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Moments later, I’m sitting on the buttery tan leather back seat of a car that probably costs more than our house, squished between two giant men. A South African named Booker who is flipping through the pages of a book, the light on overhead so he can read, and Carlos.
Carlos is a tattooed man who can rock a black leather vest even though, judging by the lines in his tanned face and the silver threading through his hair, he looks to be in his late fifties. Multiple silver chains hang around Carlos’ thick neck.
We make small talk about the weather, how warm it’s been.
When we arrive at the house, Carlos immediately goes around to his post at the back door. Booker escorts me from the car to the front stoop. My heart sinks. There’s already another note. I try to snatch it away before Booker sees it.
Booker gently takes the piece of paper from me. “Boss’s orders.” He moves his big brown eyes over the paper, reading the same threat that is there every time.
Your family owes us. You know what we want.
Booker tucks the note into his book like a bookmark. “This is our concern now, not yours. Okay?
God, if only that could be true. Have I found the help I need? I take a deep breath. “Yes, sir.”
“You hear anything, see anything you don’t like, you come get me. Okay?”
“Of course.” I look down at his book. “I’m really sorry you had to come out here. It must be a bother to stand here all night for me…”
His smile is bright and genuine. “It’s my pleasure. Now you get inside safe and sound. Get some sleep. And don’t worry about Accardi. In the morning we’ll explain to him that you work for Mr. Cannon now.”
“Yes.”
I go into the house, peeking out the front curtains to see him take his stance beside the front door. I do feel much safer. But how am I going to explain this to Nonna in the morning?
I rush to her room to check on her. Her light is out, her chest rising and falling slow and steady in the pale moonlight. Relief washes over me and I take a deep breath.
I go to my room and take a long shower, scrubbing between my legs. No luck. It doesn’t make him or what he awoke in me disappear. I try to forget him, to relax, to get ready for some much-needed sleep.
It’s no use.
There are too many questions in my mind. I go to the dinosaur of a desktop computer on the small white desk in my room, booting it up. I need to do some research. Keisha left way too much to the imagination.
I spend the next hours deep diving the internet, hitting Google with all kinds of naughty questions. I give myself an education on all sorts of things I didn’t know existed. When I’m so exhausted I feel like I can’t keep my eyes open, I finally shut the computer down.
“Tomorrow is my first day at a kink club, huh? Can I really do this?” I lie on my bed, staring up at my ceiling, still in disbelief at the turn of events tonight.
Many of the things I read about on my computer I want to try. Some I do not. I fall asleep with visions of ropes and whips in my mind. But there’s one image that stands out the most from my crazy, unexpected night.
His face.
I can’t do this… I can’t do this…
I wake to my grandmother’s shrieks. “Who is that man at our front door!”
“Oh noooo!” She’s found Booker.
I’ve slept in. I meant to get up before her to fill her in. I fly from the bed, rushing to the living room where she stands in her nightgown, her hand clutching at her chest. I put my hands on her shoulders, guiding her to the kitchen. “Just a friend, Nonna. He’s… he’s just hanging out. Let me make you some tea.”
She’s not convinced. “What friend? Why have I not seen him before and what is he doing? And why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’ve not even put my makeup on yet.”
“Don’t mind him. How about some of those blueberry scones you like? I can make those.” I steer her toward the chair facing away from the back door. No need to scare her further with Carlos.
She takes a napkin from the stack on the table and unfolds it over her lap. “With butter?”
“Of course! And extra sugar on the top.”
I get her settled with her book, put on the kettle, and start the scones.
