He had shaken with excitement. When they'd finally taken the girl, he hated that he had to be with her in front of the three other boys Sean had chosen to participate. But, he'd gone along, that time and the other times, knowing that one day he'd be able to do this alone.
Now, as he remembered that first time, he clasped his hands together to stop the trembling. His shaking had nothing to do with fear. He was too careful for anything to go wrong. But, he could never be overly confident—only a fool would do that.
That's why he carefully planned his strategy. The only reason they were never caught was because their attacks had only been reported to the police once. In their neighborhood, these crimes had been accepted. People sighed, shook their heads, then went about the business of taking care of their families with the little they had.
But in today's times, he had to be more careful. That called for perfect planning.
He pulled out a bottle of Merlot that he had been saving for a special occasion. There wouldn't be a time more appropriate than this. With surprisingly steady hands, he poured a small glass. Just enough to calm him.
As he sipped the wine, he wondered what had ever happened to his childhood friend, although he only called Sean a friend because he couldn't think of another word. He had despised the boy and he remembered every taunt, every sneer, every ridicule. But he could never hate him for what he'd taught him. He'd always be grateful for this.
He raised his glass in a salute. He had no idea where Sean lived today. Probably in the same place or maybe he even ended up in jail. That's how it turned out for most of the kids in his neighborhood. He knew he'd been one of the lucky ones.
He drank the last of the wine in one swallow and returned to his notes, reading through them one last time. Then he folded them neatly four times before he took the pages into the extra room, tucking them inside one of the photo albums that held her pictures. He wouldn't look at the notes again. They were already a part of his mind.
Chapter 26
Anya blew out the two candles in the silver holders and watched as dark smoke spiraled into the air, twirling to the bass of the music. Braxton stood and removed the last crystal platter from the coffee table.
“Do you want me to help?” Anya asked.
“No, this is your night. Relax.”
Braxton put the dishes inside the insulated carton the caterer had left.
When he returned to the living room, he paused at the arched entryway. Anya was still on the floor, in the same place where they'd eaten dinner. With her legs crossed, her eyes closed, and her head thrown back, she seemed hypnotized by Luther's words.
Here and now, I promise to love faithfully
Feeling his presence, she opened her eyes. He stretched forth his hand, pulling her from the floor.
She kissed his nose. “Thank you for a wonderful Valentine's.”
He returned her kiss.
They swayed, with locked lips, until the song ended.
Braxton led her to the couch in front of the bay window. The sun had long ago retreated into the Pacific, and only the rose-scented candles that flickered around them lit the massive room. Anya sat down and Braxton knelt in front of her, slipping off her left shoe.
“Sit back,” he whispered.
She eagerly obeyed, anticipating the coming pleasures. Braxton rested on his knees and began lightly massaging her foot. “You're tight.” He pressed a little harder. “Relax.”
As Braxton kneaded, pushed and pressed, Anya felt her tension waning. He took off her other shoe and resumed his pursuit to please her.
After a wonderful eternity, he placed both of her feet on the floor. He joined her on the couch and she reclined into his arms. He pressed the remote for the CD.
A love so fine is finally mine
“Braxton, we have some of the best times together.” Anya squeezed his hand, wishing it were true all the time.
He tightened his arms around her. “We have a lot to celebrate. I can't tell you how much it means to have you in my corner with Junior—”
She flinched.
“What's wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She paused. “Tonight, let's just think about us.”
He lifted her from the couch and brushed his lips against hers. “To us,” he said. He pulled her to him and they began swaying.
I'd cry, I'd cry if you left my side
She leaned in, running her hands from his neck, down over the tightness of his back. He kissed her head, her ear, then his tongue grazed her cheek, finally finding her lips. As they kissed, they backed their way to the couch, falling and continuing to explore each other.
He leaned back slightly. “Anya,” he breathlessly whispered. “Please …”
She was panting as she pulled his face back to hers, their lips once again meeting. Their passion deepened, and they were falling, falling … His breathing became more rapid. Moans from inside him matched hers.
“Tonight.” His voice sounded like something was caught in his throat.
She was lost in her own urges, as she shuddered against his touch. She allowed herself to drift, giving herself in the only way she could.
It wasn't until her blouse was unbuttoned that she came rushing back.
“Braxton,” she panted his name.
He squinted at her through thin slits. Then he leaned forward and covered her mouth once again.
She pushed him away. “Braxton.” She was still trying to catch her breath.
He moved in again, this time forcing his lips against hers. Anya used both hands to push him and he fell back.
“Braxton, no!”
Confusion covered his face. He leaned forward, trying to reinstate their bond, but Anya shifted on the couch, turning her head away from him. “We have to stop.”
“I don't want to,” he nuzzled against her neck, trying to put his full body weight over her. She could feel his desire and for a solid moment she responded, wanting to yield to all that she had been keeping inside. She wanted him.
But no! She pushed him again, forced herself to sit up, and closed her blouse.
He took her face in his hands. “I want to make love to you,” he breathed heavily. He kissed her cheek, letting short, wet kisses cover her skin.
When he went for her blouse, she stood. “Braxton, I'm going home,” she said, buttoning her blouse.
“I don't want you to.” His voice pleaded and he kissed her again.
She tried to resist. “Braxton …” she called through his kisses. With all of her emotional strength, she pulled back. “We won't be able to stop.”
Through the candlelight, she saw her shoes under the coffee table. After she slipped into her pumps, she turned to him. In his eyes, she saw desire that matched her own, and she stopped. Why am I putting myself through this? she wondered. We're getting married. We won't be judged for this.
But she knew that wasn't true. “I have to go,” she said again. “For both of us.” She prayed he would understand.
“But… okay, let's just talk.” When she looked at him doubtfully, he repeated, “Just talk.” He reached for her and she took his hand.
Braxton went toward the couch. Anya hesitated, then followed. But the moment she sat down, he was over her. She pushed him away and stood. Before she could move, he grabbed her, pulling down. The thump, then her scream, froze them both.
Their bodies remained tangled, but their eyes were clear, as they stared at each other.
It's your love I need
“Oh, my God! Are you all right?” Braxton stood still looking down at Anya. Fear kept him from doing anything else.
Anya held the part of her head where it hit the wall. Her scalp throbbed excruciatingly. She squeezed her eyes hoping that would stop some of the pulsating, but the pain stubbornly continued.
With her hand still on her head, she stomped across the room.
“Anya, are you okay?” Braxton came after her. “Let me take a look at that.” He reached for her, his fingers grazin
g her arm.
Anya whipped around, eyes flaring. “Don't you touch me!” she warned through clenched teeth.
Braxton took two steps back.
“What did you think you were doing?” she screamed. “I told you to stop!”
Braxton's eyes widened. “Anya, I'm sorry. I just got caught up …”
She grabbed her purse and jacket. She was holding her head again, when she faced him. “I'm leaving now.” She spoke the words slowly, then walked into the foyer.
He followed her. “Anya—”
The door slammed against the wall as she jerked it open and fled down the steps.
“Anya, I'm sorry!” he shouted. He made a move toward her car, but when she turned and glared, he backed away. All he could do was watch her get into the car, roar the engine, then screech into the night.
Braxton closed the door. “What was I thinking?” he said aloud. He opened the door again, then closed it slowly. There was no way she would let him get close.
He walked into the living room and turned off the stereo. With great effort, he moved around the room and blew out the candles, one by one, until he was surrounded by darkness. He gazed out the window into the blackened sky for several minutes before he reached for the phone. He gripped the receiver tighter when he heard her voice on the answering machine.
“Anya, please,” he spoke to the machine, “call me. I have to know that you're all right. Please. I'm so sorry and I love—”
Beep!
He held the phone away from his ear and stared at the receiver, then shook his head as he turned off the phone.
His legs felt like weights as he climbed the stairs. At his bedroom door he stopped, staring at the candles around the room. Preparations to welcome her back into his bed.
He closed his eyes. Tonight was supposed to be another one of those times that Anya would have never forgotten.
But now, as he lay on the bed, he knew the look in her eyes was something he'd never forget. He had only wanted to show her how much he loved her.
“Braxton, I'm going to be your wife,” Anya had said. “I will support you in any way I can.”
Everything was planned to show her how much he loved and appreciated what she was willing to do.
But instead of seeing how he felt, she'd left believing he had attacked her. “Anya, I would never do anything to hurt you!” he said, closing his eyes tightly to fight against the memory of the look in her eyes.
He curled his body into a small ball. Then he prayed. Prayed that, somehow, he would gain Anya's forgiveness and find a way to make up for this. But the peace that normally accompanied his prayers did not come tonight. Still clothed, he tossed on his bed for hours, before he finally succumbed to a fitful sleep.
Anya had cried all the way home. She was still crying when she heard Sasha come in after one A.M., and now, as the clock showed 3:40, tears still filled her eyes.
Her head continued to throb; but it wasn't the bump that caused her pain. Images harassed her: Braxton pulling her, hitting the wall, the thump that silenced them both. Why would Braxton do that to her?
But he hadn't done anything. It was an accident. Maybe it was her fault for going too far. She had wanted him too, more than she had in a long time.
She shook her head. When she said stop, that's what he should have done.
She tried to turn over, but something tugged at her hand. She pulled, but her ring was caught in the quilt. It took a few minutes to untangle it. When she held her hand up against the dark, she could barely see the sparkle of the diamond. Sobs were still rising in her when she removed the ring from her finger, placing it gently on top of her Bible on her nightstand.
She curled her knees into her chest and cried deeply, pushing her head into her pillow to soften the sounds. She cried until there was nothing left. Then she rolled over and looked at the clock. It was 6:01.
Chapter 27
The limousine crawled, but Sasha's heart raced. “I'm so excited.” She squeezed Hunter's hand.
He rubbed his hand against her face and smiled.
It had been three days since he'd invited her to the Victory Awards and, with each passing minute, her excitement had grown. Now, at its peak, she hoped she'd be able to walk without trembling.
Hunter peered through the tinted window. “We're next.”
She opened her mouth, but could only nod.
This entire day felt like it had been designed in heaven. The gold Vera Wang dress that she and Hunter had picked out had been delivered with perfect alterations. For an hour, she strutted in front of the full mirror, amazed at the image that stared back.
A stray hair brushed against her face, and her smile turned down just a little. The long brown hair hung beyond her shoulders, and she sighed. Hunter had called before eight that morning, bursting with a surprise. Within thirty minutes, he had arrived—with this wig and a stylist.
Sasha had been shocked, but didn't protest. Maybe Hunter knew best, she reasoned. Maybe the dress called for a wig.
The limousine stopped and Hunter squeezed her hand, bringing her back to the moment. The door opened and Hunter stepped out first, then reached for Sasha.
The moment she stepped from the car, she knew Cinderella was not a fairy tale. There was a softness under her foot and, when she looked down, she saw it—the red carpet. She shuddered as they moved forward, trying to take in as much as she could. But flashing bulbs and the bright afternoon sun mixed to blind her. She could have worn sunglasses; in fact, she'd thought of it. But she wanted her face to be clearly seen.
Above, network helicopters hovered low. Their engines roared and mixed with the crowd that lined the carpet on both sides.
“Hunter, Hunter, Hunter, over here!” women with cameras screamed. “We love you, Hunter!”
Hunter waved, and hooked his arm through Sasha's. As they made their way toward the front, Sasha was grateful for the time she'd spent prancing and practicing. She knew she looked good. The slinky gold dress glittered against her dark skin, and the train attached to the back brought attention to the dangerously low cut that stopped just above the small of her back. She could hear the oohs and aahs as she passed, and her chin rose even higher.
“Hunter, can we talk?” Lyza Easton, a television anchor for The Hollywood Rumor, stuck a microphone in Hunter's face. “You look fabulous, Hunter. Do you have a few words for our viewers?”
“I feel great tonight,” Hunter said in his actor's voice that was a few octaves deeper. “I don't have to worry about whether they're going to call my name. I can sit back and enjoy.”
Lyza's laugh came from her throat and Sasha frowned. “Are you upset that you weren't nominated this year?” Lyza moved her microphone and body closer to Hunter.
“Not at all.” Hunter grinned. “I didn't have a film this year. But my next movie, Tears on My Pillow, which just finished filming in London, will be released by the end of the year.”
“So you were in London—how was it?” Lyza stood so close to Hunter, Sasha was sure there was not enough room for him to breathe.
Hunter kept his smile wide. “London is now one of my favorite places. I can't wait to return.”
“Umm. Maybe we'll end up there together, someday.”
Sasha held Hunter's hand tighter.
“So who is this with you tonight, Hunter?” Lyza's eyes scanned Sasha from head to toe. “Your sister?”
Hunter laughed, Sasha didn't.
“This is a friend, Sasha Mitchell.”
Sasha flashed a smile, parting her lips enough to show her top teeth. That was her best smile. As the camera turned to her, thoughts of Lyza were replaced with ones of Gordon. Was he watching?
They finally continued past the cameras and numerous reporters, into the Shrine Auditorium. But, even inside, the excitement was high pitched. Celebrities surrounded them. Some smiled, some waved, a few stopped to chat. Almost a half hour passed before they finally took their seats.
Sasha nodded nonchalantly as she sa
t next to Will and Jada, but she screamed inside. The night got better with each passing hour.
She counted the rows in front of them—five, six, seven, only eight rows from the front. Her eyes wandered around the room and stopped when she saw Janet Jackson. She watched Janet walk down the aisle and take a seat several rows behind them. She twisted in her seat.
Hunter took her hand. “It's about to begin.”
When the auditorium darkened and Whoopi Goldberg came onto the stage, Sasha finally relaxed. She laughed at Whoopi's jokes, stood and clapped as Whitney Houston performed, and cheered as each recipient accepted their award. The four-hour show passed quicker than Sasha expected, but when it ended, she was anxious to move on with the rest of the night.
It was the after-parties that had her so excited. She'd heard about the celebrations, and she wondered where they would go—maybe to Magic's or Denzel's? Surely Hunter could choose any that he wanted.
The crowd moved slowly from the auditorium and, when they reached the lobby, the limousine line was backed up.
“They told me we'd have to wait at least an hour,” a blonde woman in front of them complained.
It didn't matter to Sasha. That gave her more time to bask in the evening's glory.
“I need to make a call,” Hunter said, after they'd been in line for about five minutes. “Wait here for me.” He led her to a row of chairs outside the ladies’ room.
Sasha frowned a little. She knew Hunter had his cell phone, but she said nothing.
Her eyes roamed the room. This was an elegant bunch; women donned in long, black dresses, with diamond and gold ornaments on almost every neck and wrist. The men were equally refined, in both traditional and unconventional tuxedos. Sasha grinned widely. She was officially part of the Hollywood set.
The crowd was beginning to thin and Sasha checked her watch— fifteen minutes. Where was Hunter? She finally spotted him on the other side of the vast lobby and she began to walk toward him.
Before she was halfway across, she stopped. Hunter was hovering over Lyza Easton, standing so close that Sasha couldn't tell where Hunter's body ended and Lyza's began. His lips were pressed against her ears. He was either whispering or nibbling—she couldn't tell which. In that moment, in Sasha's eyes, Hunter was gone; Gordon had taken his place.
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