When Saint Goes Marching In (9 page)

“Yes, baby?” He looked down at the carpeted hallway.

“I love you. If something happens to you again, it would kill me. Your sons would never be the same. I don’t want to be without you, I don’t want our children fatherless. Please…” Xenia teared up.

“Baby, please don’t cry,” he soothed, lowering his voice as he stepped away from James’ door.

That was the one thing that would make Saint melt and feel like the worst person in the world.

“Trust me, Xenia. I know that what I do is dangerous and I don’t feel invincible, but I know that this is my purpose in life and I have to do it. I believe I will be protected. I believe that God will make sure I come out fine and I need you to believe that too, baby.”

Xenia
sniffed. “I’m serious, Saint. I know God watches out over you, I’ve seen it, but you also can’t keep purposefully putting yourself in a lion’s mouth and not eventually expect to get bit.” On that, she disconnected the call abruptly.

Saint stood there, gripping his cell phone in his hand. He was unnerved by the entire conversation. A part of him wanted to run into James’ office and tell him ‘I quit’ and return to the safe confines of a private practice where sex addicts, retired porn stars, frigid women, impotent men and rape victims came to his office on a daily basis, unloading their open, wounded, serrated woes onto his lap.

A small part of him wished to disappear, into his world that was exclusively surrounded by sex DVDs, home-spun literature and a care-free life before he was forced to see his gifts and see them in their full glory. It was too late, though. Now that he knew, he couldn’t unlearn no matter how hard he tried. Saint felt his heart racing as Xenia’s energy gripped him.

She’s so upset
.
I never wanted to hurt her.

He turned away and walked back into James’ office.

“Sorry about that. Let’s get this over with. I’ll leave for Missouri in two days.”

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

“Jesus!” Xenia cried out as Saint held onto her hips, and thrust in and out of her first agonizingly slow then rapidly, switching between various rhythms. He sped up, now dipping down, making her shudder between deep, forceful thrusts.

“Uh!..................Uh!....................Uh!” Saint gasped as he moved in and out of her, his buttocks muscles clenching and squeezing then relaxing.

Xenia wrapped her legs tighter around his back, holding him close to her, bringing him down as they kissed, slipped their tongues past one another’s feverishly.

I want this to last forever
, Saint thought as he moved his tongue around in her mouth.

Don’t go
, Xenia’s eyes seemed to say and he knew what she was thinking.
He’s leaving. My heart is hurting.

“I know your heart is hurting,” Saint said only in his mind, his gaze deep and lingering. “You are me and I am you.” Saint put his hand over her heart. His thoughts ran wild.

I’m going to be OK, I promise. I’m not letting anything steal me away from my Goddess and my seeds.

“Do you promise?” Xenia screamed out, as she heard the last sentence of his thoughts. Saint’s eyes watered up.

“You heard me,” he said, shocked.
It’s working. I can make her communicate with me through our thoughts if I touch her heart. This is now a two-way street
.

“Yes, it’s a two way street! Jesus, I can hear your thoughts, Saint!” she screamed as she buried her face in the pillow.

His flesh throbbed inside her, and he couldn’t help moving. He stifled a curse. But her legs tightened around him and her body welcomed him – even now, upset as she was, she wanted him.

“You could still tell me any ol’ thing, though. I don’t know if anything you’re saying or thinking right now is even true.”

“Listen to me.” Saint gently clasped her chin and turned her face back towards him so he could look into her eyes. “Listen to me, Xenia.”

He watched her suck her quivering, bottom lip.

“Baby, please have a little faith. I can’t let George go there by himself. I will probably have to go more than once but I promise you, I’m coming back in one piece. I would never risk not having my family. I love you so much, girl. Come on now.”

Xenia
held onto him tighter as her body started to climax. Saint continued to make love to her.

“You better,” she murmured as her body finally relaxed.

“I will.” Saint removed his hand slowly from her heart and kissed the side of her face. He dropped his head between her breasts, closed his eyes and increased his speed, grinding, humping and thrusting until he came inside her. He grunted deeply and exhaled a loud breath.

“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let something happen to me and miss all of this good lovin’. You think I’d let you give
my
pussy to someone else? If I was dead, someone else would try to take my spot in your life. No fucking way.” he said possessively.

I custom made this shit. I got it to fit me to a T. I made a perfect pussy better. That’s achieving the virtual impossible. I stamped my name on this pussy; I’ve got stocks and bonds up in this pussy. Hell…no. I ain’t going nowhere, baby
.

Saint smiled at his unholy thoughts.

Nah, this mothafucka better beware of me. I will get his ass and come back home, kiss my children and fall asleep on my wife without skipping a mothafuckin’ beat…

* * *

“Welcome to Kansas City!” George joked as he and Saint sat in the seafood restaurant, “Great conference. Small crowd but that’s to be expected considering the fear factor right now. You did great,” George complimented Saint on his speech.

“Thanks. I know they are scared out of their minds but I tried to just focus on the positives and not bring it up.” Saint looked around the restaurant. “There aren’t hardly any Black people here,” he said in amazement. “The interracial marriage rate here between Black women and white men is very low. Hell, between white women and Black men, too. I can’t believe this.”

Saint picked up his glass of water and drank. The crushed ice raced to his lips as he tilted his head far back. George took out a manila folder and removed several documents. He looked around the restaurant before sliding them across to Saint.

Saint looked at him, then opened the envelope after a slight pause. He removed the papers and raised an eyebrow as he read the information, going thoroughly from page to page.

“So this is his profile, huh?” Saint asked. “White male in his mid-thirties, medium build. He’s probably someone no one would suspect – doesn’t bring a lot of attention to himself, a bit of a homebody. He is most likely single, not by choice. He can’t relate to real interpersonal relationships. He’s awkward and has sexual hang-ups and perverted preoccupations. He has a hatred of Black women due to some past rejection, someone he believed he loved but the feeling wasn’t mutual. Well, he is in the wrong damn city,” Saint said as he looked around the restaurant at all the pale faces. “Hunting season for him should’ve been over three couples ago. He’ll expand, George. He can’t stay here and get his fill. We have to catch him before he migrates. Once the grass gets dry, he will try to graze elsewhere.”

George shook his head in agreement. “Saint, his crimes are getting worse. He appears to be getting more violent with each one. The only reason he didn’t kill Mr. and Mrs. Clayman is because their neighbor showed up at the door. I spoke to Mr. Clayman on the phone again. They are prepared to meet with us tonight.”

Saint nodded. “He had enough time to rape her with a wine bottle though.” Saint grimaced and closed his eyes as the image flashed in his mind. Anger bubbled up inside him, frothing forward like lava. “I’d like to snap his neck in half. How dare he go into their home, hurt that Queen and beat up her husband.”

I can’t wait to find him and make him pay.

“There is definitely a rejection issue slant here. He wouldn’t have sexually assaulted her without there being pent up rage and malice. I know that from my field of expertise. Sexual crimes aren’t just about sex; they are about control and control once lost,” Saint explained. “Real men don’t steal pussy and don’t rape women. He is terribly insecure. Look for someone just like the profile but I doubt he has a police record. He is always under the radar. If he does have a record, it would be for mild infractions, like a parking ticket and maybe speeding infractions, but nothing that would denote he is some sort of crazed criminal.” Saint shook his head. “He is a sociopath, psychopath, narcissist, an extreme sexual deviant and a deranged man.”

George shot Saint an intense look. “Saint, you are valuable to this operation. I don’t think you realize just how much so. I hope you are aware, and pardon me for changing the topic for a moment, that James is grooming you to take his place.”

Saint sat back, stunned. He had absolutely no idea. His eyes widened and lips parted as he tried to take in what George told him.

“What? Where is he going?” Saint asked weakly.

“Saint,” George sighed as he crossed his thin, long hands and looked at Saint sympathetically. “James is simply tired. He has been doing this since he was seventeen years old. He is now in his seventies. He went through the Civil Rights, he went through the free loving ’70s, he went through the conservative ’80s that set the clock back thanks to Reaganomics, and then he went through the ’90s where being Black was suddenly cool. But just then these small dangerous pockets of racists popped up all over the globe like a contagious, ravenous disease. Now here we are, in modern day, and we are still fighting. I just turned sixty-nine myself. It is exhausting but necessary.”

Saint took in George’s papery white skin. His sunken in green eyes, long angular face, clean shaven, high cheekbones and salt and pepper hair pulled back into a slender ponytail gave him the look of some sort of art critic or snooty aristocrat. He was rail thin, almost as tall as Saint, and had a regal air.

George carried himself with such high regard that if he were dressed in a paper sack, he’d still appear majestic. Saint knew that George was used to the finer things in life and risked it all when he fell in love with an African woman from France. His family threatened to disown him, but he went along with his heart anyway and now he was close to celebrating forty-six years of marriage, with four children and seven grandchildren.

“I see. I don’t really know what to say,” Saint said in dismay.

“I know that it will be a huge undertaking. You’d essentially be over the entire operation, but look at it this way, Saint. We know how much you love your family. You would be able to train and teach others, then sit back to watch your fruits flourish versus doing all of the leg work yourself, like you have been. James works hard, very hard, but it is cerebral. He always gets his hands dirty but others now can get dirtier than he. Due to his age and just hours in the game, he is exhausted. These are changing times, Saint. He just can’t anymore. On one hand, things are improving. On another, they’re not.”

“You’re right,” Saint nodded. “I see a lot of back and forth with the movement. The consistency isn’t there.”

“There was a point in time when your average man knew right from wrong. Now, it’s like fighting against heartless robots or brainless zombies. There was a time when we could sit down with a group of people and after a few hours, leave at least respecting one another. We only got physical when it was necessary. Now, people bring guns to a hash-it-out session. Emotions are running too high. James is not in the loop the way he feels he should be and he brought you in because of our need for fresh, young blood. That young blood now needs to run the company instead of just being our mouthpiece.”