The Starkest Truth (A Breaking Insanity Novel Book 2) (32 page)

I recalled Tamala mentioning that someone had told her where I was the night she consented to her degradation before my very eyes. I wondered if Melonie armed Estelle with the information, allowing her to set the attack hounds on me and my first best friend, Maisha. “Did you tell Estelle where I was the night Maisha was attacked?”

Tears guttered down her cheeks at an intemperate rate.

Her quiet sobs and inability to look me in the eye gave me resounding answer: yes.
 

“Nikki, I didn’t know—”

“You knew Estelle,” I snapped, my hoarse voice raising. “You had to have known the extent of her hatred for me. You helped her screw up my life, not once, but twice? Why, Melonie? Why would you do those things to me while maintaining the stance of being a friend to me?”

“D-do you think I deserved what Eric did to me because I made a few mistakes?”

At a loss as to what to say to her, I responded with silence. She was partially responsible for the onset of two detrimental events in my life. Her constant need to play the part of an innocent bystander was one I could no longer believe.
 

Not a single satisfying answer formulated inside my mind, explaining why she bothered to tell Estelle my location. Was she truly naïve to Estelle’s intentions toward me, or did she want Eric to receive some sort of payback? No matter which answer I picked, she would be deemed a liar.

Although I was unsure, I no longer cared to be sure. I’d once thought Melonie was someone I needed to gravitate toward despite my lack of desire to make any friends.
 

She befriended you to manipulate you, Nikki. She was never your friend.
 

While Eric’s methods were cruel, I couldn’t fault him for what he did to her. After all, he’d allowed her to live.

It appeared as though I’d never fully rediscover the concepts which helped me remain withdrawn from people. I was left open to trust, when at first I knew there was only one person on earth I could trust—my mother.
 

My short foray into adopting the way lemmings behaved was quickly dashed. I should’ve known better. Before Cherish Clarke became my tormenter, I thought she and I were friends at one point. Here I was to be faced down with the fact I could never have any friends.

“I truly hate this world,” I whispered. “All it does is remind me of how shitty it is to live in it, by sending people into my life who are nothing but assholes.”

“I’m so…sorry.” She clasped her hand to my face, smiling in spite of her constant stream of tears.

I jolted back, shoving her hand away. “Leave, Melonie.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you. There were times, I wanted to warn women away from him, even when I thought he was my friend—”

“You did the opposite,” I scoffed at her.

“I-I thought that Estelle would—” She shook her head and looked off into the distance. “I really do wish the best for you. You can be happy, without him in your life.” Straightening her coat, she began to head toward the location of her car alone. She glanced back at me with a sullen smile.
 

I gave her nothing in return.

Sinking back on the bench, I felt the weight of the utter disappointment. For the first time in quite a while, I wanted someone to call a friend. I craved the connection I’d lost when my mother died. Melonie seemed the closest replacement to her. It was an erroneous thought.
 

The more I attempted to reach out to the world, the more I realized why I withdrew from it in the first place. Through his chaotic instability, Eric seemed to be my only place of solace.

I placed my hands over my stomach, seeking comfort. He or she was an innocent, and I owed them a mother who could be strong enough to face down the biggest, darkest cloud in her life and bring them into a world he or she deserved. A world Eric and I never had.

With Kifo’s leash firmly in my hand, I returned home.
 

ERIC’S PICTURE OVER THE mantle, certainty over what I needed to do turned to uncertainty again. Proactive steps needed to be enacted before my feelings swung the other way.
 

A sudden pinching feeling in my abdomen caught me quickly and firmly. Standing up from the couch, I felt the wetness gush between my legs. I reached down, fingering the moisture and drew back blood on my fingertips.
 

My breath caught in the back of my throat. I sank to my knees and screamed. No matter how much I screamed, the blood didn’t stop flowing. “No. No! I want it. I want it.”
 

It no longer mattered what I did or didn’t want.

I knew in my heart that I’d lost the one thing that anchored me and kept me from floating into nothingness.

TRISHA WAS ACROSS the park, wringing her hands as she sat on the bench, waiting for me. She could’ve been a prime selection for a very temporary play-toy.
 

Damn, how things had changed.
 

I picked up my phone and called Vic. After a bunch of pomp and circumstance with his ‘assistant,’ he answered.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” I said.

“Never, my boy. Never. I’ve been traveling like I always do.”

The man traveled to the most drug infested places inside and outside of America. Amazed me how he was always able to return from his trips completely unscathed, then again…it didn’t. The man had deep, dirty, and powerful connections. He could make the President disappear without a trace if someone wanted him to and could pay Vic’s high price. There was only one place he could never go to again. The city he was born in—Turbo.
 

“The woman you sent to me,” I started, “I need to know the outs. I need to know if she’s real or just a ploy.”

“A ploy for whom?”

“You, Preston, the Feds…don’t know.” I knew the answer, and I knew better than to have him confirm it. I’d play along with him until the time was right to find out what his endgame was soon enough. “Shouldn’t be talking on the phone,” I muttered.

“Trisha has been my employee since she was a wet behind the ears fresh graduate from Cornell,” Victor replied. “What she does have is too many student loans and hospital bills.”

Convenient.
“You know what’s worse than a person with nothing to lose?” I asked. “A person with everything to lose.”

“Do you think I’ve lost my touch?” He unsuccessfully tried to insinuate shock. “I’m insulted, Eric.”

“Okay, let’s try another angle.” I slowed down my pace, careful not to get too close to Trisha’s position. “What do you want from me? Can you answer that? Because I’m not going to fuck her like you think I am.”

“That isn’t the question is it? The question is what do you want from me? My vulture of a godson is circling your wife. He’s not done with her. And you know what that means. Can’t place your trust in either of them. They want to take you down, boy.”

I stopped walking. “How do I know this is the last favor you’ll ask?”

He laughed over the phone.

I didn’t need his grating laughter to tell me what I already knew; the question was stupid. Truth was, I wasn’t sure about doing something I hadn’t done in a long time; at least not this way. It should’ve felt like driving a car in a sense. It’s different when the car was stolen and being watched like a hawk by the owner. Mrs. Givens was supposed to be my last. Here I was again, going against my personal desires to protect Nikki from the spotted monsters in my past. I failed twice. If I failed a third time…

“Shit,” I mumbled, noticing she looked like she was going to leave.

“Are we going to keep passing dead air?” Vic asked. “Or are you going to do what I need you to do, so I can do what you need me to do?”

I picked up my pace again. “I have a problem…because I know it won’t stop here.”

“You’re right. I’m not going to tell you everything, boy. That would have more to do with you and your needs than mine.” He hung up on me.

Trisha was off the bench and walking down the trail. I jogged at a short pace, catching up to her along the path. “Trish?”

She turned around and smiled with her eyes. “Eric? I almost thought—thought you wouldn’t show.” She blushed and continued to play with her jittery hands while casting her big brown eyes up at me. She hid her chin into the scarf around her neck and slid her hands into the pockets of her coat. “You called me Trish.”

I bit the inside of cheek. There was more to it than her playing the part of the temptress. She was genuinely attracted to me. I knew it. I could feel it. Someday soon, I would have to nip it in the bud before she thought she could get somewhere with me. “It’s a habit.”
 

She thought I was flirting with her and it made her smile.
 

I ran my hand over my hair to make sure she caught my wedding band again. Her smile disappeared, acknowledging she caught the subliminal message.
 

Her reaction was surprising. She was a good girl? When Vic was involved, the adjective—good—and the noun—girl—had no business being associated with him or anyone he was involved with.
 

I nodded over to the bench, directing her to sit back down. I remained standing—a gesture to let her know who still held the upper hand.
 

“How do we do this?” she asked.

I shrugged, pushing my hands in the pocket of my Italian wool military jacket. “We don’t do anything. You do it.”

She stood too quickly, lost her balance, and had to steady herself. “W-what do you mean?”

“Trish?” My eyes darted back to the bench.

She nodded and obeyed, sitting back down. “That wasn’t discussed.”

“Nothing was discussed. Whatever was said, was said to Vic and not me. This is how it works. Take it, or don’t. Doesn’t matter to me.”

“I’m sure.”

I curved a brow at her, losing the grip on my patience. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Suddenly, she looked apologetic. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I meant…the coldness you have about you. Jaded. Guarded.”

Here we go with the psychoanalysis. Bad fucking idea.
I rolled my eyes up to the sky. “If I didn’t say it before, I will say it now. This is a one time exchange. When whatever is done, is done, I don’t want to see you again. If you were hoping to give me a slap and tickle, it isn’t going to happen.”

Her mouth gaped. She looked mortified. I was as PG as I could be. I could’ve said something to make her hit me—or want to hit me. She never would’ve been given the opportunity for her hand to make contact with my face. The woman, it appeared, was too damn fragile—and too virtuous. Vic was trying to tempt me. He knew I liked screwing with the pretty and falsely perfect. He short-changed me.

“A little sympathy for the woman who’s losing her mother?” she asked.

“We’re talking too much. More than I’d like to. Done with this.” I started walking.

“Eric, wait.”
 

I kept walking, making her chase me down. She grabbed my bicep and stilled when I tensed involuntarily through the thick material of my coat.
 

She stared at my arm in awe and withdrew. “Whatever your terms, I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Just give me a time and a place.”

“Do you have paper or a pen in that planet you call a purse?”

She looked down at it under her arm and bobbed her head.

“Write down your address.”

“Why can’t I just text it to you?” she asked, playing innocent—or dumb. She slapped her hand across her forehead. “Oh. Right. Too traceable.” She reached in and pulled out a small notebook and pen, scribbling a few things on it.

“Tuesday. Four-seventeen in the morning.”

Her eyes widened. “An odd hour.”

“Trish,” I growled.

“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”

Without a goodbye, I headed back down the path.

“Eric?”
 

I didn’t turn around to answer her call.
 

“Thank you,” she added in a small voice.

As I made my way back to the car, I got a text from Aimee:

Your wife is here. I have some bad news. Can you come in?