by Amarie Avant
“No,” I speak up.
Big, brown eyes sweep over my gaze, while Reese arises.
“I shot them all,” I tell Jamie, as his chin begins to droop yet again. I gather Reese’s attention. “Go change. Leave those pajamas at the bottom of your dirty clothes hamper. Then sit next to your friend. Talk to him as I call this in.”
I know that she’ll have gunshot residue on her pajamas, arms and hands, but with my explaining the situation, and depending on the Crime Scene tech, she won’t be assessed.
Reese nods, and begins to head to her room. In three large steps, I stand before her. “You can cry later. I’ll make the pain go away later.” I kiss her softly on the lips then say, “For now, change and then talk to Jamie.”
I pull out my cell and dial dispatch.
Patel’s familiar voice is on the other line, spouting off the route words.
“Five fatalities. One wounded.” I say, wiping down the fingerprints on Reese's gun with my button-up.
“Oh shit, Evan. Your ass should be off work. Already have some cruisers heading in that direction.”
We hang up. I tap the .9 millimeter in my palm and look around, taking in the full-scope of the room. Who's going to be the recipient of this gun?
There are bullet holes right behind me. The stiff next to Jamie was sitting there earlier, right next to Reese. So he gets to hold the gun. Strategically putting his trigger finger in place, and his palm around the handle, I force the dead man to blast off a few more rounds into the wall.
From the hallway, Reese has on a long pajama shirt. What usually turns me on erotically, with the shirt stopping mid-thigh, now just looks like she’s been swallowed alive. She silently stares at me, almost with a childhood fear on her face.
“I'm not your father.” My hand grips through her hair then down her jawline.
Her gander falls. “I know. I'm sorry.”
Chapter 26
Reese
“I think we’ll be okay…” Those words had been repeated by Jamie as I followed medics wheeling him to an ambulance. He’d deliriously said them a few more times while I follow behind them, dressed in my pajama shirt, a crumply pair of jeans and the dusty hoodie which stays on the rack near the front door of my apartment.
“May I?” my terse smile is for the EMT.
He nods his head, and promptly advises exactly where I am able to sit.
“Yes, Jamie, we are okay. You’re gonna be A-okay,” I murmur. Red, vibrant lights flash as I once again take Jamie's hand.
“No, I mean…” His voice fades as the tubes of a breathing machine are latched around his ears and applied to his face.
He means Lolita’s ex… The one who tried to rape me at age sixteen. Days later, the man had been found bludgeoned to death, and it was linked to a Crips gang initiation.
“Always,” I reply, voice so frazzled that it shakes. Though Jamie’s words say ‘he thinks we’ll be okay’ mean that he understands how Evan just saved my ass, I read him well. He believes we’d be okay if I ever tell Evan about the guy. I had no intention to—period. My body feels new, warm, welcoming emotions around Evan, no need sullying them with muddied waters.
I kiss his cheek, and whisper, “Never will I ever tell.”
His chocolate orbs lock onto mine for a fraction of a second before he drifts safely to sleep. The medic is preparing to close the door when the man of my dreams stands there.
The nod of confidence Evan offers as the ambulance doors shut is enough to settle my bones. He's right. I just have to keep the flashbacks of my evil father—versus the one I truly loved— out of my mind. The way Evan sprang into action was a red flag. But again I take a deep breath, smile down at Jamie and mentally admonish myself for even allowing that thought to creep into my psyche.
I could’ve used the self-defense line, but let's face it. This is California. Homeowners have been sued for home invasions gone wrong. And I was a bumbling mess as law enforcement swarmed my tiny apartment. Best to just let the cop handle it.
The next hour is a whirlwind as Jamie receives attention at the county hospital. I sit with a mass of people whose night has also turned for the worse.
A little boy who's only dressed in a diaper, has a puffy, miserable face. Every time he coughs his entire body shakes and it zaps the little bit of energy he has. His mother who seems to only speak Spanish keeps trying to get a nurse’s attention to no avail.
After a few calls with Evan, to check on me, I see my mom and Tony walking through the sliding glass doors.
“Reese’s Pieces,” she hugs me tightly. “You hurt? What's wrong?” Leave it to Lolita to ask a rigorous battery of questions when it comes to my basic welfare. Nobody in the entire universe is allowed to hurt me… but her.
I haven’t been bullied in years, so I sidestep her embrace and shake off the discomfort. “I'm just exhausted. How’d you know I was here?”
“Evan,” Tony gives a warm smile gaging my discomposure. “He told us.”
“What happened, baby?” Lolita steps forward again.
We’ve begun a tangle, where I step back. If she advances, there’s not much further I can go. The motherly-love that’s just for show decreases a notch. She reaches out and graces her hand down my cheek.
“Reese, what happened? And why are we at this dreadful hospital?”
“Mom,” I shake my head as she shudders about being at a county hospital during such an ordeal. “Let’s just go outside.”
In a morbid silence, we navigate toward the exit. The sky is a cool purple as we step outside. The cement benches around this area are dark-gray and dank so we stand before them.
The air is chilly, and Tony untwines the cashmere scarf from his blazer. “Here you go, Reese.”
With the condensation of my next exhale, I thank him instead of declining.
Then I tell them about Jamie. And reluctantly add Riker and his crew.
“Oh baby,” my mother hugs me again. I wriggle my fingers when she lets go.
“Tony, can you wait for me in the car?” She asks.
“Sure.” He nods, and turns around.
Lolita turns to me. “You had to pull the trigger tonight, didn't you?”
My bottom lip falls.
“No matter how well you cope, trust me, baby, I always know.” She pats my cheek.
I move away. “Mom, stop. This is uncomfortable.”
She disregards my request, and asks, “Evan’s worked things out?”
“What do you mean,” I gasp, shoulders falling. “Worked things out? Fixed things? Covered up stuff.”
The words run away from me. I've heard her uttering something similar in desperation to my father. “Fix it, Milo, fucking fix this!”
“You know exactly what I mean, Reese. Evan cares about you. Tony sees it. I see it.”
I grumble, hands balled into fists in the large front pocket of my hoodie. Every inch of me wants to be that angry kid again. Blaming my mom for this or for that. In my mind’s eye, Lolita was the reason he left so often. Lolita loved the fast-life. Lolita loved the diamonds and fur.
The day after my father died, I stopped arguing. I became the ‘yes’ girl. For almost sixteen years, the agreeable trait has been embedded within my psyche.
“Look, Reese’s Pieces, I've told Tony the entire rundown about Milo.”
I glance toward the parking lot. Pupils dilating, heart heavy. My mother has forged her own defense mechanism. Where is my confidant? “Yeah, whatever, you already tried this scare tactic at the French restaurant.”
“He knows every sordid detail. From start to end,” she adds.
I want Evan to wrap me in his arms and tell me life will be okay. Can I tell him everything about Milo? I promised that Jamie and my secret would stay as such forever. We’d pinky promised each other that night after driving back in his old Honda Civic. But Milo, he’s now an open subject. And I’m sure Evan already knows how the infamous, sleaze ball cop came to his untimely demise. So I can tell Evan ho
w it felt to be clutched by death as a SWAT member shot Milo down while he embraced me? How it felt to be ten years old, talking to the wall that was my mother while she was in a catatonic state? But it won't.
Her tender voice submerges into my dark, saturnine thoughts. “Tony is a good guy. Needless to say, that's why you and Evan have gotten along so well. He’s a good stepbrother. He’s a good friend.”
True. “But you're going to leave Tony one day.” I utter my selfish wishes.
Lolita shakes her head. “No, I’m not running anymore. I’ve done so for ages. Since the death of your father, I searched for a man who was capable of taking care of us. Taking us far away from here.”
“It’s too late to force me anywhere.” My eyebrows knit together in confusion. None of this makes sense. “But why?”
Mom glances toward the carport and then looks pensively at me. “In the back of my mind, I’ve only had one single goal. Us. I’ve wanted to, yet couldn’t force myself to care about Flour Shoppe or the latest and greatest thing my daughter created. You see, Reese, I had to prepare for the day we needed to hit the road.”
I scoff. “Mom, you’ve been hitting the road since I was able to crawl. Running after one rich, old geezer or the next one has become your mantra. Forgive me for being frank, but it’s true.” I give a psychotic little laugh.
The mask that is my mother’s face, grounds me. Instead of giving into one of her episodes, by manipulating the situation, Lolita addresses her selfishness. Every one of her divorces wasn’t a catastrophe. Most people say that just the word divorce implies failure. A failure to compromise with the one you’ve promised yourself to for life. She caused the ‘marriages-in-progress’ to nosedive, along with the ones which should’ve never been.
“What about the dentist? You were with him during my first-year-and-a-half in college?”
A fond smile lights up Lolita’s face. “We parted ways.”
“That man was friggen postal-in-love with you, Ma. And you ruined…” I stop talking.
She gestures for me to continue. I choose not to. “You’re free to say what you mean to say, Reese. I did ruin the beginning of a very good love story. Albeit, not as you’d believe. There was no cheating involved on either of our parts.”
I chortle, sidestepping a teen couple. The father is pushing along a stroller, with so many blankets pilled on, that I can’t see their baby. I give a sad frown for them, since the mom looks rather distraught before turning back to my mom. “Yeah, I missed the Kings of Leon, and you sounded rather guilty.”
Her lips twitch, Lolita half-smiles. She never half-smiles, and reserves full-blown grins for jewelry. “Mathew made me very happy, Reese. He was my deep end of the ocean after your father. Most breakups made me wish Mi… he never died.” Still she has difficulty uttering dad’s name. Mom shrugs, licking her lips. “But Mathew? He was one-hundred-percent good. No bad boy gene in his body. We had our ups and downs, in the same manner that you and Grayson did. I just had to get out of the relationship before I truly fell for him…”
My eyes narrow in confusion, I endeavor to catch her gander. Lolita looks far away. Why bring Grayson into this? She’d hated him all along. And what does she mean truly fell? “Isn’t falling in love with your husband the proper course of action?”
“Not for me.” Lolita murmurs. “There’s always been one end goal when I marry. To get out. Lord knows, connecting with Gus should’ve lasted a lifetime. Yet, each dissolution of marriage has made me an even wealthier woman.”
Throat heavy, I glare at her. An image of me shouting about Luis’s family as I tossed my meager salary onto the table for our lunch flashes before my eyes. Nook. My precious Nook—
“Reese, I never needed your help making ends meet while searching for the next, great love story. And I never wanted Flour Shoppe to succeed.”
My face is hot in anger. Her truth isn’t told in a voice of malicious intent. It’s simply told. Lolita holds her hand up so she can continue to speak, “I’ve saved every penny from my breakups just to be prepared.”
I'm stock-still as Lolita continues, “Even in Milo’s death, his sins will haunt us.”
Day.
Reese
45 days later
Flour has been closed for almost two months now. Too much bad press has been hovering around my business. I’ve virtually moved into Evan’s place since I can’t step inside of my apartment without bile rising from the depth of my stomach.
The current wedding season orders had been fulfilled after Sandra bamboozled me out of my current depression. There was no way in hell she’d allow me to be a failure over seeing my restaurant on the news. There’d been a dip in morning pastry sales and desserts for events ever since. After a bit of arguing back-and-forth, she’d resorted to calling Jamie on Facetime. Per the norm, he was propped up on a plethora of pillows dressed in silk. The personal nurse Chu hired, in the background massaging his shoulders for added effect. I got the tongue-lashing of my life from Jamie.
Now, I’m sitting Indian Style on Evan’s bed, determination renewed. His large shirt is so big on me that my left shoulder is bare as the collar droops to the side. I’m reviewing the realtor’s guide for potential locations for Flour Shoppe, some of the places on the lists are foreclosed and banked-own. One in particular catches my eye, it has a prime location and right around the corner… The positioning is right near the Downtown Art Walk, where Evan and I have strolled to on numerous evenings over the past month or so. Venturing into a new gallery has almost become a routine as we learn and albeit occasionally joke about an eccentric artist’s work.
I smile to myself and then hide it with my hands to my face like a giddy child. I suppose opening up Flour near Evan’s apartment is a great timesaver, since I’ve spent virtually every night here.
In this instant, I realize just how happy I am. The last time I was genuinely elated, dad, mom and I were traveling up the California coast, searching for the best seaside ice cream shop. They hadn’t made any specific plans beforehand, and we stayed at an array of hotels dotting the seashore. I was nine years old the last time I had a carefree smile. After the events that have plagued my home, business, and more importantly scared the shit out of me with regard to Jamie, how am I so friggen happy?
Promptly, the reason for my contentment walks through the front door. Evan is wearing Laker’s basketball shorts. His sweat-soaked wifebeater clings to chiseled abs and a trim waistline that I love to cling to. He’s just coming from the gym on the second floor.
“Babe, we’re going to dinner tonight at my dad’s, shouldn’t you be second-guessing what to wear?” He asks, placing the keys onto one of his mother’s oddly shaped statues.
“Evan, if I don’t bake, my heart ceases…” I murmur dramatically, this is as emotional as I get, and go figure it’s about carbohydrates.
“Damn, let me see if I can rectify that,” Evan says, bending down before me. Addicted to him, I turn my head toward his generous kisses. His callused fingertips graze against my jawline, his thumb massaging softly at my pulse.
“We shall see exactly what makes your heart stop,” his whisper is devilishly delicious in my ear. Evan plants kisses against the pulse of my neck.
“Yuck, you’re so sweaty,” I halfheartedly pretend to protest, but his lips bruise against mine and then our tongues collide.
His mouth molds against mine and a moan erupts from deep within my belly. Through the thin material of his shorts, Evan’s rock-hard dick pierces my leg. “Oh, I’m sweaty, dirty, eh? So besides stopping your heart, I’m gonna have to make you beg for it?”
“You wish,” I roll my eyes away from him.
Evan stands up tall. He fists the collar of his T-shirt and it tears down the middle.
“Hmmm, you’re for show, Evan, always the entertainer,” I give a wisecrack. My lips curve in a smile, reminiscing as to how badly he got me back when we first met for dissing him so badly about being just “entertainment”.
�
��Keep talking, I’m mentally tallying just how many swats to the ass you’ll get,” he issues a low, testosterone filled command.
The walls of my pussy contract and spasm with want. “Don’t hate me because sweets have my heart,” I shoot back.
He pushes down his shorts and briefs, cock saluting me instantaneously. I grab a pillow, hold it to my chest, and allow my eyes to lazily rove around the room while he massages the beast, but my peripheral is locked down. Saliva floods my mouth.
He stands at the foot of the bed, caressing each ripple from head to shaft. There’s a bit of sweet gloss at the tip begging me to taste it. Eyebrow cocked, face so fucking arrogant Evan asks, “You want this dick?”
“Nope,” I’m hypnotized by the thickness of his dick, and find myself licking my lips.
“Reese, those gorgeous, pink lips of yours belong right here,” his voice is but a groan, satiny, soft and rough at the same time.
I hold the goose-down pillow tighter, mentally telling myself not to smile, not to salivate, not to give in.
“That mouth of yours is so fucking wet, just as wet as between those thighs.”
My body arises onto my knees before I can even protest. Evan’s sturdy legs plant wide.
“Off the bed.”
I sigh, doing exactly as told.
“Kneel.”
To my knees I cave. The soft murmur of his voice beckons me, the hard steel of his cock right before my eyes. But Evan won’t stop stroking himself, ever so softly. A trickle of honey flows from my pussy.
“Now you can taste,” he nods.
I lick my lips in anticipation, my mouth pooling with water at the instant my lips part, and kiss the head of his shaft. I take him in, inch by inch. Evan’s fingers twine around the thick tresses at the base of my head, he gets a good hold of it.
“You want me to come down your throat,” the words are somewhere between a request, a command, and a question.
But the answer is yes, yes, yes, I moan in agreement.
“I should gloss your lips with my come, beautiful,” his tone is a luscious taunt.