Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father (44 page)

“I need a woman’s touch on my
dick
tonight…think you can handle that?”

“Mmmmm, I believe so.” He gripped her ass cheek
and rubbed it, forcing her on her tippy toes.

“Great. Now
…” He took his thumb and casually wiped her gloss from his lips. “Let me go out here and kick Mama Pam out, pretend that I think your father is a hell of a guy, and make sure Traci knows to drive that drunk bastard home tonight.”

Xenia burst out laughing as he turned away.

“Okay, I’ll make the rounds with you…and Saint?”

“Yeah
, baby?”

“Thank you for tonight. Thank you for everything.”

He winked at her. “Anything for my baby…you know that.” Ice Cube and Yo Yo belted, ‘You Can’t Play With My Yo-Yo’ as he made his way to his mother-in-law. The older woman’s arms corralled possessively around a crumpled stack of singles, and a gleam was in her eyes, a smile on her face—but a trace of sadness lingered that didn’t go unmissed…

~***~

Two days later…

“I
warned this mothafucka!” Saint slammed his car door as if his beloved silver Lamborghini was an ingrate that owed him money. His muscles stiffened under his white shirt as he pounded the steps up to the double steel studio doors. Biding his time, he haunted the scene like a soldier ghost, invisible rifle in hand. He’d waited until he saw his chance. A parade of caterers came ant-hilling out of the building, holding empty bags, trays and the like. Saint moseyed through the crowd like he owned the fucking place, his chin high and eyes darting about, looking for the head motherfucker in charge. He was mad as hell and in his heart, the perfect theme song for this occasion would have been, ‘Tear the Roof off the Sucka’ by Parliament Funkadelic. He smirked at the thought.

He gripped the door as it almost slammed shut and
opened it back wide, smashing it into the fucking wall with brute force. Stunned employees raced toward the thunderous commotion. In the distance someone yelled, “He knocked a damn hole in the building!”

Saint bit
down hard on his bottom lip, tasting copper, and readjusted his black suit jacket. The show was over, but he was just in time.

“I
’ll fix the damn wall! But right now, I need to speak to Liz Aphrone…
now
!”

He felt the heavy hand of someone
physically substantial, someone breathing hot and hard behind him, someone that was ready to pick him up with their pinky finger and cast him out on his ass like a vagrant sniffing around for bagel crumbs and autographs to sell.

Saint’s neck snapped in the man’s direction
; his eyes narrowed and the burn started. He tried to keep the shit at bay—this was Hollywood after all—but his gifts were no stunts and tricks that stopped after the director’s cut.

“I suggest you get your goddamn hands off of me
,” Saint said between clenched teeth, snatching his shades off the top of his head.

“Sir, I’m going to have to escort you out.” The man proceeded to try to turn Saint around,
but Saint bent the brute’s arm around his back and held it there. The bodyguard let out in a blood-curdling yell.

Saint had
everyone’s attention.

“Look, this is serious. You have an employee here that has caused some
real problems, do you understand me?!” Saint took his free hand and pointed down at the ground in anger. “I need to see Ms. Liz Aphrone, NOW!”

“What is going on?!” The older redhead
, with a face that had gone under the knife so many times, she looked like one of the Thunder Cats, raced over to Saint, a group of people surrounding her. Someone got on the phone and called the police. Saint let go of the ogre and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, snapping it open with a click of his wrist. He handed it to her.

“Ms. Aphrone, I am sorry to have had to have come here. I waited until
everyone was gone, but this couldn’t wait any longer. My wife —”

“Yes
.” She rolled her eyes. “I know who your wife is, Xenia, Mr. Aknaten. I’ve heard quite a bit about you—” She sized him up and shot him a disapproving look He didn’t give a hot damn. She could roll over and play dead in her litter box for all he cared but she’d better take him seriously and stop pussyfooting around.

“Yes,
well, she is being harassed by Sinclair Grayson. Did you know you hired someone with a rap sheet like this?!” He pointed to the paper he handed her. He’d waited, per Lawrence’s suggestion, but things became too much. The man would not lay off his wife and he’d had enough. “Assault and battery! Tampering with evidence! Impeding a police investigation! The list goes on and on and I want you to add to that—sexual harassment of my wife, Xenia Aknaten.”

Liz’s mouth dropped as her feline eyes scanned the paper
, reading line for line, her eyes growing wider and wider in astonishment.

“And there
’s more where that came from! That piece of paper is just the tip of the iceberg. I have more data for you, but that should be a good starting place.”

“
Oh my goodness,” she finally uttered. “I’ve known Sinclair for years! I had no idea.”

“Well, that was the
old
Sinclair. The one you have working here as a producer has his hands in a lot of dirt. This morning I called my wife right before she went on air, as I always do, and she didn’t sound quite right. Liz, she wants to make you proud, she wants to do a good job and not the rock the boat. Look…” He sighed. “I’m sorry for bringing this sort of drama, so I made sure the show was over and the audience had cleared out. What you have in your hand explains it all. I won’t have my wife being tormented this way. I discovered that Sinclair left not one, but two, harassing voicemails on my wife’s cell phone in the last week. Here is a copy.” He tossed the tape to Liz, who clumsily caught it in between her long, knobby fingers.

“Mr. Aknaten, if Xenia had come to us and told us of any alleged harassment, we would have addressed it immediately.
It would have definitely been handled,” the woman said sternly.

“Well, now you know. So handle it.” Saint pushed
his shoulder hard into the bodyguard on his way out, still pissed and bustling with anger as he stormed back out the door…

~***~

Xenia stood by the park swings set, trying her best to put on a convincing smile. She’d had the week from hell, each day kissed by Satan and sent her way in basket filled with rotting fruit laced with arsenic. Isis was thrilled to sit in the baby swing and the boys pumped their legs vigorously in the big ones. The three children’s laughter almost cracked her sullen mood. Almost.

Sinclair had become unhinged. She wasn’t sure what sparked his antics, but he felt she w
as in some way responsible. He ranted and raved about phone calls, blackmail and old debts. She’d told him she didn’t know what he was talking about, and she didn’t, but it did her no good. That was the final straw. She knew she wouldn’t be renewing her contract at the end of the season. She tried to convince herself it was no big deal, but in her heart, she knew it was a lie. This is not how she saw this ending, and it pissed her off that he’d get his way, run her off the show. Feeling her cell phone vibrating against her hip, she reached into her pants pocket and pulled it out.

“Hi Shianne.” Xenia felt a sense of relief
at hearing the young woman’s voice. Over the weeks, the two had grown incredibly close.

“Hi Xenia, um, I heard about what happ
ened. I wish you would have told me. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” Xenia shot her children a look and clutched
the phone closer to her face.

“Oh
.” Shianne paused as if mulling something momentous over. “Well, about Sinclair harassing you and your husband coming up to the studio to—”

“My husband
was there?” Xenia saw red. If the clouds in the sky could bleed, that was the vision before her eyes. Her entire temple heated as if she were an explosive crammed in Seven brand jeans about to go the fuck off.

“Yes…oh dear, I thought you knew. Damn it. I shouldn’t have called.”

“No, no, it’s fine, Shianne. After the show today, I left right away and decided to spend some time with my children. I’m sure Saint probably tried to reach me. Uh, do you mind if I give you a call back?”

“No, not at all! I will see you tomorrow, okay?” Shianne said weakly
, guilt in her tone.

“Of course, and thanks.”

Xenia tried several times to speak into her cell phone, beckoning Siri for help. “Call husband!” she repeated, but due to the rage in her pitch, and her children laughing in the background, her request was distorted and not understood.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t
understand that,”
the feminine automated voice repeated.

Resorting to
old-fashioned dialing, she punched in his cell number as if the phone itself were responsible for the news she’d received.

“Saint Aknaten speaking…”
came a sleepy voice, devoid of care.

“
Don’t you answer the phone like that! You know damn well who this is and why I’m calling.”

“Xenia. You don’t want to do this with me. I have some information for you so before you get your butt on your back and try to tell me that I shouldn’t have
gone over there and spoken to Liz, you—”

“You spoke to Liz? Oh my God,
it’s worse than I thought!” She held her forehead.

“I’m leaving the office early. Matter of fact, I have my suitcase in my hand right now. Meet me at home. We are going to have a meeting.” And he abruptly hung up the phone.

Xenia looked at her phone in disbelief.

That son of a bitch…

“Hey kids, we gotta go!”

“Awww,
Mommy!” they protested.

“I’m sorry. I know I promised and we just got here, but I
will make it up to you.” And with that, she gathered her children, headed to the car, and drove home trying desperately to talk herself into not ripping her husband a new asshole as soon as she stepped foot in the door…

~***~

Xenia found it odd that Saint didn’t join them for dinner. Matter of fact, he’d been incognito for hours. She only knew for certain he was home because the Lamborghini he customarily drove to work was back in the stable with the rest of his boy-toys. She could count on one hand how many times he’d been home in time from work and missed the family meal. But this time, to add more insult to injury, he’d locked out the world. The hand-carved mahogany den doors were bolted shut. She’d knocked several times, only to be told via a muffled gruff voice, “I’m not hungry. Come back when the children are in bed.”

It was as if her husband had been kidnapped by the
body snatchers. Saint was never one to run from a verbal beat down, regardless of who it was coming from, yet he seemed to be averting the very serious problem at hand. The man had showed his ass at her job, and after receiving further information from her intern, he handed in evidence of his little behind the scenes investigation and a meeting was scheduled for early the next morning—a meeting Xenia wasn’t invited to. All the big guys would be there, the station figure heads who took their royalties without putting in a day of work and played golf on the weekends. If they were pulled away from their recreation, there was usually hell to pay. Her not being invited was a good thing, for once. She swung like her children at the park on that notion, pumping her legs as fast as she could on a heavy sigh of relief. As she cleaned up the kitchen, she’d stop every now and again while the children played. She’d walk up to the doors, tempted to knock again. She knew the man had received her one million text messages and calls to bring his narrow ass out of there. His non-action was only throwing fresh fuel on the forest fire within. He’d cut off access with little regard and that fed on her anger. Each second turned into steely minutes that accumulated like a pile of rusty razor blades she wanted to throw at him once those doors opened wide.

Unbelievable!

She set a glass in the sink with a heavy hand—a miracle she didn’t break it. The minutes turned to an hour and there she was, looking at a dark sky as the faint scent of cherry cigars wafted through from the den. Isis seemed clingier than usual, experiencing frequent break-downs as bedtime approached. She watched ‘The Princess Frog’ with the children before making them retire for the night. When the house was quiet, she debated rapping on the door, but decided a good shower was in order first, hoping against hope it would temper her nerves so she could speak to him in a calm manner. Less than thirty minutes later, she was clean and ready to do some dirty battling. Dressed in a long, silky sky blue gown, she descended the steps, crossed the vast marble floor past the piano and the large chandelier that bathed the space in a mellow glow. Standing before the double doors, she took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

She grabbed the silver knob, turned it clockwise and entered. The scents of cigar smoke, intoxicating musky cologne and Saint’s natural aroma inundated her. Through the smoke, she spotted the man sitting in a large black leather chair with silver stud buttons. He wore black satin pajama pants, his chest bare. The new tattoo seemed to glow against his chest, with her name in bold, black letters right above his heart. His hair was brushed away from his face, and under the lights, the dark waves deepened to blue. He sat with his legs far apart, his bare feet flat on the floor and one hand limp across the broad arm of the chair. The other held his beloved cigar to his lips, the same lips that kissed all of her body that morning. The same lips that said dirty, delightful words in her ear on a daily basis. The same lips that gave people encouragement and empowerment and now, the lips that went and yelled at Liz, cursed out a studio bodyguard and barely uttered a word to her in the last four hours. A thick curl of smoke rose from the side of his mouth. His smug expression unnerved her, dared her to give him a piece of her mind.