Page 18 of Faded Rhythm

Sable

I wake up warm. A little too warm.

Something’s pressing against my back, causing heat, but it’s too heavy to be a blanket.

I open my eyes. There’s an arm looped around my waist, and that’s a chest behind me, solid and steady, rising and falling rhythmically.

My eyes roam frantically, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, confused by heavy curtains I don’t recognize that are drawn shut against the morning light. Beige walls. A suitcase tucked into the corner. For a brief moment, I can’t remember where I am.

Then I smell him and I remember.

King.

His heavy arm is tight around me like it belongs there.

I stiffen, my instincts screaming at me to pull away, to untangle myself before something happens. But it feels too good. It feels like being anchored after drifting too far out into the sea.

So I don’t move.

I let my naked body relax his. I let my breathing match his. I let myself pretend, just for a few minutes, that I’m not running for my life and hiding from a man I thought I knew.

Carefully, I reach out to the nightstand and grab my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I tap out a message to Ebony.

Tell the girls I love them

I hit send.

“You good?”

His voice—rough, low, and thick with sleep—rumbles against the back of my neck.

“Yes,” I whisper.

I shift a little, pushing back slightly against him.

Then I freeze.

He’s hard. Unmistakably. And it’s big. Thick. Mouthwatering. And pressed firmly against the back of my thigh.

My breath catches. “Sorry,” I huff, heat rising to my cheeks.

He chuckles, and the sound vibrates through me. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s just biology.”

I’m taken aback by his nonchalance, but I say nothing, and silence settles between us again.

My eyes flutter shut as I imagine all the places that thing could go.

All the pleasure it could bring. Or maybe pain.

Probably both. I’m glad he’s behind me, so he doesn’t see me bite my lip.

He can’t see my brows knit together as I picture him on top of me. He can’t tell my nipples are hard.

He breathes in deep and slow. “You didn’t move.”

But he did clock that .

I turn my head, just enough to glance at him over my shoulder. “Do you want me to?”

He doesn’t answer. Not verbally, anyway. His eyes meet mine, and something flickers in them. It’s something I can’t name, hard as I try, but whatever it is, it’s intense. I’m already wet, but his stare opens the floodgates.

Then I feel it.

His dick pulses against me.

He looks away, moves back, and stands to his feet. “We should get up,” he says. “Start the day.”

Oxygen rushes out of me. I go limp for a second, disappointment coursing through me. I don’t understand this man. I can’t make sense of him, and I wonder if I should even try. Maybe I’m a fool for ever thinking this could or should go any further.

“Yes,” I say. “Let’s start the day.”

I shimmy into my robe and sit up, closing it quickly, not that it matters. He’s already in the bathroom relieving himself. With the door open. Is that where we are? I shake my head. At least he’s washing his hands.

He showers quickly, then brushes his teeth, also with the door open.

“Thank you,” I say softly as he reenters the room. “For last night. For holding me. Keeping me safe.”

He stops in front of me and nods, staring down at me. “You really feel safe with me?”

“I do,” I say. “I don’t know why. But I do.”

He doesn’t speak, but he does come closer. He reaches out, his fingers brushing gently against the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.

“Some of your hair came out of your scarf,” he says, low and rough. He tucks it back in, but his fingertips linger on my skin a moment longer than they should. Just long enough for my body to respond again.

Then he snatches his hand away and moves toward the desk, leaving me wanting yet again.

“You want breakfast?” he asks from in front of his computer. Just like that. Like nothing happened.

I stare at the back of his head, trapped somewhere between hating him and needing him inside me.

“I’m not hungry,” I mumble.

I slide my hand under the sheets and swipe a finger across my clit. Once. Twice. Three times. I fight to keep my eyes open. I shouldn’t be doing this, especially with him sitting five feet away. But I can’t help it.

I stifle a moan.

If he were to turn around right now…

I pull my hand away and stand, stomping off to the bathroom to start my fucking day.

Alejandro smiles as soon as the Facetime call connects.

I give him a tired smile back. He looks exactly the same. A little older, of course, with creases around the eyes and some gray in his hair, but he’s still The Texican. Still handsome with the deep brown skin of his beautiful black mother and the sleek, jet black curls from his Mexican father.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” he says with a grin. “How long has it been, baby girl?”

“I don’t know. Daddy’s funeral, maybe?”

His face falls. “Too long.”

“Yeah.” In my peripheral, I see King staring at his phone. “I need to ask you some questions,” I say.

Alejandro smiles again. “First things first. How’s your mama doing?”

“She’s good,” I say, my smile returning. “You know Mila. Always doing her.”

“Always,” he says with a chuckle. “Aye, you still married to that little bitch? I always thought you were too pretty for him.”

“Wow,” I say. “What’s that about?”

He shrugs. “He always struck me as…I don’t know. Thirsty, I guess. Like he needed people to know he was Dime’s son. Wanted that shit on a billboard. Always chasing clout instead of building something for himself.”

I’m not sure how to feel about that given the fact that Brett also chased me. What did that say about me? Did it say anything at all?

“I called to ask you about Redd,” I say softly.

His face shifts. The amusement dissipates. “Damn. I kinda figured.”

“Was y’all’s beef really that serious?”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze shifting downward. “Sable…there wasn’t any beef between us.”

I blink. “What do you mean?”

He looks up at the screen again. “The labels cooked it up. They wanted a dirty south version of East Coast-West Coast. Biggie and Pac, which is fucked up when you think about it, cuz they knew exactly how that ended.”

I sit up straighter, puzzling through it. “But you and Redd—“

“We were cool,” he cuts in. “The fans ate that shit up, but me and Redd, we hated it. Last time we talked, we were planning to meet up. We were gonna present an idea to the labels. A truce song, or maybe even an EP.”

He pauses. His voice is softer when he speaks again. “I was gonna come to the funeral,” he says. “But Keisha begged me not to. She had just had Gabby a few weeks before. She thought they’d kill me down there.”

My chest tightens. “She was probably right.”

He shakes his head.

“I know the police said it was gang related, but what do you think?”

“I wish I knew. If I had any ideas, I’d tell you.” He pauses to take a breath. “Shit, the only thing I know about anything down there is that Redd was thinking about leaving Black Lace.”

“Wait, what?”

“He told me if we did end up dropping something together, it would have to be on my label. He said he didn’t trust them anymore. Something felt off.”

My pulse quickens. My thoughts are racing faster than I can hear them.

“I always hated that people thought I had something to do with it,” he adds. “Especially his family. His kids growing up thinking—“

“Wait, what?” I peer into the screen, my eyes narrowing. “Kids?”

Alejandro nods. “Yeah. Far as I knew, he had two. I never got a chance to meet them, but I definitely remember him talking about ‘em.”

“No,” I say. “He only had one. A son. He died a few years ago.”

Alejandro looks as confused as I feel.

Behind me, I hear King pacing back and forth, but I’m too deep in thought to think about him right now.

“What else you wanna know, baby girl?”

Behind me, King stops pacing.

“That’s all I can think of.”

“Was I helpful?”

I give him another smile. I can’t help it. “You were. Take care of yourself, Al.”

“You too, my love. Stay in touch.”

When the call ends, I stare at the blank screen for a while. My thoughts spin like a cyclone trapped in a glass bottle, circling, building, but going nowhere.

King’s watching me. He looks tense when I turn to face him.

“What?” I ask, my voice unsteady.

He crosses his arms in front of him. “Why does he call you baby girl?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Has he ever…”

“What? No! Why would you even—no. He’s old enough to be my father.”

King stares blankly. “When has that ever stopped men from doing what they do?”

“Fair enough. But, no.” I pause, my mouth twitching as a smile threatens to cross it. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” He blows out a sigh. “Look, I have some bad news.”

My stomach drops. I gulp down a mouthful of air as I move to stand, stopping short when King thrusts his phone into my line of sight.

A text.

Nobody’s at my house! What the fuck is going on?

I look up, my eyes wide. “He knows.”

“Yes,” he says quietly, but I don’t wait to hear what comes next.

A wave of cold panic floods through me as I run toward the door, slipping my feet into my slides on the way. I stumble a bit, but not enough to slow me down. Whatever safety I thought I had evaporates like fog. I have to get to the girls before he does.

But before I can open the door, King’s arms are around me and I realize I’m not going anywhere.