All This Time (4 page)

Chapter
Five

By
Friday morning my bruised cheek is a work of art. The colors are bold and
demand attention. Returning back to Russ’ place the other night, I
intentionally didn’t put ice on the area where Lourdes and Russ hit me so that
it would continue to get worse. With Lourdes exhibiting her authority and Russ
his controlling hand over me, I am now nothing more than a forgotten nuisance.
This performance was necessary so that everyone in that room would accept me
without fearing that I am an undercover cop. This world is all about power and
Angel is absolutely powerless.

“How’s
the cheek?” Russ asks, turning on the small kitchen television and sitting on the
barstool next to me.

Chewing
on a strawberry, I lift an annoyed eyebrow. “I’ve told you three times already
that it’s fine. You hit like a girl Russ.”

“You
think?” Laughing he snags a strawberry off my plate and pops it into his mouth.
“The shit Lourdes dealt out looked like it may have made you flinch a little.”

“Oh,
psycho Barbie has a heck of a slap, I’ll give her that,” he chuckles, “My
acting skills are improving if you thought that strike hurt me.”

“Mm,
hmm, so tonight…” he leads, waiting for me to answer.

Sighing
heavily, I push my plate away. “I am to be seen and not heard.”

“You
got it. We’ll have a steady flow of customers tonight with it being payday and
the first of the month. Everyone with a newly cashed government check will be
banging the door down to get their fix.”

“Cool.
Will we see any under-covers buying?”

“Possibly,”
Russ replies, taking my plate to the sink after popping the last strawberry in
his mouth. “Last count we have six agents in different levels of this
organization. I think the county has two, but they damn sure haven’t revealed
themselves to me. Not sure about feds.” Turning around he pierces me with a
serious look. “And I don’t care how chummy you get with anyone on the inside
don’t let them know your true identity.”

“What
the fuck Russ?” I snap, tossing my napkin on the counter and standing up. “This
isn’t my first goddamn job, ya know? I may look like a fucking teenager, but
I’m far from it in experience with this world.”

Cautiously,
he walks over to me and then places both hands on my shoulders to calm me. It
doesn’t. His hot hands warming through my shirt feels like kerosene added to a
struck match. I shrug them off and push against his chest with mine making him
stumble backward.

“Easy,”
He smirks awkwardly, keeping his hands to himself as he demands my attention
with his head tilted down in front of me. “It was just a friendly reminder. You
know if someone catches wind of any of our true identities we are toast.”

“Russ,
I’ve got this.” Mentally, I focus on the faces of my family briefly,
remembering why I do this job and find peace enough to calm down. Turning away
from him and stomping down the hallway, I add, “I appreciate your concern. No
one will know a damn thing about Sam Walker.”

Changing
into my druggie attire, I choose something a little more demure tonight.
Getting into the group took me getting noticed and possibly even desired by one
of the other guys. But tonight’s performance won’t be the trashy girlfriend
role. Instead, I go in as Rad’s old lady, a term I fucking hate, so everyone
will know that I’ve learned my lesson and accept my place at his side.

Pulling
my hair into a low ponytail, I adjust my off the shoulder, pale yellow top with
the silver camisole under it and expose the bruise I have from Lourdes slamming
me against the wall. I use much less make up, still dark and dramatic, but the
foundation is a mineral powder, allowing the richness of my purple cheek to
glow through. I slip on a pair of worn dark brown
Uggs
over my dark blue skinny jeans.

Russ
knocks on the bedroom door. “Ready?”

With
that we are out the door for our first night working at the drug house.

A
steady stream of customers flow through the door all evening, people from every
walk of life; different colors, ages and backgrounds stop in for their weekend
party favors. With a little bit of eye flirting, several men hit on me, but I
shoot them all down, telling them I belong to Rad.

One
high school guy whispers into my ear, offering to take me off of the old guy’s
hands if I ever decide that I want to try someone my own age. The kid is maybe
eighteen, just about my twin brothers’ age. I seriously can’t suppress the
shudder that rolls down my spine and he notices. Smiling proudly he adds that
he would rock my world. Russ, who is watching the entire exchange, growls as he
approaches, draws me into his arms and kisses the hell out of me right in front
of the guy. The kid’s apology follows as he bolts out the front door.

Lurching
out of his grasp, I turn around and watch the kid sprint toward his car. I
laugh and Russ peaks over my shoulder, seeing the car dash out of the driveway.

“That
kid will dream naughty thoughts about you tonight.” Russ chuckles.

“Squad
car,” I say, pointing out the window at the slow moving marked unit passing in
front of the house.

I
spot an elderly lady ambling out her front door in the house across from us.
She waves at the officer and takes a seat in an old rocking chair. She probably
called the police department to report suspicious activity from all the cars
stopping by here continuously. God bless the neighborhood watch. Unfortunately
for sweet little nosy-pants, she is just wasting her time calling it in. This
patrolman won’t make a move on us.

For
reasons other than possibly knowing that this house is under task surveillance,
his department just doesn’t have the man power to shut down every nefarious
operation going on in this area. These short-lived, ghetto drive-thru houses
are like playing whack-a-mole, they pop up overnight all over the city and
disappear just as quickly. Sometimes the police department can hit them, but
soon enough they relocate and come back with a vengeance.

The
average citizen would probably ask what good we’re doing if we are inside
promoting drugs. It doesn’t make sense to do the very thing we are trying to
stop, but infiltrating the upper management division of drug lords means
temporarily forfeiting morality, becoming something we despise. Unfortunately,
where we’re at in this game, for the time being, is the ground-level grunt work
and that means selling. If the guys and Lourdes don’t find me as a threat, Russ
will be brought in on a transporting level soon, another step closer to the
inner circle. I pray this job doesn’t take as long as Russ fears it will.

Nearing
midnight the guys arrive from their college party. They are high as a kite and
laughing their asses off when they bound through the front door. Decks strolls
over, glancing at the bruise on my cheek he lifts a hand and tenderly slides
the back of his cool knuckles over it. “You okay Angel?” he asks staring into
my eyes like he might possibly give a damn.

Nodding
weakly, I softly affirm, “Yeah, thanks.” I hold his magnetic stare a moment
longer and he graces me with a sexy smile.

Murph
strides over, followed by a couple of new faces and they also check out my
partially covered injury. Wincing playfully, Murph mumbles softly, “Ah, it
doesn’t look too bad.”

Russ
charges over and pulls me away from Decks, who keeps his gaze locked on me. “So
how was the party?” Russ asks, a bit of jealousy flowing with his question.

Sitting
in a wingback chair, Decks gloats. “We sold out.” Minder, one of the new guys,
takes a seat on the old, flower patterned sofa, lights up a fat-ass joint and
takes a long drag from it before passing it to Decks. Decks puffs a few times
and then says to Russ, “Those greedy little bastards even pre-ordered shit for
tomorrow night’s social gathering.”

“Sweet,”
Russ declares, licking his lips as Decks shoves the tight rolled blazing
marijuana toward Murph who’s sitting next to him. Murph shakes his head,
passing on his turn so Decks thrusts it at me. I glance up at Russ for
permission and he nods. I pretend to pull in the illegal substance softly twice
before faking a long drag and then mimic choking immediately. I hate the smell
of marijuana and getting high, but appearances are everything in this world.
The next time they offer me some I’ll just throw out the old standby cover and
tell them I’m on color code.
Works every time
.

“Damn.
Girl likes her reefer,” Decks croons, a devilish grin forms on his dark red
lips. 

Forcing
my words out, I fake a couple more coughs and giggle, “Good shit.” All the guys
laugh, and Russ finishes off the first pass around handing it back to Minder.

“How
was business here?” Minder asks, rolling a second joint up and I zero in on his
masterful skills. It’s mesmerizing watching how he crinkles the paper into a V
shape, sprinkles a little of the dried cannabis into it and then slowly slides
the tip of the paper across his tongue.

Dammit,
I’m fucked up from a contact buzz.

Minder
glances up at me, catching me staring he winks and I smile shyly. Realizing
that I am drooling, I wipe my thumb on the corner of my mouth and now his eyes
zero in on my lips. Thankfully the other guys draw him back into their
conversation, and I sneak off toward the bathroom.

Upon
reaching the doorway I hear a soft murmur coming from the room beyond the
bathroom. Momma has been asleep for several hours, and it sounds like she’s
having a bad dream. I pop into the grimy bathroom and out just as quickly after
splashing water on my face. Entering the hallway I hear the sound again, louder
this time. I knock on her door, but there’s no response. Opening the door, I
see Momma sleeping soundly in the bed, but I pause to see if she is the source
of the noise.

“Martin?”
Momma whimpers.

I
sit on the edge of the bed beside her which creaks under my weight. I softly
slide my hand over her cold arm and she shifts around slowly. Smiling up at me
with glistening eyes, she grips my hand weakly with frozen fingers.

“Just
a bad dream Sugar. I’m alright now. Go join your friends.” She rolls away,
pulling the thin cover over her shoulder before adding, “Good night dear.”

My
heart crushes for the sweet, old lady who is being used by her
friends
as a cover for their illegal operations, but she is completely unaware that her
fleabag house will soon be taken from her because of them. Yes, in this
business even the innocent people lose big.

Chapter
Six

May

“Dance
with me,” Decks whispers into my ear, ordering me rather than asking, “I am the
birthday boy after all.”

Standing
over me, he leans back to look me in the eye teasingly. His dimples pierce deep
into his cheeks with his playful smile while his dark brown eyes smolder just a
little darker with lust. Knowing that he won’t give up, I take his offered hand
and allow him to guide me out on the dance floor.

Tonight
marks five months since I joined Russ in this assignment we jokingly refer to
as “Busting Kennedy’s”. Yes, it is a completely lame ass name, but we struggled
with it for over a week, and as clever as we are we still couldn’t come up with
a better title. It is the Kennedy name (no, not those Kennedy’s), and their
money, backing most of the suspicious activity, and controlling all of these
players. Plus, busting criminals is our game. Okay, yes again I admit, it is
weak.

“Happy
birthday, Decks,” I say, drawing my hand up to his shoulder as he pulls my body
against his for the slow Coltrane song that just began playing on the old
jukebox.

The
club in North Atlanta, Holidays, named after the famous jazz singer, who the
owner claims he’s related to, is the place to go when you want to be serenaded
by sultry jazz and blues tunes. They are the only selections available in the
neon, coin-operated record player too.

He
slides his warm hand down my back and slips it under the hem of my shirt. His
hot fingers begin a slow circling above the waistband of my skirt. His head
drops down so that his mouth hits just above the top of my ear. His breathing
is heavy and his breath is saturated with the woodsy scent of whiskey.

“Do
you mean that Angel?” he asks, his voice husky with desire.

Confused
by his question, I pull away slightly, looking into his eyes for understanding
before nodding. “Sure.”

“Goddamn
Angel,” he growls low inciting shivers down my spine. He draws me tighter
against his chest again and the vibrations hum through my thin top, straight
through to my breast. “If you weren’t Rad’s
ol
’ lady
I would fucking take you up on that offer and it would be a very happy day.”
What
the hell did he think I offered him
?

Decks
and I have a really flirty and hot relationship going. He flirts, gets hot and
then I get going, meaning I usually just walk away from him. Tonight I’ll let
him slide since so far he hasn’t done anything beyond the previously mentioned,
although we have never danced together before and tonight his flirting combined
with our proximity is apparently affecting him. I can feel his hardness
pressing against my stomach.

“But
I am Rad’s,” I remind him looking up at his hooded eyes with a sweet smile
plastered on my face. “So let’s keep this thing between us cool. Okay?”

“Yeah,”
is all Decks can say gloomily, swaying our bodies through the last notes in the
seductive song. His wayward hands are beginning to piss me off.

Decks is
a beautiful man and if he cut out the crudeness he
wouldn’t be a bad catch. Like so many others in this lifestyle, he has thrown
his life into the shitter when choosing to distribute illegal narcotics instead
of working a normal job. I can’t imagine any self-respecting woman falling for
someone like him.

Walking
back to our table, I hear the small jazz band warming up for their set. I take
my seat facing away from the stage beside Russ and wind my hand around his arm,
claiming my territory for all the watching eyes. This is our first display in
public so I plan on making it a good show. I just hope that Decks is the only
guy I give a stiffy tonight. Taking up the large front corner booth, our group
consists of Wise, his wife Natalie, Decks, Russ, me, two new guys and their
dates.

“Damn
Decks, don’t tell me you’re alone on your birthday brother?” Wise asks
jokingly.

Dark,
haunting eyes narrow on me forcing me to feel his desire and I can’t help
noticing how attractive Decks is before he responds, “Haven’t made my birthday
wish yet.”

Oh
the man is good, but he isn’t for me.
Decks is
way too
much of a player, not that there’s anything wrong with playing around. I’ve had
my share of one-night stands and actually prefer them over relationships. They
are a whole lot less messy than dating and all the bullshit pleasantries that
go along with working out your differences for the sake of…whatever. I shiver.
Just the thought of two people in a committed relationship makes my body
convulse with repulsion. That’s one thing I would never have to worry about
with commitment-phobic guys like Decks, settling down isn’t an issue. However,
when it comes to Decks specifically, I will pass on one-nighters for a year
before I let him seduce me into his bed.

“Is
your sister stopping by for the festivities?” Natalie asks Decks.

“She
comes by for the set every weekend.” Shrugging, Decks plucks a whiskey off a
serving tray from the waitress as she approaches with a fresh round of shots.
“Can’t see why tonight would be any different.” Everybody takes their glasses,
clinks them and then cheers for the birthday boy.

“Angel,”
Natalie catches my attention smiling between me and Russ. After downing my
shot, I turn her direction. “How long have you and Rad been dating?”

“Only
a few months,” I tell her, bumping my shoulder against Russ’.
“Right hon?”

Bobbing
his head, Russ agrees, “And each day is equal to ten years in heaven with my
Angel.”

Natalie,
a woman well into her eighth year of marriage, swoons at his sugary sweet
response, but it makes me want to throat punch him when he lays it on this
thick. Instead, I bite down on my lip while forcing a smile and suppressing an
exaggerated eye roll from hell. Natalie or Nat, as she has instructed me to
call her, which I refuse because it just doesn’t suit her, is around
twenty-seven and is a fucking bombshell beauty with her long straight blonde
hair, high cheekbones and hazel eyes. The woman could give Mrs. America a run
for her money in the beauty segment of their competition; talent and
intelligence remains to be seen.

The
nosy, sweet housewife continues asking ridiculous couples questions over the
next half-hour, only taking a break when the set ends and she shares, rather
loudly, that she needs to pee. After turning down Natalie’s offer to join her,
I catch a break from our acting jobs when Russ offers to be my potty-chaperon
replacement.

“I
need to take a piss anyway.” Russ escorts her away after giving me an
understanding wink.

Feeling
like the world is lifted off my shoulders, I relax leaning against the back of
my seat and lazily turn my head toward the stage, noticing the instruments
placed carefully on stands abandoned temporarily by their owners. Caught up in
Natalie’s game of one million outlandish questions, I didn’t get a chance to
observe the band while they played, but their seductive tunes quelled most of
my natural fight or flight instincts, keeping me from telling her to go find
another Barbie girl to play with.

The
rest of our little group disbursed sometime during the Natalie Inquisition,
disappearing into the large crowd and dark corners of the smoky club. And I
can’t blame them in the least. Truthfully, if I could’ve squeeze out passed
Russ earlier, I damn sure would have, but he was deep into the tunes bellowing
throughout the club so there was no escape.

Sipping
on my fourth tumbler of Kentucky whiskey, I see Decks pressing against a cute
brunette, seated at the bar. He turns his head slightly, his eyes latch onto
mine holding my stare deliberately. With his right hand, he pushes away a few
flowing strands of her hair, tucking them securely behind her ear before
leaning in and pressing his mouth against it. Remaining locked on me, Decks’
eyes heat fiercely as his lips brush against her sparkling earring. Either the
contact of his mouth on her flesh speeds along his lust or he’s imaging that
it’s my ear he is nibbling. The unsuspecting woman, stroking a hand up and over
the hills of his wide bicep, nods her head and then picks up her small clutch.
He winks at me while escorting her out the front door.

Decks
may not get his birthday wish, but it looks like he’s going to unwrap his
present
. I laugh silently and close my eyes, relaxing more when the blaring
sounds of the jukebox is once again turned down allowing the live jazz music to
saturate the darkened corners of this ultra-
fab
club.

With
each note of the saxophone my body begins a slow moving dance with the sexy
vibrating hums, like each puff of wind across the reed is a lover’s caress
along my flesh, teasing me to climax. The sound is hypnotic, and I am
transported somewhere far away in my head. I stay like this, completely unaware
of my surroundings, until Russ crashes heavily against me when he sits down
again ruining my dreamlike state.

“You
look sleepy. Ready for me to take you home?” Russ asks
,
killing the last bit of the sexiness buzz I was tripping on.

Sighing
before answering him, I glance up at the man standing center stage, holding the
golden instrument that was only moments ago my secret lover. He is a good
looking man, in his late twenties, with dark hair and a body that I would love
to use like a bottle of shampoo. I could spend an eternity lathering, rinsing
and repeating with that finely chiseled physique. With each puff of breath, he
squeezes his eyes tighter and my thighs begin mimicking them. His forehead
glistens with the lightest sheen of sweat and I imagine placing my lips against
it during a round of hot love making, sipping on the saltiness of him like I do
with my favorite whiskey.

What
the fuck
? Bedeviled by his sexiness, I force my attention away from the
stage and quickly glance around the table, hoping no one noticed my weird
dazing over the sex-god front and center. Am I blushing? I never blush! The
blistering heat I feel when I touch my hand to my cheek confirms it. Luckily
for me, everyone is absorbed in the gorgeous saxophonist just as much and I
squeeze by without embarrassing myself.