by T. Styles
Nine was startled and said, “Grandfather, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes widened with fear. She wasn’t supposed to be out of her room. She was scared but the need to survive had trumped any fear of future outcomes. “I was hungry and didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t worry about that,” he said smiling at Gates. “Victoria, get down here!” he yelled. “Now!”
A few seconds later, her slippers scratched over the hardwood floors as she made her way to the kitchen. When she saw Nine and Gates in the same room, she knew there would be trouble.
“Take her out of here,” Kerrick said slowly while glaring at her. He wanted her to know this was her fault too. “And get her cleaned up.”
“Sure, honey,” she said weakly, walking to her grandchild. “I’m so sorry, husband. Please forgive me.”
It was clear that everyone feared him, even his own wife.
When they were gone, Kerrick faced Gates. “That was my granddaughter.” He shuffled around uneasily as he continued to consider if he should kill him. He’d seen too much. “She’s mentally ill.”
“I understand,” he lied before clearing his throat. “Did she have whips on her back? Or was I seeing things?”
“Of course not,” he responded as if he were highly offended. “Do I look like I would do something so horrible? To my own grandchild at that?”
Gates had been in the game long enough to know that he had to be careful in that moment. Kerrick was a certified killer. And whatever went on in his home was Kerrick’s problem, not his. So he cleared his throat and grabbed the wine that was on the counter. “Got glasses?”
****
A bright light shined on Nine and illuminated her body as if she were art at an exhibit. Butterscotch colored leather cuffs bound her wrists. They were connected to chains, which extended from the ceiling. On her ankles, black leather cuffs held her in place, forcing her limbs to be stretched outward. Her big toes were the only things touching the floor of the basement.
When Nine was strapped securely, Kerrick removed his blue suit jacket and tossed it on a black chair in the middle of the floor. He unbuttoned his white shirt’s cuffs and rolled his sleeves up to his elbow. Then he grabbed the black leather whip sitting in the corner.
Sweat poured down Nine’s face and her body shivered. She had her menstruation cycle so tiny splatters of blood sprayed on the floor below her. She was used to this part of her life. The part where he beat her for one reason or another. During these times, she would mentally escape to one of the places she read about in the many books in her collection. Usually she went to Rome, or China where she could become a different person, under a different circumstance. But no matter where she escaped to mentally, the physical pain was always real.
Before Kerrick beat her, he examined the structure of her body. She was shaped like a goddess and parts of his soul felt guilty for looking at her in a sexual way. Still, his desires could not be controlled.
Nine invaded his soul. It took him years to understand why he hated her so much. Until one day she was staring down at him and he saw her eyes. She looked…just…like…Thandi, his wife in Africa who was murdered for his sins. Her dark skin. Her perfect features. Her soft sexuality that seemed to exuberate the older she got. He was never turned on by any of his offspring but when it came to Nine, he was enamored.
Instead of giving in to his desires, he beat her. Abused her. Demeaned her. Hoping that if he whipped the flesh off of her bones, she would be less appealing. Instead, she grew stronger and her sexual appeal shined brighter with each torture session he orchestrated.
Nine’s life was hard. She lived in a dark room in the basement, a few doors over from the torture room. She didn’t have any furniture outside of a twin bed, a desk, one chair and a lamp. She only had two outfits in her possession: a long white muumuu that drowned out her shape, but never hid her beautiful face, and a black muumuu that she had outgrown due to her growing curves.
Kerrick ran his hand down the leather whip and slapped it against the floor, sending a thwack sound throughout the basement. He did it again to strike fear in her heart. It worked. Nine winced as if she’d already been struck.
“I had a meeting today and you embarrassed me,” he said, speaking of Gates.
Thwack.
He struck her on the back and her body trembled like the strings on a guitar.
“I’m sorry, grandfather,” she apologized as she struggled to endure the pain. “I didn’t mean to interrupt but I was hungry.”
Thwack.
He struck her again and she tensed up, forcing her buttocks to tighten before they relaxed.
“Do you realize the amount of money I might have lost with your antics?” He paused. “Do you?” he yelled.
“It’s all my fault, grandfather,” she sobbed. “I should’ve waited for Fran. But I haven’t seen her in days and I wanted something to eat.”
Nine had learned a long time ago that going against Kerrick was futile. If she wanted to survive this lashing, she would have to be agreeable, and endure everything he dished out. He beat her twenty times, until her body went limp and her head fell forward as she passed out.
When he was done, Kerrick wiped the sweat off of his face with the back of his hand. He tossed the whip to the floor and walked slowly toward her. He ran the back of his hand over her face, the only place on her body he preserved. He wanted it to remain perfect and yet he didn’t know why.
“You haunt me,” he whispered even though she was unconscious. “You’re going to be the death of me. I just know it. So why can’t I kill you?”
CHAPTER 12
NINE
“I do not ask much. I beg cold comfort.”
-William Shakespeare
Nine lay on her stomach while Fran nursed her wounds with peroxide. She winced a little even though Fran’s touch was delicate and careful. “He almost killed you,” Fran said as tears rolled down her face. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if he had taken you from me.” She paused and looked into Nine’s eyes. “Like he took the baby from my body that I never got the chance to love.”
“This isn’t your fault, Fran,” Nine whispered, barely having enough energy to speak. “I should’ve stayed in my room. The blame belongs to me.”
Fran yanked Nine’s chin and forced her closer. “No. Don’t ever apologize for surviving.” Her words were firm and serious. She released her and tended to her wounds again. “I got upset with your grandfather and I left you here alone for three days.” She looked at her with sorrow. “But I will never leave you again.”
Nine knew she was lying. The bottle was the only thing she was loyal to but it still felt good to hear.
Francesca, Kerrick’s long-time lover had reached the bottom of her life. When Kerrick turned her on to drugs many years ago, and killed any chance she had of having children by jabbing a knife into her womb, she was determined to prove to him that she could get clean again. So she went into hiding, and then into rehab, despite Kerrick’s threats to hunt her down if she left town.
Within six months, Fran was getting her life on track. She had relocated to Florida and even met new friends. But she could still recall the day he found her.
****
The sun shined brightly on her bronzing skin as she soaked up the rays. When all of a sudden she felt a dark presence. Her eyes widened when, through her tinted shades, she was staring at Kerrick.
He threw a plane ticket on her stomach, next to the wound he’d caused that made her barren. “You had better be on that flight in the morning. Or I will kill anybody who knows your name.” He walked away and suddenly the bright beach seemed dark and evil.
Fran disobeyed him and Kerrick proved to be a man of his word. When she got a new boyfriend, Kerrick had him killed. When she got a secret lover, Kerrick had him tortured and murdered. She was his property and there was no escape.
Realizing he was serious, she went back to Maryland where she stayed for six months. He would use her body as often
as he liked and when he was done he’d give her money for her worries. Instead of spending it, Fran decided to stack her cash and after awhile she had saved $10,000 and took a flight to Honduras. She was there for a year, living in a little cottage she owned outside of a small village. Although it looked like she had planned the ultimate escape, she was wrong.
Kerrick found her and had some locals place her in a dark hole with no light. For an entire month, he would have her beaten, starved and raped with foreign objects. They prevented her from going to sleep, starved her and every night the men made her say Kerrick’s name until her tongue dried. When they were finished with her, she begged to see his face. He was like an angel.
When she was released, he told her the debt was not paid. He forced her to be his maid and cook and clean for his family. She left one prison and entered another. She never tried to escape again and avoided drugs at all costs. But her new poison was alcohol, which had proven to be a worthy adversary.
As the days went by, Fran couldn’t decide which was the real hell. Her time in Honduras or seeing Victoria prance around the mansion with diamond rings and fur housecoats, knowing that she had the life that was rightfully Fran’s. Although Fran knew about Victoria, Victoria was clueless about who Fran really was. And Kerrick threatened to crucify her if she so much as looked at his wife in the wrong way.
So Fran cooked meals for his family, cleaned the house and massaged Victoria’s feet when she was tired after a long day of gardening or shopping. Sometimes she wished for death, thinking that it may have been better. That is until he put her in charge of caring for baby Nine. Taking care of Kelly’s last daughter gave her a reason to live.
Nine’s mother had checked out of life a long time ago after Kerrick disowned her. So Fran took care of her twelve-month-old infant as if she were her own. And Nine loved her hard.
Kerrick assumed that Nine was a throwaway, nothing more than a person living in his home who ate when he felt like feeding her. He was unaware of how intelligent Fran was in her former life and what she was instilling in his ninth and last grandchild.
Prior to Kerrick entering Fran’s life, she won a scholarship to Johns Hopkins University to study medicine but her passion was always literature. That was until she met up with Money Mouse and forgot all about an education. However, her love for books remained strong. She relished in the words of Shakespeare, Edgar Allen Poe and other great writers. And she made sure Nine appreciated the art of literature too.
Although Nine loved fiction novels, she gravitated more toward books about serial killers. She became interested in what inspired a human being to take a life. And this never sat right with Fran. She was worried she was just like her grandfather.
After Fran nursed her wounds, she fed Nine chicken noodle soup and crackers. When she was fed, she read Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet to her out loud. Fran was composed until she reached a certain point in the story.
“My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.”
Nine didn’t see Fran crying. Instead, she was mesmerized as she always was whenever Fran read the story with so much passion. “I want a love like that,” Nine said daydreaming.
Fran slammed the book shut, which startled Nine. “You don’t want a love like that! You want to be smarter than love! Much smarter.”
“I’m sorry,” Nine whispered upon upsetting Fran. “I didn’t mean to anger you.”
“Don’t be sorry, just listen to me. Your only concern should be figuring out what a person wants from you and then using that power against them. Love is not worth your life, Nine. Or your time. Always remember that. Take it from me, I know.”
“Why do you still love him,” Nine asked softly, “if he caused you so much pain?” Nine was the only one in the home, besides Kerrick, who knew that Fran had a past relationship with her grandfather and she was always intrigued about why. In Nine’s eyes, he was pure evil.
“He fulfilled the weakness in me. And I allowed him.”
When the bedroom door flew open, Kelly walked inside with a jar of cream. “You are dismissed now,” she said to Fran as if she was an afterthought. “It’s time for her treatment.”
Fran stood up, bowed and said, “Yes, ma’am. I’m leaving now.”
Fran hated what Kelly had started doing to Nine. Although Kerrick held her to the agreement to leave him alone, she still hoped to gain his love by bleaching Nine’s skin. “Nine, get out of the bed,” she ordered.
“Mother, I’m in a lot of pain.” Her body still ached from the abuse Kerrick caused her earlier. “Do we have—”
“You want your grandfather to love you, right?” Kelly yelled interrupting her daughter.
“Yes, mother. More than anything.”
“Then you have to do what I’m asking. Now get out of bed, stand up and face the wall.”
Nine limped toward her and Kelly removed her nightgown. She placed her hands on the wall and prepared herself for more pain. Kelly smoothed the cream everywhere, even over the fresh wounds Kerrick caused. She was a mental case who was confused and not tapped into what she was doing or who she was hurting. She lived in her mind, which was a dangerous place.
“I know you think I don’t love you but I do,” Kelly said as she continued to press the cream into her daughter’s chocolate skin. “If you knew how much I had to give up to keep you alive, you’d understand why this is necessary.”
Kelly’s one-track mind when it came to her father was the reason that her older daughter Paige, who Nine had never met, ran away from the house after her sister Lydia was killed. She never returned home and after awhile, nobody continued to look for her. She was worthless. The saddest part is that neither Kelly nor Avery realized she was gone until five days later.
Nine continued to wince as the cream washed into her exposed flesh.
“In case you’re wondering, I chose your life over the love from my father,” she said, as she had a million times before. “The least you could do is care about my feelings instead of your own. You only get one mother, Nine. And unfortunately, I’m yours.”
CHAPTER 13
AUTUMN ‘LEAF’ LINCOLN
“Tempt not a desperate man.”
-William Shakespeare
The scent from Autumn’s new leather coat wafted above the teenager’s head as he sat in the gymnasium of Fredrick Douglas High School in Baltimore City. He was watching the basketball team lose another game against Eleanor Roosevelt. The shit was boring at best.
Four of Autumn’s friends surrounded him, ready to give their lives with the wave of his hand. Besides, he was a Lincoln. In the drug world, his last name carried as much weight as the Prophet family’s but he never threw around his power.
Autumn, who went by the nickname Leaf because he felt his birth name was too soft, had an easygoing personality. He didn’t boast about his family association. He believed in letting every man judge him by his actions and not by how he could have their life snuffed out at any moment if he so desired.
He was smart. He was fair and he was also generous. But he had one problem. He loved girls, especially those who were unavailable. There was something about a girl who never looked his way, which rarely happened, that made him want her even more.
Leaf rubbed his hand backwards through his curly mane. His khaki colored skin was flawless and the gold chain that hung around his neck was speckled with high-end diamonds, which shined clear across the gymnasium. He was a king and he knew it.
When his friends saw his attention diverted they decided to mess with his head. “Whose bitch you looking at this time?” Bops asked as he ate a bag of chips on the bleachers. Bops was a foster care kid who was loyal to a fault. He once smacked a teacher who told Leaf that his money wouldn’t give him a pass in his class if he didn’t show up. Leaf didn’t necessarily agree with hitting a public official, but he liked his fire and allowed him in his crew because of it
.
“I haven’t found one yet,” he replied as he scanned the room again. “It’s the same chicks in this school. Maybe I should start finding my girls at colleges.”
“You can’t find nothing here because you already ran through everything in the building,” Mole responded.
Mole was a huge kid with large freckles who migrated from Washington DC when his mother got a job managing a McDonald’s on Rolling Road. He begged a lot but because Leaf knew he would kill for him, he didn’t mind looking out from time to time, as long as he didn’t go too far. Besides, Leaf had more money than he could spend. His father Justin and mother Corrine Lincoln were real estate moguls in the city. It was whispered that the real estate company was nothing more than a drug front for a cartel out of Mexico. But it couldn’t be proven and those who kept talking about it found themselves breathing in dirt.
“I’m getting tired of easy conquests,” Leaf said as he continued his stationary hunt. “I want a challenge.”
“Did this nigga just say conquests?” Bops joked, slapping Mole on the arm.
“Don’t get mad at me because your vocabulary is limited. You gotta have word play if you want to bag these bitches these days. They be reading them books and shit.”
Leaf knew about a proper word game although he rarely used it. He had a 4.0 grade point average, which was another reason he was interesting. He barely came to school but when he did, he excelled. The school board wanted to throw him out but since his work was exemplary when he showed up, they couldn’t justify an expulsion. Leaf could’ve transferred to a private school but he wouldn’t hear of it. Public schools had real people and bad bitches so he told his parents he would stay where he was. And as an only child, he always got what he wanted.
“Fuck that shit,” Bops said. “All you need is a big dick and some paper and you can have any girl you want. They don’t care ‘bout no word game.”