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“Take me to my son immediately,” Shahib instructed.
Amir nodded and drove off.
The bombings had become international news with the world up in arms, and Shahib was displeased. The news of their son shot and two million dollars gone—it was distressing.
Amir jumped onto the Van Wyck Expressway and drove north, toward the Whitestone Bridge. Shahib sat in silence next to his wife and they both looked out the window, staring at the heavy traffic, the people, and the urban surroundings, and already had absolute distaste for the city. Asma took hold of her husband’s hand. She needed his touch and his strength. The news of her son shot and in trouble was challenging for her to hear. Nothing was going to stop her from reaching him, even if she had to swim the entire Atlantic Ocean herself. A mother’s love and protection was stronger than any material on earth.
Amir drove across the Whitestone Bridge where the traffic had improved and continued north toward Westchester. Soon, they would reunite with their son, and they couldn’t wait. Asma wanted to hug and love her son, but Shahib wanted an explanation.
***
Maserati Meek woke up to a morning blow job from Cindy. As he lay on his back, she disappeared underneath the sheets, started stroking his dick and sucking the top of his head, and eventually wrapped her full lips around his dick and bobbed her head up and down. He howled like a wolf to a moon, the effects of her sexuality domineering over his manhood.
He could feel her about to make him come. She used her hands to explore his body and she was plunging him into complete bliss. When she was done, Meek swore he could see stars in the morning. The two of them rested nestled against each other. His gunshot wound was healing fine. He could feel his body returning to normal. The sexual distraction was needed.
“You wanna fuck me again?” Cindy asked.
“I need rest.”
“I need some dick again,” she said.
He chuckled. “You are like the Energizer Bunny, eh? You keep going and going . . .”
“Only with something that I really like.”
She could be aggressive, but she was falling in love with him. The look in her eyes was the same look Jessica had when they would lie together naked after wicked lovemaking. Meek held Cindy in his arms. Every inch of her was softer than cotton candy at a carnival. He could eat her alive, she was so sweet. They talked and they were both able to laugh. With her head placed against his chest she could hear his heart beating. It was their sensual moment. They were in good spirits.
But then their moment was soon interrupted when the bedroom door swung open abruptly and Shahib charged into the room, followed by Asma. What they saw bothered them greatly. Maserati Meek was taken aback by their sudden presence. He rose up slightly, not knowing what to truly expect from his father.
“Father!” was the only word he could utter, shocked by their sudden presence.
“What is this, Akar? You lie with whores now?” Shahib shouted. He glared down at Cindy naked against his son. “You’re American now? You take American women to your bed? Non-Muslim whores who corrupt your mind!”
Cindy was completely stunned by his comment. How dare he? “Excuse me!” Cindy exclaimed.
Asma stood erect with outrage too in the bedroom. Her eyes glared with disappointment and disgrace at her son. Akar with a non-Muslim woman? It too much for her to tolerate. She marched toward the bed and forcefully grabbed Cindy’s arm, trying to pull the woman away from her son.
But Cindy wasn’t about to be bullied by his parents. She resisted. She shouted, “Bitch, what is your fuckin’ problem?”
Asma slapped her face and exclaimed, “Leave here!”
The attack came as a shock to Cindy. She clutched the side of her face and glared at Asma. Asma was ready to skin her alive. Although she obeyed her husband faithfully, and sometimes was quiet, she was hardly timid or meek. She and her husband tolerated what their son was into in America because the money helped fund Al-Qaeda.
Meek’s parents, just like Meek and his soldiers were hypocrites—just as any other ordinary person who serves two gods. On the one hand they prayed several times a day, read the Kuron, funded Al-Qaeda, and pledged allegiance to Allah. But there was a flipside to these radicals who played God by doing “Allah’s” bidding by blowing up innocent people. They turned a blind eye to their son’s drug dealing and allowed him to immerse himself into American culture when it suited him or them and then cried injustice.
Cindy stood naked in front of Asma, not caring who was in the bedroom. She shouted, “You crazy fuckin bitch, don’t you ever touch me again!”
The second slap came just as fast as the first one. It was so violent that it made Cindy’s head spin and her face bleed. She had been cut by Asma’s diamond ring.
Cindy was about to react, but she nearly bit off her tongue trying to remain calm. She found herself in a no-win situation. She was outnumbered, and worst of all, Meek wasn’t coming to her rescue. He simply lay there nonchalantly. And there was something in Shahib Abu Mudada’s eyes that let her know that if she said another word or retaliated against his wife, then she wouldn’t leave the room alive. Her heart started to beat faster with trepidation.
“You are nothing to us, so leave this room now before you regret this union with my son,” Shahib warned her.
Cindy didn’t say a word although her eyes were filled with rage. She simply collected her things and left the room naked. Shahib and Asma didn’t even give her a second look. They considered their son’s young whore nothing but a bug on their shoe.
“Amir, escort her out. We need to have a word with our son,” said Shahib.
Amir nodded. He walked behind Cindy to ensure her departure from the home.
