Chase felt cold. Oh my God. I am crazy…because of my mama? Crazy does run in families. He shuddered and closed his eyes. “Jesus, Cyrus. Please stop.” But Cyrus was right. He didn’t want to hear it, but he needed to know.
“That was light shit, Chase. Now I’m gonna tell you somethin’ that’s really gonna fuck you up. This is the part that may make you crazier. It’s the reason why I love you, but I hate the day you were born. If you want, you can go ahead and kill me after this, but know that it wasn’t my fault.”
Chase stood back up. “Take it to the grave, Cyrus. I don’t want to hear any more.” Chase felt like he didn’t even know Francie. This person Cyrus was talking about was not his mother. He looked at Cyrus coldly. He wanted to cut his throat so he’d just shut the fuck up, the lying bastard.
“Francie was a hooker for a long time, and she didn’t just do it to keep Wendell happy or for the money. She was probably just as addicted to sex as she was to heroin. Business dried up when she started lookin’ like what she was. Wendell used to try and force her to kick, and she’d always go right back. When I was twelve, I had a real good friend named Russell. Mama sent me to get cigarettes, and while I was gone, she fucked Russell in my bed. She did shit like that sometimes, but usually not when she was on heroin by itself. That only happened when she mixed it with other stuff, even if it was just liquor. I woke up one night, and she was on me like a jockey—”
Chase dropped his razor and covered his head with his arms. He fell to his knees, screaming. “I don’t wanna hear any more! Please, Cyrus! Don’t tell me that! I don’t want to know that!”
Cyrus sat there and watched him scream. He made no attempt to go for Chase’s razor.
Chase took his arms down and backed away from him. He stopped screaming, but tears were coursing down his cheeks so hard he could barely see.
Cyrus smiled at him. “It’s the worst thing in the world, isn’t it, Chase? It’s a deep, dark, greasy, slimy secret—somethin’ to make you finish goin’ crazy, right?”
“You’re a liar, Cyrus!” Chase screamed at him.
Cyrus laughed softly. “Yeah, maybe, but not about this. Francie wouldn’t come in my room often, but she came. I can’t think of a another man she had anything to do with during that time. If she did sleep with somebody else, I didn’t see him. So that makes me a little more than your brother, Chase, doesn’t it?”
Chase snatched his razor up off the floor and leapt at Cyrus like a lion on a gazelle. He knocked him off the stool at the breakfast bar and brought his razor down. It slid across Cyrus’s cheek, exposing blood and torn flesh.
Cyrus screamed laughter.
“Shut up! Shut up, you fuckin’ lying bastard! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” Chase slashed at him furiously and blood few hitting the walls, spraying the furniture, coating Chase like paint. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, slashing at Cyrus until his arm was tired. Then he finally got up, exhausted, crying, and shaking uncontrollably. Chase crawled to the farthest corner of the room and dropped his razor. He curled himself into a ball and was still.
Epilogue
Chase stood by the window with his hands in his pockets, watching the snow fall. It was Christmas Eve, and he would have thought all that peace on Earth, goodwill toward men stuff would have sent him in a downward spiral, right back to the blackness he’d stayed in for two months after Cyrus “died.” But surprisingly, he wasn’t upset. Instead, he was happy—happy and grateful. The corners of his handsome mouth turned up into a small smile of contentment. He’d finally found happiness; he’d found Bliss. He’d asked her once if she could live up to her name, and she had…ten times over.
Chase thought Bliss would bounce after what went down between him and Cyrus, and he would have understood if she had. It was awfully heavy stuff to deal with, too heavy for Chase himself to handle. He remembered that night a lot more vividly than he cared to. J.T. had put Bliss and Dee in a cab to Dee’s place, and he’d come back upstairs after the screaming stopped—only it was Chase’s screaming and not Cyrus’s. His screaming had stopped way before Chase’s. J.T. just silently picked Chase up in a fireman’s carry and put him to bed. When Chase woke up much, much, later, the place was pristine, Cyrus was gone forever, and his wife was in his bed.
Chase and J.T. never spoke about that evening. There was really no need to. They’d been friends for a long time, and they loved each other like brothers, but Chase didn’t want J.T. to know what Cyrus had told him before he took his life. There was only one person in the world he’d told about that, and that was Bliss. He only told her because she had a right to know; she was his wife, and she was pregnant with his baby. She listened to the whole sordid story without judgment, and when he was finished, she looked him in the eye and told him she loved him—for better or for worse—and she meant it.
Chase turned his head and looked at her. She looked happy too. They’d traded up, gotten rid of the loft, and bought a chic and stylish apartment on the Upper West Side. Right now, they had a full house: Bliss’s parents, her brother and sister and their families, Tasha, J.T., and Dee. To Chase’s surprise, Dee had brought a date. Not so much to his surprise, J.T. and Tasha were seeing each other, without claiming they were actually seeing each other.
Bliss caught his eye from across the room. She smiled at him warmly and made her way across the room to him and handed him one of their babies; she gave him Corey and kept Hope to herself. Chase looked down at his son and missed his baby brother poignantly. Losing Corey hurt him deeply every day. He guessed that was Cyrus’s legacy to him—to make him hurt forever. Funny…he didn’t miss Cyrus at all. He didn’t even miss him enough to ask J.T. what he did with the body, and he didn’t really care. Cyrus was gone, and he was free.
Bliss smiled up at him, and she was like the sun. “What are you thinking about, standing over here by yourself, being so quiet?”
Chase kissed the top of Corey’s head and smiled back. “I was thinkin’ about how much I love you and our kids, just standin’ here being grateful. I don’t have to go searchin’ for happiness anymore ‘cause I got it right here. Thanks, Bliss.”
Bliss kissed him, and their babies giggled and squealed. “You don’t have to thank me for loving you, Chase. I’m your wife. I always will.”
Chase smiled. “Merry Christmas, Bliss.”
“Merry Christmas.”
He kissed his wife, appreciating her for what and who she was. She’d shown him that there was always light after darkness—that there was hope and love…and Bliss.
Be sure to check out Sabrina A. Eubank’s
Short Story Ebook Series
How could your best friend turn out to be your worst enemy? Fame and Low Lo had been partners in crime and close friends for years. Being grimy, pulling stick-ups, and trying to evade the law was normal for them, and the main component of their long friendship. Low Lo is mean, greasy and out of control—willing to put an exclamation point on a robbery with a body count. Fame puts up with Low Lo’s antics and his ego as long as the money is right, while he keeps a scandalous eye on Low Lo’s sexy and long suffering girlfriend, Charmaine.
But what happens when stick-ups are not enough? Low Lo takes it upon himself to make a life-changing decision for the two of them. Fame, against his will, is pulled into a world he has no desire to live in. All hell breaks loose when Low Lo’s pride gets them into major beef with a notorious drug family and they barely escape with their lives. Fame and Low Lo’s partnership, as well as Low Lo’s relationship with Charmaine, are torn apart in the aftermath as their new profession changes all the rules they live by. Who will remain loyal to who? Will greed win over friendship, or will revenge destroy them all?
Enjoy a bonus read from
George Sherman Hudson’s latest novel
City Lights
Lies, deceit and murder ran rampant throughout the city of Atlanta. Real and his lady, Constance, were living in the lap of luxury, with fancy cars, expensive
clothes and a million dollar home until someone close to them alerted the feds to their illegal activity.
At the blink of an eye their perfect life was turned upside down. Just as Real was sorting things out on the home front, the head of Miami’s most powerful Cartel gave him an ultimatum that would eventually force him back into the life he had swore off forever. Knowing this lifestyle would surely put Constance in danger, he made plans to send her away until the score was settled but things spiraled out of control. Now Real and Constance are in a fight for survival where friends become enemies and murder is essential. Atlanta’s underworld to Miami’s most affluent community—no stone was left unturned as Real fought to keep Constance safe while attempting to regain control of the lifestyle he once would kill for.
From the city of Atlanta to the cell block of Georgia’s most dangerous prison, life under the City Lights would never be the same.
Chapter 1
The federal agent watched Real get out of his lime green Lamborghini Murcialago LP 460 with his fiancée Constance and head into G-Spot, his high class strip club located on Peachtree Street in downtown Atlanta. Real had been under federal investigation now for six months, ever since a federal informant tipped them off about his illegal activities.
Anyone who came into contact with Real would surely put him well beyond his actual age of only twenty-seven years. He was six feet tall with a medium built muscular frame that the ladies couldn’t get enough of. His smooth, charcoal black skin, wavy hair, and light brown eyes gave him an exotic look that would have any woman fawning over him.
Real was a real charmer and a ladies man. He prided himself on his slick tongue and convincing rhetoric. Some people in the past had mistaken his easygoing manner for weakness, but in the end, they found out Real was an extremely dangerous individual.
Constance, Real’s baby girl, fiancée, and business partner, was always by his side. Constance was three years older than Real, the spitting image of Lisa Raye with a little more hips and ass. Constance grew up in the College Park projects, where she got down with the grimiest of niggas hustling crack to the project fiends. After a few run-ins with other hustlers, the word spread quickly that lil’ fine ass Constance would bust her gun at the drop of a dime.
After graduating from Banneker High, Constance tried her hand at real estate. In no time, she became a highly reputable broker that only dealt in the most high-end homes. Constance became a millionaire virtually overnight.
Constance and Real had met three years earlier at a mutual friend’s birthday party. They kept each other company throughout the party. Before leaving the party, they exchanged numbers and promised to stay in contact. A week later, Constance was selling Real a $4.7 million estate in North Atlanta—the one in which they now both reside.
Real was a millionaire in his own right, raking in millions in the drug trade, more than he would ever make going legit. He supplied dealers from every coast. Moving over 100 kilos a week enabled him to live the lifestyle of some of the world’s biggest sports figures. After continuous preaching from Constance to put together some kind of legit source of income, he opened up G-Spot, an upscale strip club that catered to the rich and famous.
Real and Constance were on their way to a Tyler Perry play when Real got a call from Max. “Say, cuz,” said the manager of G-Spot, “we need your assistance down here. It’s very important,” Max said firmly.
Max was Real’s older cousin. He was discharged from the military right after the Gulf War. As soon as Max heard about his lil’ cousin Real starting a strip club, he practically begged him for the managing position. Constance was totally against it, but Real disregarded Constance’s wishes and gave his cousin the job anyway. Unfortunately, it took a while for Real to see just how right Constance was.
“I’m on my way,” Real said, placing his phone back into the car charger.
“On your way? Where you goin’?” Constance snapped.
“Max needs me down at the club. It’s only going to take a second,” Real said, turning the Lambo around and heading back up to the club.
“Man, come on, now! What the hell you hire this nigga for? To watch pussy! Shit, you might as well be managing your own shit! Every night, you get a call to go do his fuckin’ job! You need to hire somebody to handle your business so you’ll have time to spend with your fuckin’ lady!” Constance barked as they pulled up into the club parking lot.
Real knew when it was good to let Constance have her say, especially when she was right, but by the same token, Constance also knew when to hold her tongue.
“Come on,” Real told Constance as he opened the door on the Lambo.
Ignoring his command, Constance sat in the car until he walked around, opened up her door, and helped her out of the car. Walking hand in hand, they entered G-Spot.
Chapter 2
“Hey, cuz! Two slick-dressed Italian guys demanded to see you. For what, I don’t know, but they up in VIP with some of their other friends,” Max told Real as he pointed toward the VIP section of the club.
“Italians?” Real repeated, trying to figure out what the men could possibly want. Real didn’t know any local Italians.
“Yeah,” Max said, looking in their direction.
“What they want?” Constance asked angrily, furious that her night was put on hold by Max—again.
While Constance and Real stood in the middle of the club floor, naked girls spoke to Real and ignored Constance as they walked by. Constance made it known to every girl working that she wouldn’t hesitate to fuck them up when it came to Real. Some of the girls respected her situation, but a good majority of them didn’t. Every chance one of them got, they would come on to Real in some kind of way. After a while, it was known around the club that Real wasn’t going to cheat on Constance, so they stopped trying—all but Cream, the beautiful half-Black, half-White stallion. Cream was determined to break Real down and get him into her bed.
“I told you I don’t know what they want,” Max snapped looking at Constance with pure hatred.
“So you called us all the way down here, and you don’t even know what they want? Did you even ask?” Constance snapped back.
“I called Real down here, not you,” Max answered harshly.
“Enough!” Real yelled, leaving Max and Constance standing in the middle of the floor looking at each other as he went to the VIP section to see what the Italians wanted. “Somebody looking for me?” Real asked, looking at the men.
They instantly stopped throwing money at the naked girl and looked up at him. “Who are you?” asked one of the men.
“I’m Real, the owner. Now, who wants to see me?’ Real asked again.
“Oh! Real! Come take a seat, my friend,” the young, fancy-dressed Italian told Real after making his friend move out of the seat beside him.
“I’m good. What’s the problem?” Real asked, still standing staring the man down.
“Oh, there’s no problem, my friend. I just came to deliver a very important message from Mr. Rossi,” the young Italian said as he stood and walked over to Real.
“Rossi? What’s the message?” Real asked, confused. He didn’t recognize the name.
The Italian man got up close on Real and whispered, “Mr. Rossi says you work for him or you don’t work at all. He knows you are making his competition, the Moretti family, very rich, which is also making Moretti’s stronghold on the cartel a lot stronger. Mr. Rossi can’t touch Mr. Moretti at this time, but he can touch you. So, what’ll it be?” the young Italian asked with a sly smile.
Real placed his arm around the man’s shoulder and said firmly, “Tell your boss Mr. Rossi that I said to go fuck himself and that I don’t sit well with threats. Now, you and your boys get the fuck up out of my establishment!” Real said, smiling as he exited the VIP section, motioning for Max and Constance to follow.
“What up, cuz?” Max asked as they entered Real’s back office.
“Everything’s good. Just some rich, arrogant Italians tr
ying to invest in the club, which is totally out of the question,” Real told Max as Constance stood by, picking up on the lie.
“Oh, okay, cuz. I got everything under control. I will call you tomorrow with an update on thangs,” Max said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
Constance rolled her eyes.
“A’ight, cool,” Real said, turning to walk out the office.
“Under control my ass!” Constance uttered as she followed Real out of the back office.
As Real walked across the floor, he noticed the Italians exiting. The tall, lanky one looked in his direction and smiled. Real smiled back.
A few minutes later, Real and Constance were turning out of the G-Spot onto Peachtree Street.
Picking up on Real’s different mood, Constance spoke softly. “What’s going on, baby?” she asked, sensing his uneasiness.
“Some spic trying to make demands. Had the nerve to send me a message that if I don’t work for him, I don’t work at all. Can you believe that? Ain’t that some shit? He must don’t know who the fuck Real is!” Real shouted, getting madder and madder as he thought about the threat from the man in the silky suit.
“Who sent the message?” Constance inquired, trying to see if she recognized the name as one of her wealthy real estate clients. She had sold several high-end homes to Italian drug lords.
“Rossi!” Real spat.
“Hmm. Never heard that name before. So what’s next?’ Constance asked.
“I’m going to call old man Moretti to see what the deal is. If he don’t fix it, I will!” Real snapped.
“He’ll straighten it out,” Constance said, hoping he would—but even if he didn’t, she was going to ride with Real to the very end, no matter what.
Chasing Bliss Page 28