Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 97951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
A place to conceal a father’s sins and weaknesses, cover the dark shadows with light to protect a mother’s secrets and shame. A place was needed to bury the dirty bones of the wicked… All so everyone else could bask in the sun, live a peaceful life, and have a good ol’ unaware time, never knowing about the monster under the bed and the boogeyman in the closet. Someone had to do it, and that someone would do it all over again if it was guaranteed that his family would be at peace. After all, that’s what a top dog does.
HE PROTECTS. SUPPLIES LOYALTY. PROVIDES UNCONDITIONAL LOVE. Even if it means no one ever sees him, acknowledges him, or says, ‘Thank you.’ He doesn’t do it for praise. He does it for his master: Love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Brown Sugar
It began to rain before she could get home. Nadia pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building and debated on just how to tell Lennox about yet another man that had attempted to do her harm. Only this time, it was worse. Much worse. This was his own flesh and blood. There was no way that Lennox wouldn’t be compelled to act.
She wasn’t sure she could muster the words. How much more could Lennox take before he cracked? This would certainly make him lose his composure—he was a mere step away from diving off the cliff. First it was my dumbass ex-boyfriend threatening me through text messages that he’d seen on my phone. Then it was that fool Dice who’d followed me from the club. Now this…
She sat for a while in that parking lot, gripping the steering wheel and gritting her teeth. Mountains made of adrenaline soared inside her, and her anxiety had sprinted so high during the shower altercation that she now had a pounding headache and was on the verge of an anxiety attack.
If Lennox hears about this, he’s going to jail for murder… Period. Point blank. I know he won’t be able to control himself. Shake beat that mothafucka’s ass, but I know that would be nothin’ compared to what Lennox would do. I wonder if this guy or his grandfather contacted him and told him what occurred? I can’t imagine them doing so. This was supposed to be on the low-low, and they probably would want to see if I say something first. I can’t believe this shit.
She debated on calling a friend, but thought better of it. She didn’t want anyone worrying about her. Besides, the fewer people that knew what happened, the better. After a while, she stepped out of her car, gripping her gun, and walked to her apartment building. Once at her door, she entered and locked the door behind her. She stood there for a long while. She enjoyed the peace and quiet of her place, with only the sound of the central air running.
Making her way to her bedroom, she slipped her duffle bag, Dolly, and purse off her shoulder and set them on the desk. She removed Parton, checked both of their chambers to ensure they were full of murdering kisses, then secured one in her upper nightstand drawer, the other beneath her bed. She had a third smaller pistol that she kept in a cookie jar in the kitchen. Easy access in case something else jumped off before the night was complete. Slipping out of her sneakers, jeans and shirt, she tossed the clothing on the floor, not giving a damn where they landed.
She sat on the bed in the dimly lit room, rubbing her shoulder. What should have been a nice final act of service had turned into a nightmarish finale. As she replayed the events in her mind, she decided on another shower. She hated that the fucker had been so close to her. She needed to rinse off the grit and grime, along with the memory of the poignant interaction. The water was piping hot and steamed up the bathroom quickly as she listened to soft jazz playing on her cellphone and lathered herself from neck to toe. When she was finished, she quickly rinsed off, brushed her teeth, then slipped into a cool burgundy satin gown with matching robe.
She put out a bottle of red wine on the counter, along with two wine glasses, the latter an old birthday gift from a girlfriend of hers back in Atlanta. From her guest bedroom, she grabbed her laptop and brought it into her bedroom. She set it on a small corner desk and opened it, then paused as Dr. Saint Aknaten’s new paperback book that she’d recently purchased online drew her attention. ‘50 Shades of Blackness – The Melaninated Queen.’ As she flipped through it, a sentence jumped out at her… ‘A friend of mine in the psychology research department once said, ‘Saint, women are like guns. They don’t blast you unless triggered. Men’s recklessness is often the activation. No bullet flies without a cause. It doesn’t just jump in the air and soar across the room on its own volition, striking the target. Something from the past or present caused it.’’ She quickly closed the book. Well, that was strange how I landed on that page like that. If I start reading that now, I will never put it down. Let me stay focused. She turned the computer on and pulled up one of her playlists.