Hook'd

by Taisha S. Ryan

  Slick approached him. "Aye, good luck out there. You got this."

  "Thanks, Slick." They grasped hands, embracing each other into a hug.

  Cam stepped on stage and camera lights flashed at his entrance. He stood behind the podium. His brown eyes bounced around the small conference room, filled with TV cameras, journalists, news reporters, and bloggers, waiting for his speech. His heart pounded with intensity. He couldn't remember the last time he was this nervous. He adjusted his navy blue tie, and cleared his dry throat.

  "Uh..." He fixed the mic on the stand. "I know there’s been some allegations about me recently, and I came up here to address it. I just want the world to know, that those allegations are false. Every single one of them. I would never in my life, violate a woman. Ever. So, everything you hear in the media, is bullshit. Excuse my language." He stared at the TV cameras, not even bothering with the cue cards. "And to the woman who put me in this predicament...fuck you."

  Gasps filled the room, as cameras snapped endlessly.

  "On everything I love, I'm a see you soon. Best believe, you're gonna regret doing thi—"

  Slick snatched the mic. "Alright, that’s all. Thanks everyone for coming out today."

  He rushed a fired up, Cameron off the stage.

  "What the fuck was that?" Slick scolded in the empty hallway.

  "I had to get that off my chest."

  "By cursing the bitch out on national television? What is you stupid? You wanna ruin your rep even more?"

  "I don't give a fuck. The world needs to hear it, especially her—"

  Slick yanked his shirt, slamming him against the wall. "You wanna ever box again? Huh?"

  Cam pushed him off and Slick got in his face. "Keep fucking around and they’re gonna lock your dumb ass up. You already lost millions. You wanna lose some more? If you don't get your shit together, you gonna be finished out here! Is that what you want?"

  Cam glared at him, his nose flaring.

  "Cam," Yasmine called, walking toward him. "What the hell happened up there?"

  Without a word, Cam stormed away.

  Chapter 4

  3 years.

  3 fucking years.

  For nothing.

  His career, his freedom, all taken away. Everything he had worked for. Gone.

  He couldn't believe the jury found him guilty. Despite the fact that there had been no evidence of forcible entry. Throughout the duration of the 2 week trial, various witnesses from doctors to police officers, even people from his team such as his bodyguard Big Polo, Slick, and others that had traveled with him to the club that night, recounted their own versions of the event leading up to that moment. None of his people dared to testify against him.

  His lawyer fought hard for his innocence, convincing the jury the best way he could, that Cam had been indeed framed. But his case still wasn't enough to explain the accuser’s bruises, in which she claimed had been inflicted by Cameron. According to her, he had drugged her, persisted to have sex with her, then beat her repeatedly when she resisted him. And just his luck, the toxicology tests revealed traces of ecstasy pills in her system, backing up her claim. Even in the surveillance footage of her walking out of the hotel room that night, she had worn shades to conceal her face. Which only disapproved any opportunity for the defense to refute the claims. In the end, the jury had found him guilty of 1st degree rape, landing him in Clinton Penitentiary prison.

  All these years in the business, he had worked so hard to avoid situations like these. Never had he forced a woman to do anything she didn't want to do. He had always been cautious. Smart with his moves.

  And now here he was.

  Locked up.

  Losing his fucking mind.

  Since the conviction, his boxing license had been revoked. He lost millions. His endorsement deals had been stripped away, and he had spent chunks of his money on lawyer fees alone. His name tarnished. His brand irreparable. Most of his supporters abandoned him. The people he once trusted. Gone.

  It broke him. It truly did.

  "Six-hundred and three...six hundred and four...six hundred and five..." Cam forced with a heavy breath. His hands pressed against the cold pavement, he rose then descended with each count, pushing the weight of his muscular frame with all the strength he had. Beads of sweat dripped from his dark toned skin, as veins bulged across his brawny arms. He glared at the gleam of sunlight through the small barred window, the only once of light within his darkened cell.

  Cam did his last push-up and stood with heavy breaths, his muscles aching from the strenuous work out. He plopped himself on the hardened cot, running his fingers through his coiled fro. Over the course of 3 months, his low cut fade had long grown into a thick afro, his now scruffy beard a full contrast from the trimmed facial hair he once sported.

  "Lewis."

  His sharp gaze bounced to the steel door, only to meet the blue eyes through the thick glass window.

  "You have a visitor."

  He didn't even have to ask. He knew exactly who it was. One of the few left in his corner.

  He trudged to the door. He slid his wrists through the small opening, and allowed the correctional officer to latch his wrists with the steel cuffs.

  Escorted by the officer, he entered the visitation room. A small area in which inmates and their visitors were seated around tables, conversing amongst themselves. When he found, non-other than Slick seated around the table, his mood lightened a bit. Just like he expected. Out of everyone, he was the only one who visited him often. And he appreciated him. He truly did.

  When he arrived at the table, the C.O. released his wrists, and sat across from Slick whose lips lifted into a cool smirk.

  "How you holdin' up?”

  He scoffed. "Whatchu think?"

  "Well, I got some good news."

  "What is it?"

  "You gettin' out of here."

  He blinked, unsure if he heard him correctly. "What?"

  "You heard me. You getting out of here."

  "Whatchu mean?"

  "Let's just say...I had a few people take care of some things. Now the bitch is recanting her story and claiming that she was lying the whole time."

  His brows rose. "Are you serious?"

  "Yeah. And I got the lawyers already on it." Slick nodded with vehemence. "Now, all we gotta do is petition this whole thing, and get the court to set up a new trial. But best believe, you gettin' out before you know it."

  Chapter 5

  "Yo, ya'll give it up again one time for the boy, C. Lewis! We’re glad to have him back, ain't been the same without the champ!" The DJ announced from the booth, erupting cheers from the crowd.

  Cam lifted up his bottle of Champagne with a nod, as everyone continued to cheer. It was the night of his return, and his team threw a private rooftop party in L.A. in celebration. The most prominent celebrities in Hollywood had attended, from Diddy to Jay Z. Dressed in his black and gold printed Versace crewneck T, matching designer jeans, with exclusive pair of black Prada sneakers, with his sleek Ray bans to finish off his look, he dressed fresh for the occasion. A total contrast from the dingy, blue jumpsuit he had worn for months. He had even gotten rid of the ruffled afro and beard that had him looking like a bum off the street, and kept this hair in a low fade, with his facial hair neatly groomed.

  It felt so good to be out.

  To no longer be confined in a 8X7 cell, with no ounce of freedom, the feeling was liberating. Within 6 months, they had petitioned a new trial and his conviction had been overturned. He had never felt so blessed.

  But even as he sat amongst everyone within the exuberant atmosphere, a deep sense of emptiness arose in his chest. Prison gave him time to reflect. And the one thing he realized, was how alone he really was. The same people in attendance that had welcomed him with open arms, were the same ones that had turned their backs on him during his time of need. He realized now, he couldn't trust anybody. In that moment, Slick's past words lingered his mind. The piece of advic
e he had given years ago, when he was just a budding athlete new to the game. "Son, people are moths drawn to your light. And the moment that light dims, they'll all disappear before you even know it." That always stuck with him. But for this all to actually happen, it really put things into perspective for him.

  From here on out, he would only keep his circle close. He was done with all this fake, Hollywood shit.

  His publicist, Yasmine, sat next to him on the plush chair. She crossed her legs with her phone in her hand. She began to speak, but the pounding rap music drowned out her voice.

  "What? I can't hear you," He said, leaning his ear closer to her lips.

  "I said, I booked you an interview with Don Lennon, next Friday."

  Cam tilted his head. "Yas, you at a party right now and you wanna talk about that?"

  "Yes, I do."

  As usual.

  One thing he could say about Yasmine, she was always on her A game. At all times.

  He scoped her frame, admiring how good she looked tonight in her royal blue dress. Her long slender legs looked more than tantalizing under her short cut dress, as well as her perfectly manicured toes adorned in her 6 inch stilettos. A definite plus. There was nothing worse than a woman with bad unkempt feet. With that smooth light mocha skin, long straight black hair, and perfect body, Yasmine was sexy as hell. No doubt about it.

  There were times he thought about getting at her. They flirted from time to time. But that was where it stopped. She was professional enough not to take it any further. And he respected her for it.

  "Oh, and we have to start revamping your image. So, for the upcoming weeks, you're going to be doing a lot of charity work. Like visiting shelters, group homes, schools, speaking to kids, the whole 9. Oh, and speaking of which, I actually have a friend that runs—"

  He grabbed her phone. "Stop."

  Yasmine rolled her eyes with a sigh. He picked up the Peach Cîroc from the table and poured some into her empty glass. "Drink. You're at a party, we don't gotta talk about all that right now."

  "But seriously my—"

  "Yas."

  "I know, I know. Just one last thing." She took the phone back from him.

  "Alright, what is it?" He leaned back, taking a sip of his drink.

  "My friend, Reese, runs a shelter for battered women. So, I'm thinking if you were able to at least volunteer or do a speaking engagement there, it would really help your image."

  "Hell no." He shook his head. "I'm all for speaking to kids and all that other shit. But a women's shelter? Nah."

  "Why not? It's only gonna help you."

  "Help me how?" He turned to her. "How do I look, speaking to women about abuse? 'Oh, ladies abuse is bad. Rape is bad. Yada, yada, yada. Oh and never mind my abuse charges, by the way.'" He mocked.

  "Don't sound like that."

  "Sound like what? It's a bad idea. After everything, I don't even wanna be associated with that kind of shit."

  "Look, in case you haven't realized, your brand is the gutter right now. Do you really want the rest of your legacy to be known of you as a rapist?"

  He shuddered at her words. The thought of that haunted him each day.

  "I'm gonna be known as that, regardless. Ain't shit gonna change," he said defeatedly, and took a long gulp of his drink. It didn't matter that he had been found innocent, people would always see him as a rapist. His legacy was ruined. He knew that much.

  "But it can.”

  He scoffed, shaking his head.

  "Cam, you need this."

  With a sigh, he stared ahead in deep thought. Then took the last of his drink.

  "I'll think about it."

  Chapter 6

  "No, absolutely not," Reese declined to her friend over the phone.

  "C'mon, Reese, you know this would really help me out," Yasmine pleaded.

  "Nope, I'm sorry. I love you, but there's no way in hell I'm having some rapist associated with my organization."

  Cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder blade, she gathered her folders on her oak desk.

  "He's not a rapist."

  "Well according to the court, he is."

  "And he was found innocent."

  "Which is probably a lie."

  "He was framed, Reese."

  "Whatever. Rapist or not, I still don't want him associated with this organization."

  If she knew her friend would bombard her with such nonsense, she wouldn't have even picked up the phone in the first place. For her to think she would even consider helping Cameron Lewis, the disgusting rapist, whose whole existence was a walking stereotype, she had to be out of her mind.

  "Look, the reason I came to you in the first place is because your organization is well known around the city. It'll be just what he needs to revamp his image. I mean, what perfect way to show the world he's innocent by volunteering at a woman's shelter?"

  "So that's what this is about? Revamping his image?"

  The nerve.

  "Forget the fact that he beat and raped an innocent woman. God forbid, he would at least have the decency to do it out of the pureness of his heart. But no, it's all about his image. You can't be serious," she ranted, her blood flaring.

  She leaned back in her leather chair, counting silently to ten to calm herself down.

  "It's not just about his image. He actually wants to do it."

  "Oh please. Don't try to sway me like you do the rest of the public. It's insulting."

  "Alright, fine. But he's willing to help fund it. He has a charity called the Cameron Lewis foundation. It provides young teens with college scholarships and things like that. It's doing really well and he's offering to help donate to your organization if you consider it."

  "I don't need his funding. We're doing quite fine, thank you," she shot back.

  "Well, can you at least consider it? It would really be great. If not for him, do it for the women in need. They're what matter the most."

  Reese scoffed. Cheap shot.

  Now wonder she was a damn publicist.

  "Cute, Yas. Real cute."

  "Just doing my job, girl." Yasmine chuckled. "No but seriously, please consider it and get back to me. Muah! Love ya." She hung up the phone.

  Shaking her head, Reese placed the phone on the hook. Yasmine really had to be out of her mind. She had integrity. Morals. To even tarnish what she had built these past 13 years for some misogynistic low life, she would be a fool.

  She erased her thoughts and gathered her notes for her board meeting. She had better things to do than to occupy her mind with such foolishness.

  *

  Reese kicked off her heels the minute she entered her home. Nothing more comforting than to be welcomed by the beautiful sound of...silence. After a busy day of running meetings, making conference calls, and everything else regarding work, she was relieved to be home. She lived in a 3 bedroom house in a suburban neighborhood of New Rochelle, just 30 minutes away from her Manhattan office. She loved it here because it provided her with a sense of privacy, which she valued. She didn't have to deal with the disruptions of chaotic noise and crime, just...peace and quiet.

  She entered her room, to hear the melodic sound of her queen-sized bed calling her name. Boy, she couldn't wait to make love to her sheets tonight.

  Out of habit, she turned on her plasma screen TV, then began running the water in her Jacuzzi in her master bathroom. She then stripped out of her clothes, tossing away her blouse, skirt, and her most annoying villain yet...her bra. She breathed out a sigh as her perky breasts bared free. She had been waiting all day to get that damn thing off. Reese brushed her pixie styled hair, molding it with grease with each stroke, before tying it securely with a silk wrap. She then scrubbed her moisturizing cream over her face, loving the way it made her bronze skin glow, especially under the radiant morning sun. It truly worked wonders.

  "Now, we're back with boxing champion, Cameron Lewis..."

  Reese froze for a second, then rushed into her room. On the screen
, was none other than the boxing star, himself, seated across from CNN news reporter, Don Lennon for an interview.

  "Thanks for joining us, we're glad to have you here," Lennon greeted.

  "Thanks, Don. Glad to be here." Cameron nodded.

  Reese took notice to his sleek black suit, tailored with a black button up, and grey tie. His neat fade tapered, with his low shaven beard evenly adorning his brawny jawline, he looked as professional as can be. She shook her head. Such a shame. Cameron Lewis was a looker. In fact, he was too sexy for his own damn good. If one were to take away his unlikeable personality, he would definitely be something to talk about. But of course, that would never happen.

  "So, it's been a rough year for you, hasn't it?"

  "Yeah, definitely." He nodded.

  "Well, take us back. What exactly happened that night?"

  "Well..."

  As he recounted the events, Reese rolled her eyes at his story.

  "Such bullshit," she spewed at the screen.

  "So, you mentioned she framed you," the journalist spoke. "What do you think her motivation was for doing so?"

  "What else, Don? Money. It's a known fact, that when you're an athlete or any famous person in this business, that's what bitches—excuse my language, women want from you. And they'll do anything to get it."

  His response repulsed her. Bitches? Thankfully the censor had bleeped out the expletive, but she knew exactly what he said. What an arrogant piece of work.

  This was exactly why he would never be associated with her company. It would be a slap in the face to all the abused women around the world.

  Disgusted, she shut off the TV. She had enough.

  Reese entered the bathroom, and slid her slender frame into the bubbling water. Leaning her back against the tub, she basked in the warm water as it massaged her skin. A sudden arousal heating her aching loins, she reached for her vibrator beside the tub and switched it on. She placed it on her clit, and moaned in pleasure, as the device quelled her firing hormones. She had been yearning for the relief.