Saved and SAINTified (61 page)

“Yes, I’ve got it.”
Xenia put on her safety goggles.  Her protruding belly forced her burgundy maternity top to rise up a bit, exposing the top of her maternity jeans as she got into position.

Saint
stood back from her and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned up against a nearby wall, ankles crossed. Xenia concentrated hard as she held the .38 Special revolver in her steady hands. Saint preferred a magnum or .45 as an everyday carry-on, but he knew that, as small as Xenia’s hands were, this would be the best bet. Anything smaller, to him, was simply a toy.

“Don’t shoot too soon!” he called out.

“Saint, be quiet! You aren’t supposed to talk to me right now.”

He grinned at her outburst and continued to watch her, rocking from one foot to the other. The target
inched forward, then picked up speed. Xenia stepped ahead and kept her hands out straight. Taking her time, she blew several rounds in the chest, the gun popping loudly and echoing through out. She removed her earplugs and goggles.

Saint
straightened from the wall and clapped. Xenia looked over her shoulder and smiled widely, displaying her newly massaged ego.

“I told you!”

“Okay.” Saint grinned. “When you finish patting yourself on the back, let me show you how to aim your gun better.”

Xenia
began to protest but he left her no room to finish her tirade. He pressed his groin firmly behind her and ushered her arms upward. Adjusting her position, he grabbed her hands and placed her finger on the trigger, forcing her to stand as if she were aiming at a moving target.

“Do you feel that? Feel th
e difference?” he asked in a low voice in her ear, his back slightly arched as he grazed the side of her face with his own.

She hesitated, then turned her head, making eye contact with him. They stared at each other, the gun still firm in her grip.

“Lower it just slightly, to get that bullet direct and center, and aim slightly higher. You drift, to get it right in the dome. When you only have one chance to shoot, get the head. A bullet in the head means you mean business. If you just want to stop the person, but not kill them, go for the leg.”

“You’re violent.”

“Only when I have to be, baby.”

They continued to stare at one another,
frozen in their stance. He slowly lowered her arms, then bent to kiss her strongly, passionately, his breathing, loud and labored as he removed the gun from her hand. He stepped back from her, placed the gun down behind them and returned to her, cupping the back of her head and bringing her back to him, laying on a kiss that literally made her stand on her tippy toes.

She
hitched her breath. He smiled down at her, loving the look of desire in her eyes.

“
Saint, I don’t know if it is the smell in here, the fact that I’m burning up, or my hormones, but I’m...”

“Yeah
.” He grabbed her hand. “No time to talk. Grab your bag, let’s throw this shit out and bail. You got it; I feel confident you could blow a mothafucka’s head off. Let’s roll.”

Xenia
smiled. “Once again, your romantic words always get me in the mood,” she teased. She swayed flirtatiously past him, their hour long lesson ending as she scooped up her bag. Saint quickly cleaned up their area and marched out of the chamber.

“Hey! You still have another hour to practice. You paid for it!”
the Range Officer called out after them.

Saint
stopped in the short hallway and looked over his shoulder. “Consider it a donation for someone else. I have a different loaded gun I need to shoot!”

****

Saint stood in the fast food restaurant, previewing the assortment of customers hungrily waiting for their food with their tickets in hand. It had been a long, rainy night and he was trying desperately to keep Hassani and Dakarai entertained while he kept the dynamic duo tied to his hip. Xenia was at home resting, needing the reprieve, peace and quiet. He offered to take them to, ‘El Pollo Loco’, one of the best, underrated Mexican fast-food spots in all of Long Beach. He was exhausted, but still smiling as the boys vied for his attention.

“We’re heading back home soon,” he said over his shoulder as he looked at them race toward a table, their empty cups of juice in hand. He rubbed his palm across his forehead and moved closer to give his order.

“Yes, I’d like one chicken tostada salad, two chicken burritos, a pollo bowl and one veggie taco.”

“Anything to drink, sir?”

“Two small lemonades and one large limeade, please.”

He looked back over his shoulder to check on his children then stepped to the side as the food was prepared. Saint soon had the food in tow, and just as he turned around, a woman abruptly pressed into him, her drink falling to the floor.

“Oh, damn it!” she exclaimed as she dropped to her knees, patting the mess with a fistful of white napkins now dyed brown from the cola. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“It’s okay.” Saint grabbed some extra napkins and dabbed at his shirt. “Let me help you.” He bent down and helped clean up the remainder of the mess, taking secret glances at her from the corner of his eye while his fingertips accidentally grazed across hers.

She is really attractive. What a nice spirit, too.

He took notice of her heart-shaped face, deep dimples, short, cropped hair with a blond streak and slanted, deep mocha brown eyes. Her arms were extremely toned, and one was adorned with a small star tattoo.

“Thank you.” She looked up at him, smiling. “I will pay for your dry cleaning,” she offered as they both stood at the same time.

Saint waved her off. “It was an accident; accidents happen. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Then he saw it. He knew the look—the one where someone recognized him but couldn’t place his face. She waved her finger in his direction.

“I know you from somewhere and if I don’t know you, I wish I did!” she flirted.

Saint blushed. “Thank you.” He never grew tired of compliments, especially from beautiful women. He rubbed his face with his left hand, prominently exposing his wedding band. Her eyes caught it and a dull frown creased her face. “Do you like to read?”

“I love to. Is that it? Are you are writer?”

“Yes.” He wanted her to recall on her own and not push the issue.

She tapped her chin as she contemplated.

“Oh damn! I can’t remember your name but yes, I know who you are!” Her eyes lit up.

“What book?” he probed, his voice low and seductive as he side-glanced his children and moved out of the way for a customer to pass.

“Black ...
pussy
,” she whispered, turning red. “Please Lord Jesus, let you be the author or I’ve just made a fool of myself right here and now!” She clasped her hands and pivoted on her tippy toes.

“Yes, that is one of them.” He laughed. “My name is Saint Aknaten.”

“Saint! That’s right!” she said, excited. “Oh my goodness, I love your books. They’ve helped me so much. I still don’t have a man.” She giggled. “But I’m working on it. I
will
find my Rainbeau!” She lifted her hand in the air and pumped her fist, as if to say, ‘Power to the people!’

She rambled on, telling him her favorite parts of his books, and for some reason his thoughts drifted to Jagger. For the past two months, he had been conducting impromptu interviews to find Jagger a mate. He himself hadn’t found anyone, though he’d signed up for several dating services, read all of Saint’s books, attended the last two conferences and even asked Saint personally for advice. He was ready to move forward but struck out, time and again. The ladies loved Jagger—it wasn’t a matter of physique or even persona. He was just extremely picky, something Saint personally understood. Angel Children typically were, since they were able to see deep inside of people and were constantly searching for their soulmates.

“Jagger.”

“Jagger?” the woman repeated with a baffled smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just thinking out loud. Miss, what is your name?” Saint began to make his way toward his sons who were now looking restless, anxiously awaiting their food.

“Daddy! Took you long enough!” Hassani scoffed as he grabbed his burrito off the tray.

“My name is Traci.” She laughed as she watched the two boys move about. “Are these your children? They are adorable!”

“Thank you. Yes.” Saint bestowed a proud look upon the two who began to devour their food without a moment’s notice. “They’re both mine.”

“So, Traci.” Saint cleared his throat. “You mentioned you were still looking for your Rainbeau. Have you been dating a lot? If you don’t mind me asking, I don’t want to intrude.”

“Oh, it’s no problem.” She smiled, a wide, genuine smile. “Yeeeesssss! It’s like all I do is date. I think I’m too picky or something, I don’t know.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, what are your interests. What do you do?”

“I work with the deaf. I’m an advocate to help them get the resources they need at their job and at home.”

“Wow.” Saint thrust his hand into his jeans pocket. “That is really admirable, that’s wonderful.”

“Thank you.” She blushed.

“I know you didn’t ask, but would you mind if I gave your number to someone I know? I have this friend and I really think you two would hit it off. His name is Jagger.”

“Oh,
that’s
Jagger!” She laughed.

“Yeah.” Saint smiled. “I really think you two would have a nice time.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well.” She nodded. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

She dug in her purse, pulled out a business card, and handed it to him.

“Great.”

“Well Mr. Aknaten, I’m not going to keep you. Could you sign an autograph for me before I go, though?” she asked in a pleading voice.

“Of course.”

She thrust a new napkin in his face, along with an ink pen.

“Thank you so much,” she said when he signed it.

“You’re more than welcome.” Saint slid next to Dakarai in the red booth and grabbed his food off the tray.

“I want that someday,” she said, smiling and winking at the children. “Just me, my Rainbeau and our children... I want that so bad. Your wife is a very blessed woman.” And then she disappeared out the door.

After a few moments, Hassani looked up at his father, his jaw stuffed with food.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah?” Saint said as he took a sip of his limeade.

“That lady said she wanted a rainbow. I could have given her my crayons,” he offered.

Saint’s heart burst with love for that little boy. “That’s not the type of rainbow she was talking about; she was talking about a person. A Rainbeau is a man of another race that enjoys the romantic company of black women to date and marry.”

Hassani nodded. “Like you, then.”

Saint gave a slightly painful grin. He was unnerved that race was becoming an issue so early for Hassani, but he couldn’t shelter him from the world forever. Here he was again, discussing the topic, although there was no denying that it wasn’t unpleasant—it was just the principle. He knew this was coming, he knew it would happen again and again, and he’d spent quite a bit of time emotionally and mentally preparing for it.

Saint begrudgingly accepted that Hassani would have to understand that the world wasn’t always kind, no matter how much his father wanted to guard him. But one thing was for sure, he’d always answer his questions open and honestly, and make sure he and his brother understood just how truly loved they were.

Saint wore a hole through the floor as he paced, wringing his hands and peering in the dimly lit room. He read the clock: 3:13 A.M. Biting his bottom lip, he turned toward the closed bedroom door and hesitated. He didn’t want to stare at his Goddess, but didn’t want to take his eyes off of her, either. She’d awoken two hours previously, doubled over and moaning. Saint immediately turned on his nightstand light and caught her seize the side of his pillow case, so tightly that it slid off the pillow. He immediately took her in his arms and helped her to their bathroom. Saint leaned against the door, helpless. He hated that feeling.

Times like these, during active stages of labor and childbirth, were the
only
times he could do absolutely nothing for her. Nature had to take its course. Mucous plug gone several days ago, she’d complained of hard pressure on her uterus—and now the pressure was so intense, she swore it felt as if the baby were bearing down with all of her might. Isis was coming...

  Even though he could no longer communicate with her psychically
, he was still her daddy. When he put his hand on Xenia’s stomach, he could feel the life—growing, moving, dancing. This was
not
another false alarm as the other time in recent weeks.

W
rapped in her long, tattered green robe, Beset cast all of her attention on Xenia as she dabbed at her face with a cool cloth.