The Demise (16 page)

Carter tensed, and in the blink of an eye, his mood changed. “Wait,” he whispered as he grabbed her waist and lifted her off of him.

“What's wrong?” she gasped as she placed a hand over her heart, breathless.

“I haven't been fair to you,” Carter said. “I can't give you what you want from me, Sam.”

“I don't want anything, Carter. There is no expectation,” she said. “I'm a big girl.”

“I don't have any love to give,” Carter said. “I can appreciate you. I can enjoy you, but I can't love you, Sam.”

“I know,” she whispered as she cupped his face. “That doesn't stop me from loving you. I hate the woman who wounded you so much. I don't need you to love me, but I won't lie about my feelings for you. I just want you to open up to me. You can trust me with anything. Why do you think I'm here? In the middle of nowhere? You're paying me well, but it isn't about the money. I had family and friends. I'm up here, with you, cut off from the world, and I have never felt more alive. So no, you don't have to love me; just don't shut me out. Don't ask me to go away, and don't hold back.”

Carter wished that things could be different. She was good for him. She was a good woman … the type any man would love to make his wife. He was just so guarded. He couldn't afford to be vulnerable, not again. After losing his son and exiling Miamor from his life, he didn't think he deserved to feel joy. So instead of allowing himself to connect fully with Sam, he put up guards, blocking her from ever getting too close. They were together in an unconventional way. They talked, the sex was good, and the chemistry was magnetic, but he was no good for her. He knew what kind of karma he had sown. When it came back around, he didn't want to pull Sam into his mess. She could only get hurt being with him. She was too legitimate for him. She didn't know about the wars he had fought, the people he had killed, or the drugs he had sold. She didn't know the kingpin. She knew what he pretended to be now, the simple, secluded persona that he had made up. She had no idea how real things could get in his world.

“Carter, look at me,” Sam whispered. Their eyes met. “You're everything to me. Just let me in.” She kissed him, and his reluctance melted away as he swept her under him and laid her gently on the bearskin rug.

“Be careful, Carter,” she said, concerned. He was fragile. After being shot, he wasn't quite the same. With only one good lung, he moved slower and his pain was not only emotional, or mental, but physical as well. He was broken, but pleasing a woman would always be his expertise. Sam didn't know him outside of Colorado. All she saw was the secluded part of him … the man who chopped firewood and played chess against himself. She didn't know his gangster. He was all G, and he handled her body as such. He silenced her worries with a kiss as he entered her, rocking her body. The only sounds that could be heard were the crackling fire and her cries as she called his name over and over again.

*   *   *

Carter awoke as the rising sun began to sneak past his curtains. They had fallen asleep on the floor, her head resting on his chest. He slid from underneath her, being careful not to awaken her. A chill had settled over the house. The fire had burned out, and the heat alone wasn't enough to battle against the negative-degree temperatures outside. He slipped into his clothes, head spinning from the night before. He pulled on his coat, grabbed his gloves, and stepped into his boots before heading outside. The winter air was biting cold, but he didn't mind. He had grown used to it. He inhaled deeply and then grabbed the ax that sat next to the porch. Never in a million years had he predicted this would be his life, but this was the only place where he could go that didn't remind him of his former life. This had become his refuge.

He headed into the backyard and collected some wood from his stockpile. He then took it to the chopping block and began to break them down. He swung hard, overexerting himself probably, but he didn't care. Since he was no longer in the business of running empires, this was the only way he knew to let off steam. There was no one to punish for the death of his seed. There was no vengeance to be had because he knew that if he even broached the subject, he would be killing himself. Baraka was too powerful a man to wage war against, so he held his rage inside and took it out on the wood every chance he got. By the time he was done, he had worked up a full-body sweat. He picked up an armful of logs and headed back into the house. The piercing scream that cut through the air stopped him midstep. Instinctively he dropped the firewood and headed to one of the guns he had strategically placed around the property. His paranoia never allowed him to be too far away from a pistol, and in three years he hadn't had to use one. It seemed his past had caught up to him. He walked up the back stairs and eased through the back door. He saw Sam, curled up, covering herself with one of the bear rugs as she stared intensely at someone. “Who are you? What do you want?” Sam asked.

Carter rounded the corner with his hand around the trigger, but his heart dropped when he saw who had invaded his home.

“Miamor,” he whispered in shock. He didn't know what he felt. Hatred, relief, love, confusion … it all plagued him as he squinted in disbelief.

“Hi, Carter,” she said. “I haven't met your little friend here. Why don't you introduce us?” Her tone was sarcastic … angry, even. Despite the fact that they were no more, she was still sick to her stomach at the thought of him being intimate with another woman.

“Go upstairs,” Carter said to Sam without looking at her. He kept his eyes trained on Miamor.

“Carter, who is this?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, Carter, who am I?” Miamor challenged.

“Go upstairs, Sam. Now,” Carter repeated, his voice stern.

“No, please stay. I think I deserve to meet the bitch that's fucking my husband,” Miamor stated.

“Your husband?” Sam asked in shock. “This is your wife?” Sam gasped.

“In the flesh,” Miamor replied. She put the gun she had been pointing at the girl away, tucking it away in her Birkin. “I take it he didn't tell you that I murdered the last bitch I caught him cheating with.”

“That's enough, Miamor,” Carter said with authority. Miamor shot him a look that could kill, but she didn't say another word as Carter helped Sam from the floor and whispered something in her ear. Sam rushed out of the room, leaving them to their reunion. It had been three years and neither of them had ever made their split official. By law, they were still man and wife.

Carter placed his gun on the counter and stared at her. “Why are you here, ma?” he asked. “Do you know what the sight of you does to me? I was starting to forget how much I resented you until I saw your face.”

His words stung, and she cringed as tears accumulated in her eyes. Carter Jones was her man. He was her husband. He had been her everything.
He's still so fucking handsome,
she thought as she took a deep breath to stop her nostalgia. He was different. She could see that he had changed. His beard had grown out fully, and worry had aged his features before his time. He looked tired, burdened, and her heart ached just from his presence. All she really wanted to do was fall into his arms, but she couldn't. He didn't want her. His love had turned to hate for her. She had taken him through too much. Besides, she had moved on. With Fly, none of the bullshit lingered in the air. Fly loved her, and although it didn't feel the same as when Carter had loved her, it was love all the same.

“I hate that you have her here. A part of me was hoping to find that you hadn't moved on,” she admitted. “I wanted to kill her when she answered the front door. I wanted to put a bullet through her head.”

“Don't speak about her. This is my life now,” Carter stated solemnly.

“I never thought you would have a life without me in it. I thought we were soul mates,” Miamor said, her lip trembling. She placed her fingers in the corners of her eyes so that her makeup didn't run down her face as the tears emerged. She sniffed, slightly emotional.

“We were,” Carter whispered. “But I can't be with you, Miamor. You're reckless. The memories of our baby … they haunt me every day.”

“I have to tell you something, Carter,” Miamor said. “It's about our son.” She pulled out her phone and held it out to him, showing him a picture of C.J. “He's alive, Carter.”

The news hit him like a ton of bricks, momentarily stunning him as his brow furrowed. He saw her lips moving, but everything after “he's alive,” he couldn't fathom. He gripped the edge of the nearby table and bent over it as if pain had spread through his body. Carter was normally so in control, so composed, but when he looked up at her, tears filled his gaze. “How?” he asked. “This is a dream. I'm dreaming right now,” he whispered.

“No, it's true. It's real, Carter,” Miamor confirmed. “He's alive. Baraka didn't kill him. None of the kids. Monroe's son is okay, too.”

Overwhelmed, Carter sat and planted his face in his hands as he cried. He tried his hardest to stifle his feelings and dam his emotions, but it all poured out of him. All of the hurt, the anger, the regret was flooding into his hands as he sobbed. He had never cried like this, not even as a young boy. Not even when he lost his mother or his father or his brother. Not even when he thought he had lost Miamor. She walked over to him and placed her hands on the back of his head as he buried his face into her stomach, pulling her close.

Seeing him this weak moved her.
God, this is such a good man,
she thought. She was mad at herself—livid, in fact—for messing everything up between them. Now it was too late. Now it was awkward. Forced. Her actions had reduced them to two people with two different lives who shared a child.
This isn't how it is supposed to be. We were supposed to love each other forever.
Her thoughts were filled with sadness, but she was still grateful. Their son was safe, and that was all that mattered.

Carter grunted, slightly embarrassed as he regained composure. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he shook his head. All the nights he had thought of taking his life to rejoin his son when his son had never left him. “I should have gone after Baraka,” Carter said. “I should have seen his body with my own eyes before disappearing.”

“You didn't know,” Miamor said. “Neither did I.”

Carter stood to his feet, squaring his shoulders. “How did you get him back? I know Baraka didn't just give him to you.”

Miamor sighed. This was the hard part. This was the part where she would have to tell him that she was with Fly.

“Baraka is dead,” Miamor revealed. “Fly Boogie killed him and brought our son to me.”

Carter's nostrils flared. “Fly Boogie? How the fuck that little nigga get to Baraka? And how you know so much about it? You with that little nigga?”

Miamor lowered her eyes and then took a deep breath as she replied, “Yes.”

Carter's jaw clenched as he stared at her. He said nothing, but she could see the disdain and hurt in his expression.

“I—” she started to explain, but he interrupted her.

“Where is my son?” he demanded.

“In Miami, with Monroe. I only left him so that I could come speak to you,” she replied. “Come get you.”

Sam cleared her throat, announcing her presence. “Is everything okay, Carter?” she asked timidly.

Carter sensed her fear. Miamor had a way of intimidating most men, so he sympathized with Sam. “It's fine.” He turned to Miamor. “I'll be in Miami by this evening.”

She frowned. “I thought we would go together,” she said.

Carter was so angry with her that he could wring her neck.
Fly Boogie? She letting Fly Boogie walk around with my bitch on his arm,
Carter thought. “Nah,” he said as he walked over to the front door and held it open. She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. She knew there would be something in the air between them, but she was taken aback all the same. She didn't wear her heart on her sleeve, however. She spotted Sam's notepad and pen, then leaned down to pick them up. She scribbled on the pad and then handed him the note as she walked by him and out the door.

“Here is my number. You can call me when you get to Miami,” she stated. She looked at Carter seriously. “You sure this is how you want it to be between us?”

He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice so that he wasn't overheard. “You laying in the bed of the little nigga I used to have watching over my blocks,” Carter stated. “A nigga that I used to line up in my army. How did you think it would be?” he asked. “You thought you were going to come in here and we were going to be a big, happy family?” Carter paused and waited for her to answer. “Let me explain something to you, ma. The only reason I'm coming back to Miami is for my son.”

Miamor scoffed. “You real bothered for a man who has no interest, but whatever you say,” she replied. “See you in Miami, Carter.” She walked down the snowy path and back to her rental car. She could have told him that the Fly Boogie he remembered had since graduated in the streets and now had an empire that stretched up and down the West Coast, but she didn't. There was no point in defending Fly because when it came down to it, she would only be doing it out of spite. Her heart would always be in the hands of Carter Jones, but she couldn't force him to open back up to her. Sometimes the past was best left in the past, and although it pained her greatly, she didn't have a choice but to move forward with her life as somebody else's girl.

*   *   *

Carter's heart thundered in his chest as he watched Miamor pull away. She was his girl.
That's me,
he thought, but his pride kept his feet glued in place. Every fiber in his body had wanted to pull her into him, kiss her, cry with her, rejoice with her over the revelation of their son's survival, but he couldn't. She was poison, and partaking in her would lead to his death. She always had been bad for him and he had always known it, but it wasn't until now that he accepted that fact. He could not allow Miamor to put him or their son in jeopardy ever again. Loving her wasn't worth it. Despite the fact that she was the only person in the world who made him feel whole, he still couldn't take it there. He had to cut it to her rough. He had to make it clear, because she would sniff out any indecision he had. She would recognize his weakness and she would make him love her at the drop of a dime. She had that much power over his emotions. He suffered a silent heartbreak as Miamor disappeared from his view. Some people were just meant to be together. The universe pulled them together, but they were pulling themselves apart and that unnatural separation hurt like hell.