Authors: Michelle McGriff
Blood Relations (6 page)
Chapter 10
“My my, Chance, you're still just as greedy as ever,” he said, watching through the tinted window of the rented car. “I would have thought my Rashe would have been enough for you, but noooo, you still require a little Juanita on the side. I can't blame you of course; between the two they are such an irresistible pussy feast. But, under the circumstances, Rashawn is worth so much more to me right now. So since you've got two squaws, maybe I should Indian give and take my cunt back,” he added, clearly showing his love for Rashawn had waned a bit. Never had he felt so much bitterness toward anyone as he had toward Rashawn Ams right now. “You took my son, Rashe. You turned on me, betrayed me by having another man's child, and now you think that all is forgiven because a few years have passed? I forgive nothing, and I'm taking my son back since I'm sure I need him more than you do.”
Just then his phone rang; it was Reggie. He cleared his throat and answered the call, sounding as professional and academic as he could.
“Hello, Mr. Smith. I know you said I could call anytime. And I know you just called me but ...”
“No nooo, Reggie my boy. What's up?”
“My parents ... well, my mom. She's being kinda difficult about me coming out to Oregon this weekend. So I need to know how long this offer is good for.”
“Well, time is running out. Perhaps you should just try the direct approach. I find that mothers like it when you show them that you're grown up. When you can prove to them that you're independent. Tell you what, I'll purchase the ticket. You just get on the trainâ”
“You're gonna buy my ticket?”
“Yeah. I mean, it's not a common practice and I'm sure your parents would get all crazy if they knewâ”
“I won't say nothin' to nobody! I know the deal. You get me and you get a future money maker, so it's a write-off. I know the deal,” Reggie said, trying to sound in the know. His uncle was an entertainment attorney, so he had heard about these kinds of tradeoffs before.
“Glad you do,” he said, deepening his voice, taking a firm tone.
“Besides, my dad is all for it.”
“Your dad?” Roman asked, trying not to show the instant wrath that burned in his belly. He tried hard to hide the jealousy he felt for Chance Davis.
“Well, my stepdad, but you know ... Anyway, yeah, he's actually kinda for it so I'll work that angle. But I won't tell him about the ticket either. That way, he might give me some extra bread to work with while I'm there.”
“You won't need that, either. It's on me, son,” he assured.
“Wow. I'm glad I called you, man. You've renewed my excitement.”
“I'm glad I could help. There's something special about you, Reggie, and I definitely want you on my team.”
“You got me, Mr. Smith!”
The conversation ended. Roman held the phone in his hand for a long time, staring at its face. “I know I do, because I always get what I need.”
Chapter 11
Rashawn's sleep was restless. Of all dreams that could be had, Rashawn, in her deepest unconscious state, revisited the night Reggie was conceived. The violent night she lost her pride, her dignity, and her fight against a rapist: Allen Roman, Reggie's biological father. She could almost feel the gravel against her face, smell the oil from the cars that had parked there previously. She could feel him inside her, filling her to the brim, ripping and tearing at her tender inner linings as if she weren't even human. She could remember him threatening her life, “Don't fight me or I'll kill you.” Little did he know a little part of her died that night, and she wasn't sure she had ever been able to bring it back to life.
How many more children of his perversions were out there, Rashawn didn't know, but surely there had to be others, for as time went on, Rashawn had found out that Allen Roman had involved many unknowing women in his madness. Sometimes she would get letters or e-mails from women who suspected perhaps they too had been victims of his crime, yet none claimed to have mothered his child.
Allen Roman had an obsession with his own sexuality. He thought he was a god, of that Rashawn was certain. Maybe he had chosen her to be his queen. In his last letter to her, he implied his intent to impregnate her upon the initial attack, and his plans to impregnate her again upon the subsequent violations. When he drugged her, invading her while she lay vulnerable and unconscious, he had planned to give her another child.
Roman would never know he had succeeded, because Rashawn had a miscarriage with the second pregnancy he'd caused. No one but her sisters knew of that pregnancy and they had kept the secret locked tightâalong with the knowledge that Allen Roman was Reggie's father. They all allowed her to lie to her son, and risk appearing as a loose woman, not wanting him to know the animal his father was. There was no way in hell they wanted Rashawn's son to know the creature who had caused his existence. All Rashawn wanted Reggie to know was that she had worked hard to develop and nurture a true motherly love for him . . . despite it all. She knew she should do better in that area, but it was just hard, and the older he got and the more he resembled Allen Roman, the harder it got.
“You okay?” Chance asked, noticing how she had tossed and turned violently, awaking now with a start.
“Bad dream I guess,” she answered.
Chance ran his finger through her thick hairâfreed from the scarf by her tossing and turning. “I thought angels only had sweet dreams.”
Rashawn sniveled and smiled weakly. “Yeah. Gonna check on Reggie,” she said, throwing back the covers.
Chance tugged at her gown. “You know, you're gonna have to stop worrying about that boy. You still check on him like he's a baby.” Rashawn's eyes welled up with tears. Chance noticed and pulled her into an embrace. “Wow, sweetie, he's seventeen, you have to letâ”
“I had a dream about Roman. I ...” Rashawn confessed, breaking their rule of many years: “Never say his name in this house!”
“Oh, baby,” Chance sighed. “All that's over. Long over! Blain ... or Doc ... whoever the hell he was ... Roman ... they are all burning in hell right now. It's over. Now, we can talk about it, but what good is it going to do? We agreed it's never going to be worth the air we put out discussing it.” Chance climbed out of bed. “Nobody is ever going to hurt my family again.”
Rashawn could tell that just the mention of that name brought back painful memories for him as well. Chance had fought hard to save her life that night, but DocâRoman's half brotherânearly killed him. He still limped slightly from the bones broken by that beast of a man.
“Now, I don't want to talk about it. I know you can't control dreams but you need to put your head in a better place,” Chance said, scowling, standing beside the bed and looking at her.
Rashawn lay back on her pillow, quickly drying her tears that came despite the fight to stave them off. Working even harder now, she pulled her emotions together. Chance was an understanding man, but apparently she had pushed him to where he just didn't feel like going tonight. When he returned from the bathroom he slid into bed, turning his back on her.
Chapter 12
Juanita tossed her large bag in the back seat of her car. “Come on!” she bellowed. She was furious. Junior had made her late this morning. Sometimes the arrangement wasn't as convenient as she would like, but she wasn't about to take Junior out of the school that Reggie attended. No way was she going to build on the family bridge that Rashawn was trying to createâadding more distance between her family and Chance's. No way. This coming summer Reggie would graduate, and right after that Rainey would start her freshman year, so yeah, Junior was staying in this school. Now if only she could get Junior to realize how important it was for him to stick with the program! “Being all late, actin' like I don't have other plans,” she barked, thinking about her Thursday morning belly dancing class. “God!” she screeched, running back into the house. “Junior, please come on!” she called up the stairs. Junior descended the staircase slowly. His head was buried in a book and his ear buds were no doubt, tightly in place. He looked up at her, his dark eyes piercing. For just a second, Juanita had to do a double take, for the resemblance to someone other than Chance Sr. was almost frightening. She shook her head free of the thought. Surely one time with a lunatic didn't deserve a haunt like this, she reasoned.
There would be no way she would accept anyone other than Chance Davis as the father of her son. Even Dennis, her ex-husband whom she was married to at the time, was put out of the running years ago. And there was no way she would even consider the man who had briefly crossed her path via her therapy couchâthe madman, crazy nut that Chance Jr. looked like right now.
“Come on!” she fussed, motioning for him to follow her out to the car, jingling the keys hurriedly as if he really couldn't hear instead of just choosing not to. She forcefully emptied her head of all thoughts other than how much she needed a trip to the spa, and climbed behind the wheel of her Toyota Cressida. The engine sounded terrible.
This business of being broke all the time is for the birds.
Now she would have to find a way to get Chance to pay for the work on her car.
As if I don't have enough going on in my life.
Her mind wandered as she jumped on and quickly off the freeway toward the Palemos, where Chance and Rashawn lived. It was a small, “up from down” area between and just east of Milbrea and Daly City. It was an old area and in need of some redevelopment. They had rebuilt Palo Altoâturning it from a drug-infested slum into a bustling and expensive communityâthat's where she lived.
So how come they can't do that to the Palemos?
she thought, turning onto the block where Chance and Rashawn lived.
So how come they can't do that to the Palemos?
she thought, turning onto the block where Chance and Rashawn lived.
Suddenly, she slammed to a halt at Junior's shriek and the sickening sound of metal crunching. “Shit!” she screamed, realizing that she'd run right into the back of some dude's expensive looking imported sports car. “Why now?” she bellowed, smacking her forehead against the steering wheel.
She quickly looked around for witnesses, or maybe some do-gooder cop too busy filling his quota to be interested in seeing what had really happened. This wasn't at all what it probably looked like. The immediate area was empty. This fool who had caused this accident was moving at about ten miles per hour as if he didn't know where he was going ... or else just didn't know how to drive.
Jumping out of the car, she was about to give him a serious piece of her mind. Bracelets and coins dangled everywhere on her getup, showing from under her coat, and clanging as she slammed her hands on her hips. “The speed limit is thirty-five, moron!” she yelled while quickly approaching the car from behind. Sometimes Juanita could be fearless.
The man behind the wheel stepped from the car, and her eyes scanned the full length of himâwhich didn't require her to even look up. They stared at each other nearly eye to eye. He had broad shoulders, a thick neck, and a fabulous smile. He was small, sure, but truly compact and fully equipped with all the featuresâof that she was certain. She wanted to see his eyes; she could only imagine the color. But he didn't lower his dark shades. However, the muscles in his arms could be seen under the thin cotton of his crisp, white shirt, and that was enough to hold her interest for the moment. His skin was the color of an arctic sunset, smooth and beautifulâexotic. Juanita felt her mouth drop open.
“You hit me,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling, as though from the halls of Buckingham Palace. She found her hand on her bare belly, as if the vibration from it could be felt from the inside out.
“Yes ... um, well, you were driving too slowly, and you even put your brakes on too suddenly, sooo ... this was all your fault.”
“But you hit me from behind, so that puts you at fault no matter what. Isn't that the rule in this backward country,” he explained simply, his voice soft but determined.
“No, now, that's not all together true, young man,” she began, putting on an air of maturity.
“Young man?” He smiled. His teeth were bright, but it was his eyes that lit up his entire face when he pulled the shades away and looked out over her head. If was as if he wanted to laugh, but felt his laughter was only meant for friends to share, and she was a stranger. But not for long, not if she could help it. His green eyes cried out for her friendship. “You say that like you're old enough to be me mum.” His head was cocked slightly to the side. He was sexy, and Juanita was fighting the urge to pour on the charm. It had been a long time since a man had affected her this way. She had been good for a long timeâconcentrating only on Chance and his married playing-hard-to-get ass. But now this man, this man could make her go badâreal bad. “I'd dare say you are probably young enough to be my kid sister,” he said.
Was he flirting? Surely, he was flirting. Well, in that case... “Get outta here,” Juanita retorted, a giggle chasing her words. “You're just trying to get out of admitting that you are at fault here. Let me see your paperwork. You know the drill: ID, insurance, and all that stuff. I mean, we need to exchange information,” she said, trying to keep on mark yet show him a little interest at the same time. And he was interested, she could tell the way he was eying her costume. She moved her jacket to make sure he could get an eyeful, too. “And I guess we should call the authorities,” she added reluctantly.
“No need, ma'am, you're looking at 'em,” he said, pulling out his badge. Juanita's heart sank to her toes, staring at the badge and ID of Ovan DominguezâCop. The sight nearly turned her stomach.
“Mom!” Junior called from the car.
Juanita froze. She had forgotten just that quickly that Junior was in the car watching her make her move on this handsome manâthis handsome cop. Juanita noticed Officer Dominguez looking around her toward the sound of Junior's voice. She watched his eyes as they studied Junior and then returned to meet hers.
“Your brotha?” he asked.
“Uhhh no ... my son,” she admitted, almost choking on the words.
Her emotions covered her face in the form of a light blush. Ovan apparently noticed, as he smiled warmly before retrieving a pen out of his car's visor to give her his personal information. “But, yeah, back to this, you're right. I'm at fault here. I was looking for an address and wasn't paying attention to what I was doing. Tell you what. Call me ... uh, with the estimates and the agency will take care of it or whateverâI'm in somewhat of a hurry,” he said, handing Juanita his card.
She looked at it closely; the words all scrambled around but still came back to three that meant the most at this moment. Ovan DominguezâCOP. It was as if that part jumped out at her more than anything.
“Do you want my number?” she asked, right before Junior bellowed again. “Junior! Please!” she yelped before her eyes crossed and then closed slowly to keep from rolling in her head. When she opened them, he was staring deeply at her ... through her.
“No, you call my secretary if you want me to take care of things. There will no problem taking care of this here,” he said, fanning his hand over the front of her car. Juanita strained to hear a double meaning. She so wanted there to be one. She'd not even considered the fact that he had a secretary. Since when did gumshoes get secretaries these days?
They shared an awkward moment before she smoothed back her wild hair. “I know this neighborhood well. It's the Palemos. My ex and his wife live here ...” She paused before pointing at Junior. “... and I was taking him to... .” She suddenly realized that she was rambling. “Who were you looking for?” she asked him after clearing her throat.
“Juanita, come on!” Junior yelled out, sounding rude and disrespectful. He was begging for a grounding, but she would have to hold that off because for two weeks he was going to be staying at Rashawn's houseâwhether they liked it or not. Ovan looked around her again and then back at her, his face bursting into a full-on grin.
“It doesn't matter anymore ... because I found you,” he answered. Yes, he was indeed flirting. No mistake.
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