The Eleventh Commandment (21 page)

B
o sat out by the pool nursing a drink that he didn't even want. The only reason that he'd stopped at the bar and gotten it is because he was bored as hell. Darius didn't even like football. Why he'd decided to accept Kelvin Petersen's invitation to the viewing party at his house was beyond him.
And he'd been so adamant about it!
Sure, Darius and Kelvin knew each other from LA and Kelvin's father, Derrick Montgomery's, church, but hell, just barely. They'd interacted a bit when Darius was minister of music at KCCC but that was usually casual conversations during dinners at the pastor's house.
What is he, homesick?
If he'd known that was the case, he would have sought out Kelvin much more during the two years that they'd lived here, invited him over, given him tickets to shows. Now it didn't seem to matter; he and Darius were moving back to Los Angeles. Oh, well.

“Let me go find Princess,” Bo mumbled to himself as he got up from the stool at the poolside bar. “Maybe she can tell me some juicy gossip that will make my visit worthwhile.” He walked into the house and was surprised to see quite a few more people than were there when he went outside.
Dang, I wasn't gone that long. Was I?
He weaved his way through the people in the room by the pool and headed toward the theater at the back of the house, one of the places where the football game was on and where the diehards were watching it.
Maybe it's halftime and somebody good is performing.
As he passed the dining room, he saw Princess amid a group of excited females.

“He is gorgeous,” one was saying as he stepped into the group.

“Oh, thank you,” he answered, without missing a beat. “I know I am, but I appreciate your saying so.”

The women looked around; some laughing, others obviously not knowing what to think. “Everybody, this is a friend from Los Angeles, Bo Jenkins. He's Darius Crenshaw's partner and manager.”

“Wife,” Bo corrected, as he shook the ladies' hands. “Nice to meet y'all. I was just playing. It was probably my handsome husband that you were talking about.”

“Close, but not quite,” the sistah with the short locks said. “You'd have to go a little taller and a lot lighter.” The women laughed. “Paz D.,” she explained. “That's who we're talking about.”

“Oh, please,” Bo said, disdain written all over his face. “That's a face that is overrated.”

“There are probably, oh, a billion women who disagree with you,” a cute little redhead responded. She looked at the woman beside her. “Have you seen a more gorgeous body cross a room?”

Bo ridged, immediately on full alert. “Cross what room?”

“The one we're standing in,” Redhead said. “I took one look at that butt and almost died!” She gave a fake swoon that sent the group laughing.

Bo? Not so much. “Uh, excuse me.” He turned and made a beeline to the theater. There were about twenty people, mostly men, watching the game in animated fashion. Something had them really focused. Bo vaguely heard them discussing an injury, but he couldn't digest that information for looking for his man. He walked over to where Kelvin lounged in a theater chair. “You seen Darius?”

Kelvin looked around. “He was in here a minute ago. He might have gone to get something to eat. Check the dining room.”

The last statement was said to Bo's back as he was already heading out of the theater and back into the main part of the house. Various scenarios were coming to his mind, none of them good. The Petersen house was big, but he made his way to one side of the double staircase and began to climb. On his way he remembered how much Darius liked to get his freak on in strange places, how they'd be at a party and he and Bo would—
No! He wouldn't do that to me. He . . . there's no way.
Still, Bo's footsteps quickened as he neared a hall of rooms. He reached the first door and opened it without hesitation. Empty. Bo let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. His heart slowed a little as he reached the next door. Empty again.
Bo, you're tripping. Those girls might be lying. Paz is probably not even here.
Rationality returned as Bo checked one room after another. Darius wouldn't have invited Paz to a party that they'd driven to together. “Boy, you are something else,” he whispered to himself as he retraced his steps.

He was almost to the flight of stairs when he heard a voice, a man's voice, low and muffled.
I thought I checked that room.
He crept to the door, put his ear against the wood. There it was, the sound he heard. No, more like a moan. And then another one, the same but different.
Two men? Aw, hell, no.
He tried the knob, but the door was locked. But considering that he was ninety-nine point nine percent sure of who was on the other side, it would take more than that to keep him out, especially since this was one of those push locks and not the kind requiring a key. He fairly ran down the hall to the bathroom he'd passed and opened the vanity's top drawer.
Bingo!
He grabbed a bobby pin and then, as an afterthought, grabbed something else out of the drawer before marching back down to the door. The grunting had gotten louder. Bo was so angry he probably could have broken the door down even though it was solid wood. Pushing the pin inside the hole, he turned the knob. The door swung open, revealing the hard, round butt he loved so much. For a few seconds he stood stunned, disbelieving. And then Paz called Darius's name, and jolted Bo out of immobility.

“You son of a bitch,” he hissed, running to the ass hovering over another one and striking.

“Ow, shit!” Darius yelled. He jumped off a naked Paz, whose eyes widened when he saw the scissors dripping blood in Bo's hand.

“You hurt him!” Paz said, lunging for Bo.

“I'm not done, muthafucka!” Bo lunged again and sliced Paz in the chest.

“Bo, stop!” Darius grabbed Bo. “Get out of here,” he shouted to Paz, while wrestling Bo for the scissors being held in a viselike grip.

“Let me go. I'm going to kill him. Let me go!”

“Calm down, Bo,” Darius said between clenched teeth. “You're making a scene!”

“You. Think. I. Give. A. Damn?” Bo panted, trying to break loose from Darius's grasp just as they heard footsteps hurrying up the stairs.

“Aw, hell,” Darius muttered, looking down at his state of nakedness and, now that the shock of being caught was wearing off, feeling a major pain in the ass—no pun intended.

“What's going o—Oh, no!” Princess hurried inside the room with Kelvin's best friend, Brandon, hot on her trail. She closed the door against looky-loos while Brandon walked over to where worldwide wrestling was still taking place.

“Guys! Guys! Break it up.” With Darius squeezing Bo's wrist, Brandon managed to pry Princess's stainless steel cosmetic scissors out of his hand. “Stop, or I'm going to have to call the police.” Bo continued to squirm, but he was clearly exhausted. “Seriously, y'all need to chill on this shit.” When it appeared that the fight was over, Brandon turned to Princess. “Go get Kelvin.”

Princess left the room. Brandon noticed the drops of blood dotting the floor. He followed the trail up to Darius's hand, the one that held his buttocks while the other one covered his junk.

“Damn, man. What happened?”

“Don't worry about what happened,” Darius hissed. “Just get out of here so I can get dressed. I need to make an exit without being seen.”

F
or four glorious weeks, they'd been happy. Stacy had put their Phoenix house on the market, had found them a place in LA. Tony was back working and pretty much acting like his old self. He'd even gotten hard a couple times, and rocked her world. Sure, he'd been curt and distracted, but Stacy could understand. There'd been a lot on his mind. He'd promised her that once he got a few games under his belt, he'd be way more relaxed. She hadn't understood exactly how playing football would enhance his sexual function, still didn't, but . . . okay. Whatever was going on, it had looked like the worse was behind them. And now this: Tony reinjured and cut from the team.
Lord, didn't you hear me when I prayed? Why didn'tYou protect my husband? Why didn't You keep him from getting hurt?

“What's the matter, Mommy?”

Stacy hadn't even realized that she'd gone deep into her own thoughts, hadn't even been aware that she wasn't alone. “Mommy's just thinking,” she said to her curious and astute son.

“You were thinking
hard
!”

She managed a slight smile. “Yes, baby, I was. Now come on, let's get your pajamas on. It's time for lights out.”

As Stacy walked from DJ's room to the master suite, she pondered whom she'd encounter in the room. Since his injury, Tony had gone from being Jekyll one minute to Hyde the next. She didn't know what to say to him because for the most part, just like before, whatever came out was wrong. She'd almost suggested that he move into the guest room.
Heck, if things keep going the way they are . . . I'll move in there!
Entering the room, she saw Tony hobbling on one leg, trying to walk without his crutch.

“Honey, don't!” She ran to his side. “The doctor told you to be careful and not try to walk on it for three weeks!”

“Oh, so you think you know more than me?” Tony looked at her with sheer hostility in his eyes.

“That's not what I'm saying,” Stacy spat back, tired of his petulant attitude. “It's what the doctor said.”

“Get away from me, Stacy.”

“Whatever, asshole,” she said, turning around. She'd had it with his mood swings; was done babying his ungrateful ass. “I'm not the enemy.”

But you would have thought she was. Because next thing you knew there was a fist upside her head and a face eating carpet.

Stacy's reaction was instinctive, honed from growing up as the only girl in a house with four brothers, one who'd held her own in many a wrestling match. She reached up and grabbed the foot that Tony had planned to use to step over her or stomp her with—she didn't take the time to figure out which.

Like his, her move was unexpected. “Argh!” Tony cried as he found himself off balance, his injured knee twisting as he tried to regain his footing. “Damn!” He hit the floor and grabbed his knee.

Seeing Tony's pain, Stacy momentarily forgot about her own. “Tony!” She scrambled over to where he lay writhing on the floor.

Bad move.

As soon as she got within arm's reach, he grabbed her and rolled them over until he was on top.

“Tony, don't!”

Slap.
“You fucked up my knee!”

“You hit me!” Stacy screamed, writhing beneath him to try and rid herself of the over two-hundred-pound human boulder holding her down. Tony grabbed her hair and glared. “Stop it, Tony! Get”—she maneuvered her hand between her stomach and his flesh—“off.” Twisting slightly, she was able to create a bit more room between them, enough to slide her hand down farther and execute the move Brent had taught her when she was thirteen years old. “Me!” She grabbed nuts and dick and squeezed in a way that would give “bust a nut” a brand new meaning.

“Oooowww!” This word was delivered several octaves higher than Tony's normal speaking voice and lasted almost as long as the note Whitney held ending the “Star-Spangled Banner.”

Stacy didn't stick around long enough to admire her handiwork. Shear adrenaline and pure instinct caused her to leap from the floor, dash from the room, and run down the hallway to where DJ slept. She burst into his room, turned on the light. “Come on, baby,” she whispered, knowing that the crippling blow she'd dealt Tony would only last so long. “We've got to go.”

“Mommy, wha—”

Hearing a sound, Stacy scooped up her sleepy, confused child in her arms and ran for the steps, taking them so fast that she stumbled, almost causing mother and son to fall down the stairs.

“Ow, Mommy. You go too fast!”

“I'm sorry, baby, but—”
Thump. Thump.
Stacy knew that sound: crutches hitting hardwood floor. She looked up just in time to see Tony try and maneuver the top stair. “Come on, DJ!”

“Stacy, wait a minute!” Tony grabbed the handrail with his free hand and between that and the crutch was making pretty good time down the stairway. “Stacy, you'd better not leave this house!”

Reaching the kitchen, Stacy snatched up keys, purse, and cell phone, thankful that she'd left them there earlier that evening, and raced to the garage. She didn't have time to strap in DJ. Rather, she opened the passenger door, dumped him inside the car, rushed around to the driver's side, and yanked the door open. Her heart beating faster than a hummingbird's wings, she was in shock, on autopilot, pressing the garage door opener and starting the car at the same time. The door had barely cleared the hood of her SUV when she backed out of the garage, just in time to see Tony hobbling across the yard. Obviously, he'd made it down the stairs and out the front door in a last ditch effort to do God only knew what. Stacy hit the door lock and floored the gas, fishtailing to the point that she took out three types of shrubbery lining the drive.

The shrill of DJ's voice brought Stacy out of the survival fog she'd been in since Tony had slapped her so hard her teeth had rattled. Three streets away from the house she pulled over, took deep calming breaths, and finally loosened the death grip that the steering wheel had endured. Her hands were shaking.

“Mommy, what's the matter? Why are we running away?” Stacy turned and looked at DJ. He gasped. “What happened to your face?”

Instinctively, Stacy's hands went to the stinging sensation where Tony had slapped/hit/punched her and the throbbing ache in her jaw. She pulled down the sun visor and flipped open the mirror. Clenching her teeth against the pain, she forced herself to remain calm as she took in Tony's handiwork. A clear imprint of his hand was on her left cheek, and her right jaw was clearly swelling.
What do I tell him? Tony and I had a fight? Yes, he hit me?
“Mommy's okay,” she finally answered, wanting to keep DJ as shielded as possible, at least for now. Headlights in her rearview mirror caused Stacy's heart to almost leap into her throat.
Oh my God! It's Tony!
Shaky hands put the car in gear as she prepared to race across town to the first shelter of safety that had come to her mind. As the car passed, she let out a sigh, thankful that the large black car she'd seen wasn't Tony's customized Range Rover. She reached for her phone and found the name she searched for, praying that they were in town and that someone was home.

“Hey, Spacy Stacy.”

“Bo, I need to come over. Are y'all at home?”

“I'm not living with that cheating muthafucka.”

In light of Stacy's drama, she'd completely forgotten about what had gone down with Bo and Darius the previous weekend. “Oh. Right. Where are you?”

“At the Biltmore, about to get even deeper in that two-timing asshole's wallet by taking a
bath
in some Dom Pérignon!”

“Could you put that bath on hold for a minute, and pop a cork? I need to get there as soon as possible. And I need a drink.”

“You know where the hotel is?”

“I think so, but give me the address anyway.” Bo gave her that and his room number. “Okay, thanks. I'll see you soon.”

“Girl, what is wrong with you? You're talking like you've got doodoo in your mouth.”

Stacy smiled despite her pain. Someone like Bo was exactly who she needed right now, to help her decide what her next move would be. “I'll tell you when I get there.”

Just talking with Bo calmed Stacy and she was able to regain some presence of mind. “Come on, little man,” she said, opening her car door, “let's get you into the car seat before I get a ticket.”

She made it over to Bo's hotel in a relatively stable state, despite the fact that Tony had called. Twice. After the second call she'd turned off her ringer.