Doin' Me (20 page)

Peyton barged into the bedroom and stomped over to the bed. “Where have you been? I've been waiting two days for you. Whose car is that outside?”

His faded jeans and T-shirt were dirty, and his breath reeked. She rolled her eyes and scooted away from him. “The better question is, what are
you
doing here? Yesterday was your deadline. Now, give me my key and leave.” She pointed toward the door.

“And just where am I supposed to go?” he asked sarcastically.

“That's not my problem,” she smarted. “You're a grown man. Figure it out. What happened to your girlfriend, Laci?” she smirked. “See if she'll let you live in her minivan for a while.”

“I don't have time for your stupid comedy routine. I need some money. Laci's husband got suspicious and cut off her cash flow.”

“Smart man.”

“I've been waiting for your sorry behind to get back here because I need some stuff. Where's the money?” he barked after throwing the empty purse on the bed. “Ain't nothing in there, but I know you got some money somewhere.”

Reyna leaned over and reached under the bed but didn't feel what she needed.

“Looking for something? You got me the first time, but I'm not as stupid as you. I got rid of your little weapon. Now, where is the money?”

The sinister smile he offered her made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She swallowed her fear and jumped up in his face. “Idiot, I don't have any money. You and your cokehead girlfriend snorted every dime I had.”

“Whose BMW is that?” he barked again.

“Mine,” she lied. “Now, get out before I call the police.”

“You ain't calling nobody!” He grabbed the phone from the nightstand and threw it across the room. “Hey, what's this?”

Reyna watched in dread as Tyson's check floated to the floor.

“You little liar,” he said after picking up the check. “If I didn't need you to cash this check, I'd ring your neck. I knew you were holding out. That's his car outside, too.”

Reyna opened her mouth to refute his charge, but Peyton raised his hand to striking position and she backed down.

“Before you lie again, I already checked the glove compartment. The car is registered to the same T. F. Stokes. You little slut. You couldn't wait for me to leave before starting to kick it with another dude. At least you got some money out of it. You paid me to be with you.” His laugh sounded more like a howl. “Get your sorry behind up and get dressed so I can get my money.”

Reyna shook her head as if to clear it. She couldn't have heard him correctly. Did this fool really think he was going to get another dime out of her? She tightened the belt on her robe and planted her fists at her waist. “I may not be the sharpest pencil in the box, but you're dumber than dumb if you think I'm going to waltz into a bank and hand you ten thousand dollars to stick up your nose.” She snatched the check from him and ripped it in half. The last thing she heard before Peyton's backhand sent her tumbling to the floor was him likening her to a stupid female dog.

“I should have snapped your neck.” His voice took on an evil hoarseness she hadn't heard before.

Slightly dazed, Reyna pulled up her legs and crawled across the bedroom toward the door to get away from him. If she could get down the stairs, she'd make it out the front door. Her knees didn't carry her fast enough, and Peyton caught her from behind and pulled her up by her hair.

“Who do you think you are, messing with my money like that? I need my stuff.” He turned her so she faced him. “Call and tell him to get over here with more money, or we'll pick it up.”

Excruciating pain pierced her head and his halitosis nauseated her, but she'd die before placing Tyson in danger. An adrenaline rush fueled her fear, and she used every ounce of energy to get her point across. “No! Beat me if you want, but I'm not calling anyone, and I'm not going anywhere. I will not allow your worthless behind to take—”

“So you think I'm worthless? You think you're better than me now?” He dragged her back to the bed and threw her facedown on it. “I'll show you what worthless feels like,” he growled, then parted her legs and grabbed her in a choke hold from behind.

He sodomized her before she could mentally escape to Disneyland. Agonizing pain tore through her body, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her shed another tear for him. “God, please,” she whimpered and bit her tongue to keep from crying out.

After causing as much pain as possible, Peyton pulled away, flipped her over on her back, and continued stripping her of her dignity while cursing and demeaning her until he relieved himself and climbed off of her.

Throughout the ordeal Reyna didn't mumble a word, but internally cries of despair poured from her heart. She had nothing left as new emotional wounds mingled with old ones and crushed her spirit. Determined not to cry, she sucked back the lump at the back of her throat, slid off the bed, and retied the belt on her bathrobe, which had come untied during the altercation. “I will not cry. I will not cry,” she whispered as she somberly walked out of the bedroom, leaving Peyton at the dresser, trying to salvage the check with tape.

Mechanically, she walked into the kitchen and reunited with an old faithful friend. She gulped vodka straight from the bottle until her head throbbed so much, she could no longer hold it up. She staggered over and collapsed on the couch and willed herself to die. If she drank fast enough, just maybe she'd be lucky enough to die from alcohol poisoning.

Two swigs later she noticed the second cordless phone handset stuffed between the cushions. Without looking at the keypad, Reyna punched in the numbers that at one time she'd tried hard to forget.

Jewel answered on the third ring. “Hello.”

She took another swig before answering. “Ma,” she breathed into the phone.

“Reyna? What's wrong?”

She heard the worry in Jewel's voice and regretted making the call. She didn't even know why she'd made the call in the first place.

“Reyna!” Jewel yelled into the phone. “Are you all right?”

Tremors rocked her as she fought to maintain her composure. “No, Mother. I'm not all right.”

“What—”

Before Jewel finished the question, Peyton came up from behind. “You trying to call the police on me?” he accused and snatched the phone. “I already have two strikes. I'll kill you before I let you do that.”

Too much information too late,
she thought between gulps of Vodka but didn't speak it. “That was my mother, you moron.”

“Look.” He held up the restored check. “This just might work. The account number is still intact. You can tell them, you accidently ripped it and taped it together so you wouldn't lose the pieces. Go get dressed so we can make it to the bank before closing.”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I'm not going anywhere, physically,” she answered, hoping to die soon.

“Get your stupid—” The doorbell interrupted Peyton's tirade. “Are you expecting someone?” He eyed her suspiciously, then stomped to the door.

“No,” she answered and raised the bottle again. Before the rim reached her lips, Tyson's voice emerged from the foyer.

“What are you doing here?” she heard Tyson ask. The earlier trauma had caused her to forget she'd asked him to come over.

“I live here,” Peyton smarted. “The question is, who are you, and what are you doing at my house?”

The anesthetic missed her lips, and the lukewarm liquid ran her down her chest. The bottle slipped from her fingertips and crashed to floor. Fear gripped her and pounded her chest. She jumped up and started for the door; she had to protect Tyson from this maniac. She'd never forgive herself if Tyson got hurt because of her foolishness. The throbbing in her head made her dizzy and caused her to stumble the remaining distance.

“Your house? You live here?” Tyson spat the questions just as Reyna stumbled around the corner, leaning against the wall for support. His attention turned to Reyna, and he ceased speaking.

The look of disgust and repulsion on his face sapped what little strength she had. The man who loved her came bearing roses and food, and she greeted him with chaos. “It's not what you think,” she whispered.

“Forget what I'm thinking,” he said, more coldly than she'd ever heard him speak. “You should be more concerned with what I see.”

It dawned on her then that she was naked under the bathrobe and reeked of alcohol. Peyton was shirtless, and his pants were unbuttoned.

“You were right, Reyna. Now that I've seen what you couldn't tell me yourself, I have lost my appetite.” Tyson brushed past both of them and went into the kitchen and literally dumped the roses and food into the trash.

“Hey, you can't just walk up in my house,” Peyton warned.

Tyson turned back to Reyna. “Aren't you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?”

It was a dare that Reyna shied away from. “It's not what you think,” she repeated, avoiding eye contact.

Tyson faced Peyton. “It's Peyton, right? I'm Tyson Stokes, the landlord.”

“Oh, God,” Reyna groaned when Peyton's blue eyes danced with excitement. There was no way she could stop him from distorting everything, now that he knew the source of her sudden wealth.

“I wasn't aware you lived here, since Reyna never added you to the lease. How long have you lived in
my
house?” Tyson pressed on, much to Reyna's discomfort. “Are you employed?”

“What difference does it make? She pays the rent on time. So what? A few things are missing, but it's nothing your insurance won't cover,” Peyton spat and then turned to Reyna. “Why didn't you tell me you were banging the landlord too? We could have been living rent free.” He pointed at Tyson's wrist. “I told you the stuff I sold was no big deal. Look at that Rolex. He can afford it.”

Tyson turned to Reyna. “What is he talking about?”

“I wanted to tell you,” she slurred.

Filled with dread, Reyna watched Tyson walk around the main floor of what was once his home, as if seeing it for the first time. He touched the spot where an original painting had once hung, and inserted his fist into a hole in the wall. He went downstairs to his old office alone, and after what seemed like an eternity to Reyna, he returned and stood in the middle of the living room. Reyna waited for him to yell or scream, but he didn't say a word. Just stared at her through charcoal flecks.

Peyton interrupted the silent communication. “Since you're here, can you write out another check?” He held out the original one. “This one got torn by mistake.”

“Either you're on something or you're the dumbest person in the world. Get that out of my face before you lose your arm,” Tyson warned.

Reyna laughed as Peyton retreated like a scared puppy, a small vindication for what he'd done to her. The victory didn't last.

Tyson turned to her. “I could have forgiven you for anything if you had just been honest with me.”

“I was going to tell you what Peyton did. That's why I wanted you to come over,” she answered, stumbling over her words. “Then he showed up, and he—”

He pointed at Peyton and for the first time unleashed his anger on her. “This is not about that loser. This is about you and me. I gave you my heart and compromised my beliefs for you. And less than twenty-four hours later you're screwing someone else. I specifically asked you if you were involved with him, and not once did you mention you were living together and destroying my house.”

She collapsed on the couch. “I promise I'll pay you back, somehow.”

“Those are just things, Reyna! They can be replaced. You can't repay what I've invested in you.” He pointed at his chest. “I believed in you when no one else did. I was there when no one else would come. I went out on a limb for you. I gave you everything, and you didn't have the decency to level with me.”

She rocked back and forth.
I'm not going to cry.

“I've never begged a woman to be with me, and it'll be a cold day in hell before I beg a coldhearted and self-centered woman like you again for a morsel of affection. I'm done.”

“I thought you loved me.” The words dripped out before she could stop them.

“Love,” he smirked. “You don't know the definition of the word. Consider this your thirty-day notice. I want you and your trailer-trash boyfriend out of my house. I'll have the car picked up tomorrow. Outside of turning in your keys, I don't ever want to see or hear from you again.” He turned to leave, then paused as if he'd remembered something. “Good-bye, Reyna.”

She expected a door slam, but it never came. She heaved and shook but forbade tears to fall.
I'm not going to cry.
She rocked faster and gripped her stomach when she heard his tires screech, taking her heart with him. The expanding ache in her heart overpowered the throbbing in her head.
I'm not going to cry.

Tyson was wrong; she did know the definition of
love.
He'd shown it to her and then broken her heart by not believing her. Sure, it looked bad, but Tyson should have known she wouldn't willingly be with another man after him. Even semi-drunk, she could see something was wrong with the scene he'd walked in on. Then again, she had been living with Peyton for almost four months and knew his antics.

“Give me the keys to the car. I have a run to make,” Peyton demanded while standing over her.

Reyna rolled her eyes. “Get out of my face. I'm not giving you anything.” Peyton had taken the last thing of value from her. Besides, she couldn't remember where she'd left the keys.

He yanked her up by her throat. “Give me the keys before I snap your neck.”

A loud, quick boom blasted Reyna's eardrums and sent Peyton to the floor.

“That was a warning shot, but I promise you the next one won't miss.”

Reyna whirled around, too stunned to speak. The sight of her mother cocking a gun left her speechless, and so did the crew standing in the doorway with her. Pastor Jennings held a baseball bat in striking position, Mother Scott brandished a switchblade, and First Lady Drake waved a pipe wrench. All of them had a shiny look, like they'd been smeared with Vaseline.

By the time Peyton got his bearings and raised up on his knees, Jewel was standing over him, pointing the barrel of the gun between his temples. “This ain't no toy, and I ain't playing a game. This is a thirty-eight snub-nose. Put your hands on my daughter again, and I'll brand your forehead with all five bullets before you can call on your Maker.”

“And on the off chance that she misses, we'll beat you like the thief you are while she reloads,” Pastor Jennings cosigned.

Peyton's olive skin burned crimson, but he didn't say a word.

“M-mama,” Reyna stuttered. “When did you get a gun?”

“Always had one, baby,” Jewel answered without taking her eyes off Peyton. “My grandfather was a marksman. He gave me my first gun for my sixteenth birthday and taught me how to shoot. I can hit a target a quarter mile away.” She directed the conversation to Peyton, whose teeth chattered. “You're leaving this house today and never coming back. Either you can walk out or the coroner can roll you out. The choice is yours. You got five minutes to get your junk and get out of here.”

“He don't need that long,” Mother Scott said, pointing the switchblade. “I can tell he don't own nothing. Two minutes is all he needs to grab his stuff.”

“You heard her. Now move!” Jewel ordered. “And you better not take anything that doesn't belong to you.”

Peyton jumped up and ran to the hall closet.

Reyna blinked and refocused. She needed to spend more time with her mother; there was so much she didn't know. “How did you know . . . I mean, why did y'all come here?”

Jewel kept her eyes on her target. “I told you to call me if you needed me, and you did. We'd just ended our prayer session and were getting ready to head out to that new Chinese buffet when you called. When I heard him threaten to kill you, we grabbed our girls and headed on over.”

“Girls?” Reyna questioned.

“Beulah, Louise, Silvia, and Roxy,” the women answered one after the other, referring to their weapon of choice.

“But I never told you where I live.”

“Rosalie got that information from Kevin a long time ago. I just let you think I didn't know because that's what you wanted,” Jewel said.

Reyna shook her head as if to clear it. She couldn't have heard her mother correctly. “The pastor, the prayer warriors, and the pastor's wife carry weapons?”

“We put on the whole armor of God every day, but every now and then you need some tangible armor to take care of business,” Pastor Jennings explained.

“We weren't born prayer warriors,” Mother Scott added. “We all have a past, and I know I ain't forgot nothing. Besides, we're doing what Jesus would do. We're about to whip this thief out of this temple.”

Reyna wanted to laugh but no longer had the energy. At some point she would ask when the four of them became buddies.

“Thirty seconds,” First Lady Drake warned.

Peyton raced into the kitchen and opened the utility closet and pulled out a garbage bag and dumped his clothes inside it. He headed for the door, still shirtless, with the bag over his shoulder.

“Stop,” Jewel called from behind. “Leave the key.”

Without turning around to face the gun's barrel, Peyton complied. With shaky hands, he removed the key from the ring and set it on the table.

“Reyna, is there anything you want to say to him?” Jewel asked.

“Or do to him,” Pastor Jennings added, holding out the bat to her.

Reyna shook her head. “No. I just want him gone.” He had taken so much from her, his death wouldn't be enough to make retribution.

“Turn around,” Jewel ordered Peyton. “I want you to see my face and Beulah's smile when I say this.”

He obeyed.

“For the remainder of your natural life, you better not come within breathing distance of my daughter. If you do, I promise to carve your name on your body with bullets. When I get through, the only identifying marks left will be your fingertips. Do you understand me?”

“Y-y-yes,” he stuttered.

“Now, turn around and run, just in case I change my mind and let Beulah loose.”

The gang of women stood in the doorway, laughing at Peyton as he ran through the subdivision with that garbage bag over his shoulder.

Reyna watched the scene until she heard someone screaming. A piercing shrill followed by intense wailing echoed throughout the town house. It wasn't until she felt her mother's arms around her and heard the prayer warriors speaking in an unknown language that she realized the horrific sounds were coming from her. “God, help me,” she opened her mouth to say, but only cries of agony would come out. Her fists swung and her legs kicked at beings that were visibly present in her mind, but not physically there.