Lust & Loyalty

by Shelly Ellis

  Dante cocked an eyebrow. Was Kiki serious?

  “You really know a couple of guys who could kill her for me?”

  She nodded again. “Just tell me when you want it done and how much you’re willing to pay.”

  “And you’re willing to just help me out like that?”

  She chuckled. “Well, yeah, if you . . . you know . . . let me move in with you and . . .” Her words drifted off as she gazed down at her nails.

  “And what?”

  “Let me drive your Jag . . . just a little?” she asked, giving him another grin.

  He didn’t believe for one second that Kiki had a pipeline to a group of guys who could take out Renee, but he would pretend to oblige her. Maybe if he did, she would finally leave him the hell alone.

  “Okay, fine. Get them to kill her for me and you can live with me and drive my car.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded.

  “Thank you, Daddy!” She hopped off the couch and skipped across the room. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his scruffy cheek before he had a chance to shove her away.

  “Trust me,” she said. “I’ll take care of it for you. That bitch won’t know what hit her!”

  Chapter 23

  Terrence

  “So how long do we have to stay here, anyway?” Terrence’s date asked within seconds of them setting foot on the ballroom’s tiled floor.

  He paused to cock an eyebrow at her. “We just got here and you’re already asking when we’re going to leave?”

  His date shrugged and tossed her long, dark, curly tresses over her shoulder while wrinkling her nose. “You told me we were going out dancing tonight. I thought you meant to a club downtown. I had no idea it would be in a place like this!” She curled her glossy pink upper lip into a sneer like she was gazing at a vista of the city dump instead of couples sitting at the banquet tables and dancing on the parquet dance floor. “This is completely wasted,” she said, gesturing to herself, making Terrence glance down at the dress she was wearing.

  Though most of the women in the room wore stylish cocktail dresses and evening gowns, Terrence’s date, Amaya, had chosen to wear a short, skin-tight shimmering snakeskin dress with panels cut out of the back and side and black stilettos that made it look like she was walking around on stilts.

  Though the drop-dead gorgeous beauty’s attire drew several appreciative stares from the men around the room, and even Terrence reluctantly had to admit she looked damn good in that dress, it was obvious what she wore was not appropriate for the occasion. She seemed better fit for twirling around a stripper pole than taking a few spins on the dance floor with him at tonight’s fundraiser.

  “I’m here to represent my family,” Terrence whispered to Amaya as he held her elbow and guided her across the crowded room to their reserved table. “I told my brother I’d make an appearance.”

  Evan had originally planned to attend the event himself with Leila, but he’d had to back out at the last minute.

  “You’re offering me free tickets?” Terrence had asked. “I’m surprised you’re even talking to me after that thing that happened at the baby shower a couple of weeks ago. I thought you were still pissed at me.”

  “I was . . . but then I realized you aren’t the only one who’s been acting like an asshole lately,” Evan had said with a resigned sigh. “I figured I should show some compassion, and Lee and I won’t be able to make the event anyway.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Just . . . stuff. We’re going through something right now.”

  “Uh-oh.” Terrence had furrowed his brows. “Something? What does that mean?”

  “Like I said before, you aren’t the only one who’s been an asshole. I fucked up. Lee and I are in a bad place, and it’s my fault. I don’t know if we’ll make it out through it,” Evan had whispered on the phone, his voice heavy with emotion. “Going to a banquet is the least of my concerns. So you go and enjoy yourself. At least one of us should.”

  So in addition to Terrence breaking up with C. J., now Evan and Leila were going through “something,” and Paulette and Antonio’s marriage was so screwed up it wasn’t even worth talking about. Terrence was sure of it now: His family was cursed romantically.

  “Look, we at least have to stay for an hour or two,” Terrence now explained to his date. “It’s not that big of a deal, is it?”

  In response, Amaya grumbled. “Fine. Whatever!” He held out a Chiavari chair for her. She plopped onto the satin cushion. “I guess I’ll just have to be bored, then.”

  He watched as she pulled her phone out of her satin clutch and started to scroll her acrylic, bejeweled nail across the screen.

  Probably checking how many people liked her latest photo on Instagram, Terrence thought dryly.

  “I need a drink,” he said. “Do you want anything?”

  “Cosmo,” she mumbled, not looking up from her phone screen. “Wait, make it an apple martini.”

  He nodded and walked across the ballroom to the throng already gathered around the bar. He stepped up to the counter a few minutes later when a spot came open and gave the bartender their orders. As he waited, he hummed and drummed his fingers on the granite countertop to the beat of the music the band was playing. He became lost in thought.

  Had dating always been hard? He had been out of the game for less than a year, but he didn’t remember it being this trying or painful. His first date with C. J. hadn’t been this bad, had it? Their conversation had flowed easily. He could remember laughing with her the whole time and telling her stories about . . .

  Forget C. J., dammit, he ordered himself. Remember . . . that’s over and done with!

  C. J. wasn’t thinking about him while she was gallivanting around Raleigh with her ex, was she? So why the hell should he waste his time and thoughts on her? Besides, he was here tonight with Amaya in an attempt to finally move on, to take his therapist’s advice and try his best not to keep obsessing about his and C. J.’s breakup, endlessly replaying what she had done and what he had done wrong.

  “You know that obsessing leads to nowhere, Terrence,” his therapist had said at their session last week.

  He was seeing his therapist again, something he had been reluctant to do. But after what had happened at Evan and Leila’s baby shower, he realized the situation was getting out of hand. He couldn’t take care of this on his own. His therapist was even suggesting that they might consider meds for his depression to help in the long term.

  “One in ten people take antidepressants,” she had explained to him in that calming voice of hers during their last session. “There’s no shame in it. Whatever it takes to help you live a healthy life, right?”

  He had nodded grudgingly in agreement. “Whatever it takes.”

  So here he was attempting to live a “healthy life,” trying diligently to put the past aside and enjoy his new date. Unfortunately, Amaya’s stank attitude wasn’t making it easy.

  “Thanks,” Terrence said, grabbing the glasses that the bartender finally handed to him. He turned to head back to his table with the hope that a little alcohol might improve her mood. As he did, he unwittingly bumped into someone’s shoulder, spilling the other party’s drink onto the tiled floor.

  “Shit! I’m sorry,” he said, jumping back.

  “Oh, that’s okay,” the woman replied with her back to him, leaning down to dab with a cocktail napkin at a spot of white wine now on her gown.

  When Terrence heard the familiar voice, his stomach dropped.

  It seemed to happen almost in slow motion. He watched as C. J. looked up from her drink now puddled at her feet and turned to face him. “It’s my fault,” she continued distractedly. “I should have looked where I was . . .”

  When their eyes met, her words drifted off.

  “What . . . what are you . . .” He shook his head, fighting to get the words out. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m covering the event for the paper.” She
held up the notepad and pen in her other hand and gestured toward it with her empty wineglass. “I’m working for the Chesterton Times again.”

  Seeing her standing there, Terrence felt waves of emotions: shock, elation, longing, and then finally, anger.

  What the hell is she doing back in Chesterton?

  He had shaved, dressed, and finally dragged himself out of the house to go on a date. He was trying to move on and forget about her, and she had the nerve to show up on his turf, tonight of all nights?

  “Why are you working with the Times again? I thought you were helping your father with his campaign.”

  She pursed her lips and lowered her head. “I think I’ve given all that I could give to Dad. I had to walk away from that . . . that situation. I couldn’t do it anymore.”

  “Oh, really? And ol’ Pastor Clancy is okay with you being up here?” Terrence asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Considering the last time you got away from him, I’d think he’d want to keep a closer eye on you this time around.”

  She raised her eyes and glared at him. “Stop it, Terry.”

  “Stop what?”

  “You know damn well there was nothing going on between me and Shaun Clancy!”

  “No, I don’t know. I know what I saw when I—”

  “You were seeing things that weren’t there, because it’s what you wanted to see,” she argued. “You had changed. You were a different guy and didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore! Just admit it, Terry! You exceeded that month-long shelf life that you always have with women—”

  “A shelf life?” he repeated with disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “—and you wanted to end it between us, but instead of just . . . just coming out and saying it, you—”

  “You really think that’s what I wanted?” he choked, staring at her in disbelief. He took a step toward her so that they were only inches apart. “You really fucking think I wanted to go through that—through this? You think I enjoy feeling this way, like my . . . my goddamn chest has been cut open and my damn heart’s been ripped out? You think I want this shit?”

  She fell silent. He saw the same pain and confusion reflected in her eyes that he now felt. “I didn’t know what you wanted anymore, Terry,” she whispered.

  “There you are!” Amaya called out as she walked toward him. “I was wondering where the hell you’d disappeared to. I’ve been sitting at that table for almost forever, Terry!” She took the martini glass out of his hand and took a sip. She then gazed down at C. J.

  “Hey,” she said, giving a half-hearted wave.

  “H-Hello,” C. J. answered softly, looking a little wounded at seeing him here with another woman.

  He felt wounded, too—almost broken.

  Terrence yearned to put down his shot glass and pull C. J. close, to drag her across the ballroom so that they could finishing talking, so that he could hold her and kiss her, tell her that it was obvious this was all a big misunderstanding and that he had been too pigheaded and stupid to tell her that he missed her so much it hurt. He wanted to tell her that they should start again. But he didn’t. It all felt too raw. And with Amaya standing next to him and the band playing on stage and the people laughing and shouting around them, the moment felt . . . wrong.

  “I’m Amaya!” He watched dumbly as his date introduced herself to C. J., as she tossed her long hair over her shoulder and took another sip from her glass. “Are you a friend of Terrence?”

  “You could . . . could say that, I guess,” C. J. answered unsteadily.

  “Oh, really?” Amaya looked between the two of them. “How do you know each other?”

  “We . . .” He began, then couldn’t find the words.

  “It’s complicated,” C. J. said. She then glanced down at her notepad. “It was nice meeting you, Amaya, but I really should get going. I’m covering the event, and I have a few people I need to talk to. You guys have a . . . a good night.” She then walked around the puddle of white wine and fled, leaving Terrence feeling numb.

  “Complicated, huh?” Amaya narrowed her eyes at him over the lip of her glass. “What’s so complicated about it? Did you guys hook up or something?”

  He didn’t answer her. Instead, he silently headed back to their table, not looking behind him to see if Amaya followed.

  * * *

  “What is this?” Amaya asked, prodding her dessert with her fork. She wrinkled her nose. “Is it like a Jell-O?”

  Terry didn’t answer her, instead he sipped from his champagne glass and kept his gaze focused on a spot on the other side of the room, the spot where C. J. now stood, talking to a couple as she scribbled on her notepad.

  He should have left more than an hour ago, but instead he had lingered at the banquet table, not eating the dinner that cost almost two hundred dollars a plate, ignoring everyone around him—including Amaya.

  He kept replaying what C. J. had said. “I didn’t know what you wanted anymore, Terry.”

  But was it really a question? Did she even have to ask? It was so obvious what he had wanted. That had never changed from the moment he’d met her!

  “Hello! Are you even listening?” Amaya said, waving her hand in front of his face.

  “Huh?” he said vaguely, lowering his glass from his mouth.

  “God, were you paying attention?” she cried, making him shake his head.

  “No, what did you say?”

  “I asked what the hell am I eating.” She grabbed the leather-encased menu that sat in the center of the table listing the entrees for that night. “I tried to figure it out, but this shit is in French. I don’t speak French.”

  “No clue,” he murmured, setting his glass back on the table, still gazing across the room.

  Amaya loudly groused and slumped back into her chair. “Are you going to stare at her the whole damn night?”

  “Stare at who?”

  “At that woman! The one at the bar we spoke to earlier. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, Terry!” She poked out her lower lip in a pout. “You’re making me feel like you don’t even wanna be here with me.”

  Probably because I don’t, he thought.

  Amaya crossed her arms under her double-D breasts and stuck out her chest. “I mean . . . if you’re going to act like this the entire night, I can just leave. You can go over there and talk to her!” She leaned toward his ear. “But be careful. Don’t mess up and miss a good opportunity, Terry,” she whispered saucily. “You might regret it later.”

  He pursed his lips and slowly nodded. “You’re absolutely right, Amaya. My apologies.”

  She smiled just as he pushed back his chair and rose to his feet, catching her by surprise.

  “I’m sorry for wasting your time, but I’ve gotta do this. I’ll hook you up with an Uber driver later to make sure you get home safely, okay?”

  She let out a mousy squeak of outrage as she watched Terrence turn away from their table and walk across the room. He headed straight to C. J., who was now talking to another man.

  “No, really! I’m not that much of a dancer, but thanks for asking,” she said shyly.

  “Oh, come on, girl! Just one dance?” the man asked, smiling and moving his shoulders to the rhythm of the music. He held out his hand to her. “I bet we could—”

  “Sorry, brotha, but I believe I’ve reserved a dance with the lady for this song,” Terrence interrupted.

  The other man’s eager smile faded. C. J. turned to stare up at Terrence, stunned.

  “Terry? I . . . w-what are . . .”

  He grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the dance floor, not giving her a chance to finish.

  When they reached the other slow-dancing couples, he pulled her against him. She still looked bewildered. Her delicate brows furrowed as she frowned.

  “We’re going to have to take this slow,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. “My leg still isn’t what it used to be. You won’t catch me doing the merengue anytime soon.”
He chuckled to himself as he gently rubbed her back.

  Feeling her softness and warmth against his fingertips gave him a dull ache. He longed to do a lot more than just hold her close, but he stoically fought that urge.

  “Terry, what are we doing? Why’d you ask me to dance?”

  “Because I’m trying to finally talk to you—not fight with you—and this seemed to be as good a time to do it as any.”

  She hesitantly placed a hand on his broad shoulder and fell in step with the music. “What did you want to talk about?”

  He cleared his throat. Where to begin? There was a long list of questions he had, doubts, and frustrations, but it was probably best to cut straight to the point.

  “So nothing was really going on between you and Shaun?”

  She rolled her eyes and loudly exhaled. It sounded more like a groan. She dropped her hand from his shoulder and let it hang limply to her side. “Is that why you came over there and dragged me out here? To ask me that damn question again?” She tried to shove back from him, but he held firmly onto her.

  “Please, just answer it. I need to know!”

  “For the last time . . . no! No! Jesus, Terry, he was just there because he was bringing me soup and cold medicine. I accidentally spilled soup all over him and he was cleaning himself up while I washed his clothes. That’s it!” She paused. “Then you walked in and . . . well . . . lost your shit. Nothing happened! I wasn’t interested in Shaun. I’m especially not interested in him now!”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing,” she said tiredly.

  “No, tell me. We’re talking now; we’re not arguing. Talk to me.”

  She sighed. “Look, it’s a long story, but the gist of it is that Shaun’s not . . . he’s not the guy I thought he was. I used to think he was the odd man out at Aston Ministries, but he’s more like Dad and Victor than I realized. I guess I’m the only odd man out over there.”

  “So where does that leave you?”

  “Ostracized.” She laughed sadly. She tried to put up a mask of apathy, but Terrence knew how losing her family again had to hurt. “I accept it, though. I can’t be what they want me to be so I’m back to being alone.”