In Covenant with Ezra (Love Unaccounted Book 1) Read online

  Miranda stood and eyed her expectantly before budging. Then she turned back to a tall and round dark skinned man with a black suit, stark white shirt and skinny tie and spoke a few words before heading our way. That maneuver gave me a cold impression of her.

  “When is the meeting,” I asked Lillian as she waited on the girl to arrive.

  “Next Tuesday, here at the church. You’ll be here, right?”

  “I have a 7 o’clock class next Tuesday night.”

  “Can you be a little late? This won’t be long, I promise. We’re starting at 5:45. You can swing by before class.”

  Before I could respond, she swung her head over to Miranda who had arrived.

  “Hey! I’m starting a new organization in tandem with Redeeming Souls for Abundant Living in Christ, assisting women with higher education. Would you be interested in attending the breakout meeting on Tuesday night? I know you’ve been involved with the Women’s Etiquette ministry here and thought this would be a great partnership. It’d be really helpful to get someone of influence on board…” Lillian offered her that innocent smile accompanied by the shrinking of the eyes behind her oversized lenses.

  She thought the look was fashionable. I thought the ‘gesture’ was…cute.

  As was the girl, Miranda with her rude pauses as she stared crudely at you. It was clear she wasn’t interested in even a simple conversation with Lillian, but my dear friend wasn’t opposed to pushing. That’s how we’d come to call each other friend.

  “I don’t know,” Miranda spoke with no intonation at all. “Who else from leadership will be there?”

  “That’s the problem: I’m not getting a lot of bite from anyone. This is why I’m asking you. I could use your influence.”

  Another agenda-filled smile.

  And another glossed over stare from Miranda.

  “I don’t know. You know I’m planning my wedding and I may be with Thaddeus, who’s been busy with Ezra.”

  There was his name. My stomach flipped at the sound of it.

  Lillian stayed the course by not speaking to draw more out of Miranda. I’d been familiar with that maneuver also.

  “Look, I’ll see is the best I can offer you.” She pivoted to leave, blowing little Lillian off. “I’m really busy on Tuesday and doubt if I’ll even be in this area…but I’ll see.” And she was off without a backward glance.

  Lillian turned to me, finally ready to leave our pew. I moved to lead the way.

  “I guess I have more convincing to do with that one,” she sighed.

  I was settled in for the night. After Lillian dropped me off at home, I went to check on Ms. Remah, who seemed to have been in a better mood, thankfully. She sent me home with a huge bowl of chicken pumpkin soup, one of my favorite Jamaican dishes. I knew it was her way of apologizing and expressing gratitude. This was what I’d learned of her all these years. She didn’t hug or coddle. Ms. Remah said her people were under the control of the Brits and they didn’t hug; they shook hands. So, all physical gestures of sentiment were out the window in her book. I was fine with it because she showed it in other ways. I found myself considering this as I ate after showering.

  All the lights were off and I sat at the chair in my small bedroom, gazing out the window at nothing in particular. I’d just put out my blunt, smoked it down to a nub. My belly was full, body drained and I had a nice buzz going. I drug my heavy limbs over to my full-sized mattress and crawled beneath the covers. My last thoughts were on the end of my day.

  When I started attending church I didn’t necessarily feel any ‘change’; it was just relaxing and made me feel in some moralistic way that I’d been doing something positive. Besides, I was too broke to do anything else socially. Pastor Carmichael’s son’s message on the spirit of expectation had me considering how I could apply it to my own life. I had several needs, but what did I expect of Him?

  A husband.

  Ms. Remah’s overt recommendation to help with my financial crisis could also help with my loneliness. I enjoyed my solitude and ability to think and decide freely without the input of a man to do something as simple as buy new furniture, but it would damn sure be nice to have someone to bounce off tough decisions such as where the money would come from to buy said furniture. So, should I put fruitless energy into expecting a husband to land in my face? I let out a hearty giggle at that.

  Or wait! I could always land at his feet and cry, “I found you!”

  I laughed to the point of tears; I was so delirious with exhaustion. Then I thought of his stature…the pastor’s son.

  In the next moment, I found my fingers rubbing into my swollen flesh. Its rampant circular strokes continued until my frame shook and heels pushed into the mattress as my pelvis rocked in the air. I launched and blissfully, thinking about a man I didn’t know and whose face wasn’t totally clear to me. This was a new sexual low for me. I felt ashamed of myself as I rolled over to find sleep.

  I masturbate way too damn much in my twenties.

  two

  Lex

  It hurts to swallow. It hurts to move in this tight ass bed to relieve the beating pain from my lower back. It hurts to breathe. The pain meds must be dissolving because I feel aching body parts that weren’t a thought just minutes ago. My mouth is dry and the pounding in my face is competing with the throbbing pain in my back. I won’t cry. I can’t cry.

  “Ms. Grier. Can you answer me, please?” His voice was so forceful it caused a shudder in my shoulders.

  More pain.

  “Detective, please give her some time. She just come tru before you got the call that she woke up, yuh nuh.” a feminine Caribbean voice cried.

  The warning grimace the detective shot Ms. Remah through his speckled hazel eyes could kill an army of men. But he never uttered a response.

  “Again, Ms. Grier, I’m Detective John Merkel and my partner here is Detective James Scott.” My eyes rolled from the hazel eyes with a rich mahogany mustache to his giant partner with no hair and brilliant green eyes. They both wore schooled expressions, like there was nothing behind their eyes. Merkel let out a hard breath. “Listen, we have a few of the suspects in custody. We just need to hear your side of the story. Could you… Say. Something. Please.”

  Ms. Remah sighed or more like huffed. I could hear a few spews from her native tongue.

  Another nasty glare in her direction by Merkel.

  “I’m losing my patience with you, nurse. In a minute I’m gonna have you go fetch the doctor so he can see how fucking hospitable you are to the NYPD.”

  Ms. Remah gasped. “How dare you? She somebody’s child. She need ta’ rest before she can give yuh information. She been tru trauma.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? Isn’t that why we’re here?” Merkel growled at her. He was a nasty man.

  “Yuh not being sensitive to the patient. This could wait till the morning,” Ms. Remah continued in protest.

  “She’s been sleep for damn near three days. I need what’s fresh on her mind,” Merkel retorted, now with his stance shifted toward her as her arms wrapped around her voluptuous frame in the corner of the room.

  She was holding back. I could tell. I’d only known this woman for a couple of hours and so far she’d demonstrated the most maternal care I’d experienced in years. I didn’t know why she’d been so nice to me. Maybe this was how all nurses were. No, that couldn’t be true because the amazon red head that came in here to check my vitals, who only popped gum loudly in my ears and wrote on her clipboard was almost as artic as Detective Merkel here. She was also rude to Ms. Remah.

  The red head was the one who told me why I was there. She was curt and abrasive, but I’d gotten answers. I couldn’t believe Arty and his hoodlum ass friends did this to me. Never in my life did I ever think something so horrible and debasing could ever happen to a human being, much less me.

  “Hold up here!” Scott yelled, raising his hand to the two prize fighters in the corner. I’d noticed him, calm and very observa
nt of my every movement. It would have been creepy had not my attention been consumed by his beastly partner and Ms. Remah.

  “Ms. Grier, I can see you’re breaking down. Please tell me what happened to you that night at Rusty’s.” Detective Scott’s eyes softened and he moved closer in an attempt to mitigate my defenses. It worked. I felt so vulnerable there in that hospital bed that any remnants of humanity comforted me.

  “Let’s start from the top. You were working that night at the club, right?” Scott spoke slowly.

  I nodded my head.

  “I know you wound up in the back alone. What happened?”

  Ms. Remah froze in place and Merkel snapped around and flipped open his portfolio to write. They had a job to do, so I figured I’d just get it over with to get the likes of Williams out of my face and before Ms. Remah lost her job. She’d been far too kind for that.

  “We were in the back taking shots. The girls wanted to celebrate.” I remembered that because I could still feel the lethal burn from tequila pouring down into my stomach. I never drank, but the girls wanted to celebrate me getting accepted into college. I was so excited my damn self that after very little deliberation I acquiesced. After the third shot, I could barely feel my heated toes, but on two swigs, I got the fourth down.

  “Then it was time for me to hit the floor to serve my rounds. So, I went out there and worked my tables. The place was packed, so I moved quickly, serving my tables.” I licked my crusted lips. “I took extra tables at the wings of the stage for straggling singles while the next dancer… Tasche,” I recalled foggily, “took to the pole.

  “That’s when I saw Artie and his boys from around the way. He used to ‘go with’ one of my friends from middle school in between beating her ass. I never liked Artie for that or for the way he eye-fucked, me even in her face. He used to say that I thought I was better than everybody. I figured it was because I’m never comfortable around him. Nobody is? He is big as hell.” I swallowed painfully. “Dude’s way over 6 feet with a shining bald head and big muscular body. His permanent frown and patchy brown and black skin and glass eye don’t help.” My eyes fluttered at the visual of him.

  Artie kept a gang of guys around. He was the leader of the pack. They did everything he said and laughed at every joke, including the one on me when he would say to my friend, “Why you always hanging out with this dyke bitch. Look at her; she ain’t got no titties or hair.” Without fail, there would be a chorus of laughter. I didn’t like it, but was used to the joke. Hell, I did look like a boy. Even my momma would say so.

  What scared the shit out of me was the day that he said, “I don’t know what you come around here for. What…you want some dick, too?” He called his hangers-on over and ordered, “Show her she got a pussy. I ‘on’t give a fuck who her daddy is. He locked the fuck up again anyways.” One of his boys came over and began to grope me. I couldn’t believe he would invite himself to my person so easily. I managed to quickly break from him and sprinted my long ass, grasshopper legs home. I eventually stopped hanging with that particular friend. Too many long stories of him fucking her up and then fucking her. So, years later, when I landed eyes on Artie that night at the club, I knew his thoughts were dark and by the twitching of his lips up into the slickest simper, I understood to stay away from him. Last I’d heard about Artie, he was upstate.

  “Now, Ms. Grier,” Merkel snapped. “I see you’re fading. Please continue.”

  Ms. Remah mumbled her annoyance, something incoherent to me.

  “When I made it to the back room later, I heard the other girls talking about a guy there who was celebrating his birthday…supposed to be some kind of baller. I figured that was the reason for the packed house. One of the girls in the room mentioned the birthday boy was Artie.” I recalled my body started to shiver at the horrid memory of him as a kid. I was now 19 years old and still haunted by the monster of my 13-year-old self.

  It took what seemed like forever for me to calm myself. I wanted to leave and go home, but I knew I couldn’t just cut my time short. Rusty was lenient when I was running around trying to apply to BMCC and I promised a million times to make it up to him by working this particular week. The moment I realized there was no way to avoid running into Artie, I noticed from the corner of my eye the bottle of tequila still a quarter full on the dresser. I quickly downed half of it and went back out on the floor.

  “Rusty came to the back saying there was a high roller who wanted a lap dance. I could tell he was shitting bricks. He knows I don’t strip, so there’s no way in hell I’d give a lap dance. I don’t allow any touching. This was his first request in the months I’d been working there. I thought we’d gotten past it. He offered to give me something on top of what I made off the john wanting the dance. I knew that john was Artie. No way I was breaking my rule for his scary ass and I told Rusty that. And I told him that right after the next dancer I was leaving. He walked away cussin’ underneath his breath. I didn’t care. I wanted the night to be over with.” I tried shifting to alleviate the ache in my lower back. Wrong move. Too much pain accompanied the twisting of my body.

  Trying to go back to that night, I recalled my roommate, Nyree, had just come off stage when Rusty was leaving and asked what was going on, and I filled her in. She said she understood, but would be working as late as she could to get every dollar that was available that night. It was well known that I was one of the lowest paid employees at Rusty’s. The others underneath me were busboys. I waitressed to survive being homeless.

  “When my time came to go back out, I could tell some of the guys were all liquored up and got rowdy.” It was Artie and his friends. Some had come near the stage, at one of my tables to make obscene gestures with their crotches and one even rubbed up my calf. My head jolted toward Beanie, the bouncer, but the only response I got from him was a wink and smirk. “I saw Artie whisper something in a guy’s ear who was seated next to him as he pointed to me. The guy nodded his head.” I swallowed hard trying to calm my nerves.

  “I just wanted to get the fuck up out of there and away from the madness. By the end of the girl’s dance, one guy grabbed me at the back of my thighs to lift me onto the stage. I screamed ‘no’ as loud as I could. When I turned to the bouncer, he jumped off his stool and rushed over to us, yelling to the guy I wasn’t a dancer, but he’d get him one. Dude ain’t budge at first, so I kept screaming. The bouncer raised his hands to tell him he couldn’t hold me and even pleaded with him about needing to keep his job.” Beanie was such a bitch in that moment. It was unlike him. Typically, he was extremely protective over us girls. I guess Artie and his crew had a far reaching reputation.

  “When he let me down, I flew backstage. I was scared and shaken the hell up. I saw Artie stand from his seat by the wall and come in my direction. I hauled ass. When I got back to my locker, I threw all of my shit into my bag.” Charlene, one of the other dancers asked if I was okay. I didn’t answer; I didn’t know how. At that young age, I couldn’t articulate that if I’d stayed something really, really bad would happen. But I knew it. “A dancer tried to tell me about the schedule for the next week, but I didn’t catch the details of her message because I heard rumbling at the door leading out to the stage. I knew it was trouble; I could just tell. A man yelled for the bitch who just ran back here.” I knew he was referring to me. I knew it was Artie.

  “Without thinking, I darted out of the back door that we weren’t supposed to use, because Rusty needed to know who was coming and going in his club at all times. The door led out to a dark hallway that had a side door to the building at the other end. When I ran to it, I stumbled on the cloth to my dress that wasn’t fully stuffed into my bag. I fell into the brick wall, crashing into my side and twisted my damn ankle.” My eyes mechanically glanced down to my feet where I felt a zing of pain.

  “I bent down to push everything deeper in my bag and heard the dressing room door burst open and four guys rushing through, yelling for me to stop. I took off running, but my ank
le wouldn’t let up on me. I couldn’t move as fast as I needed to. Before I knew it, the guys caught up to me and one threw me against the copy machine that was there in the hall. I screamed, but they told me to shut up.” My chords vibrated in reminiscent fear. I fought to keep the tears in. “They called me all types of whores and sluts. I remembered one of them having bloodshot red eyes, and knew it didn’t come from what Gerry was serving at the bar. They were like zombies moving, not caring about my limping. I screamed until one covered my mouth. I felt them tugging at my clothes. And I heard one yell that he was going to fuck me.” I knew that was Artie. I remembered feeling his disdain for me and wondered how he could hate me so much when he never knew me. I smelled the brewery on them. The guy squeezed my mouth painfully to further stifle my frantic whimpers. He smelled of burned cigarettes and beer. In that moment—even while being violated—I swore to myself I would never do it again. I would never work another night at Rusty’s. I was able to skate past five months of doing it with just a few close calls of simple groping, but this took the cake.

  “They had me pinned to that big ass machine. One had my arms across it and two grabbed my legs on either side as far as they’d go. In my head, I begged them to let me go. I even swung my head so I could shake out of his grip to beg…and breathe. One of them slammed my head into the machine, telling me to shut the fuck up.” My nose stung so badly as blood splattered everywhere. “I was able to see the dressing room door and a guy was there with a gun, threatening anybody who tried to come out in the hall.”

  Detective Scott asked, “Did you know them?”

  I couldn’t tell him I ‘knew’ Artie. I didn’t want them to assume I had asked for this or in some way had caused what happened. Hell, I was still confused myself—nineteen years old and inarticulate—but understood I had to be careful with what I shared. I knew how they operated. I even wondered myself: Why would they attack me…and so viciously?

  “I heard one ask was I the right one and another say I was.” My voice cracked and the sudden urge to bawl came over me, and I did. Ms. Remah jumped to comfort me, but it wouldn’t aid the pain shooting through my entire frame.