All the Things I Meant to Tell You

by Tiffany L. Warren

  I took out my nine-millimeter Glock and held it to his temple.

  “Man, don’t play with me. I am legit fucked up in the head because of what you did to me. I go to therapy twice a week. But when I told my therapist what you did to your wife, she didn’t stop me from doing this. She knew I was coming for your ass.”

  The laughter stopped, and his nasal breathing was rapid and ragged.

  “Nobody is going to care if I empty this out in your head. And nobody’s going to know if I do. It’s Thanksgiving. This building is closed. No one here but us. Everyone’s home preparing their Thanksgiving dinners.”

  I wondered where he was supposed to be. After that visit from me, Fatima was probably hoping he never came back. If he didn’t, she’d probably liquidate the bank accounts, sell the house and get the hell out of dodge. She’d be the first suspect, especially when her friend Christina got questioned by the police for her threatening Facebook comments, and she told everyone the truth.

  “Do you think Fatima is gonna care? I talked to her, you know.”

  He did know. His nostrils flared when I said this. Fatima had confronted him. Maybe threatened divorce.

  “She’ll leave at some point. When she gets on her feet. She’s using you now. It’s unfortunate there’s a child involved. The fact that you procreated and put your rapey genetics into the gene pool is very unfortunate.”

  Tears leaked from the corners of Alexander’s eyes. I burst into laughter. He had the audacity to be crying? What a weak ass he was. I wasn’t surprised, though.

  “Aw, are you feeling remorseful? Or scared? Which is it? I know I sound like a crazy bitch. I am. So, you’re right to feel scared.”

  The glaring returned, but his breathing slowed. Maybe he could tell that I wasn’t going to kill him. He might’ve been plotting his escape or even his revenge.

  “Okay, Alexander. Let’s not drag this out. Let’s get to what your next steps will be, shall we? I have a Thanksgiving dinner party to get to. Wouldn’t want my friends to be worried.”

  The fury and rage in his eyes was priceless. It matched my own.

  “First thing you’re going to do, when you find yourself back at home, is you’re going to put your house on the market. You’re leaving Atlanta. After you do that, you have twenty-four hours to be packed up and gone.”

  Alexander grunted and made noises. I supposed these were objections. I didn’t care about the logistics; I just knew his ass better be gone.

  “If you don’t pack your shit in a van and get out in twenty-four hours, reports of the women you’ve raped in the homeless ministry will be given to your pastor. There is a woman who will substantiate the claims for me, so that I won’t have to talk to anyone.”

  The fear in his eyes told me my suspicions were real. He had raped more women at that homeless shelter. I didn’t have to produce them, I just had to give enough evidence to the pastor to start an investigation. The stain of it would be enough even if he was never convicted.

  “Who knows? Maybe your wife is talking to your pastor right now. That would make this all easy for me, and you. You wouldn’t have to find a new place to live. The state of Georgia would have one for you. Three hots and a cot.”

  He started to struggle against his restraints again. This was getting tiring. He wasn’t going to escape, but he was obviously still obstinate. I straddled the dental chair and held my gun between his legs.

  “Calm the fuck down before you make me kill you.”

  He stopped moving and I got off the chair. I wasn’t going to kill him. Wasn’t going to go to hell for this demon. He could go there by himself.

  I opened the drawer and pulled out a syringe. Alexander started grunting and making noise.

  “Will you please shut up? It’s just propofol. It won’t kill you. It’ll make you take a long nap though. Long enough for me to put you in that wheelchair and get you out of here. When you wake up, you’ll be a little disoriented, but you’ll remember. Put your house on the market and get out of Atlanta in twenty-four hours. If not, I’ll be back. And I might have to hurt you.”

  Alexander continued to struggle until I’d administered the injection. Then, it was lights out. Thank goodness for heavy weightlifting. He couldn’t have been more than one hundred sixty pounds. It was harder lifting him when he was unconscious, but not impossible.

  I cut the tape away from his mouth so that he could breathe freely and freed him from the chair. I lifted him into the wheelchair and covered him with a blanket.

  If anyone cared to look at the security footage from this, they might have some questions about what was going on. But since one of the brothers of Omega Phi Gamma owned the building, I wasn’t too worried about that.

  It was easy to wheel Alexander to the parking lot and haul him into the backseat of my car. Dumping him would be harder. But I’d already found a secluded area in Atlanta—a strip club parking lot on Thanksgiving Day.

  I left Alexander there on a bench outside, covered with the blanket. He looked like a man who’d had too much to drink and slept it off on the bench or a homeless person. Either way, when he woke up, he’d be able to get home. I hadn’t taken his wallet, or phone, although I’d put it in airplane mode and disabled the GPS.

  It wasn’t a perfect crime, I was sure. Luckily, it didn’t have to be. It wasn’t like Alexander was going to press charges, or even tell anyone what had happened to him.

  If he did, I would take it to the next level. And if necessary, I’d bring in professionals. He was not going to rob me of my life, my peace, my sanity, or my home. Hell no.

  And he damn sure wasn’t going to rob me of my gift.

  I dialed DeAndre’s number. He answered on the first ring.

  “Hi Twila. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Hey DeAndre. Happy Thanksgiving to you too. You going to your family’s house today?”

  “No, I think I’m going to chill around the house. My sister’s husband’s family aren’t really my cup of tea.”

  “Why don’t you come with me? We’re having dinner at Kimberly’s house.”

  “The bride to be?”

  “Yep. She can cook her ass off. We’ll have to do two-a-days for the next week to work off all the calories.”

  “I’m down. I’d love to. Are you going to text me the address? Should I meet you there?”

  I smiled. “No, I’ll text you my address. You can pick me up from my place.”

  Nope, Alexander Adams wasn’t taking another moment from me. He was done terrorizing my life. And I was about to share my gift with my friends.

  Chapter 44

  HAHNA

  My back and feet hurt from working so hard in the kitchen with Kimberly. I would remind myself to never work for her in real life. Not to mention that Twila had never shown up for her duties. She’d called and said she had an emergency patient, but I was skeptical. I think she just didn’t feel like cutting onions.

  “You need the shower, babe?” I asked Sam as I set out a fresh towel in the bathroom. “I may be in here for a while. I think it’ll take me forever to get the onion and celery scent out of my hands.”

  “I took a shower earlier. Do you want tea or coffee? I can have it ready for you when you get out.”

  “Wine. I need wine.”

  Sam laughed. “Okay. Chilled white wine it is. You know, there’s time for you to take a bath if you really want to relax.”

  “There is time, but I need not get too relaxed. I might just fall asleep and go over for a leftovers plate in the morning.”

  “She did have you up early.”

  “Five o’clock! And she was already going when I got there. Kimberly is amazing in the kitchen though. I ate a slice of pound cake earlier and almost fainted it was so good.”

  “I can’t wait. I love a good home-cooked meal.”

  “Babe, I’ve got about five things I can cook well. Outside of that, your home-cooked meals will come from a caterer.”

  “And I’m not mad about that. Y
ou have other strengths.”

  Sam punctuated this thought with a yummy French kiss. If he convinced me to crawl into bed with him, we definitely wouldn’t make it in time for dinner.

  “Speaking of my other strengths, I got a really good lead for a new client at work.”

  “Really? That’s great. Do you think it’ll be something you could announce at the Christmas party?”

  “Yes, if it goes well.”

  “Why wouldn’t it go well?”

  For a second, I considered not telling Sam about the Torian connection, but Kimberly was right. At this point, Sam might think I was hiding something if I didn’t tell him.

  “My ex-boyfriend, Torian, is the one who brought the lead. It’s a private equity group he’s been doing business with. He recommended The Data Whisperers.”

  “Hmmm.”

  I couldn’t tell what that meant. Did he not care?

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “This is the guy who ghosted you, right?”

  “Yeah, the one who claimed he had cancer later.”

  “Claimed?”

  “I mean, that’s what he said. I don’t have evidence that he had it, but I don’t have any reason to think he was lying.”

  “Sounds like you don’t trust him one hundred percent.”

  “I don’t trust him fifty percent.”

  “But you’re letting him bring you business?”

  “Corden and I talked about it. We want to at least explore it. It’s too promising to not investigate. It could be a several million-dollar engagement.”

  “If you don’t trust him, you should be careful.”

  “Do you want to come to the meeting?” I asked.

  Sam scrunched his face into a frown. “Why would I join your business meeting? I don’t know anything about data analytics.”

  “No, but you’re good at reading people. I value your opinion.”

  “I am good at that, but so are you. I don’t think you need me there.”

  “Okay.”

  Sam rubbed his hands in his beard and stretched the hair. He did this when he was thinking. His expressive eyes confirmed his pondering.

  “Are you inviting me because you think I’d be jealous?”

  I let out a huge sigh. I was kinda glad Sam had identified that elephant in the room.

  “Would you be jealous?”

  “No, no. I wouldn’t. I’m not that kind of guy, Hahna. If you’re mine, then you’re mine, but only because you choose to be. I’m not in the habit of fighting for a woman’s love.”

  “I definitely didn’t mean to imply that. I just don’t want to mess this up. I love you, Sam. I have never had a bond like this.”

  “I love you too. More than anything. I want your business to be a success. If this guy can help you with that, I’m not concerned that you used to date him. I trust you implicitly.”

  I threw my arms around Sam’s neck and kissed him. I don’t know why I let Corden or Kimberly make me doubt my Sam.

  “Now, get in the shower so we can get to the food. A brother’s getting hungry.”

  “You sure you don’t want to join me?” I asked as I kissed him again.

  “Don’t tempt me with a good time. I want some turkey!”

  I laughed and rushed into the bathroom for my shower. Over and over this man proved to me how amazing he was. Torian and his stacks of cash had nothing on Sam and his infinite capacity to love me.

  With Sam’s vote of confidence, I knew that Corden and I would be successful in landing this account with YS&S. I just hoped Torian didn’t have any tricks up his sleeve, but since he was the devil in the flesh, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

  Chapter 45

  KIMBERLY

  Kimberly sipped a glass of red wine as everyone fellow-shipped prior to dinner. The dinner was completed, and Twila had texted and said she was on her way, so Kimberly felt relaxed and calm. She watched Ron play cards with his children, including Sean, and she felt an incredible sense of peace. Even the foreboding that she’d felt about Twila had dissipated.

  Hahna looked refreshed in her brown jumpsuit. Kimberly felt a little twinge of jealousy at how good she looked. It was Thanksgiving, and her wedding was at the end of March. Even if she lost an impossible one hundred pounds by then, her body wouldn’t look as good as Hahna’s. She knew it didn’t matter, because the bride would be the most beautiful on her wedding day, but she still wished that over the years she’d finally buckled down and found her discipline. Weight loss was the hardest thing she’d ever tried to do. Harder than getting her law degree, running a business, or even finding a man.

  She wasn’t helping herself by making the decadent Thanksgiving meal, but she wouldn’t worry about that on the holiday. She’d start again, at the top of the year. And whatever happened, would happen. She would be smaller by the end of March, or she wouldn’t. She was still going to look into Ron’s eyes and say, “I do.”

  Hahna bounced over to Kimberly. “What are you thinking about?” she asked. “The food coma everyone is going to be in when they’re done eating?”

  “There will be food comas to go around. Yes.”

  “Did I tell you I invited one of our frat brothers for Samantha? Is she still coming?”

  Kimberly’s jaw dropped. Samantha was not a person she hooked up with men. It was terrible for the man and pointless for Samantha. Her list of qualifications was impenetrable. That was why she hadn’t had a date in ten years.

  “You know Samantha is crazy when it comes to guys, right? Who in the world could you hook her up with?”

  “Brandon Tyson. He just planted a church in Decatur.”

  “Oh, yeah, I know him. His pastor loves him and gave him a full blessing in breaking off to start the new church.”

  “That’s what the church streets are saying. Plus, he’s an eligible bachelor.”

  Eligible was debatable. Brandon was a big man, probably over four hundred pounds, and he had a slew of health issues. Diabetes was the one Kimberly knew about, because he’d been hospitalized after a church conference.

  “I don’t know if Samantha is looking. Everyone’s not looking, you know.”

  “Well, even if she’s not, it’s kinda awkward for all of us to be coupled, and her being her as the odd woman out.”

  “I guess.”

  “Should I not have invited him?”

  “I mean, we’re gonna be drinking over here, so is he cool with that?”

  “Brandon’s a frat. He knows what it is. He’ll pray for us and wash his turkey down with all your lemonade and sweet tea.”

  “Jesus. If he has a diabetic attack because of all this food, I’m blaming you.”

  “You aren’t blaming me. He’s grown. He knows what he can and can’t eat.”

  The doorbell rang, and Kimberly walked toward the door, but Ron beat her to it.

  “Sit down, baby,” Ron said. “You’ve been cooking for two days. You don’t have to lift another finger.”

  “He loves you so much,” Hahna whispered. “I can’t wait for the wedding.”

  Twila walked into Kimberly’s living room looking like she didn’t have a care in the world, and with her new man in tow. Kimberly marveled at the healing properties of therapy and penis.

  “Doesn’t she look like she didn’t lift a finger in the kitchen today,” Hahna said. “Hair all laid, feet unswollen.”

  Twila laughed. “Y’all not gonna worry me. My patient thanks you both. Y’all know I only know how to chop stuff anyway. I don’t cook.”

  “DeAndre, you cool with that?” Hahna asked.

  “The not cooking? She doesn’t have to cook. I’ve got more than one chef in the rotation.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “So, DeAndre, you haven’t met Big Ron yet. He’s Kimberly’s fiancé. These are his little girls Carly and Kayla, and his older son Sean. You’ve met Sam and Hahna. Everybody, this is my man, DeAndre.”

  “You’ve been promoted since the last time w
e chatted,” Hahna said as she gave DeAndre a hug. “Congratulations, brother. Welcome to the circle.”

  “Yes, welcome him, y’all,” Twila said. “He’s coming to Jamaica with us too.”

  “I am?” DeAndre asked.

  “Yes, but we haven’t talked about that yet. Kim and Ron are getting married in Jamaica. You are my date.”

  “Oh, cool then. I love a bougie black people wedding,” DeAndre said.

  “You play spades?” Ron asked. “I’m trying to get a game together. You can be Sam’s partner.”

  “Absolutely,” DeAndre said.

  DeAndre went to the table, and had a seat while Ron moved Kayla and Carly out of the way. Hahna grabbed Twila and dragged her to the kitchen. Kimberly approved of this action, because Twila wasn’t just happy and free, she was extra. Like she’d already drank all the Henny but without the stumbling.

  “Girl, what is up with you?” Hahna asked when they got into the kitchen away from the guys’ ears.

  “What do you mean?” Twila asked. “I’m good.”

  “I’m gonna be honest,” Kimberly said. “You’re a little much today. Like that one time you took uppers during finals week.”

  “Oh my god, that was crazy,” Hahna said. “We had to peel her off the walls. Have you taken something? Sniffed some nitrous with your patient?”

  Twila laughed. “Y’all are hilarious. I just feel really good. I had DeAndre pick me up from my house.”

  “Wait. You went home?” Kimberly asked. “Are you okay?”

  “Better than okay.”

  “And Alexander?” Hahna asked.

  “Handled.”

  Kimberly and Hahna exchanged a look. Twila laughed and poured herself a glass of wine.

  “I saw that look,” Twila said. “You guys should practice that look so it’s slicker.”

  “Did you kill anyone or order a hit?” Hahna asked.

  “No. But if I had, I wouldn’t tell you. Plausible deniability.”

  “Well, then, how is it handled?” Kimberly said.

  “Alexander was persuaded to put his house on the market and leave Atlanta.”

  “Persuaded how?” Hahna asked.

  “You ask too many questions. Let’s go have Thanksgiving dinner.”