I didn’t hear shit, but I still crouched with my head cocked trying to pick up on what he heard just to be safe. We needed to get moving, I could feel a thousand pinpricks on my skin as the ice settled against my body.
“I don’t hear anything, Capo man, we’re good. Let’s get started in case we need to hit up a gas station for more ice.”
The whites of his eyes shifted around nervously under the blue glow of the moon. He rolled his head from side to side cracking his neck; it sounded like snapping twigs. We stayed crouched down and made our way into our field of green. The scent was even more powerful and I wanted to light up and kick back. Capo pulled the first plant out of the ground and we silently celebrated. I wrapped my gloved fingers around a plant and tugged.
“Gaba-ga.”
I whipped toward Capo. “Nigga, da fuck? Was that you? Stop playing, man.”
He was bug-eyed. “Fuck no, I thought that was you.”
You know niggas don’t do woods, or forests, camping, or nature in general. The field was now tomb quiet as even the crickets were too scared to chirp. We waited like twin warrior statues ready to spring to life and take down anything that crossed our paths. After several moments of complete silence I let out an exasperated breath and went to pull another plant. My sweat mingled with the smell of my fear and anxiety as I ripped yet another Jurassic fern from the ground. Capo did the same tugging wildly at a particularly stubborn plant.
“Pick a different one, nigga. This ice is melting faster than I thought; we ain’t gonna be invisible for long,” I hissed in his direction.
Refusing to be beat by a plant he yanked hard. The roots ripped free from the ground with a loud crunching sound.
“Gobble-ga!”
The sound pierced the air like a phantom Indian war cry.
“Hey, hey, what the fuck.” Capo shot up from his crouched position, dropping our money trees and pulling out his piece.
My lips barely moved. “Don’t shoot unless you want every armed cowboy, hillbilly, and hippie within earshot to come straight here.”
Soulless onyx-black eyes attached to what looked like a vulture in a Triple Fat Goose bubble coat headed straight for me. I rolled to the side dodging the devil bird and it set its sights on Capo.
“Wha . . . wa . . . wait . . . Hold up.” He let out a chilling, bloodcurdling scream hitting the ground so hard it shook. He writhed in pain clutching his junk with one hand. He’d pulled his piece back out from his waistband with the other hitting the wild turkey. “It tried to eat my dick.”
“Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble!”
All the noise spooked the entire flock. Turkeys as tall as my waist and so big around they’d have put Charlie Brown’s great pumpkin to shame burst through the foliage. When I was a kid, one Thanksgiving I watched a special on National Geographic. All I could recall was that everything on ’em was sharp. Their night vision wasn’t worth a damn though. That would explain why they were everywhere, running into and pecking wildly at each other. Pain shot up my leg as one of their beaks caught my ankle going Lord knows how deep. Capo dragged himself up off the ground. We were outnumbered and ill-prepared, leaving us no alternative but to limp away defeated in disbelief.
White Boy fucked up. His people didn’t have dogs, or guards, because they didn’t need anything more than cameras. The only things standing between me and my field of dreams were forty twenty-five-pound Thanksgiving dinners with ball-height beaks. To make matters worse Capo got pinched for that produce truck on the way back to VA. I’d become public enemy number one on his shit list.
“Dontay? Dontay?” Deac snapped his fingers to get my attention.
I blinked rapidly clearing my mind.
“Well it looks like I’ve bored you into la-la land.” Deac stood with a sigh and I followed his lead welcoming the chance to stretch my legs.
“Okay, let’s get you to your room. Should be nice having another man around the house. Keep in mind I have a machete. I’ll chop it off and be forgiven before it”—he nodded in the direction of my manhood—“ever hits the floor.”
I swallowed hard at his threat and shoved my hands deep into my pockets. I was trying to ignore Eva who’d paused long enough to wink in my direction as she tiptoed across the hallway wearing nothing but a towel.
Chapter 7
Eva The Ruler
“The lazy and the wicked will not inherit nor inhabit any parts of the Kingdom of God,” Deacon’s voice boomed over me.
I snapped one eye open, sadly realizing that I was not dreaming. It was Wednesday morning. Leslie was screaming her head off of her shoulders in the bathroom with Momma Rose. She was having a full-blown temper tantrum over her hair. You could talk yourself blue in the face trying to convince her she had good hair. Something had given her the impression “good hair” should be bone straight. I’m sure that something was probably Sue. But no amount of brushing or combing would ever straighten out that naturally wavy mane she had going on, but that didn’t stop her from being pissed about it.
The sky was still painted in the royal purple hues of night outside my bedroom window so it was somewhere around five; my alarm was set for five-thirty. Here this fool goes, on ten all extra early. I sat up with a sigh. That last good thirty minutes of sleep would have me hurting and evil later on. As my eyes adjusted I could see his hand wrapped tight around the end of The Ruler. It was splintered from the trunk of a petrified tree forged from the fires of hell and, if you let Deacon tell it, sacred. No, in reality it just felt that way when you got hit. Ironically, even somewhat idiotically, it was a yardstick he affectionately called The Ruler. It wasn’t meant for measuring a damn thing except the number of strikes needed to rein in your unruly senses.
I sent up a couple of silent prayers, hoping he was just holding it for dramatic effect. Figure the odds of that. The only thing I had to protect me was my camisole and boy shorts. My eyes drifted down to my pitiful blanket in a heap beside my father’s spit-polished cognac-tinted Stacy Adams. They were so clean I could almost see my Fraggle Rock–looking reflection with my hair going in all directions because I didn’t have that good grade stuff like Leslie and no matter how well I tied my scarves I always woke up without them.
He stared down at me with a steely expression that was void of all the love and admiration he rained onto his church friends; he actually looked sad.
“Do you ever forget to eat?” he asked.
Confused I looked around like the answer was hanging out of my closet or about to jump out my top dresser drawer. Momma Rose must have been using the brain this morning. That’s why he was asking such a dumb rhetorical question after the day I’d had. Oh yes, I’d convinced myself a long time ago that they shared one brain or they at least acted that way. The catch was that only one of them could use it at any given time and the result was something like asking me at o’dark thirty if I ever forget to eat. The Ruler started tapping a steady rhythmic countdown against the hardwood floor heating up the cold silence that floated between us. I cursed silently for not knowing the answer or purpose of his riddle and shook my head no.
Ennnnh. The buzzer sounded. That definitely wasn’t the right answer.
He let loose with all of the bluster and fierceness of a thunderclap yelling down into my face. “Then how come . . .”
In one fluid motion he leaned back, slicing the ruler through the air, it landed with a painful, searing crack against my bare upper thigh. I jumped, wincing at the blood rushing to the red welt forming on my skin. The Ruler and I went way back; we been good friends since I was eight. No matter how many times I tried, I was never prepared and could never figure out how to prepare for that first strike. That was always the one that got the worst reaction that in some sadistic way would make him unleash the strike team. Every other word got its very own searing, painful exclamation point in the form of The Ruler. He started hacking away taking his anger and frustration out on my skin with the ruler, no different than someone hacking through the
jungle to clear a path. He must have found out about Que. I’d already cried myself to sleep over that jack-ass and now this. If Deacon knew about him then it meant that Mrs. Porter was probably Mrs. Quinn’s sorority sister. She was the only one who knew who I was.
“You act like we don’t eat and live off of this family’s reputation. If I can’t lead and control my own family why would they think I have any right to lead them? You will not plant that seed of doubt into my sheep—”
“Chill out, Deac.” Dontay barreled into the room in nothing more than some green plaid boxers. He slammed into Deacon pushing him back against the far wall. Dontay pinned him against the wall grabbing hold of him until he dropped his precious ruler.
“You wanna hit somebody, you hit me. We don’t do that woman-beating shit, Deac. Not as long as I’m around,” he growled through clenched teeth, the ropey muscles in his upper back and shoulder flexed in response.
He dropped his hands away from Deacon taking a step back almost daring Deacon to pick up the ruler or say something. Winded, breathing loudly through his mouth Deac sniffed, too tired and emotional to fight or say anymore. He stared Dontay down before turning to leave my room barely casting so much as a glance in my direction. The house was so quiet his nose breathing was the only sound ringing over the uncomfortable silence. Leslie was miraculously mute as a mime. Momma Rose might as well have been a mime since she never spoke up for me. They’d probably sat right there in the living room hearing everything, pretending it was nothing.
I winced; the entire right side of my body felt like one big blazing red welt.
Dontay stared at me with big sad eyes. “Are you good? Let me go get you some ice or some—”
That was the same way Que looked and just about the same thing Que’d asked when he helped me that first day. He should have been here saving me but he was probably spooning his wife or giving her a damn candy bar.
It came out of nowhere. Shoulder-racking sobs like my world was ending. I curled into a tight ball turning away from Dontay. Of course I wasn’t good, and I didn’t like anyone to see me cry especially someone I didn’t know. The bedsprings creaked against the extra weight. Dontay wrapped his arms around me pulling me back against the heat of his chest. He felt perfect, like we were meant to fit together. Sadly I wanted Que’s arms around me; he was the one who’d managed to melt and scoop out a piece of my raspberry sorbet heart. My mind went on repeat telling me the same thing over and over like a spoiled five-year-old. Dontay wasn’t Que and Que wasn’t available.
“You okay, Eva?” Leslie whispered from around the bedroom door.
At the sound of her voice Dontay scooted to a safe distance and I pulled myself together with a few deep breaths.
“I’m good, Leslie-boo. You know that mess don’t bother me,” I told her.
She poked her little heart-shaped face around the door. Two Pocahontas braids dangled from the both sides of her head, they flopped against the middle of her back. Her little nose wrinkled up at me. She stepped closer eying all the red marks all over my skin like typos in a term paper. They felt even worse under her scrutiny. Embarrassment at being beaten into a teary ball in my underclothes had me feeling too mortified to look Dontay or my little sister in the eye.
“Okay, well.” She hesitated. “Deacon sent me to tell you that he wants French toast for breakfast.”
I quirked my eyebrow at that. “Does Deacon want it or do you want it, Leslie?”
“We want it.” She shrugged. “He kind of suggested it and I agree.” She’d started to take herself off when she turned back eyeing Dontay curiously. “And now I see why he said you’re doing redemption service at church tonight. There’s a boy in your room; that’s against the rules. Serve and obey, Eva.” With that she left.
Dontay cleared his throat while watching me with an awkward expression out the corner of his eye.
“Excuse my Stepford baby sister. The brainwashing has already started. After Ava . . .” I stopped myself. I wasn’t ready to tell him about our family dinner that changed our lives just yet. “Sometimes she acts like her head is stuck up Deacon’s ass. It’s my job to get all that religious bullshit off of her. You know reverse the brainwashing.”
His voice rumbled like bottled thunder. “What the fuck is Deac’s problem?”
I told Dontay about Deacon’s infamous rags to bitch-assness story. How he was so poor he’d catch frogs so they’d have dinner. How one day his grandma made him walk his four-year-old brother to a neighbor’s house to ask if they wanted a little boy. Come to find out the neighbors weren’t so great. Deacon had to watch his baby brother grow up being abused by a couple of crazies. All the not having and taking away may have changed him into a Godly man, but it made him a sad, tyrannical hypocrite at home.
“Why are you still staying up in here if it’s this bad?” Dontay asked softly.
I shrugged. I’d asked myself that same question plenty of times. Que had my savings account beyond nice and I was a good legal eighteen. But that feeling of losing everything in one blow made me want more than just a nice amount of money.
“Probably because if I leave no one will be here to take care of my little sister.”
“Guess that means I’ll have to stick around to take care of you then huh?”
His words brought a small smile to my face. They weren’t what I’d expected or the answer I wanted but they helped.
Later that night I was getting ready for church when Que decided to start calling my phone back to back. It already sucked for me to stand and attend to Sister Bealiah. Redemption service was Deacon’s second-favorite punishment next to The Ruler. You got assigned to a church member and you were pretty much their servant for the night.
Once I’d gotten Brother Beasley who wanted his feet rubbed the entire service. Not one person batted an eye. They couldn’t see the stiff finger of applause he was giving me in his pants or the cum stain when I finished.
Sister Bealiah was sitting in a hospital-sign blue skirt suit with some poor animal’s fur lining the collar and sleeves. That old chest of hers puffed up as she looked back and forth between me and my phone buzzing in the pocket of my skirt. Her lips folded down into a dissatisfied frown making the creases on either side of her mouth deepen into sad faces on top of her sad face. It made her big chubby cheeks stand out even more. It looked like she had asses on both sides of her face.
“I graduated from Norfolk State top of my class with honors. In my day women earned their degrees with their head. I guess your generation interpreted that a little differently.” Her eyebrow went up until it almost touched her hairline. “Then again you are your mother’s child.”
Several ladies within hearing distance all nodded simultaneously. My fingers twitched from the temptation of laying them all across the round ass cheeks on her face. Instead I excused myself to the bathroom. I slammed the cover down taking a seat in the last stall. How does Sister Bealiah know? How else would she know? Either Dean Porter told her or she’s cool with Que’s wife.
My cell buzzed with what had to be the twenty-second call from Que. I forced myself to ignore it.
“Is that why I can’t get a hold of you?” Que’s head appeared under the stall.
I jumped up with a gasp. My phone fell, and the floor dismantled it. Pieces went flying in different directions.
I glared at Que. “What are you doing in here? Do you know how much trouble you could get me into?” I slammed the door open.
He was blocking my only way out of the stall and he knew it. I could feel the bathroom shrinking around me until it felt like a broom closet. Deacon would kill me, he would definitely kill me. Que moved towards me backing me up until I was pressed in a corner of the stall with the wall against my back. Reaching behind him, he locked the door with a click. He was all yummified with his beard trimmed and a fresh edge-up. There were even creases in his khakis and not a single wrinkle in his black knit polo shirt. But then again, for all I knew his wife could have picked all
that out for him.
“I’ve been trying to apologize but you ain’t making it easy, Eva. Daddy misses his girl. He needs her.”
I put my hand against his chest to stop him from getting any closer or saying anymore. “No, Que, this isn’t—”
“Eva?” Sister Bealiah’s voice echoed through the bathroom.
My eyes went wide and round.
Que whispered, “Kiss me and I’ll cooperate.”
“Eva, girl, don’t make me come get you. I don’t take well to lazy cherrun.”
“Hurry up before she gets closer.” Que pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth.
Adrenaline had my head spinning and I could feel the armpits of my blouse getting damp. My hand clenched into a fist against his chest. I let him pull me in. My knees felt wobbly from the shock of pleasure that shot through me when his tongue tangled with mine. He shoved his hand up my skirt pushing my panties to the side. All my senses shot to ten. I was sweating, wet, angry, and I still wanted him. I couldn’t even hold back the moan that slipped its way out of my mouth.
“Dern cell phone all over the place; are you sick, girl?”
Sister Bealiah’s voice sounded like she was two stalls down. Alarm whistles went off in my head. Que pulled away from me. He never took his eyes off of me. He licked my juices off his finger all while slamming the stall door open. All five stalls shook from the dull thump on the other side.
Sister Bealiah crumpled to the floor.
Chapter 8
Eva Ain’t No Party Like a No-panties Party
We rode home in complete silence. Deacon wasn’t convinced that I hadn’t tried to kill the woman. Que was able to slip out without being seen while I went to get help. I called Storie as soon as I got in the house and could get my cell phone pieced back together.
“Why do I feel like you’ve been avoiding me?” Storie asked.
“Well hello to you too. I’m surprised you noticed since you only come out from under your Bear blanket for food and water.”
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