Luxe (26 page)

“Open the door, ma.”

It was him. The liar. The man with whom she had trusted her heart. She unlocked the door and then watched him as he entered. He closed the door behind him and locked it. He kept his back turned to her as he rested a fist against the door and placed his head on top of it.

“You're married,” she whispered. She kept saying it because she still couldn't believe that it was real. Each time she said it, she destroyed herself.

He turned and rushed her, pressing her against the wall as he kissed her passionately. She fought him, he fought her, and through it all their lips never parted. She loved and hated him at the same damn time. She pulled away from him, furious, as she pushed his chest forcefully. “You lied!” she whispered harshly. “You lied to me!”

He let her take her aggressions out as he withstood her assault. The pain etched on her face made him sick. He was disgusted with himself for hurting her, no matter how unintentional it may have been. “Let me explain, Bleu,” he whispered.

“There isn't anything to explain. It's a simple yes or no. Are you married?” she asked. She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him admit it.

Iman swallowed the lump in his throat and squared his shoulders. He wanted to lie to her just to keep her in his life, but he knew that she deserved better than that. He knew what it looked like … what it felt like for her, and his soul burned with regret as he stared into her eyes. Remorsefully he replied, “Yes.”

She scoffed and covered her face with her hands as she cried. Seeing her this distraught tore him up as he pulled her into his embrace.

“Why would you make me love you? Why would you do this to me?” she sobbed. She had never felt like a bigger fool. She felt like the butt of Iman's joke. He had played with her heart and now she was left nursing emotional wounds. Nothing he had ever said to her felt true. Liar. That's what he instantly became … one big liar. Embarrassment filled her and her cheeks burned in shame as she recoiled from his touch.

“I'll leave her, ma. Just give me a chance to make it right,” he said as he pressed his forehead against Bleu's. “I never meant to lie to you. I was going to tell you.”

She slapped his hands away. “Just stay the fuck away from me,” she sneered. She pushed past him as he tried to grab her, but before he could get a good grip she was out the door. She ran face-first into Cinco, who stepped back in confusion as he raised his hands in defense.

“Whoa, shorty, you in a hurry,” he commented as he gave Iman a look of amusement. Bleu raced out, mortified.

“Fuck,” Iman muttered as he swiped his hand over the top of his head.

“What was that all about, bro? You smashing that?” Cinco asked, wondering how Iman had even gotten mixed up with the pretty, young college girl.

“Lower your voice and go after her. Make sure she's a'ight,” Iman stated seriously.

Iman wanted to go himself, but he couldn't. Chasing after her would cause a scene. He couldn't do that … not here … not now, with Tristan lurking nearby. His wife played nice, but if she found out that Bleu was the girl he was entertaining and that his affair had come knocking at their front door, she would wage war against his pretty young thing, a war that Bleu would lose. He didn't want her in harm's way and a public blowup with Tristan wasn't good for business, especially since all of his head lieutenants were present. Right now his hands were tied, but as soon as he made it back to L.A. he vowed to make things right.

 

21

Bleu raced out of the house, head lowered as she tried to conceal her tear-streaked face.

“Damn it!” she whispered as she realized that her driver had left. She couldn't sit still—she didn't want to give Iman the chance to catch up to her—so as she pulled out her cell phone she began walking down the long driveway that led to the main road. She half-walked, half-ran, as she tried to put distance between her and Iman. Crushed by the weight of a love that was never really real, she felt as if she would suffocate on her own grief. Why had she fallen for him? How had she missed the signs that he was not only taken but also married!
His wife is everything. The bitch is gorgeous and powerful and wealthy. So what was I to him? Nothing? Was he slumming it with me?
Her heart beat to the rhythm of a song called “Devastation” as she made her escape. Thinking about it was making her ill. Lovesick … that's what she was. The sound of a car behind her caused her to pick up her pace, but she had no wins against the six-inch Giuseppe pumps she wore. She stumbled, barely stopping herself from falling as she dropped her clutch and its contents all over the ground.

The car pulled up on her and she turned to find Cinco peering at her from the driver's seat.

“He didn't even come after me,” she scoffed as she bent down to pick up her scattered belongings.

Cinco looked and saw the stash of meth that lay on the ground. She quickly scooped it up and placed it in her purse before getting to her feet.

He looked at her, mischief dancing in his eyes. “You smoke?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, but as soon as she thought about the drugs that were in her bag she felt a knot form in her stomach. They were an instant pick-me-up, something that could turn her night right around.

“No judgment,” Cinco said. “But that shit there will fuck you up, kid. Have you out here with your teeth crumbling and shit. That's trash. You making all that money and catching a poor man's high?”

She shifted on her feet to relieve the pain of her designer shoes. “What's a rich man's high?”

“Get in,” Cinco stated. He noticed her hesitation. “Come on, you gon' hold that shit at the beach against a nigga forever? That wasn't nothing; I was drunk. My bad, kid. Shit was foul. I promise I'll be a perfect gentleman.”

Bleu didn't know what she was thinking. In fact, she wasn't. Cinco had raped her. He had forced himself on her, the same way that her mother's boyfriend had done so many years ago. But she had learned at an early age to just live with it, to just accept it. Right now she would have taken a ride with the devil in order to get away from Iman. She stepped out of her shoes and walked around the car, hopping into the passenger side of Cinco's Lamborghini.

As soon as her butt melted into the leather seat, Cinco grabbed her clutch.

“Hey, what are you doing?!” she protested. He pulled out the meth and rolled down his window, tossing the meth into the street.

“You want to smoke something, smoke this,” he said. He pulled out a blunt. He lit the blunt and pulled on it hard, causing the end to spark with amber flames. He held the smoke in his lungs, coughing slightly and inhaling through his nose before blowing it out.

Her head was spinning and heart pounding. The night's events had taken a toll on her. As she reached for the blunt she said, “Fuck it.”

As she hit it Cinco watched in fascination and then smiled as he pulled away from the curb.

The car filled with the haze from the purple Kush as Bleu's entire body began to tingle and a slight ringing filled her ears. Her body was abuzz. This high was mellow and seemed to relax her brain while stimulating her entire body. Everything felt numb; her fingertips, her toes, her nipples, even her clitoris, tingled.

“You feeling it?” Cinco asked.

“I feel nothing and that's even better,” she responded.

They were silent as they passed the blunt back and forth. Too much talking always killed the vibe, and she was thankful that he didn't ask her any questions. When they pulled up to a home that sat on the edge of a seaside cliff she sat up in alarm.

“I thought you were taking me back to the motel,” she said.

“I thought we could kick it. There's a lot more where that came from,” Cinco stated as he pointed to the blunt that she was pinching between her fingers. It was now the size of a cigarette butt. “You don't seem like you wanna fuck with anybody right now and I can guarantee you as soon as that little shindig is over Iman is coming right to your room.”

She shook her head. Hearing his name almost blew her high. “Good thing I won't be there then.”

She popped open her door and both she and Cinco exited the car.

His home was like a fortress. It sat atop of a hill and there were so many locks on his doors that she wondered who he was trying to keep out. Two full-grown Rottweilers met him at the door, immediately sneering at her.

“Whoa, down, girls,” Cinco said as he walked past them. She slowly made her way by them, keeping close to the wall. They were eyeing her as if she were lunch.

“They're not going to eat you, girl. Get over here,” he said. She followed him to his lavish living room. “Have a seat.”

A wave of nausea floated over her as she accepted, sitting down on the white leather as she closed her eyes. “Hmm,” she moaned. “Is it hot?”

He came over to her with a bag of weed and another small Baggie filled with dirty white rocks.

“What are you doing?” she asked. She immediately recognized the drug. She had seen it so many times growing up. It was crack cocaine. He was lacing rocks into the blunt. Her mother would make Bleu scour the carpet for hours, searching for even a morsel of it so that she could get high. “I don't fuck with that shit.”

“Yeah, okay,” he replied sarcastically as he rolled up, bobbing his head eagerly to a silent beat.

She watched him intently as her heart raced. Instinctively she licked her lips.

“You sholl looking for somebody who don't fuck with it,” he said with a chuckle.

“I … I'm not—”

“You're jonesin', kid; relax,” he stated. “This the same shit you smoked in the car. You had a little taste; now you want the full meal,” he said with a sadistic grin.

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks. He had laced her blunt. She burned with embarrassment as fear spread through her like a virus, but still her eyes never left the work in his hands. She swept her hair out of her face. “You off this with me?” he asked. She clenched her buttocks together, her body tense and pleading as he lit the second blunt. That's why everything felt so good. Weed didn't do that to you. It was the effect of the rocks that had her rubbing her thighs together in anticipation of her next hit. Her body was stimulated in every single way. Even the hairs on the back of her neck stood up in attention. A light sweat formed on her forehead and her heart raced. He seemed to be moving in slow motion on purpose, teasing her as she eyed the blunt hungrily. She was high and it felt good … too good … so good that even upon the discovery that she had smoked crack she still wanted to hit the second blunt. She remembered Sienna telling her that she would never understand why her mother smoked. “You don't know how good it makes Mama feel,” Sienna had said. But Bleu did … in that moment, when her heart was broken and the world seemed as if it were crashing in on her, she understood. Getting high took all the pain away and replaced it with a rush of pleasure. It was better than money, more orgasmic than sex. Not even Iman had caused her body to pour wetness like the comforting euphoria of this high did. Cinco hit the blunt long and hard, then held it out to her. Her eyes were dilated, widened, as adrenaline pushed her body forward. Bleu really didn't want to, but she really did want to, both at the same time. She leaned across the glass coffee table that separated them and then wrapped her lips around the blunt. She inhaled, this time long and deep. A rush tickled her insides and she closed her eyes in appreciation.
It's just a little weed. The rocks were mixed with Kush, so this ain't the same as smoking crack. It's not like I'm a crackhead,
she thought.

“That shit is sexier than a mu'fucka,” Cinco said. “For real.”

She breathed a sigh of contentment as she sank back against the couch.

“How long has he been married?” she finally asked.

“He been with Tan since high school. They go back. Without her he wouldn't have shit … hell, neither would I. We built this shit from the ground up off her connections,” Cinco said. “The nigga think he a king, but without his bitch he would be nothing.” Cinco was loose at the lips due to the weed smoke.

His words made Bleu feel like shit, and to stop the tears from welling in her eyes she hit the blunt again. Her eyes leaned dangerously low as she let her head fall back against the pillows.

Her entire body was at ease. “Fuck Iman,” she said nonchalantly.

“I'll smoke to that,” Cinco said with a smirk. He leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees as he steepled his fingers in front of him. “You're smarter than you look and apparently more interesting.”

“I don't want to talk about Iman,” she replied as she licked her dry lips and pulled on the blunt once more.

“Fuck talking about him, you should be plotting some get back on that nigga,” Cinco replied.

“I prefer to let karma do my dirty work,” she replied.

“Or you can let a real nigga like me help you with that dirty work,” Cinco said. “He trusts you. Iman don't trust nobody, not even me. The nigga married my sister and my pops put him. He thinks he's big shit, but he wouldn't have any of this if it wasn't for my family. My pops got me working under Iman like I'm not blood. I'm blood. It's supposed to be blood over everything,” Cinco stated, venom dripping from his tone. “He sitting back keeping the bricks to himself, spoon-feeding me. He don't let nobody know where the warehouse is. I saw the way he looked at you tonight. You don't even know when you got a nigga eating out of the palms of your hands. I'll bet if you stick around long enough he'll eventually show you where it is. He trusts you. We can take that shit, split it fifty-fifty, and leave Iman with one to the head. It's time this empire saw a real king.”

The room got eerily quiet as Cinco stared intently at Bleu, gauging her reaction. Suddenly she remembered why she didn't trust him. He was a snake and getting too close to him was asking to be bitten. He had just laid out an entire plan to murder his own brother-in-law, all for the sake of power. The number two spot wasn't good enough for Cinco; he had to gun for number one. He wanted to be the boss and he wanted her to help him take Iman's throne. Bleu tried to play it cool, but as she passed Cinco the blunt he noticed the shaking of her hands. There was danger in the air and he could smell her fear.
If he would do his own family like that imagine what he would do to you,
she told herself. She was hot, sweating bullets from the pressure of it all. If she reacted the wrong way there was no telling what he would do.