more than a handful as of late.

  “Just you, baby … just you. Hurry back. I’ll keep the bed warm.” Her words melted his heart and hardened his cock. And then he walked out the door to read Isis the story of “The Princess and the Frog”…

  Lawrence sat on the edge of the black and red leather couch holding a glass tumbler filled with water in one hand and a palmful of sage smudge in the other. He ran his thumb against the tightly rolled herb, back and forth, over and over, as if preparing it for something special. The man’s dark eyes turned to slits as he took a careful swallow from his glass, looked reflectively into the goblet, then set it down, not moving another muscle for several seconds.

  On the other end of the couch sat Jagger, his white and blue striped shirt wrinkled and partially unbuttoned, exposing a chest full of dark hair. He’d had a long night with the new baby, and it showed. He and Traci’s newborn son, Jagger Jr., had a propensity to begin a cry-a-thon at midnight that didn’t end for at least a couple of hours after. It didn’t help that their daughter, still a toddler herself, would wake up at the same time, crying and fussing about not being able to get any sleep.

  Saint recalled those days all too well, and felt sorry that Jagger couldn’t just catch up on some makeup sleep to cure his weariness once and for all. But, they had a more pressing matter at hand. Sitting across from them both, in fitted jeans and a loose white shirt, was Cruz. His long, blond hair was pulled back in a taut ponytail, exposing angular features and almond shaped eyes, which turned bright kelly green then pumpkin orange in a matter of seconds.

  Saint stood amongst them, cracking his knuckles as he inhaled the scent of burning incense and candles and felt the beat of the medicinal drums in the music vibrating through his very soul. Lawrence had assisted him in preparing the lower level of his home for Krishna’s stay, and Erika came by and used Xenia as her willing cooking assistant to cook a lavish meal. Pheasant, wild rice, zucchini and olive salad, cranberry relish, and a host of other divine side dishes had been meticulously put together, the situation dire and in need of her skilled culinary attention. Saint still wasn’t convinced it was enough.

  He looked about the place with everyone silent, drowning in their own thoughts and concerns. His dreams had turned into horrid hurricanes of hateful imagery. Ever since Krishna’s call, it was as if something had awakened within him, something that had been dormant—a door to another dimension. The nightmares were debilitating, the foulest of all. Once, Xenia had to shake him awake; he’d been floating a few inches off the bed in a cold sweat, fighting some invisible enemy, screaming and clawing at the sky. Saint pushed the thoughts away, pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and noted the time, as well as Krishna’s latest text message—he was in a cab and arriving soon. The man had insisted neither Saint nor anyone else pick him up from the airport.

  Sucking his teeth, he made fast steps across the finished basement and reached into the liquor cabinet for his scotch. He quickly poured the liquid to the brim in a skull shaped glass. He glanced at his friends; their eyes were glued to him, their pupils dilated and glowing.

  “I need one of those,” Jagger said, breaking the silence. He waved Saint over as if he were some waiter.

  Saint poured another and handed
it to the man, who practically snatched the thing out of his hand and downed it in one gulp. Lawrence rose from his seat, took both glasses from them and left the two men there—Saint on his feet staring down at Jagger, and Jagger looking up at him with reddened slits for eyes.

  “He’s here,” Saint announced. Jagger nodded in agreement while, out the corner of his eye, he took note of Cruz shifting his weight, as if he were suddenly uncomfortable. Lawrence placed the glasses in the small bar sink.

  “I know he’s here. I felt him approaching at least ten minutes ago.” His voice rumbled over the water running from the faucet as he rinsed out the glasses.

  Moments later, the doorbell rang on the floor above them, echoing. Xenia’s dainty footsteps followed, but while they were usually soft, they suddenly had bass, the whole world sounding amped. It seemed everything had turned up to the highest volume, the world alive and in living color. The four men made their way up the steps, following behind Saint as he led the way to the first floor. He pushed the basement door open and winced. Bright light almost blinded him as he placed his arm over his eyes like a much-needed visor. After a few seconds, Saint’s eyesight adjusted, and all he could do was smile.

  Krishna stood there dressed in all white, his wavy silver hair combed to perfection. The man leaned slightly forward onto a cane. His dark, reddish skin looked rich and had a healthy sheen. His aura filled the room, his energy all encompassing, his power immense. After he kissed Xenia’s hand, he stood erect, back straight and chin high.

  “Hello, son … so, we meet again…”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Saint and Krishna exchanged pleasantries and took their seats once the dinner bell rang. Saint sat at one end of the long dining room table, elbow on armrest, finger curled under his flared nostrils, leg crossed over his thigh, and eyes fixed on the man of the hour across from him. The sounds around him faded, muted into hums, though laughter, contemporary jazz music, and the clinking of glasses and silverware on expensive plates peppered the room with audible vibes. He could feel his sons’ heartbeats from where they were secluded in the study … they must be up to no good.

  Xenia, Donna, Erika, and Traci hung out in the kitchen for extended periods of time with the smaller children and babies, no doubt gossiping and catching up. He’d asked them to sit and eat with the fellas several times, but all of the women refused, baffling him so. Erika insisted they’d chill and just eat in the kitchen, give them some breathing room, but he knew better. The women were giving them the floor to discuss business, though he wished they hadn’t; the feminine energy would have helped take the edge off, act as a salve for the pending doom, peeled-open wounds and imminent war cry that echoed around them. Minutes passed filled with exaggerated laughter and easy-going conversations, but he didn’t miss how Krishna looked at Cruz. His gaze held a mixture of intrigue and perplexity.

  Saint had let the man know in advance who would be in attendance, and the wise elder had offered no concerns or issues upon the announcement. Suddenly, Saint felt a small, warm hand round his shoulder. Snapped out of his thoughts, he looked over to his left to find Isis standing there. Her long, brown, curly hair bounced about as she bobbed up and down, excitement in her golden eyes, just like his own. Wrapping his arms around her tiny waist, he lifted her up and sat the sweetheart on his lap, then placed a protective kiss on the top of her head while stroking her hair.

  “Daddy.” She grabbed his spoon and looked at her reflection in awe. “That’s an old man.” She pointed across the table at Krishna, who appeared oblivious to her ramblings, Gypsy-like predictions, and perhaps curses, though Saint believed the man had heard her, somewhere deep within him. “He is very nice. I hope he lives forever. Can we live forever or do we all die, Daddy?” Her tone was sweet, coating the harsh words. The little girl glanced at him from over her shoulder, a syrupy smile still planted on her innocent face.

  “We’re all going to die, baby…” His response shocked him. Where did that come from? Isis’ eyes began to water. “I mean, we all eventually go away to Heaven, honey. You know, just like the turtles, the birds, the foxes and hens… I didn’t mean die right now. Daddy is going to be around to see you go to college, all of that great stuff, okay?” He hugged her to him and squeezed, needing the affection more than she did. He didn’t know if he’d see another week with the way life had been doing him, let alone sit front row and center at Isis’ commencement. But he had to ease her distress.

  He could feel Lawrence’s gaze upon him but refused to return it.

  “Do we come back as angels, Daddy?”

  “Yes … we come back as angels, Isis.” At least that was the story he needed to tell her right then; he didn’t want her mind ruined with the reality that some people are bad to their core, their spirits rotten and corrupt, soulless, drinking from the fountain of hatred and ugliness every second of their miserable lives, then vomiting their self-loathing and detestation of goodness upon others. Even after death, they kept up their dirty work, torturing the living with their sicknesses. That truth would come and approach her soon enough. She would attract lost souls—her special psychic gifts were like a magnet for the dead and he had no desire to rush the process.

  “Hey, are you still hungry?” He put some pep in his tone, anything to distract her psychosomatic tinkering with the topic of death.

  “Yes, I’m still hungry, Daddy.”

  “I thought so. Mommy said you only ate some orange and apple slices. Aunt Erika made some little sandwiches, the appetizers that you and your brother always like to gobble down, but you and Dakarai weren’t downstairs yet when she brought them out. Why don’t you go into the kitchen and ask her for some, all right?”

  “She made the grilled cheese, right?!”

  He laughed lightly and nodded. “Yes, I’m talking about grilled cheese sandwiches, baby.” The girl leapt off his lap and made a mad dash towards the kitchen, her soft bare feet slapping the glossy floor. The arched doorway swallowed her up in light. She was now in the arms of maternal safety while the men remained trapped by each other’s heavy, testosterone-driven energies. Krishna reached for his glass of cold water garnished with a thin slice of lime, took a sip, then nodded in Saint’s direction.

  “Thank you for this dinner.” He quickly turned towards Cruz. “Your wife is a talented chef. This was excellent.”

  “Thank you, Krishna.” Cruz bowed his head, tapped his unlit cigarette into an ashtray and beamed with pride as curls of white and silver smoke eased out the left side of his mouth.

  “I am surprised you understand what I said and didn’t think I stated ‘your knife is sharp at best.’” They all chuckled at that.

  “You sound fine. We understand you,” Cruz said.

  Krishna met his words with a kind smile.

  “Thank you, but I know my accent is quite thick and for the sake of time and comprehension, as I do with Saint, I’m going to speak to you all telepathically. Is that okay?” They all nodded in agreement.

  “Cruz, Lawrence, and Jagger,” Krishna began, “I respect all of you a great deal and you are in fact a part of this process. That’s why I didn’t object to Saint inviting you. I wish to speak to him privately first, then bring you all back in here after we are finished. Is that understood?” The three men nodded their assent, got to their feet, and left, going to the lower floor with no questions asked. Saint took a sip of his red wine. Jamie Foxx’s “You Changed Me”, featuring Chris Brown, began to play on low. Smiling sadly, he set the glass down and clasped his hands.

  “Krishna, I’ve given you gifts upon your arrival to show my honor and respect for you. I’ve shown you where you will sleep in my home after having the area professionally cleaned to perfection and blessed by Lawrence. I’ve had Cruz’s wife, who is an expert chef, prepare a meal in your honor, and she is standing on swollen feet and ankles due to her pregnancy. Jagger is running on fumes due to the recent birth of his son and his rigorous work schedule. I am tired because of my workload, schedule,
and constant nightmares that I know are more than just boogie men hiding in my closet.” Krishna kept drinking his water, remaining quiet as Saint continued.

  “I have had to look my wife in the eye and tell her all is well, but she knew I was lying to her … and she hated me for it.” He took a deep breath. “So, she called me on it, and I was honest at that point. It didn’t make her feel any better; it made her feel worse, just as I suspected it would. That’s the reason why I didn’t wish to tell her my concerns in the first place. This is the beginning of the bullshit. I’m sick and tired of bullshit, Krishna. I need realness.”

  “And you say all of this to say that sacrifices have been made for me, and I repay you with … a less than stellar bill of health without alerting you of my condition? Yes, I’ve been a bit under the weather but I’ll be fine. That is something that has always bothered you, hasn’t it, Saint? You hate it when people you care about do not tell you when they are not doing well. It is one of your biggest pet peeves.”

  “Yes, but it’s deeper than that, Krishna. My daughter can be distracted with the promise of tiny grilled cheese sandwiches and chocolate-covered fruit, but I don’t have the flightiness and carefree nature of a child. No, that is a luxury I can’t afford. Here I sit,” he said, palms upward as if praying, “after all of this time, and have to pretend that I don’t smell the worry within you, the things you’ve been hiding. You’ve saved my life with your spiritual gifts. And now you’re ill, Krishna. I will not ignore what is going on so you can make your little announcement and go on your way, one that I am sure will change my life, as well as the lives of those I love. Forever. You owe me nothing, but this isn’t right.” Saint reined in his temper. “I ask that you please allow a healing before you head back to India.”

  Krishna did nothing more but grin, a proud smile that was friendly … delicate.

  “Just as you told your daughter, Saint, we’re all dying. No, son, I will not allow a healing, I’m not in need of it. I am aware of what is going on with me, and you cannot intervene. Herbs will heal me, that’s sufficient. Do you understand me?” His smile faded. Saint refused to respond; he simply glared at the man as the anger rose within him. “Saint, your silence will not be ignored. This is not up for debate,” Krishna stated, his voice stern.