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  The expensive lawyer got the case dismissed. A small price to pay; your money or your life. We still had our health, as my mother liked to say. We had each other and enough to buy a pretty southern mansion to pretend all was right in the world, though we both knew it wasn’t. Nothing had been right for some time.

  Was Jake really guilty? Had he beat a man senseless for stealing and bankrupting his company? The answer was simply no. I knew the truth and the answer was still no. I would never believe any different. Only thing I knew for sure was that our lives had been irrevocably changed. Adversity resulted in new strength, or so I’d been told. I’d yet to see the good come out of what we’d already been through. The drive beaten right out of me, I was tired of waiting. The distance between us was growing like weeds after a summer rain, out of control, no end in sight.

  “We, do you understand? I’m not speaking French here. You and me, we’ve been together through thick and thin. I worried, I prayed, I jumped for joy when they finally dropped those charges against you. You didn’t go through that alone. How can you disrespect me every single day by pretending you went through it alone?”

  He was up on his feet holding me against his bare chest. His heart was beating twice as fast as mine.

  “No.” I pushed or at least attempted to move him but Jake was solid. True, he never saw one day inside a jail cell but he was as thick and muscular as a man who’d done the time. His prison was self-built in his head. He ran five miles a day, lifted weights and did sit-ups as if preparing for a heavyweight champion fight, always believing they were coming for him, that the madness wasn’t over.

  He rocked me back and forth. He kissed the top of my head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Please, okay.” All the hurt, the pain, the fear he’d been holding spilled like a burst dam. I kissed the salty moistness off his chin. The kiss was light at first then ravenous. We both had been starved far too long.

  His hand trailed to the center of my thigh. His fingers gently danced in the moistness then pushed inside. I grabbed his head and led his face to the center of my chest. His lips skimmed the tip of my nipple. The first tender bite made me gasp. He took a hold of each breast, barely a handful, taking his time suckling, licking, nibbling back and forth. His tongue was a powerful weapon made even more lethal with the workings of his smooth palms and steady fingertips.

  The pulse had grown full and warm with no other place to go. Before I knew it, he slid into position and pushed every inch of himself deep inside, stretching the tightness he’d not entered for some time. I held on to his hips, still needing more but at the same time relishing the sweet pain. I inhaled the beauty of him, the warmth and safety. He pressed his face into my arched neck.

  A wave of warmth swept across my entire body. I begged for what I’d been missing. He moved faster, harder, each pump of his hips getting me one step closer. He slowed, tasting my nipples to stay on task. His pushed his fingers between our moist bodies and mingled lightly with the uncontrollable wetness. He found the magical spot, the tender button, and rubbed it back and forth. He knew exactly how many flicks it would take to get to the center of this Tootsie Pop.

  “Right there, baby,” I whispered.

  Throbbing jolts shook my body. He waited for my panting to subside until I calmed to a heated stir. He took full control of my hips, pushed my legs open wider and went after the best part. His shoulders flexed. I held on tight and kept up with his rhythmic strokes.

  He scooped his arm around my body, pulling me up. He finished, letting out a hoarse moan. For the first time in our big Georgia house we made love. His weight fell against me and I took a hold of his hand, grateful we’d come to this place, regardless of how. Sometimes adversity was like glue for relationships, a formidable foe, a cause to unite and fight for. I didn’t know it then, but this would be the biggest fight of our lives.

  2

  Trevelle

  At forty-eight, Trevelle Doval hadn’t planned on falling in love and getting married. Her plan was to simply live in abundance and joy. God’s plan was entirely different, thank goodness. Trevelle and Airic met only two short years ago. She’d been invited to speak to the religious studies department on the college campus where Airic taught business ethics. Something he knew a great deal about, with the SEC closing him out of his company because of unethical behavior. Proof that God works in wondrous ways. How else would she and Airic have met?

  He was her soul mate, delivered right to her feet. A smart, loving man who’d been put in her path by divine order. A plan she couldn’t have devised or imagined if she’d tried.

  She watched as her husband hung up the phone, once again making the same plea to the woman who’d birthed his child. The jade green St. John knit sweater made it easy for Trevelle to lift her arms open, ready to offer solace.

  “You knew it wasn’t going to be easy but God’s way never is.” She wrapped her arms around Airic’s lean shoulders. They hugged gently, then released. Once, his watchband had snagged the delicate knit she liked to wear so he understood to keep the contact light.

  “She’s got a lot of anger.” Airic used the white handkerchief from his top suit pocket to dab the nervous moisture from his forehead. His wide eyes stared out, blank and confused. “This isn’t going to be easy.”

  Trevelle took both his hands. “Don’t let it deter you from doing what’s right.” Trevelle batted her long dark lashes and continued to smile. But then the smile disappeared, replaced by stern compassion. “Every minute and every day you put this off, that child’s life could be in danger. She’s living with a man who committed murder, the first deadly sin. A mother who’s been institutionalized, Lord bless her soul. Time may be what Venus needs, but it’s not what that child needs. Anything could happen each moment you delay.”

  Airic contemplated Trevelle’s words of caution. “I can’t force her.”

  “You have absolutely every right. You most certainly can force her.” Trevelle pushed her heavy mane of hair off her shoulders. She moved to the temperature control in the hotel room and pushed it to a cool sixty degrees. They’d checked into the Beverly Wilshire in Los Angeles the night before with separate but adjoining suites for that reason, among others. Trevelle liked it chilly, anything to obliterate the scent of the other guests who came before her.

  Airic hated the idea of different rooms. It was one thing to have separate sleeping arrangements in the privacy of their home, but in the public domain he found it embarrassing. Mr. and Mrs. Fisher being handed two different room keys by the desk clerk. Trevelle would have it no other way. Separate beds allowed for more peaceful rest. If there was one thing she needed it was her sleep. She was the most celebrated gospel evangelist nationwide. Millions who loved and adored her watched her televised ministry. Last thing she needed were bags underneath her eyes from listening to a man’s snoring all night. But her biggest, most important reason lay hidden like an ugly monster waiting for darkness to come alive.

  She drew water at the bathroom sink to fill up the vase with fresh cut flowers. Bouquets in clear glass vases sat in various arrangements on any and every flat surface, a requirement of Trevelle’s while traveling. They’d covered six cities in five days for her book promotion tour. The scent of nature replaced the stale odor of hotel rooms, giving vitality and energy.

  “You have every right to be with your child, Airic. Why is that so hard to understand?” She wasn’t through with the subject of little Ms. Venus and Airic’s sudden cold feet. They’d agreed on the plan, a simple one, and now he was having second thoughts. After seeing pictures of the precious child, Trevelle was more determined than ever to give Mya a good home in a spiritual environment surrounded by God’s love. The thought of that child living with an accused murderer made her sick to her stomach.

  Her husband wasn’t stupid. The man was downright brilliant when it came to the management of the Doval Ministry Foundation. He’d turned her money over six times her initial worth, giving her the true status of millionaire wea
lth. There was no denying how much he’d changed her life in the short time they’d known each other. The least she could do was help him be the man he should be.

  “If she doesn’t agree to meet with you in the next couple of days, we’ll file the papers. All we have to do is say the word and the lawyer is ready to move.” She picked up her clutch bag and tucked it under her arm. “Shall we go? Dinner reservations are near impossible to get at Table 8.” Her patience was wearing thin of talking Airic into doing the right thing. They rode the elevator down in silence.

  Before they could make it outside the large lobby doors, a woman’s voice came from a few feet away. “It is her,” the woman shrilled, making her way toward Trevelle and Airic. “Ms. Doval.” Her tan shirt and burgundy skirt was the uniform the hotel maids wore. She came toward Trevelle with her arms and hands positioned for a hug.

  Trevelle put on a face of grace and appreciation to greet her enamored fan but clutched her purse front and center to avoid full contact.

  “Oh my goodness, you don’t know how your words have helped me. God is good. God is so good.”

  “Yes, he is.” Trevelle shook the woman’s hand. “What is your name?”

  “Wanda Jacobs. When you came to L.A. a couple of years back, I drove two hours in traffic just to hear you speak. Ms. Doval, you are an inspiration. I was raped when I was twelve years old, same as you. Repeatedly molested and abused by a grown man, same as you.” Wanda spoke hurriedly, fearing her time would be cut short. “Then I spent the next twenty years of my life blaming myself, until you showed me the way. Ohmigoodness, are you speaking tonight? How could I have missed knowing? You are such a blessing in my life, Ms. Doval.”

  Trevelle kept the woman’s hands embraced in front of her. “Knowing God’s love is the blessing and the power.”

  “It’s been a struggle, but I’m making it.”

  “I will say a special prayer for you, Wanda, for all things are possible through Christ our Lord Savior.” Trevelle touched the young woman’s forehead. “Go with grace.” Tears sprang from the young woman’s clear eyes.

  “Thank you, Jesus. Thank you,” Wanda sang in a low hum.

  When the woman opened her eyes, Trevelle would be nowhere in sight. She and Airic were in the car and headed to the gourmet restaurant. She watched from the tinted window as the woman raised her arms to the sky and did a small dance of appreciation and called out a prayer.

  I was raped when I was twelve years old, same as you.

  Trevelle doubted very seriously if anyone’s life had been the same as hers.

  She was nothing but a child when she’d learned how to please a man. She first saw Cain drive through her neighborhood in his bronze-colored Cadillac with shiny spoke wheels when she was a mere child. She watched the car go up and down her street like clockwork. She had no idea he’d been watching her grow the exact same way, like clockwork, as she grew into a pretty preteen.

  One day he slowed, then stopped. When she realized he was backing up, she wanted to run into the house. She would have if Kevin, her older brother and his friends weren’t smoking herb parked on the living room floor and sofa like sprawled ivy. She hated being in the house when they were high, the way her brother and his friends stared at her, eyes low, lips wet, watching her every move. Hated the way her brother dissed her in front of his friends.

  “What’d ya’ll looking at my ugly sister for? She so ugly, she fu-gly. Look at her, flat-chested, big feet, she got a nose like an ostrich beak. Get the hell out of here,” he’d yell at her, throwing whatever was at his reach. She’d scamper off like a punished puppy.

  None of her brother’s antics worked in dissuading them from being attracted to his baby sister. His friends had eyes. They could see the soft brown skin, her silky dark hair long and thick to match her cat eyelashes. They knew the young slim girl was budding into womanhood and each one of them hung around hoping they’d be first in line when it came time.

  Though Kevin’s friends ignored him, Trevelle heard and believed every word. She was fu-gly. She saw what her brother saw, a nothing, a nobody. Her low self-esteem made her ripe for the picking when Cain backed his car up that day and asked if she wanted a ride. She’d be the first girl to ever ride in it, he said. “Brand-new Cadillac with leather seats, all for you.” Though she’d witnessed numerous women, lots of them, with glossy lips and Afro wigs of every shape and color pushed underneath his shoulder while he drove with one hand on the wheel. And the car was hardly new. The same car she’d been watching half her life go up and down her street.

  She looked back at the small yellow house before getting into Cain’s car. No one would miss her. Her mother worked all day at the elder care facility. After work, her mother’s reward for cleaning up old people’s puke and piss all day was to head straight to the Elk’s Lodge where she drank and hung out till two in the morning. As for her father, Trevelle knew he lived in New York with two daughters with his blue-eyed soul girlfriend. He sent money by Western Union whenever their mother threatened to take him to court but not enough to pay for gymnastics like Trevelle wanted, or for Kevin’s baseball uniform and cleats. Kevin would have to sit out the season and eventually join another team called “drug dealers and thieves.” Though the two were not inclusive—dealers rarely boosted cars—Kevin was multitalented and did both.

  She rode in Cain’s smooth car, amazed how she couldn’t feel the potholes or bumps in the street. The seats were soft, caressing the tender skin of her legs. Her cutoff jeans were too tight, precisely why she’d cut them in the first place. She’d noticed Cain’s line of vision and wished she hadn’t cut them so short. His hand landed on the thickest part of her thigh. “You sure is lookin’ fine these days. How old’re you now?”

  Trevelle marveled at the fact he could look her dead in the face and still drive. “Twelve. I’ll be thirteen next Saturday.”

  “Um. So I guess you never let somebody touch you down there before, huh?” His hand moved up her thigh. He pushed and struggled to wiggle his fingers past the frayed edge of her shorts. She was glad they were too tight. He kept trying, rubbing the inside of her thighs too roughly, pulling the skin until she thought it would rip.

  “I haven’t …. never ….” she stuttered, nervous at how much she wanted his hands to finally reach their goal.

  “Look at you.” He gave up and moved his hand under her shirt giving her soft formed nipple a pinch. “I bet you don’t even wear a bra yet. Just a tenderoni, ain’t cha? Umph, umh umh.”

  “Where we going?”

  “Anywhere you want to go.” Again, he faced her seemingly too long for driving safety. She averted her eyes, hoping he’d do the same and watch where he was going.

  She thought about it. She hadn’t been outside of the city limits. The farthest she’d gone was on a bus trip to Temple Baptist Church to join other choirs for a concert. On the way there she’d noticed a great big mall, bigger than five or six Kmarts put together.

  “You ever been to that giant shopping mall?” She didn’t know the name of it. She didn’t even know what highway it was near. Cain wasn’t the church-going type so describing it as on the way to Temple Baptist would’ve been a waste.

  “I know where it is,” he said. “I’ll take you there, buy you something special for your birthday.”

  He kept his promise. He bought her everything: outfits, shoes, vinyl belts, one red, one green, one white to match the boots he’d also paid for. He wanted her to try everything on together so he could see how hot she looked. They checked into a motel. She went into the bathroom to change. When she came out wearing the miniskirt, halter top, hat, and boots she was shocked to see Cain sitting on the edge of the bed naked. “Come here, baby girl. Damn, look at you, umph.” He licked his lips and squeezed the hardness of his erection.

  Part of her wanted to run right out the door, the other part relieved for being wanted, desired by a grown man.

  “You ever seen one of these?” He stroked himself up and down. The
answer was no. She’d never seen a man’s private parts before, at least not a real one. Only the silly pictures her classmates drew on notes and passed around for instant laughs. “Touch it. I swear it won’t bite.”

  The razor-sharp energy shot up her hand. Soft. Hard. Hot. Vulnerable yet powerful at the same time. He grabbed her hand when she tried to pull away. “Squeeze it right here,” he moaned. “Why you so beautiful, huh? I’ma get into trouble messing around with some little girl. A virgin, too.” His hand slid up her skirt, one finger flicked the panties out of the way while the other tested. “I don’t want to take that from you.” He kissed her lightly then stuck his full tongue into her mouth. Her head swayed and warmth overtook her.

  “There’s something else you can do, so I don’t have to take that from you.” The lilt in his voice grew deep. “Do this for me, right here.” He pulled her to her knees, grabbing hold of the back of her neck as she strained to pull away.

  The head of his thing barely touched her parted lips and she already felt dirty. “I don’t know how.” She struggled against his grip.

  “I’ma show you. Relax. Easiest thing you ever done. Keep you from having babies, too. You don’t wanta be one of them girls having babies before high school.”

  Her mouth opened to the width of him. She tasted and cringed, ready to be sick. But to her surprise, Cain tasted rich and thick as cocoa, the real kind her grandmother used for baking. His hand guided her head lower, to take more of him into her mouth. Love at first bite one could say. She choked, pulling back, then tried again.

  “That a girl,” he said, holding her shoulders steady.

  “We’re here,” Airic said, touching her shoulder. The driver stood outside the car holding the door open in front of the restaurant. “Sometimes you scare me, drifting off like that,” he said.