The Family Business 3 (19 page)

To say Marie had given me something to think about is an understatement. The five minutes left in the drive over to the house were awkward. The only thing that interrupted the silence was me saying whatever I felt Marie wanted to hear. I said things that would at least make her feel like it wasn't the end of the world. Things like, “It's going to be okay. We can adopt. You never know, anything could happen. God has the final say.”

She'd nod in response each time I offered up another platitude, but her nod only confirmed that she'd heard my words. The look in her eyes said that she didn't believe a damn thing I was saying. I couldn't fault her for doubting. Hell, I didn't even believe the words myself. Honestly, when Marie told me that she couldn't have children, the world stopped spinning. I wasn't sure that it would ever be okay. Coming from my world, where family is everything to the point where my siblings and I still lived under the same roof as our parents, I couldn't imagine not being able to add to the legacy.

We arrived at the house to find the kitchen empty. I heard voices in the back.

“Sounds like everybody is outside,” I said to Marie.

She didn't answer, probably afraid that if she opened her mouth, she'd break down into tears. I walked over to her, put my hands on her shoulders, and kissed her on the forehead.

“If you don't believe anything else I've said to you, believe that I love you.”

“But I can't give you children.” She couldn't even look me in the eyes. “You can't possibly want me now.”

“Listen here.” I lifted her chin so I could look into her eyes. “I want you, and only you.”

“I believe you want me—right now. Until another woman comes along who can give you what I can't,” she said. “Give you a child to call you Daddy.”

“Look, for right now, being called Uncle is enough,” I said, although my heart told me that even if it were true now, it definitely wouldn't always be.

As if on cue, there was a splash from outside, and the sound of my niece Mariah laughing. I walked over to the sliding glass doors that opened onto the patio. Marie stayed a few steps behind me as we went outside to join everyone by the pool.

As we approached, I noticed that although everyone was sitting around eating barbecue and talking, no one had a smile on his or her face. No one looked particularly upset, but it just wasn't the type of expressions one might expect at a barbecue. Then again, what the hell did we have to happy about?

“Vegas,” my mother called out. She stood up with my nephew Jordan in her arms.

To me, it sounded like she was saying my name as a warning to everyone else that was present—like she was announcing me, rather than greeting me. Everyone who had been chatting just seconds before now silenced themselves.

“What, did I break up the party or something?” I raised my hands in surrender. Was the dark cloud I now felt hanging over me visible to everyone?

“It would seem to me that the party has just begun now that you are here, Vegas.”

This time it was Consuela who spoke my name. She was the grandmother of Paris's son—although there had yet to be a blood test to prove the relation. With everything going on in the family right now, Jordan had been away with her. I had no idea that he would be back in the midst of this war, or that Consuela would be staying around. I hadn't seen her since I got out of jail. It would have been nice to get a heads up, considering my past with her and my present with Marie. I couldn't wait to get Junior and Orlando alone. There was nothing more awkward than standing in the room with two women you've slept with—although I hoped my thing with Consuela was such a long time ago that there wouldn't be any kind of awkwardness left over between us.

“Consuela.” I returned the greeting. She was everything I remembered and then some. I couldn't help but admire how tight her body was, even in her late forties. Whatever was in J-Lo's water was in hers too.

“Vegas, Vegas, Vegas,” she said in a sensual, singsong voice. “You're looking as handsome as ever.” Consuela started walking toward me. I stopped where I stood, as did Marie.

“You don't look so bad yourself. I didn't know you'd be in town.” I was trying not to be obvious as I checked out her curves, but I must have failed, because I felt Marie's elbow jab my arm.

I turned to face Marie, looking at her like she was crazy. She was like a mirror, giving me the same look. She cleared her throat and nodded her head toward Consuela.

“Oh, yes.” I turned back to Consuela, who still had her eyes glued on me. If I had to guess, she hadn't even looked Marie's way. Marie was invisible to her. “Consuela, this is Marie. Marie, this is Consuela.”

“Hello, Marie,” Consuela said, still not taking her eyes off of me.

Marie didn't respond. Consuela probably wouldn't have acknowledged a reply anyway.

“Well . . . it's good to see you,” I muttered, once again finding myself trying to fill in an awkward silence.

“It's better to see you.” The singsong was gone. Her tone was full-on sultry now.

I swallowed and tried not to fidget. How was I supposed to respond to that, especially with Marie burning a hole through me with her eyes? And it didn't help that my family was watching us like they were watching a movie on the big screen.

“I heard you were home for good,” Consuela said, “so I brought you a present. Something I've been holding onto for quite a long time. Something I should have given you years ago.”

“Really?” That was a surprise, considering she never wrote to me once while I was locked up.

“Really,” she said with a mysterious grin on her face. “Nevada,” she called out, turning her head to the side as if she was speaking to someone behind her.

That's when I looked over her shoulder and noticed a boy stepping out of the pool He wasn't a little kid like my niece and nephew. He was a teenager. He was a tall, wiry, athletic-looking kid, wearing a pair of USA swim trunks. What really made my heartbeats pause and my mouth drop open was what else he was wearing. The young man was wearing my face. He looked exactly like me. Not a younger image of me, but who I looked like at that given moment.

“Yes, Mother,” the boy said as he went and stood by Consuela.

“Nevada,” she said to him, “this is the man I've been telling you about all these years.” She turned and looked in my eyes as she said to her son, “This is Vegas, your father.”

“Well, there ain't no denying that one,” Paris joked to Rio loud enough for all of us to hear.

She'd only verbalized what I felt, what I knew the moment I laid eyes on him.

“Poppa.” A huge smile spread across his face. “It's so good to finally meet you.” He came over to me, and we just stood there staring at each other, until he threw his arms around me.

I didn't know what to do. I slowly raised my own arms. Was I supposed to hug him back? I looked to my mother for answers. She was smiling just as hard as the boy was. My mother's hands were clasped together, as if a prayer had been answered and she was thanking God. I placed my arms around his back.

I looked to Consuela. She was smiling, too, as she placed her hand on her son's—
our
son's—shoulder. Then I looked over to Marie, who raced away from the patio with tears streaming down her face.

I watched London chase after her, thankful for the assist, because once I held him, I did not want to let my son go.

“Fuck!” I shouted in frustration. Being tied up in a room for days, mostly by myself, had begun to wear on me. It didn't help matters that the only time I saw anyone it was one fine-ass man after the next. And those Muslim brothers had willpower, let me tell you. Every time they came in the room, they acted like they were immune to the power of the pussy, and that shit just turned me on even more.

Okay, so maybe the average girl in my situation wouldn't be thinking about sex, but I am no average woman. I might have gotten a late start at the age of nineteen, but once I'd gotten my first taste, I'd been addicted to dick. Now here I was in the presence of all these strong, red-blooded black men, and not one of them appeared to be thinking about sex in the least—with the exception of Brother X, and even he backed down at the last minute. It was enough to drive a nymphomaniac like me crazy.

I was busy conjuring up yet another gang-bang fantasy in my head when Elijah walked in with his fine self.

“I hope this is sufficient.” He was carrying a bag of something that smelled so damn good my stomach started doing backflips. It also smelled familiar.

He opened the bag and laid the takeout containers on the table in front of me. When he popped the lid on the carton, I understood why it smelled so good.

“Wait, you got this for me?” My undisguised surprise brought a smile to his lips. “You know this is my favorite.”

Whenever Elijah was the one in charge of watching me, we'd have conversations. It was mostly small talk, like the conversation we'd had about our favorite foods. I was impressed that he remembered, and also blown away by the gesture. I had no idea where we were, but I didn't imagine we were next door to a Bon Chon, the Korean fried chicken place that put the Colonel's stuff to shame. Elijah had gone out of his way to get this for me. “You are so nice,” I said, feeling taken care of for once.

“I'm not as nice as you think. Besides, you need to eat.” He sounded concerned and authoritarian at the same time, making me imagine all the naughty things he could do to me. I liked to be dominated from time to time.

I looked down to my hands, which were attached to the chair. “You can either feed me, or you can let me feed myself.”

“If you promise not to try to escape, I will allow you one hand to eat.”

“I promise,” I said, and he uncuffed one hand.

“This is a lot of food. Are you going to join me? I promise you it's not cooked in pork fat.” I was pleased to see him smirk at my little joke. He was letting his guard down a bit.

I have to admit that the way I attacked that food was not ladylike at all. Of course, he put a hurting on the chicken too.

When we finished, he took me into the bathroom and washed my hands for me. There was something so erotic about it, with the slippery soap bubbles and the way he massaged my hands between his. This was the kind of man who knew how to take care of a woman, not like some of the Peter Pan boys I had been with lately. Something about his manliness made me hold back on my usual forwardness. I didn't make some graphic statement or try to sexually overpower him with my words. Believe it or not, Elijah made me feel a little shy.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked as he cuffed me back to my chair.

“No.”

After my restraints were secure, he headed for the door, stopping once more to double check, “You okay?”

“For someone locked to her chair and held against her will, you mean?”

“Yes. That is correct. My apologies.” He actually seemed embarrassed, like this hostage business was new to him.

“I'm bored. And lonely,” I admitted, because there was only so much staring at the walls one could do without going mad.

“What would you like? I mean, within your current circumstance?”

I was so grateful and relieved that he was even asking, rather than just walking away. There were plenty of things I would have liked from him, but again, I steered clear of sex talk. After the way I'd heard him lecture X about Muslim respectability, I didn't want to offend him just when he was starting to soften up.

“Well,” I said, “when you took me to the bathroom, I noticed a couple of the men playing chess. Is there any way one of them could come in and play with me?”

“You play chess?” He didn't hide his surprise.

“Yes, my father taught me.”

“Very good,” he said. “A father should spend time with his daughters.”

“Yeah, I loved when he spent time with me—most of the time. He also made me learn Chinese so that I could read the original text of Sun Tzu, so it wasn't all fun and games.” I couldn't help smile at the thought of my father and his many life lessons. God, I missed him terribly.

“
The Art of War
. I know it well, but only the English version,” he admitted, staring at me like I was some strange creature. “You're not like any woman I've ever met.”

“And you're not like most men.”

That made him pause for a minute. I guess he was trying to figure out if I meant it as a compliment or an insult.

“I mean, here I am your captive, and yet you treat me with great respect. You even went out of your way to bring me my favorite food tonight,” I explained.

He tried to brush it off as if the chicken hadn't been specially ordered for me. “Women are to be taken care of. The Quran tells me that.”

“Oh, so you were only doing what your religion tells you to do?” I challenged.

He nodded.

“Okay, but here's something I don't understand about your religion: Why are women expected to be second-class citizens? You know, walking three feet behind the man, covered up completely . . . that kind of stuff. I mean, do you believe in all of that?” Oddly enough, I found myself hoping he would say no, that he believed a woman could be his equal. I was surprised by how much I cared.

“I would not call them second-class citizens, but I do think a respectable woman should be covered up.”

I looked down at the baggy sweat pants and oversized T-shirt he'd given me after X had torn my other clothes. “So you'd rather see a woman in something like this than the outfit I was wearing when you brought me here?”

“Yes,” he answered. “If you were my woman, I would never want another man to see the outline of your body. That would be for my eyes only.” He stopped, turning away from me. I was stuck on the way he'd phrased his answer:
My woman.

“You mean I couldn't even wear a bathing suit to the beach? Are you serious?”

“Yes. If you are my woman, then you are mine, and not to be gawked at by any man on the street.”

My woman.
There it was again. It sent a strange jolt through me to hear him say it, but I still didn't agree with his philosophy on the clothing issue.

“What I wear should be my choice,” I argued, “and if you loved me, then you should want me to have those choices.” I held his gaze waiting for his response, while knowing it wouldn't be what I wanted to hear.

When he spoke, his voice was soft and not as confident as it had been. “Do you think you could worship the Quran?” His question took my breath away, because I realized what he was asking.

“I read it, and yes, there are parts of it that speak to me, but I just don't know. . . .” Just saying it was painful, realizing we were on two separate paths that would likely never meet.

I think my answer bothered him, too, because he abruptly changed the subject. “Let me go and get the chessboard for that game.”

As soon as the door closed, I let all the air out of my body. What the hell was going on? Whatever this feeling was, I knew it wasn't something that was supposed to happen. I shook my head, as if I could release all my confused thoughts that way. What if I was experiencing Stockholm syndrome, where you identify with your captors after a while?
Oh, Lord,
I thought,
Paris would never let me live that shit down.

“You ready?” he asked when he returned with the chess set.

“You play?”

He pulled up a small table and set the board in front of me.

“So, how's this going to work?” I asked, staring down at the handcuffs.

“Guess I will be the one making all the moves,” he informed me as he set up the pieces.

“I also assume that I will be the white pieces?” I said with a laugh. “I mean, with you being a Black Muslim and all, you probably don't want to have anything to do with white.”

“It's not that deep.” He smiled, showing the most beautiful straight teeth as he placed the black pieces in front of me.

 

 

“Check mate!” I said proudly about an hour later. We were evenly matched and the game had been close, but I wasn't about to lose, even to him.

“Wow. I'm impressed. But promise you won't tell my men. None of them can come close to beating me, and—”

“It would be so embarrassing if you were shown up by a female?” I said, flirting openly now. “I get it. Your secret is safe with me.”

He looked like he was ready to play along, but then one of his men opened the door and he straightened up, all serious again.

“Brother X wants to see you,” the man said. “Should I wait in here with her while you are gone?”

“No. She will be fine. In fact, unless she has to go to the restroom, I would like her undisturbed.”

“Yes, sir.” He ducked back out the door.

Elijah exited the room, leaving me alone to wonder what the hell was going on between the two of us.