Page 15 of Faded Rhythm

King

Sable sits cross-legged on the bed, a slice of greasy pepperoni pizza folded in half in her hand. Her lipstick is faded now, her hair in slight disarray, but she somehow looks more human this way. And just as beautiful.

“I guess my appetite came back,” she says between bites, licking the tomato sauce off her thumb.

I’m still at the desk waiting on AJ to get back to me on the encrypted files. I watch her, relieved to see that she could eat. That means her body calmed down enough to let her digest something. That’s a good sign. Fear and trauma have a way of disrupting even the most basic human functions.

I toggle back over to the tab with Brett’s flight info. “He’s still in Memphis, by the way.”

She looks up.

“He’s not flying back to Atlanta until tomorrow afternoon.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “He probably stayed an extra day to celebrate my ‘death’. He’s probably popping bottles as we speak.”

I know something else he’s done today—wire transferred fifty-thousand racks to my account—but I don’t mention that. Instead, I lean back and ask something I still can’t figure out.

“Why doesn’t he care about how his daughters are doing?”

That earns me a look. She stops chewing as something flickers across her face.

Guilt, maybe. A memory? It’s hard to tell.

Then she swallows hard and shrugs. “He’s never really been a hands-on father,” she says.

“He’s always been there, but not necessarily present.

He plays the family man when people are watching, but emotionally… there’s nothing there.”

She wipes her hands on a napkin and picks up her phone. I recognize the shift in her posture…relaxed shoulders, slight head tilt, the beginnings of a smile. She’s calling the girls.

I watch her as she talks to them, her tone syrupy sweet, her energy maternal in a way I’ve never seen up close.

She’s nurturing. Gentle. She asks if they brushed their teeth, if they ate dinner, if they had a good day with their auntie.

She tells them she’s proud of them. She misses them.

I don’t think she even realizes how beautiful it is, how much life there is in her voice when she talks to her babies.

I try not to think about what it might have felt like to have people speak life into me, rather than death. To have a mother who noticed things, cared about how my day was, who gave a fuck about whether or not my belly was full.

I never let myself dwell on that. If you’re not careful, your past can become a cage where you run around in circles and still get nowhere.

But I have to admit, sitting here in this hotel room listening to her tuck love into every syllable makes something twist in my gut.

If I’d had somebody in my life like her, would I have still become what I am?

No.

But it doesn’t matter. I did become this, and there’s no way to undo it.

She ends the call, then walks over to me with a slice of pizza in her hand.

Her eyes are a little glassy, maybe because she’s missing her girls.

She holds it out, offering me a bite. Without thinking, I open my mouth and let her feed me.

Our eyes lock while I chew, and I barely taste the pizza with her fingers so close to my lips, her scent invading my space. It’s overwhelming.

And it’s obvious.

She wants to fuck me. I see it in her eyes. She’d give anything for me to take her over to the bed and make her forget her own name.

She’s not alone in that. I’m ready. I’m willing.

But I refuse.

I won’t allow myself to be compromised again.

I look away before I say something I’ll regret. Before I touch her in a way I can’t take back. Because once I cross that line, it’s the beginning of the end.

We pull up to her house just as the sun dips below the horizon. The subdivision is still and quiet. I drove around four times and noticed no strange cars or lights where they shouldn’t be. The watcher from last night is long gone.

For now.

We go inside and head straight for Brett’s office. Sable’s steps are hesitant. Her back is rigid. I know she hates being back here, but it can’t be helped.

She swallows her fear and rifles through drawers and shelves and cabinets. Nothing useful. Then she moves her hand to a smaller drawer on the bottom of the desk and frowns.

“This one’s locked,” she says. “Do you think you can get it open?”

I kneel in front of the drawer and pull a thin metal tool from my back pocket.

The lock clicks open in less than ten seconds.

“My hero,” she says with a tired smile.

I don’t respond, but something about the way she said it made my body warm. I don’t know what to do with that feeling, so I bury it deep and move aside to let her look.

She pulls out three USB drives and hands them to me. I slip them into my pocket and wait.

Once she’s satisfied she left no stone unturned, she stands up straight.

“I need to grab a few more things before we go,” she says, and I follow her out.

It’s instinct now, me being her shadow. She hands me a Louis Vuitton duffle bag to hold while she moves around the room, tossing in clothes and toiletries.

A pair of black lace panties sails through the air and misses the bag by a few inches, landing on the floor near my feet.

I bend and pick them up.

They feel like silk in my hand. Almost weightless.

As hard as I try, I can’t stop myself from picturing them on her, wrapped around her hips, lying flush against her skin.

My fingers curl around the lace as I envision slipping them down her thighs.

A slow heat builds in my stomach. My blood rushes through my veins.

My groin feels tight. Now, I see her wearing them again, and this time, I don’t bother to slip them off.

Instead, I imagine myself sliding them to the side.

I see her shiver in anticipation as she parts her thighs for me, hear her moaning softly as I give her what she wants.

I see her back arch, her nipples coming dangerously close to my mouth.

The images play in my mind with disturbing clarity. I can practically taste her.

Yeah. That’s the one. I keep my mind on that scene. My tongue flicking back and forth. My fingers sliding in and out. Her thighs, tight around my head, her fingernails scratching my scalp. I hear her again, whispering my name like a prayer.

I blink, swallow, and drop the panties into the bag, forcing my face back to neutral. I can’t do shit about my pulse, but I hide my erection behind the bag.

I need to get my head back in the game. This is serious.

We head back to the car. The minute I shut her door, I see relief flicker across her face.

On the drive back to the hotel, she calls Ebony. I tap the steering wheel as the call rings, listening.

“Hey,” Sable greets. “Did Brett call you?”

“He texted me,” Ebony said. “He said something came up and asked me if I could pick up the girls from the house.”

Sable shakes her head. “Wow. Okay. Well, that works out, actually. Thank you, Eb. I’ll explain everything, I promise.”

“Good, because I have questions. Apparently, the girls can’t wait to see their cousin King again. That would be question one.”

Sable glanced at me. “I’ll explain when I see you.”

“Okay, but they seemed real excited about him. Said he made them pancakes and everything.”

The corners of my mouth twitch as I process those words.

“Eb…just…take care of my babies. Please.”

“Of course.” Ebony paused, wanting to say more, it was clear. But all she said was, “I love you. Be careful.”

“Love you, too.”

She ends the call and blows out a loud sigh. “Great. Now my sister thinks I’m cheating on my husband.”

I don’t respond to that. Cheating on that vile motherfucker wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“And I can’t believe Brett. He basically sent my sister to a crime scene. He knew what she was driving into, King. He wanted to hurt her.”

I glance over. “Why would he do that?”

She scoffs. “He never liked my sister. He didn’t like anybody in my family, really. Except my mother.”

I nod. Mila Lovelace. I’ve seen her pictures. Gorgeous woman. Face like an angel, body like sin. She’s Sable, twenty years into the future.

“My mom was always really sweet with the Graves family. With everybody, really. She loved the music industry lifestyle.”

There’s a note in her voice I can’t quite identify. Bitterness, maybe.

“My parents are eleven years apart. Just like me and Brett. Crazy, right?”

I frown. “How old was she when they got married?”

“Nineteen.”

I push out a low whistle.

“I know,” she says, embarrassed. “The music industry is…you know how it is.”

I nod again, filing that away. “When we get back to the room, call her. See what she knows about Brett. She might have something we can use.”

I glance over at her again, my mind drifting back to the hotel. The kiss she pressed against my cheek. The way it had me shook.

It’s been years since anybody touched me with any measure of tenderness.

The last time was in the village, but I shove that memory down as quick as it came. It has no place here.

I still feel the warmth of Sable’s lips on my cheek, lingering like a brand I can’t wash off.

Not that I want to.