Sweet Taboo Page 3

  “Okay. Thanks.” She ended the call and I drove down the road, feeling calmer the further I managed to get from the house.

  Things were already tense by the time I stepped inside the club. “What’s up?” I asked Tommy. He stood there eyeing the place nervously already.

  “We already had two girls ready to go at it in the back. Raven split them up.” He jerked his thumb to the door and I knew my female guard had to be in the changing room trying to keep the peace.

  “Some guy?” I guessed.

  “Worse. Some bikini.” He chuckled briefly before growing serious and hiding behind his ruthless demeanor. The man stood at six foot two easily and was built like a fridge. A commercial fridge.

  “A bikini?” I made a face.

  “Yeah. They were both wearing the same one, an argument ensued, some words were thrown, and I’m pretty sure there was some hair pulling.” He shrugged. “Nothing I’m not used to, but girl fights are scarier than guys, especially when they’re barely dressed.”

  I nodded. “I get it, buddy.” Slowly, I scanned the room. The place was still only about three quarters full. Of course, the show was set for thirty minutes from now. Things would only get more crowded. “You got the counter?” I frowned. “The last thing we need is the fire department closing the club down for a violation tonight.”

  “I got you, boss.” He showed me the silver counter hidden in the palm of his hand. “I figure we get shut down by the police this time.” His nostrils flared.

  “I can see that,” I muttered. “Our job is to prevent it. Got it?” After he nodded from behind the dark glasses, he moved to the door. He’d be outside running it. “Hey, send Marcus to see me when he get in.”

  “Done.” Then Tommy disappeared out front.

  I started my round of the club, making sure all exits were free and clear, the stock rooms were locked, and there were no weapons hidden in the bathroom. Slowly, I wandered down the hall to the dressing room. As I neared, I could hear some raised voices, one of which was my guard Raven. Alarmed, I knocked once and then entered. “What you don’t want seen, you best cover,” I announced as I stormed into the room. Then I assessed the situation.

  “They’re at it again.” Raven gestured to the two women she was trying to separate. They were wearing the same teeny tiny bikini.

  “Why they still here?” I asked with a frown. “Throw their hostile orange asses out.”

  “It’s not orange. This is Tahitian Melon.” The taller of the contestants glared at me, hands on her hips.

  “I care.” My brow shot up. “You have two options: hold it together, or me and a couple of my associates will be escorting you to the door. You’ll be done. Got it?”

  I could practically see the flames shooting from their eyes. Still, they reluctantly nodded, even though body language suggested this would still end badly.

  “I’ll call if I need you,” Raven assured me.

  “If you wait until then, it’ll be too late,” I reminded her. “You call at any hint of trouble.” Then I backed out of the room.

  From that lecture on, the night seemed to go smoothly. By ten at night, we had survived the bikini contest and had to coax the girls back into their clothes. “If you want to stay, you gotta be dressed.” I could hear Raven explaining through the door. Must be she got through to them because soon they all returned to hang out and enjoy the free drinks they’d been promised for competing.

  Marcus was my undercover guy. No one knew he worked with us. Mostly. A few regulars had probably caught on, but because of his ability to blend in with the more questionable element, we’d managed to keep drugs out the club…for the most part. He’d quietly checked in hours ago. I usually didn’t hear from again until after everyone left. Tonight, however, I had text just before eleven.

  * * *

  Marcus: Stabbing in the men’s room. I called 911. We need EMTs.

  Me: The guy gonna make it.

  Marcus: Not sure. Also I got the guy. He’s cuffed and tucked in a stall.

  Me: Good job. I’ll alert the team.

  Marcus: I think we got this contained enough we can keep the club open. I’ll have to go to the station, of course.

  Me: Yeah, buddy. We got you.

  * * *

  Less than ten minutes later, we were letting police and EMTs in the back door. I didn’t recognize one of the white officers. “You must be new,” I commented.

  He immediately puffed out his chest and started to tell me about his experience. “I used to be an MP in the Air Force.”

  I nodded. I’d have been less worried if he’d said he’d been in the Marines. I had a guy I was interviewing next week who had just left the Corps. I met him briefly and he impressed the hell out of me. This guy...didn’t. When he was ready to walk the suspect to his car, Marcus took one arm and I grabbed the other. “Let’s go. Keep it nice and quiet. We’re going out the back,” I muttered in the guy’s ear. He was small, young, and completely thuggish.

  “It’s self-defense,” he argued.

  “How so?” I asked. “He have a knife?”

  The guy shook his head.

  “A gun?”

  The guy’s eyes flashed. “No, but he touched my girl.”

  I smacked the back of his head. “You dumbass motherfucker. Do you even know what self-defense is?”

  He started to open his mouth, but the new officer came over and held out his hand. “I got him.”

  I licked my lips and tightened my grip. “In a situation like this, it’s best to have two people. This guy’s looking at assault with a deadly weapon, possibly attempted murder. You know…intent.”

  “I wanted to kill that little prick!” The suspect announced.

  “You might want to Mirandize him,” Marcus suggested.

  “I got it, guys. Nice work and all.” The newbie completely ignored us and grabbed the guy from me.

  I shook my head and struggled to hold my tongue. We’d be having words later. Now wasn’t the time. The minute the officer opened the door and shoved the suspect through it, the kid head butted him in the nose and raced away. While the officer bent over catching the blood from his nose. I shoved past him to try to capture the guy.

  Behind me I heard Marcus grumbling while he joined the pursuit. “Those are my fucking cuffs.”

  The suspect had tried to race to the back door, knowing the front of the club was too crowded. As he neared, it opened and a police officer entered. The suspect veered into the kitchen. I knew he could get out the kitchen exit if we weren’t careful. Instead, it was so much worse than that. The kitchen was working on the midnight buffet they laid out every night.

  The guy bumped into the huge commercial fryer, sloshing hot oil, which was bad enough, since it caused the floor to be suddenly slick. Then I realized I could smell gas almost instantly. The fryer had bumped the connection and somehow it was now leaking. I stopped and turned to Marcus, sliding slightly.

  “Gas leak. Evacuate the club. We gotta call the gas company. Turn it off outside right away,” I shouted to Marcus, while holding down the walkie so Tommy and Raven heard too.

  Almost immediately, people were rushing out the doors. The suspect had slipped on the floor and knocked himself unconscious when he landed. I shook my head.

  “What’s going on here?” Officer James asked. We’d worked together regularly thanks to the rowdy crowd the club attracted. He’d always been fair, honest, and easy to deal with.

  I pointed at the new kid. “Newbie know-it-all thought he could manage the suspect by himself. Now we gotta shut down the club. Thanks a lot.”

  And despite all the chaos, I was pulling into my driveway at least two hours earlier than normal. I thought nothing of it until I spotted a strange vehicle parked outside the place. “She wouldn’t,” I grumbled.

  Only as soon as I opened the door, I could see clear through to the kitchen where my soon to be ex-wife was laying on the same table I eat at while some asshole was balls deep in her. Downstairs,
I could hear Keyon crying.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” I thundered.

  The brother took one look at me and yanked his pants up before rushing past me out the door. Camilla looked pleased for a split second, thinking I was jealous.

  “You broke the agreement,” I reminded her in a low voice as I made my way to the stairs.

  “What you doing? I got him.” Camilla smoothed her hair and pulled her dress down to cover parts of her I’d neither seen nor used since the conception. “He probably just had a bad dream.”

  “Well, now you gon’ have a bad life,” I grumbled. “I ain’t paying for this. Get out before I throw you out.”

  “You’d kick me and your baby out?” she pouted.

  “No, just you.” I shook my head as I disappeared into the dark basement. A second later, I found the switch right where I remembered it. The place, like Camilla, looked better in the dark. She had clothes everywhere. She had dirty dishes on almost every surface. The place was a mess. How could anyone live like this? She was wrecking my house. There on the other side of the room, I found Keyon standing in his crib, wailing. Though two and a half years old, Camilla refused my offers for a big boy bed. Now I knew why. She liked to keep him penned up, under her control, just like me.

  I snatched him out of the crib and held him close. “It’s okay, little man. Daddy loves you.” He clung to my neck in a way that broke my heart a little.

  “Daddy,” he cried. “I scared.”

  “I know, buddy. You don’t have to be scared no more.” I rubbed his back as I mounted the stairs. Camilla and I were about to have a very serious conversation as soon as I managed to get the little guy to sleep again.

  Only when I reached the top of the stairs, the door was still wide open and Camilla and her car were gone.

  4

  Tegyn

  Flipping through the pile of mail I’d just collected from the box, I swallowed hard when I saw it. There was another envelope. I recognized it immediately. No writing on the outside. I knew what to expect inside. Sadly, this wasn’t my first letter. I sighed. I thought the first was a joke, only the punchline never came. Worse, more letters did and they only seemed to get angrier. I carefully grabbed the gloves I used for cleaning from under my kitchen sink. Then I wandered over to my office desk and used the letter opener along the flap so I could, albeit reluctantly, pull out the letter.

  Like those before, this one had the classic combination of cut out words and sometimes letters. It’d be comical if it wasn’t so damn scary. This one was a message I’d seen before: Watch your back. I’d gladly watch all sides if it meant finding out who did this. I just wanted it to stop. Reaching into my bookcase behind my desk, I pulled out the manila folder where I’d kept all the envelopes and letters. It seemed like the prudent thing to do. Then I reached for my phone and called Annie.

  “You rang?” she joked in her thick Long Island accent.

  “I did,” I murmured sadly.

  “Oh no. What’s wrong? You know better than to try to hide anything from me,” she grumbled.

  I let out a mirthless laugh. “Who said I’m trying to hide anything? Actually, I’m calling for advice. As my BFF, I thought you might have some for me.” I bit my lower lip and waited for her to catch up.

  Annie was quick. Seconds later, she gasped. “You got another letter, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. I did.” I sank into my desk chair and twirled back and forth, never taking my eyes off the window which looked out over the front yard, my driveway, and my mailbox. It took everything in me not to close the blinds and shut up the house.

  “Do you think it’s him?” she asked.

  “Trent?” I sighed. “I don’t know. The timing is rather suspicious. We have a court appearance coming up.”

  “I hear ya. He still wants you back, huh?”

  “I think he’ll always want me back, but I finally don’t want him.” I cringed at my words. I wasn’t entirely sure that was true. We had a history. And for some reason, I was always drawn to him, lured back in, even when I thought I had gotten away.

  “You need to call the police. Promise me this time you will,” Annie urged.

  “Yeah. Sure.” I swallowed hard. “I’ll call them now.”

  “Good. See ya. Stay safe.”

  Our call ended, I decided to look up the non-emergency police line. Maybe they would have more advice for how to handle this because at the moment, I had no idea. I spun around in my office chair, maybe hoping it would catch up with my spinning mind. Instead, I was assaulted with a rush of memories. A not-so-subtle reminder of how I ended up here played out.

  After being engaged for a year and a half, I finally convinced Trent it was time to plan our wedding, only to have to delay it another six months after he had a terrifying accident in his truck coming home from work one afternoon. He was in the hospital for more than a week; he’d scraped the crap out of his face, and messed up his back. The man was in a lot of pain. And then he wasn’t.

  It didn’t take me long to figure out why. After all, addicts can’t hide their dirty little secrets for long. The problem with drugs is that the body builds up a tolerance. Before I knew it, we’d stopped having sex, since he couldn’t feel it. And he spent all his time chasing pills instead of spending time with me. I had begun to wonder if this was the life I wanted. One particular night gave me extra pause.

  We had run into an ex-girlfriend at lunch, which sent him straight into a tailspin. On the way home, he had stopped by a friend’s house and begged for some pills. Though he wanted something to calm his nerves, he ended up with Adderall. Jacked up as he was after popping a half dozen of them, a fifth of Goldschlager was “required” to calm him down.

  It had taken everything in me to keep him level all night. In an effort to prevent any temper issues, I had been working overtime. When our cat escaped into the night because Drunk Trent left the door open, I had rushed into the back yard to locate her. As I walked back through the door into the house, I found him trying to jump the love seat...naked. And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why.

  “Damn it, Tegyn! Why won’t you ever help me? Now I’m hurt,” he had thundered.

  No amount of explanation made sense to him, much like I didn’t understand why he punched a hole in the wall, why he tried to break my toe so I could see how he felt, or why he tried to strangle me shortly after that. Finally, he passed out in the hall for a few minutes after he had tried to call another ex and initiate a threesome I had no interest in. When he woke, he seemed calmer, ready to have quality time with me on that Sunday evening, our last chance before a new work week.

  The night grew impossibly worse when he admitted to me while we were having sex hours later that he had in fact tried to cheat on me the week before with his long-time friend with benefits.

  “What does that mean?” I asked as calmly as I could manage, given that my world seemed to be falling apart.

  “Well, I couldn’t actually cheat,” he began. “I couldn’t keep it up for her, only with you.”

  I shook my head and closed my eyes for a moment. This wasn’t the time for me to explain he’d barely been managing to keep it up with me lately. As frustrated as I was, I pushed him off me and announced, “Okay, I’m done with this.” I’m not sure what I meant. I’d like to think I’d suddenly grown a backbone, but Trent was my Achilles’ heel.

  Concerned, he questioned me while I tried to roll over and go to sleep. “What? We’re through?”

  Experience had taught me this was a conversation for Sober Trent, one for the light of day, not four in the morning. Though I tried to ignore him, he simply managed to get angrier and angrier. Soon he was punching me in the arm repeatedly. “So, we’re done? We’re done? Then get out of my bed.”

  “Just let me sleep,” I begged. “We’ll talk in the morning, or after work or something.” I had no answers, only more questions. Given his behavior all night long, did I want to be done? Was there anything to salva
ge? Was this who I wanted to be with for the rest of my life?

  Refusing to listen, he continued to punch me. Blocking him only further enraged him. So, one might imagine that leveraging his weight when he dove at me and thereby allowing him to fly off the bed didn’t do much to improve his attitude. Sure enough, I was soon running to get away from him. My teal bathrobe was ripped under the arm and at the neck as he struggled to maintain a hold on me. Squirming out of it, I only managed to make it to the wall near his side of the bed before he caught up. And that’s when I took my first real punch, one that was meant for me and me alone.

  Trent connected with my cheekbone and eye. There was no time to feel the pain, to acknowledge the burning. He was already fixated on trying to hit me again. This time, I pushed him back. Drunk as he was, he stumbled and fell, his back hitting the wooden side rail of the bed. We both froze for a moment. I knew this wasn’t going to do anything other than further infuriate him.

  “You know I’m going to have to kill you now, right?” he asked, as the twitch, his rage tell, started up in his face. Before I could even respond, he had propelled himself off the floor and directly at me.

  Though I took two more hits in rapid succession to my chest and neck, I never fell, never flinched, never thought past how I was going to make it from the room alive. Once more I pushed him back. As he fell, creating the much-needed space between us, I bolted from the room and raced directly to the kitchen.

  For some reason, my first thought had been to ice my face. After all, I had work in the morning. He came after me, of course, but he was drunk and worn out. All I had to do was keep avoiding him until he dropped. Since he was still limping from the foot injury, it wasn’t too difficult. He passed out in the master bedroom, using the step up to the bed as a pillow for his head. When he woke, hours after I’d called in sick, he took one look at me and asked what had happened.

  “You happened,” I told him. “You did this to me.”