Sexual Healing (33 page)

She saw his fist coming at her. But before he could punch her face in, Wellson lashed out and blocked his fist, punching Eric on the side of his head, causing him to wobble before he hit the floor.

The whole place froze as staff and patrons took in the spectacle that she'd become.

Arabia shrieked as Eric dragged down with him the edge of the tablecloth, bringing dishes and glassware crashing to the floor around him.

“I told you to watch how you spoke to her,” Wellson snarled, opening and closing the fist he'd used to knock Eric out as he looked down and stood over his limp body.

Then he turned his attention to Arabia, his eyes narrowing on her face. “Now do you mind telling me, what the
hell
that was all about?”

And suddenly her evening turned into a night of pure hell.

Thirty-Six

C
ruze had been hesitant about venturing into the city. Even though Crockett's crew was probably too busy scrambling and reorganizing to be worried about him, one could never be too cautious. But since Crockett's henchmen rarely went outside of Brooklyn, Cruze accepted Arabia's invitation to dinner at a three-Michelin-star restaurant that had a two-year waiting list. The chef had announced on his Twitter account that there was an unexpected cancellation at five o'clock and Arabia snagged it. She was so proud of her accomplishment, Cruze couldn't turn her down.

The place was fancy, and the food looked like art. Really small portions, though. And it definitely didn't seem worth the five hundred bucks Arabia had forked over. But not wanting to burst her bubble, he kept his opinion to himself, thanked her, and told her that dinner was awesome.

The drive back to Arabia's place was very pleasant. Coming off the George Washington Bridge and onto the West Side Highway, with the river on the right, and the Fairway sign zipping past on the left, the whole city seemed to open up to Cruze and Arabia. Seeing New York from this perspective made Cruze realize how much he missed his hometown.

He looked over at Arabia and she looked good as fuck behind the wheel of her Aston Martin. But she was driving like Miss Daisy, though.

Cruze leaned forward and checked the speedometer. “You're only doing fifty, bae. A car like this wasn't built to creep; it was meant to go fast.”

She poked out her lips. “I'm driving within the speed limit.”

“Yeah, but the thrill of driving a fast, luxury whip like this is to see how quick it'll go from
zero to sixty. If you're worried about the cops, we could take it to
Lafayette Street, north of Houston and go for it. Actually, if you catch a string of green lights on Lexington or Madison Avenue, you could push it up to eighty without worrying about traffic,” Cruze gushed excitedly.

“No, I'm good. This car is just for show; I don't need to find out how fast it'll go,” Arabia said, slowing down a little as she took a curve.

Cruze's face creased into a frown. “You don't have to slow down. The Aston Martin has hard suspension—it's good for holding curves at high speed. You babying this car too much.”

“Are you trying to get us killed? I'm not taking any curves at high speed. And damn right I'm babying my beautiful car.”

“Mmph, I thought you were a dare devil,” Cruze teased.

Arabia glanced at him and then quickly refocused her gaze on the road ahead. “And you know I am . . . when it comes to indulging my sensuality. But I'm not an adrenaline junkie who needs to jump out of planes or race cars to get a rush. Doing that kind of scary stuff isn't fun to me.”

“That's right; I forgot . . . you're scared to ride on the roller coaster.” Cruze laughed. “But you're gonna get over that fear when we go to Great Adventure next week.”

She scrunched her brows together. “No, I'm not. No roller coasters for me. I'm serious, Cruze. I can do a Ferris wheel and the carousel, but that's about it.”

Cruze laughed and shook his head. “I'm not trying to hear that.
You been picking out all the shit we do, and I've been going along with everything. Now, it's my turn and you gon' get on a roller coaster with your man. You dig, ma-ma?”

“Nooo, I do not dig,” she said, mimicking his jargon and laughing.

He glanced at the speedometer, again. “Yo, Arabia, you gotta pick it up a little bit. I wanna hear how the motor sounds when you hit a hunnit.”

“Are you nuts? I'm not hitting a hundred.” A sudden look of enlightenment came over Arabia's face. “I think you've been hinting that you wanna get behind the wheel. You wanna drive my car, Cruze?”

Cruze's lips curved up into a big smile. “I thought you'd never ask. Pull over on the shoulder.”

“No, that's dangerous. Wait until we get off the highway, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever makes you comfortable, baby.” Grinning and rubbing his hands together gleefully, he leaned back in his seat.

Out of nowhere, a dark car with tinted windows swerved from the lane on the right, nearly colliding into the Aston Martin.

Cruze bolted upright as the car weaved back into its lane.

“Ohmygod, what the fuck—is that driver drunk or something?!” Arabia shouted.

Cruze glared out the window at the reckless driver. “I don't know what his problem is, but let's get away from this fool. Get all the way over to the far left.”

“Okay,” Arabia said, her voice trembling from nervousness. Slowly and carefully, she merged into the left lane. “What's that car doing, now?” she asked, gripping the steering wheel, her eyes darting from the side mirrors to the rearview mirror.

Peering out of the passenger's window, Cruze shook his head. “I don't know where that muhfucka went; I don't even see the car now.”

“Good. As long as his drunk ass is nowhere near us, I'm good.”
Visibly relaxing, Arabia loosened her grip on the steering wheel. “And where the hell are the damn police when you need them?”

“I know, right? That muhfucka skidded out of his lane and damn near sideswiped us.”

“Oh, God, perish the thought! I would have died if that car would have scraped the paint off my pretty baby.” She patted the steering wheel as if comforting her car, then lovingly ran her hand over the gleaming dashboard.

Cruze chuckled at Arabia and in the next instant, a bullet pierced the back window and lodged into the hood of the car. Arabia let out a shriek.

“Oh shit! Them muhfuckas shooting! Duck, bae,” Cruze implored her.

“How the hell can I duck and drive at the same time?!” she screamed frantically. “Why are they shooting at us? What the hell's going on, Cruze?”

“Step on it, Arabia. You gotta drive this thing. No time for bull-shitting now,” Cruze bellowed, reaching under his seat and pulling out a gun.

Shocked by what she saw, Arabia gawked at the gun in Cruze's hand. “Ohmygod! You have a gun? Have you lost your mind!” she shrieked incredulously. “What the hell is going on here? Why the hell is there a gun in my car, huh, Cruze? Ohmygod!”

“Baby, now is not the time for a buncha damn questions,” he snapped irritated. He couldn't believe these crazy muhfuckas were trying to get at him in broad daylight. But fuck that. It was either kill or be killed. And he'd be goddamned if he was going for the latter.
These niggas gotta get got!
He shot a look over at Arabia. “I need you to drive this muhfucka, baby! I promise I'll explain everything later. Right now. DRIVE!”

The black car pulled up beside them again, and this time the
driver lowered his window, revealing himself; another man was up front, and two in the back. Cruze recognized all four of them. They were Crockett's men.

“DRIVE!” Cruze yelled again, sliding down his window, pointing his weapon, and firing rapidly. “Press down on the muthafuckin' pedal, Arabia, and gas these niggas!”

“I c-c-can't,” she stammered, her teeth chattering from fear.

“You can. You can do this, baby,” Cruze urged forcibly as the driver in the dark sedan pulled back from his direct firing range. Then they quickly proceeded to return fire, riddling the back of the Aston Martin with bullets.

Arabia screamed. And then she felt it—something warm puddling inside her lacy La Perlas. Dear God—
no
. She pissed herself. No, no, no. This wasn't happening to her. This had to be some horrible nightmare she'd soon wake up from.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

More shots rang out. Hysterically, Arabia sideswiped another car, then repeatedly lost and regained control of her vehicle while screaming at the top of her lungs. “Cruze! Cruze! Crrrrrrruuuuuuze!!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?! OHMYFUCKING GOD!” She was zigzagging all over the road and running into the metal pavement dividers. “I'm gonna die! Ohmygod, I don't wanna die! Please, God!”

Other motorists were slamming on their brakes, screeching tires, and honking their horns, as they tried to get out of harm's way by pulling onto the shoulder of the highway, all at the same time.

Cruze couldn't think straight with all of Arabia's histrionics. He knew she wasn't built for this life. But shit. He needed her to get focused and drive. “Arabia, I need you to shut the fuck up, baby!” he yelled over his shoulder, still firing his weapon at the wannabe henchmen. “And hit the fuckin' gas!” He hadn't meant to snap on
her, but he'd smooth things over with her once they got to safety. But right now, he needed her to focus. And get them the hell to safety.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Arabia screamed again, glass shattering in back of her, shards flying over her head. Her foot accidentally going down on the pedal caused her Aston Martin's twelve-cylinder engine to kick into high speed in a matter of seconds, unexpectedly surprising and shocking her.

Her vision blurred from tears, a burst of adrenaline surged through her veins causing her body to overheat. And before she knew what was happening, she gripped the steering wheel and accelerated.

Now unencumbered, Cruze was able to retaliate with gusto. No longer content to engage in the shootout by merely extending his arm, he lifted off the seat and stuck his entire torso out the window.

Arabia swerved, causing his body to swing, and he cursed, “Fuck!” Aiming his weapon at the assailants, he pulled the trigger, blasting out the sedan's windshield. Arabia swerved again and his body almost went out the window. “Hold the wheel steady,” he yelled at her, then continued firing until the car behind him went into a tailspin and flipped over, then suddenly went up in flames.

“I got all them muhfuckas!” He flopped back into his seat, then gazed at Arabia with concern. “You a'ight?”

“Am I
all right?”
she asked incredulously. “Do I look fucking
all right
to you, huh, Cruze? Do I? I've just been fucking shot at! My so-called man had a fucking gun under his seat in my car! And you're asking me if I'm all right? Are you fucking
kidding
me? No. I'm not all right! I'll
never
be all right, ever again,” she sobbed, her bottom lip trembling. Everything in her body shook.

“I'ma make it up to you, baby,” Cruze promised, reaching over and placing a reassuring hand on her knee. “Pull over anywhere, so I can drive.”

Arabia swung her vehicle off the next exit and ran up on a curb, her brakes screeching to a violent halt. Shaking and crying, she swung open her door, and jumped out. She gasped and heaved, noticing how her once beautiful car was now perforated with bullet holes and marred with scraped-off paint.

She leaned over and vomited, her stomach churning in knots. The sounds of police sirens and fire trucks could be heard in the near distance. And the only thing Arabia could think was,
I'm going to jail. I'm going to have to wear one of those God-awful jumpers. And some crazy butch bitch is going to try to fuck me with a plunger.

She wailed. The sight of her exotic car all mangled made her knees buckle. The front bumper hung to the ground. The driver's side headlight was smashed out. The side-view mirror hung off the door. The passenger door was dented in so badly, Cruze could barely open it, and the back window was completely shattered. Arabia let out a piercing noise that sounded like a wounded animal howling.

The smell of burning rubber assaulted her nostrils and when she looked down at the tires, heavy smoke wafted from one of the rear tires that apparently had been shot out. Arabia had unknowingly been driving on a dinged-up rim.

Arabia cried out, her heart aching for her coveted vehicle. “Ohmygod! My car! My fucking car! You son of a bitch! It . . . it's deeeeeesttttttroyed!” She couldn't catch her breath; her lungs seemed to constrict as she fought for air.

Cruze winced as he pulled Arabia into his arms and held her tight, his heart still racing from his own adrenaline rush. He gently caressed her head, trying to calm her, his hand stroking over shards of glass that somehow tangled in her hair.

“Baby, we gotta get out of here,” he said softly, feeling even worse about dragging her into his violent lifestyle. “The police are probably all over the place.”

Seemingly stunned by shock, it was at that moment Arabia went eerily silent.

Cruze didn't know what he would have done if anything had happened to her . . . if he'd lost her to gunfire. He reached for his cell, pushed in a number, then spoke into the receiver. “I need a cleanup.”

“Cool,” the voice on the other end said. “Where?”

Cruze gave the location of Arabia's mangled car, then disconnected the call.

“I swear on my last breath, baby, I'ma fix this shit,” he said, feeling her trembling in his arms. “Let me get you home.”

He held her close and tight and one by one, tears escaped her eyes. Everything else became a haze.

• • •

“Arabia, baby . . .”

She heard his voice. Calling her. But he sounded far off. Sounded like he was calling her from another part of the world. Because the world she was in, was on fire, pierced with bullets. Gunfire rang out in her ears. She was moving through rooms of her loft aimlessly.

Dazed.

“Baby, I gotta get you outta these clothes . . .”

They were shooting at him, at
me
. He was shooting back . . .

Pop, pop, pop!

“Arabia, please, baby . . . can you hear me . . .?”

I was in a shootout . . .

She wasn't dead. She hadn't been shot. But her whole body burned. She couldn't wrap her mind around what she'd witnessed. Out of
nowhere. Bullets flying. Glass shattering. Her life flashing before her eyes. Her head was spinning. How did this happen?
Why
did it happen? What kind of monster had she gotten herself involved with?