In Covenant with Ezra (Love Unaccounted Book 1) Page 5

  “I felt a sharp pain in between my legs. I screamed through my nose, then felt hands cover my mouth and my nose and I couldn’t breathe. I tried moving, but they had a bitch of a grip on me.” I tried catching my breath as the taste of my own blood seeping between his fingers and into my mouth from my broken nose came to mind. “Next thing I knew it, I woke up here.”

  I managed to leave out the taunts of “get her ass” that I’d heard when I briefly came to at one point. The pain was so unbearable that I must have passed out again, but not before hearing Artie’s haunting words to me while being pounded into as they all laughed.

  There was a long pause. Detective Scott seemed perplexed. Ms. Remah clutched my hand protectively. I didn’t even look in Merkel’s direction. I suddenly felt ashamed.

  But I did nothing wrong!

  I just showed up for work that night and was attacked and gang raped at the direction of a man I’d only seen a half a dozen times damn near 10 years ago. Artie was a monster. He belonged to the pits of the darkest place known to man. I’d never seen depravity as I did with him and his boys.

  Why me?

  The pain wouldn’t stop. My bandaged nose burned and my entire body ached. But I wouldn’t release the tears. I couldn’t.

  Detective Scott gave a lungful of exhale and buried his face in his hands. Once he lifted his bright greens back to me, he murmured, “Honey, I don’t know what to say. I understand you have to make your money somehow, but I can tell you’re a bright girl by the way you speak. You shouldn’t be in that type of environment–”

  “Scott!” Merkel yelled. “This is not part of the job!”

  Part of the job… Part of the job… Part of the job…

  The echoing wouldn’t stop. My eyes shot open and then my torso flew from the bed.

  Shit!

  I buried my misted face in my palms, trying to wake from that nightmare. My heart pounded as my mind raced. I hadn’t thought of the attack in months, much less had nightmares from it.

  What the hell is this about?

  “Harlem Rec. Lex Grier speaking,” I answered my desk phone, stretching my tired eyes.

  “Lex, it’s Michelle Gross from the Department of Corrections.”

  It took a few seconds of recollecting her voice. I hadn’t heard from her in three years.

  “Hey!” I chirped up. “Michelle, what’s going on?”

  “I came across Rasul’s file. He hasn’t been assigned to me. The PO his file has been given to asked me for a heads up.”

  My lids collapsed. Anytime I got these calls, my stomach would toil with fear.

  “Are you still there?” she asked, concern laced in her tone.

  “Ye-yeah. Yeah, I’m here,” I assured. “I’m just surprised to hear from you and—”

  “And alarmed,” she accurately called it.

  My eyes rolled to the back of my head. “That would be correct.”

  “So, he hasn’t contacted you about his time being extended?”

  My mouth balled in annoyance. “No. He hasn’t.”

  “He got into a fight with another inmate…something about clean socks. But the judge threw him four additional months.”

  I knew something was wrong when he hadn’t knocked on my door right after the New Year. Here was my answer.

  “So, May?”

  “You should see him by Memorial Day, and if NYDC doesn’t have their shit together, the first week of June,” she confirmed.

  My shoulders sank. I wasn’t exactly that attached to my father, but thanks to his hot head, this meant I wouldn’t have family at my graduation.

  “Thanks for the heads up, Michelle.”

  “No sweat, dear. Just tell that motherfucker that at age fifty, he should be looking to buy a sports car to combat a pending mid-life crisis, not being released for the seventh time from prison.”

  “Will do,” I offered wryly.

  “Good luck, Lex. No matter what people say, he’s lucky to have a kid like you.”

  “Take care, Michelle.”

  When the phone reached its cradle my forehead met my desk with a thump. It wasn’t hearing about my father’s extended time in prison from a six-year bid that upset me. It was the memory of why he’d been put in prison this time and the fact that I’d hoped to assuage his loss by having him at my graduation. I’d finally done it. I was finishing college. Shouldn’t parents value that enough to cool their tempers and not get into fights that could risk them missing such a momentous event? Clearly not mine.

  It was the end of another insufferably long day. There were no fires to put out at the rec today, but I did take two meetings for extended funding that didn’t seem to work in my favor. I kept being told, “We hear your argument, Alexis. We’ll get back to you soon.” Soon? When was soon? There would be no money available after June 30th! In the meantime, I had to shuck and jive by arranging physical activity events at the rec.

  I sighed as I pushed back from my desk. Shit has to get better, I thought as I shut down my desktop and closed my office to leave. I had Lillian’s meeting this evening before class. Another long day. I caught the train over to the church. The temperature was frigid per usual in February in New York with grey slush left over from our last snow, so I was happy to have put on appropriate footwear to keep dry.

  When I turned the corner, I saw a small group of people near an orange hatchback with an open cargo in front of the entrance. As I neared the assembly, I recognized Lillian in her purple three-quarter length petite downs coat. She was being Lillian; the little lady who led the troops twice her size.

  “Hey,” I announced my arrival over her head.

  “Oh, hey, Lex!” she beamed. “You’re just in time. Paula works for BMCC and is donating pamphlets from a few of their academic programs. Grab those last two boxes and bring them up to the third floor,” she ordered before carrying a box that seemed to be as large as she was into the building.

  I situated the last two boxes in my arms; one being larger than me in width, but not unbearably heavy. The smaller one that I placed on top was heavy. The weight conflict concerned me, but it was too late. The woman, who I assumed was Paula had pulled off to park her car. I was on my own as I managed them inside, unable to see in front of me. I made it to the elevators. I maneuvered to call a car, leaning the boxes against the wall while I waited. When the door opened, I moved in and knocked my crossover bag against the corner of the wall just outside when I dipped to keep the small box from falling. Thankfully I missed that near accident by slamming the big box into the wall securing the smaller one against it.

  Shit!

  Now, inside safely, I had to push for the floor. The problem was I was in the opposite corner of the elevator from the panel. Luckily, my long arm was able to push the button. The ride up went fairly quickly—too quickly because when the door opened, without thought I shifted to leave, forgetting to sort out the heavy miniature box on top and it slid toward my face. I automatically leaned forward to reverse its direction when the strap of my crossover bag caught the end of the handrail of the car and I lost my balance.

  “Fuuuuuuuuuuck!”

  I fell to the floor with the boxes tumbling down to the sides of me. Trying to save the boxes, I didn’t think to break my fall and my face went straight into the floor. My nose stung and ears rang.

  “Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!” I cried as agonizing pain settled on my entire frontal frame.

  I lifted my head, quickly needing to recover and immediately caught a dark red-colored object in my blurred vision. I blinked successively trying to clear the gloss from my eyes. When I finally did, I recognized a shoe—two shoes—a shade of merlot just inches away from my damn nose, clearly belonging to a man—a stylish man, based on my recognition of his Ferragamos. If that wasn’t made obvious, the scent sealed the deal for me. Is that sandalwood or is it myrrh? But it wasn’t a manufactured fragrance that stirred something entirely indecent in me. There was something organic…something innate from his pores
that appealed to me on a visceral level. Something that caused my clitoris to throb.

  What the fuc—

  As my eyes crept north, I observed the quarter break of his pants giving full exposure of his shoes. My eyes ascended inches—feet up his legs until my neck had to arch to find his face. I mean, if I’m at his feet I should at least know who he is, right? My breathing turned heavy and audible en route and when my eyes met his, my lungs drew up and steeled.

  My…

  He was tall. His skin was a striking sienna, though half his face was hidden behind a thick, dark brown, silky beard connecting to a dense mustache, and his eyes matched. Bushy brows tented over his brown eyes that were outfitted by long curly lashes. I noticed them rove behind my head, assessing my laid out body on the floor before him. His nose expanded from his nostrils, widened as if he was disturbed. His lips were full lips that I could now see were definitely created for lewd acts. He bent down a few inches, almost at waist level, scrutinizing me with peculiarity.

  “I don’t believe we use that type of vernacular around here,” his voice thick and raspy with an edge of reproach.

  A tendril of fear laced with arousal crept up my spine. The realization snapped my dry mouth shut. I was immediately embarrassed by the way something deep within yielded to the melody in his chords, sensually melting over me.

  Suddenly his brows narrowed as though struck with a thought. Then he leaned down even further, grossly observing something on me…or in me.

  “That was a harsh fall.” I followed the movement of his lips, hardly registering the words coming from them. “You’re not crying—”

  “Everything all right, Pastor?” I heard over me.

  And that’s when it finally hit me: This was Pastor Carmichael’s son I’d heard speak last week at Bible study.

  “Can I help you?” the man offered now closer.

  Carmichael hardly moved, remaining inclined toward my face.

  “Pastor, is everything cool here?” the man grew alert, yet Carmichael didn’t budge.

  A faint lift of the corner of his mouth appeared. Fucker knows he’s attractive. What’s worse is he knew I was attracted to him. This needed to stop and right away, beginning with me getting on my feet. But I was too lost in his eyes and couldn’t move on my brain’s accord.

  “There you are—Oh, my god! Are you okay?” That cry I recognized as Lillian’s. I felt her little frame tugging on mine, finally prompting me into action. I got to my feet and slowly stood straight and found my balance independent of little Lillian. “What happened?” she asked unaffected by this large man in front of me, who still regarded me intently.

  Now, from a vertical view, I could properly gauge his height. He had my 5’11” frame by at least 5 inches. He was tall and thick, all of which a lanky woman could appreciate from constantly being the giant. And for fuck’s sake, could my pulse and breathing slow for just a moment!

  “We good?” the man, I could now see, leaned in and asked again with almost a whisper, emphasizing the need of an answer.

  My eyes darted over to him, curiously. Why was he so insistent on the welfare of Carmichael? He, too, neglected to help me off the floor. The man had the same sable skin as mine, fairly my height, but hugely robust. His shape oddly resembled Humpty Dumpty’s as he sported a black suit, stark white dress shirt and a long skinny black tie. I noticed his ‘browline’ frames also known as Malcolm X glasses that he pushed up his face in a manner similar to Lillian’s.

  Carmichael nodded softly yet vehemently without his piercing gaze leaving me. Then there was movement. When Lillian went to retrieve the small box I’d dropped in my clumsiness, the big guy jumped into action to lift the larger one.

  “I’ll get it, Lilly!” he almost shouted, anxiously.

  “I didn’t think you would, considering how long my friend was on the ground,” Lillian returned, obviously seething.

  “I’m sorry. I just walked up on it, too. I was trying to make sure everything was all right,” he tried to explain apologetically.

  “Thaddeus,” she tutted like her aunt, Remah, exposing her Caribbean temperament. “There’s nothing okay with a woman down on her stomach, out of breath in front of a man’s feet, clearly having fallen!” She tried for some reason, I didn’t understand right away why, to control her tone. I’d never seen her bite her tongue. Her angry eyes swept the floor when she hissed, “You’re not a bodyguard. I understand your role to Pastor—”

  “Brother,” Carmichael interrupted her, his eyes still awkwardly on me. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked me with suspicion and as though he’d inquired a first time.

  “I’m fine,” I replied tersely. “C’mon, Lillian.” I couldn’t remain another moment under his scrutiny or mesmerizing scent.

  Lillian filed into step behind me, though I had no idea where we were going. I immediately heard low rumblings behind us.

  “Hey, Lilly!” Thaddeus called after us and she turned to acknowledge him. “What are you guys doing here tonight?”

  I don’t know why I turned to face them again. It could’ve been because she’d stopped and pivoted herself. But I needed to get away from the energy Carmichael was putting off. I needed to reconcile the ache lingering from my fall against the arousal apparent in my panties to make sense of a bizarre phenomenon I’d never experienced before in my life.

  “We’re here for the first meeting of my Women Learn Now! organization. The board approved it last month. People are waiting in the Grace Room for me. It would’ve been nice to have representation from clergy to influence participation,” Lillian politely admonished.

  This chick is gangsta!

  Big Thaddeus recoiled at that. “No one told me.”

  “Hey, babe! There you are,” Miranda beamed as she entered the hall, approaching the two men. Her hand went to Thaddeus’ chest in familiarity. “You guys ready?”

  “Actually, I told Miranda,” Lillian informed, her tone still laced with sarcasm. That’s when Miranda’s head popped up and she realized we were present, just a few feet away. “But she said she wouldn’t even be in the vicinity of the church today.” Then she turned to walk off.

  Before I followed her, I caught Miranda’s head jerk toward us and her mouth drop in blatant astonishment. Just as I turned, I caught Carmichael’s heavy eyes.

  In Lillian’s meeting, there were just a few of us: a sparse six. We’d just introduced ourselves and shared our interest in being part of this grassroots effort when there was a soft knock at the door, then it opened. It was Miranda, entering with a sheepish giggle.

  “Hi, all.” She waved her hand briskly, clearly insincere as she moved toward the conference room table. “My plans got changed. I was asked to sit in on the meeting, so I’m here.”

  Her eyes landed on me and I knew in that instant she’d be sitting in the available seat next to me. Lillian welcomed her and asked her to introduce herself and state her interest in the organization. Miranda told us about her women’s etiquette project, speaking with all the pretentiousness of a princess.

  “Well, nice!” Lillian gleamed at the head of the table. “Looks like we have quite an array of services we provide out of here. Teaching women how to fold a napkin over their laps at dinner”—she referred to Miranda’s mission—“is a far cry from searching for a self-defense instructor for women at risk at our local recreation center”—she referenced my work and the recent dilemma I shared when I’d introduced myself to the group minutes ago—“but we will make this happen. I can see the need for encouraging these women to seek higher education for better paying jobs somewhere in the middle. So, let’s get started, shall we.”

  As Lillian began her PowerPoint presentation—yes, she had all her shit together for this launch—Miranda leaned into my person.

  “Hey! I didn’t catch your name out there.” She smiled politely, a smile I didn’t trust.

  “Lex,” I whispered.

  There was an expectant pause and Miranda’s face went blank.<
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  “As in the car…okay! Nice!” she continued to murmur, being rude. “Well, Pastor Carmichael asked me to apologize for the mishap out by the elevator. He sends his regrets and says he’ll be more careful moving around the building in the future.” She ended in another forged and spirited giggle.

  I didn’t respond because, for one: it was rude to continue to whisper during the presentation; and two: what she said made no sense. Carmichael had nothing to do with my fall. I’d just so happened to fall at his feet. He simply didn’t help me up, choosing instead to examine me like a lab animal. I didn’t give too much head space to it because these church people didn’t faze me. I spent the remainder of the meeting trying to concentrate on the content in between being distracted by Miranda twisting her modest-sized princess cut diamond engagement ring, gazing into it as though she was daydreaming instead of paying Lillian the proper attention. Again, pretentious.

  It was difficult for me to totally concentrate myself. As the throbbing sting of my whole frontal frame caused by the fall dwindled, an odd influx of endorphins invaded my body. It was an unusual balance of pleasure after pain and my rampant thoughts of Carmichael wouldn’t seem to abate. This physiological phenomenon struck me as…sick. I was very much aroused in public! I wished I was home where I could sort it out cognitively, at least. As Lillian was closing, I stood to leave. I hated to be disruptive, but she knew I’d skip out early for class that night. I’d received my assignment and would begin working on it in the morning.

  Class went by in a blur, and after arriving home and settling in, I attempted to settle my body’s state of randy by processing just what in the hell happened outside of that elevator. I was still very much stimulated with every sex organ in my body screaming for release. I couldn’t reconcile it, but certainly rubbed it off once in bed. All I could think about was being at Carmichael’s feet helplessly while his scent saturated with virility circulating my entire body.

  I masturbate too fucking much in my twenties…