The Fight Within (54 page)

Colin gingerly placed her back on the ground, then clapped and whistled, jamming two fingers in his mouth, cheering his brother on with full gusto.

“Three full rounds, a flying elbow and a superman! He whooped that motherfucker’s ass! That’s my goddamn brother right there! Woooooo!!!!” He stomped around as if doing some sort of jig, making her giggle so. “Irish pride, baby!!!” He yelled so hard and loud, the vein on the side of his neck strained under his pale flesh. He faced the crowd, turning from side to side so everyone in that place would hear him. “That’s my motherfucking brother, Sean motherfucking Mahoney! Remember his name, damn it!” he roared.

Treasure shook her head and burst out laughing at his pumped up behavior.

A few moments later, a large fella covered in sweat and blood was standing beside her. She recognized those gorgeous green eyes, despite one swelling up like a pumped balloon and the other donning an odd pink hue. He hoisted her in his strong arms and landed a kiss upon her lips as she buried her fingers in his damp hair. Closing her eyes, she savored his heated affections, his raw masculine scent rubbing against her clothing, leaving his claim upon her.

“I won,” he panted between lip locks, staring at her through hooded eyes that called her damn name. “I won, baby.”

Colin patted his brother’s back and looked over the two, but gave them space. Others didn’t have the same courtesies in mind…

Soon, a crowd surrounded him, pushing papers toward him to sign and cheering him on like he was the second coming of Christ. It left her in complete awe… She could see on his face, this was part of who he was. This was the one place where he could fall apart, act like an animal, and get away with the shit. It was the one setting in the entire world where being bad meant being good, and being called a brute proved a compliment.

“I won, baby,” he repeated, as if he’d gotten one too many lumps to the head…forgotten that he’d already announced it to her twice in the last sixty seconds. “But…” People started to push through, pulling them apart. Hands gripped his clammy flesh and young, excited faces talked around them. The place swelled with some sort of strange, sports-crazed pride. She could barely hear or make out what he was saying as the gap between their bodies grew bigger and bigger.

“But the big prize was
you
! Thanks for comin’! I love you, baby!” he yelled out, then smiled wide and winked at her before turning away to grab one of the ink pens from someone’s waving hand. In that moment, he undoubtedly made some teenage boy’s dream come true with a sleight of hand; but unbeknown to him, he’d also made a grown woman’s heart crack open and fill up with the sunlight rays of his magnificent love, his twisted, though therapeutic sense of humor, and his strong, deep embrace that still left her skin tingling, many moments after they’d parted ways. The man was filthy rich with love, and he’d given her his last dime. She’d be careful not to spend it…

…And she loved him for it, for she was dating a billionaire with a heart made of pure gold…

*

Jackson sat at
his massive custom-made cherry wood desk in his home. The semi-darkened room filled with thick Cuban cigar smoke and the intoxicating aroma of the last remnants of a warm glass of imported cognac. It was his third to be exact, and he had plans for a fourth. He hadn’t smoked in months, but now, he toyed with inebriation as his dry lips grew looser. He wanted to say some shit, tell the world how he
really
fucking felt. Yearned to be like Treasure, free to curse a bastard out, for he was a prisoner to his sensibilities and he never even figured out he’d been imprisoned. The woman walked and talked like an emancipated slave, and it stung him to his core that her transformation had begun as soon as he stepped foot out of their home with his bags in tow, and her slamming the door in his face.

Yes…his thoughts drifted back to the first woman he’d ever felt something for—the one he knew was going to make a faithful man of him. How could he resist the self-made, sweet woman with enough street sense to be a tangible dream and enough beauty to make many men stop in their damn tracks, plot and scheme to have her?

Treasure…

She was a bit old-fashioned, ladylike in many ways, unaware how beautiful she was, and that made her all the more alluring. She’d had a rough time as a child, the experiences making her vulnerable… sweet… irresistible, for she wanted a man to make it alright, make it better. Best of all, she’d never asked him for a damn thing. She wasn’t needy… But the older she got, the more she questioned him, the more inquisitive she became, and the more they argued. She was no longer the girl he’d met in college. Treasure had morphed into a person who wanted some goddamn answers. He gave her none, told her to mind her damn business, accept the money and gifts…be quiet. And in a way, she did.

Until she was turned to damn stone.

He barely recognized her, but at the same time, he knew this softer side of her still dwelled within her. She’d simply buried it, tried to fit the soccer mom role…but Treasure was a survivor. Life started off fair enough for her, but that all came crashing down once her father died. She roamed the streets with her mother and brothers like a nomad. They had no family; everyone was dead or living in other states, and no one offered to help, lifted a damn finger. Nobody wanted to take in a grown woman, two badass boys and a little girl with an occasional sassy ass mouth who questioned authority and had gotten in trouble for shoplifting.

She’d done it because was hungry…

He shook his head as his mind glossed over the damn story. Treasure had been so embarrassed. At fifteen, she’d ended up in police custody with two bags of uncooked navy beans in her front jeans pockets, a frozen bag of peas in her coat, and a small pack of ham lunchmeat in her back pocket. That
hunger
had remained inside the woman…a thirst, a drive. She covered it with pretty drapes, plush imported rugs, and exquisite hand crafted lamps from India. She made it comely, almost disappear, but he knew it never left her. And the very thing that had drawn him to the woman had eventually turned him away.

“Treasure, baby.” He picked up his glass and sloshed the contents around a bit before taking another sip. He stared down into the thing, drowning in contemplations that threatened to choke him dead. “Nobody’s perfect…but you were the perfect wife. I fucked up!” He laughed maniacally, slapped the table and rocked back and forth in his chair as Al Green serenaded him real low…

Let’s Stay Together…

“I’m soooo in love with yoooou!” he sang off key.

“Damn! My granddad used to love this song! He’d play this shit all throughout Harlem, yeeeeaaaah!” he slurred, bobbing his head to the tune, rockin’ in his seat, really getting down.

“Tiiimes are bad! Happy or saaaad!” he went on and on. “Treasure, damn you, woman!” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I still love ya, baby. You’d drive me crazy sometimes wit’ that smart mouth of yours, but you was true blue, a good woman. I could depend on you…didn’t have to worry about you not doing the right thing. You never screwed around on me. You took care of the kids, worked, cleaned and cooked. You’d fuck me like I needed to be fucked!” He cursed out loud at the damn ceiling, hoping Jennifer, the whore he couldn’t shake loose, heard his drunken rant. “Fuckin’ selfish ass bitches…lazy in bed! Just layin’ on your goddamn back, looking pretty in that expensive ass lingerie collection I bought you!” He shook his fist angrily at the ceiling, then burst out in more maniacal fits of laughter.

“…want cosmetic surgeries, expensive coats, cars, your own penthouse. Want me to pay for your mother’s shit, your sister’s shit, your girlfriend’s shit, your low-class brother that’s in and out of prison’s shit! Want me to eat your dry ass pussy and you ain’t sucked my dick in months!
Fuck
you! Get tha fuck outta my house, bitch! Get uh damn job!” His voice strained and cracked as he reached toward the invisible sky. The domed ceiling of his office looked like gold dusted heaven, though he trusted he’d landed in dusty, dank hell.

I used to have it all…

I had the shit men dream of. Good family. Great friends… beautiful women, my pick of the damn litter! Saw Treasure and had to have ’er ass… She was smart, sassy, sweet and so.damn.fine…

…And broken.

Body smooth like freshly poured chocolate. Thick, beautiful hair that got bigger in the goddamn sun, despite having a perm… She hated it, but I loved it—it was her glory. Long, luscious legs and an ass I could play a chess game on, and not lose one.damn.piece. Breasts so soft, supple, more than a handful but manageable. She kept herself together…liked to cook, would eat too many cookies every now and again, but always got herself back in check.

A fucking dime…

…And she was mine.

You know, as I think back on it, I really can’t understand why I wasn’t satisfied with her. Why wasn’t she enough? The grass really does always look greener on the other side. At first, I blamed her for everything and shit, Treasure ain’t no damn angel, but she pretty damn close to it…

He hung his head, feeling the weight of his bad choices tearing him down, shoving him closer and closer into a recently dug up, open grave.

I’m tryna do better, Treasure…

He wished she were sitting there to hear his pleas…believe his heart longed for her, wanted to make it right.

He was picking up his children more, making a concerted effort, though Brian barely spoke to him as of late. Regardless, he attempted to talk to his wife over and over again—no, ex-wife—but she’d cut him off at the pass. The damn woman left him no choice but to call her mother, tell her that he was trying to fix his marriage, but her daughter was being hard headed and worst of all, she was dating some bastard that didn’t have a pot to piss in. He picked up his glass and sloshed the drink around as his mood drew darker.

Jennifer was by now surely passed out upstairs after one of her many prescription pill cocktails, which she chased with a glass of white wine. She was his latest, not his last…but now he felt tired, so very tired.

No more of this… no more! I’m done with Jennifer, JoAnn, Staci, Anna, Amber, Vanessa, all of ’em! I’d trade them all to get just one woman back, just one!
He slammed his fist onto his desk.
Nah, she is going to listen to me, tonight…she gotta listen!

He grabbed his phone after a series of hiccups, and dialed the number.

She was mine first, and she’ll be mine until the last moment in time…

‡