In Love with Ezra (Love Unaccounted Book 2) (33 page)

And yet another revelation of the man I married.
Ezra rented an office for his therapy practice?
They kept coming, though the one from this woman stung especially. I fought for a steely appearance as I turned to her and cracked a smile while she stood in the doorway, holding the knob.

“Shall we continue?” she asked.

“Yes, please.”

I followed her down the hall, passing the conference room where we met, and to the other end. My mind racing with each step I made behind her model-like frame.    

“And this is where you’ll find me,” she announced far more cheerily than one would expect. Her tone and mood a clear contrast to the persona she took on in the conference room. As I sauntered into the office, noticing the equal space to the one down the hall, she included, “and likely Pastor when he’s in the building. He tends to take over in here like it’s his designated space. Another reason I believe he won’t set up down the hall.”

My nose flared as I gave my back to her. Precious was either dumb as hell or clever. Her office was painted a soft coral, hardly the outfit of a business environment. I quickly reminded myself of this not being a strict work environment. It was a church, branching out into the non-profit realm. But this room solidified my impression of Precious’ princess persona. She was the daughter Bishop and Mary never had. Only she wanted to fuck her brother.
Again
. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Oh!” I heard an unidentified voice chirp. “Should I come back? I see you have a visitor.”

I turned to find a middle age woman with flawless caramel skin, notable blushed cheeks from makeup. She had an even amount of salt and pepper hair nicely styled in a neat chignon with a few curls deliberately placed to frame her beautiful face.

“No.” Precious smiled. “Please come in Marva. I’m just doing an orientation for a new employee. How timely is your visit!”

I turned fully to watch the woman approach Precious, the two exchanging instant messages with their eyes, but I couldn’t figure out what they were. Precious placed her hands gently over the woman’s shoulder and guided her toward me. I towered her shorter stature. The flawless woman had to be at least in her sixties.

“Ms. Grier, today’s your lucky day. You get to meet one of our longest standing board of directors members at
RSfALC
. This is Sister Marva. Not only is she an active board member, but she leads the women’s ministry and the clergy usher’s auxiliary at the church.”

I extended my hand to request hers. When met, her grip was nonexistent and abbreviated. Sister Marva didn’t want to touch me.
Why?
And why did that suddenly make me nervous.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sister Marva.” I applied a contrived smile.

Is here where I mention I’m a member of RSfALC to appease her?

No. That would have led to questions of nepotism. I didn’t want any trouble.

“Yes.” Marva’s picturesque smile fell. “It is your pleasure. On your first day you get an impression of the organization that makes your future checks possible. We’re undergoing changes here on the ministry and business front, and all parties representing us should be aware of our zero tolerance for insubordination practices.”

I saw the decided scowl on her face. The elder diva had a bite. She paid me an inspective regard from top to bottom, making me feel like a damn freak show as I towered both women, though with Precious by a mere few inches. What I’d done to jump on this lady’s shit list, I had no clue.

While eyeing me, she spoke over her shoulder to Precious. “We have a Nurses Ministry meeting this evening. Why don’t you invite her so she can get an idea of the ropes around here?” She then addressed me. “You need to know the order of operations around here so you’ll understand the hierarchy.”

I couldn’t speak to respond. Why did
Christ Cares
appear so territorial now? Where did the cliquish mentality come from? And why as an employee did I need to be subjected to it? What the fuck was going on here?

“I think that’s a great idea. The meeting starts at six tonight. That wouldn’t be a problem for you, would it, Lex?” Precious asked, or more or less hinted at the correct answer.

I exhaled and forced a polite nod. “I don’t see why it would be. I’m looking forward to it.”

Precious giggled in a fraudulent pitch. And I couldn’t gain a hold of my breathing to react to it.

“Okay. I’ll be on my way. Just stopping through to make sure all is operating well.” Marva turned for the door.

That’s when I noticed her Chanel bag hanging from the crook of her arm. Precious didn’t do a good job at hiding her amusement at me being clipped at the wings. Why did I suddenly feel like I was being bullied? What was it that this older woman had to prove? What was her deal with me?

I continued my ‘orientation’ with Precious. It consisted of nothing really, but a tour of the small building and some of the staff. Once done with her, I went back to my office where the I.T. guy had just finished with my computer and sat through his instructions. I immediately went back to completing my human resources packet. The day breezed by, but no matter how great that may have been on any other workday, I couldn’t shake the conversation earlier with Marva. I also began to regret agreeing to attend the meeting later on.

~Ezra~   

“I read an article yesterday claiming the number of woman-on-woman rape and violent crimes are spiking.” I thwacked the paddle ball across the table field. “The irony in it was the cases involved in this particular article were transgender women.”

I lunged to swat the small ball when it sprang to my side.

Yaroslav quickly smacked it back to me, grunting during his upswing. “Then that does not qualify as woman to woman. That is man to woman. A man is born from the inside, not just his outside organs being surgically removed or the fallible mind being rotten to think otherwise,” he grated, leaped on one leg and batted again.

I snorted, “People believe God has gotten it wrong.”

I lunged and nearly missed the ball but for a quarter of an inch.

“Your perverse government has gotten it wrong. You can now declare your gender and be believed here. Children who haven’t experienced the world beyond their communities can voice to society what gender identity they choose to take on.” Yaroslav swatted again. “Those numbers from that article are grossly skewed and invalid because those are men committing the crimes against women. They’ve chosen their sheep’s coat to implement their agenda. Ruining the pecking order.”

When he said things like this, it made me question the identity of the man who was serving time in federal prison for human sex trafficking. From where had his moral antenna stemmed? But I knew the answer to that. He was a new creature. Many would argue that evolution is impossible, I would argue they knew not the sovereignty of my God.

As we continued going back and forth with the ball, I asked, “Have you written the letter?”

“N’et.”

“Still unyielding, I see.” It had been six years since he was assigned the task.

“It is not an issue of mulish determination, Ezra. It has not been the right time. I am simply not ready.”

I caught the ball with my hand as I gazed at him, in search of a relapse.

“It is a part of your treatment, your healing,” I reminded him,

With his only arm, Yaroslav swiped his forehead swiftly, visibly anxious at the prospect of contacting his daughter, whom he conceived with his victim. The victim who developed into his lover. This was unusual coming from a Russian man, nearly seventy, who had spent his most vital years in the sex trafficking industry. He’d made millions from the gory profession. In fact, he headed up a major operating ring—the largest of its kind in Northern Europe.

“I am not ready. When I think of her…
I
…” His eyes squeezed and he inhaled audibly. “Ya sibyA ploha chUstvuyu!”

He felt sick
…

I didn’t speak Russian fluently. The few phrases I had been familiar with I’d learned from Yaroslav since he collapsed his wall of silence with me. I knew him well enough to identify the small measures of emotionalism he’d display. Admitting that went against his inborn, maladaptive pattern of behavior. This slip of exposure was difficult for him, and while he was not in my care, officially, I still encouraged his development. I’d discharged him two years ago, but still visited him on occasion. It kept me grounded. If I were to be honest, he kept me leveled back here in the States. Yaroslav reminded me of the flagrant disparities between first world and third world issues. How pampered we are as a society here in the United States. He was a stark personification of a dark world most Americans won’t have the misfortune of experiencing. The one I escaped, because I had the option.

“You’re not the man you used to be, Yaroslav. You’re a new creature.”

“One she won’t respect!” he gritted.

And I caught his sentiment right away. It was his fear. I met Yaroslav Kozlov just after returning to the U.S. while finishing up my Master’s. He was a case study. A patient none of the psychologists cared to take on after a general diagnosis of Antisocial Personality Disorder—also known as APD—which is a cluster B personality in the DSM IV that is intimately related to psychopathy. The problem, I knew very early on, was not psychopathy, which is not a clinical diagnosis. That is simply a developmental disorder discovered by neuroscientists. Yaroslav was like many individuals with APD who are not psychopathic. He exhibited traits with limited empathy and grandiosity, which does demonstrate psychopathy. But I was able to discern in my spirit the day I met him, he was not a psychopath. He simply played by a different set of rules to purse wealth and then survival.

He didn’t speak much—morbidly muted unless making demands—and had been sent to this uncharted federal prison to serve out his eighteen-year term. The U.S. government had use of him. He held the cards of the gruesome underworld of sex trafficking. Once a major player himself, he knew the worldwide network and its troupe. He cooperated, and in return he’d been off the map, serving his time in a small classified federal facility that so happened to be an hour away from my home. I hadn’t seen him since getting married and decided to come up on Alexis’ first day of work while I had the time. 

One of the terms of his agreement with the U.S. government was psychological treatment. But he’d made no strides with well-seasoned practitioners. It wasn’t until I was able to find an angle with him that we broke ground. One day, sitting in the day room watching
CNN
news with him, a report of a score of teenaged girls having escaped from an Australian brothel played on the screen. That’s when I learned I had something in common with him. Apparently these women were kidnapped from their Ecuadorian tribe four weeks before, but of course, it went unreported by the mainstream. After weeks of torture, the women managed to escape. The news report didn’t detail how.

Simultaneously, and deeply engrossed in the screen, Yaroslav and I murmured, “They didn’t separate them,” in our respective languages.

Our eyes leaped to meet one another’s in alarming inquisition. It took at least an hour to explain to him my time in India and my knowledge of slave training. I’d never participated in illegal sex-slave trade or training; however, it was understood that those associated with the groups I’d spent time with were in the illegal enterprise. I’d learned how to mentally break down human beings to strip them of their dignity and common freedoms, to build their wills to yield to their masters. I’d worked with willing women, who culturally required the training to survive; they needed husbands…sponsors to subsist in hostile environments. Needless to say, Yaroslav no longer viewed me as a privileged American with no clue of how barbaric the world could be outside of the U.S. boarders. From then on, he interfaced with me with less protective walls.

Continuing with the game, again, I came close to a miss, hyperextending my arm to paddle.

“Ahhhh!” I cried out, and quickly straightened.

My eyes swung over to the guard by the door, whose usual vigilant demeanor turned alarmed. The television set to
CNN
news played in the background and the peak of the late morning sun glared through the two wired windows in the room. Yaroslav followed my actions and nodded at the young Asian man caped in navy blue livery with various badges and shields decorating his upper torso.