Love Redeemed, Book 4 (43 page)

“Rayna, you a’ight, yo?”
Marcus asks again, interrupting me my thoughts.

“
Y
-yeah…yeah, I’m all right. What was that all about?”

“Don’t sweat that pig. They always hating on Divine
.”
They…always?
“You just go ‘head ‘bout your business. Im’ma make sure he ain’t on the property again unless he’s got real business here. Matter fact, you want me to follow you home?” he generously offers.

“No, that’s al
l right…but thanks.” I’m floating in bewilderment as I open the door to my car and slip in.

Rayna

During my ride to the mall, my first thought is to call Azmir and ask for an explanation for why a FBI agent would be creeping around his place of business.
Drugs?
That’s a crazy accusation, by law enforcement, no less.
Who is this guy that I’ve known a little over a year?
My thoughts race to Brian Thompson and his comment in the bodega that night. This isn’t adding up. Azmir is going have to explain this if he wants this marriage to go any further.

The FBI is accusing him of being a
kingpin!
The rumination won’t stop.

I sen
d him a text:

Where are you?

About a minute later he replies:

SMB @ a mt
g
Which is short for
in a meeting at Cobalt on Santa Monica Boulevard
.

I
’m immediately en route there. On my way, I keep thinking about how I’ve missed very pertinent factoids about my
husband
. I begin to rolodex all of the clues that were dropped: the time in his bathroom at the marina when he tried to mollify my insecurities and told me he earned $439 million in three years; the car he’d gifted Kid in Vegas; the need for bodyguards all the time; his informing me of being a millionaire since he was twenty years old while at
The Peninsula
hotel in New York last fall; in my bed in Redondo Beach after our week-long breakup when he shared,
“It’s closer to a billion, but as far as the IRS is concerned, my assets and earnings amount to about 573.8 million dollars, per last year’s filings.”
Why would he not file
all
of his earnings? Only a person with something to hide kept money like that from the government.

My stomach toil
s as the revelations comes rushing through the front of my mind in spades. I can’t believe that I’ve turned into one of those women who don’t use general common sense when falling in love. Azmir has dropped so many substantial hints over the past year that I wonder if he’s wanted me to discover his alternate life.

Oh my god! The trip to Puerto Vallarta!
Why did I not question what business he had in Mexico with a group of thugs? Where had my sense of realism gone?

I
storm into
Cobalt
, brush past security into the empty ballroom, barge through the crowd of people coming out of the elevator and eventually burst through his office door. I immediately spot Petey. He nearly jumps as I enter the room. Azmir sits tall at his conference table with one hand thrumming his goatee while the other grips the arm of the chair. He’s wearing a contemplative expression as if my demeanor comes to no surprise to him. In fact, it’s almost as if he’s anticipated it.

His expression of equanimity trigger
s something deep within me. Something inside me abruptly explodes. Every ounce of decorum, every attempt at class, each morsel of good judgment and grace recedes, giving way to a violent on rush of fury. Azmir’s customary placid veneer now appears arrogant to me, and I fly into an emotional frenzy.

“Oh, so the goddamn joke’s on me? Everybody knows a secret about my life instead of fucking me? Who the fuck do you take me for? You think I’m one of those fucking birds who patron your spot in Compton? You put my livelihood and reputation on the line as i
f it’s your choice and not mine? And then…and then you lie to me like I’m some fucking child or subservient woman you can manipulate as if it’s fucking okay! Who the fuck do you take me for, Azmir, hunh? What the fuck do you take me for?” I rant at the top of my lungs, so much that they burn, as I lunge toward him.

I hear Petey
yell, “Hold!” And he grabs me from behind.

“Get the fuck off me! Who the fuck do y’all think I am?” I
scream as I try to yank my arm from his grip.
He’s about to get it, too.

Azmir
stretches from the chair and reaches out for me. His long body grows taller by the second as he rises. Within seconds, it seems as though I’m engulfed in his black shirt from of the bear hug he draws me into.

“I got her…I got her!” Azmir inform
s, urging Petey not to touch me. In the moment, I don’t realize that Petey is simply protecting his leader.

As his arms enclose
s around me, I become submerged in his miscellany of fragrances; his natural body oils, cologne, body wash, and moisturizer. His proximity, the armor of his arms, the vibrations in his chest as he speaks over me; all of the things that deludes me into the quandary that brings me here. Instinctively, my knees grow weak and I’m stammered by his virile countenance.
No!
No! I have to fight for lucidity; this all-consuming attraction to him is how I’ve arrived here in the first place. I wonder am I the weakest target for him, because he has many. If Azmir is saturated with anything, it’s willing dames wanting to drink from the
Divine fountain
. I could be a number of women; Tara, Dawn, Spin, the intern I had to fire just a few weeks ago for obtaining his contact information and soliciting him. But no, it’s me who’s taken the total plunge with Azmir, apparently turning off all sound judgment.

Not anymore!

“No! Get the fuck off me! I’m no piece of property that you have control over!” I scream
while aimlessly throwing punches and slaps that don’t travel very far because of the bear hug he’s holding me in even tighter to avoid them. I yell even louder.

Azmir howl
s to Petey, “Is the car ready?”

I assume he answer
s yes because the next thing I know, Azmir’s carrying me out of the office and into the elevator in this bear grip.

I scream
, “Let me go! We’re over! This marriage…over!  Your lies…over! The games…over! The manipulation…over! Rayna being a fool…over!”

Azmir
effortlessly lifts me into his Range Rover that’s waiting in the back of the building. As I continue to demand him to let me down. I notice the muscle in his jaw flexing as if he’s extremely agitated. I don’t know what’s going on.
Am I being abducted?
I certainly don’t want to be anywhere with him. I now feel like I’ve opened up a can of worms by confronting him. For the first time, I’m surprisingly fearful of him.

What type of person takes someone against their will?
Suddenly the FBI’s admonition of: “
There are some things you need to know about him…for your safety
,” pops into mind. I almost piss my pants. Out of nowhere, I think of the kid, Mikey, and his disappearance. Did Azmir have him murdered?
Oh, my god! Please…no!

“Azmir, let me go! I swear…you won’t hear from me again! Please, just let me go. I will never bother you!” I plead
as he forces me into the truck.

Once we’
re inside he orders, “To the spot, Ray,” urging him to pull off.

I then hear
Petey yell, “Yo, you want me to follow you, Duke?”

“Nah, I’m good. Handle that issue. I’ll hit you later
,” Azmir calls out as the truck peels off.

Once
we’re off, I begin to sob uncontrollably against the door of the truck, folded into a fetal position. I am terrified. Azmir reclines in his seat, brushes his hand over his face as if he’s exasperated.

I continue
with my pleas, “Please, just let me go! I don’t know anything that could hurt you! I swear, I will leave and you will never hear from me again.”

“Rayna, man, I am not going hurt you! You
’re my fucking wife!” His Brooklyn tongue is fierce, stirring more fear in me. “Why the hell are you wildin’ like I’m some fucking animal…like you don’t fucking know me?”

“I don’t!
” I scream at the top of my lungs. “I don’t know you!”

I cr
y for the duration of the trip. After what seems like hours of driving, we pull up to an empty beach. Azmir jumps out of the truck. I stay put. If he’s going to kill me, I won’t go willingly. In this moment, I’m thinking how difficult it is to believe this man that I love so much would ever deceive or bring harm to me.
His touch is so gentle. His words are so sweet. How could I totally be off in my judgment of him?

I married him for
Christ’s sake!

Azmir opens
my door and reaches for me. I freeze in place. He grabs my hand and gently pulls on me to come out of the truck and my body thaws instantly. I’m so confused. A minute ago I thought my life was over and now his familiar touch has returned.

“Azmir, what’s going on? Where am I?
” I beg. “What are you doing?”

“Rayna,
” he delicately reproves as he wears an expression of concern for me. It’s the old Azmir again.

What in the hell i
s going on?

I ge
t out of the car, but don’t take his hand. My face is wet, stinging, and itchy from tears running down and snot dripping from my nose. I don’t have control of my lungs. Azmir motions for me to start walking. Following a brief pause, I begin taking timorous steps.

After walking for a few m
oments in obscure silence, he exhales. “Rayna, I don’t know where to begin other than saying I’m sorry,” his voice is hoarse and his approach regretful. “I haven’t been totally transparent with you about who I am. And that’s because
we
happened so fast and unexpectedly.” Although Azmir maintains equanimity, he’s very much restless. His beautiful nostrils flare in frustration. He can’t stop brushing his face with his hand. He’s afraid.

How did we get here?

He continues, “I’ve never been the type to show all my cards, you know? That was how I was built. I was taught to never let your left hand know what your right is holding. And when it comes to your woman, you never expose her to your business because she’s the weaker species…almost substandard…too emotionally vulnerable…a risk. Love was only an accessory to life, not an essential and significant part of your existence—”

“Cut the bullshit!
” I scream, emboldened by the ease in his execution of words. “You are a deceitful, manipulative, and narcissistic bastard and I can’t believe that I…I believed you!” My emotions are pouring out faster than my thoughts are being formed. “What do you do for a living? How is it that you are able to afford…the Bentley, the Porsche, Wrangler, the Benzes or the Range Rover that just drove us here, the driver who’s over there waiting, the posh apartment we live in? How were you able to fund the rec…come up with the money for the clubs, beauty salons, rental properties, movie theaters, restaurants and other businesses you have? The trips you’ve donned on me…the boat...our wedding...the gifts you’ve lavished me with? Explain that—you know what,” I quickly think. “…don’t! I don’t want to know anything more. I’m not trying to be an accessory to crime!” I lose my breath.

“Wait, Rayna!
” he inches toward me. “I’m not this hardened criminal you’re accusing me of being!”

“Oh, no? Well, why is a FBI agent following me around and telling me you’re under investigation for being at the helm of a major drug trafficking
and distribution organization? What elaborate explanation do you have for that?” I hiss sardonically.

“Rayna
!” he roars before quickly reeling in his exasperation, bringing his fist to his mouth. “That wasn’t a FBI agent. He’s a just a detective and is stirring the pot. Lombardi decided to rattle your nerves to get to me. It was his final attempt at bringing me to my knees when he couldn’t legally,” he provides. “And I’ll be damned if he didn’t get the last fucking laugh.” He turns and kicks the air.

I
’m now even more confused. “Couldn’t legally? Either you’re a hustler or you’re not, Azmir! Point-blank-period! What is it? Are you a drug dealer?” I demand.

He
turns to me and gives the longest and most piercing regard deep into my eyes. He breaks it with a painful grimace etching across his dark, handsome face as he stares into the distance. Azmir exhales deeply before uttering, “Rayna, I haven’t been a criminal-act-free type of guy. I’ve done some things that are…illegal, but that’s not the man I am shaping up to be—”

“Don’t give me a pity dissertation
! Drug dealers don’t get to fluently articulate their indiscretions!” I cut him off, not wanting him to manipulate his way out of this with his expansive and lucid manner of speaking. We are not in his boardroom. I am not one of his subordinates.

“
And you think you’re better than me?” he howls as his gaze turns dark. “You, the one who stole money earned by a dope boy who pushed the same shit that you appear to be so revolted by. The money that allowed you to escape your personal hell. The money that afforded you a new fucking identity, leaving that poor, ghetto, uncultured, Syn-like, ‘round-the-way-girl back in those…deplorable projects in Jersey,” he sputters.

His scowl burn
s me. “
ARE YOU ANY BETTER?
” he yells directly in my face.

And I wonder
is he questioning my life improving from me having fled Jersey with O’s dirty money, or me being more of a morally encompassed person than him. I could only answer no to one of those questions.