Chapter Thirty-Three
Dancing in the Dark
Menace
The sight of her riding me backwards was worth breaking out of jail over. Especially when she leaned forward, and it all spread open like some kind of million-dollar masterpiece. I groaned and despite my resolve to let her handle things, I started to thrust into her. While she grabbed my lower legs, I gripped her ass.
I spread it and locked my thumb over her pucker. I felt her shiver on top of me and tense, so I didn’t intrude. I did, however, massage it until she was pressing back against my thumb while she came. The feel of her tight pussy gripping and demanding was enough to take me with her.
I lay there spent, massaging her ass with both hands and occasionally swatting it lightly. She rolled it at me and my soul went into convulsions.
“Damn it,” I clutched her ass.
“You sure do like ass,” she observed.
“Mhm.” I stressed the sound.
“I should have known. Jailbird.”
I snorted and firmly slapped her ass, causing her to lurch and me to gasp again.
“What? You admitted to it!”
“I liked ass long before I was ever shown a jail cell, thank you.” I laughed, hauling her off me even if it killed me to do so.
I cuddled with her for a few minutes and then went upstairs to get a washrag. Octavia was sleeping on the sofa, and I could hear Rumi’s distant snores from upstairs.
We drifted a few hours in each other's arms and awoke to the scent of something sweet.
“What is that?” Sammy mused, her belly growling.
“I don’t know, but I’m definitely going to investigate.”
Sammy nodded and waved me away.
“Come on, you’re starving.”
“I’ll be there.” She yawned. “Takes me a second to fully wake up.”
Rumi was standing in front of the kitchen counter operating a waffle press. She had a big plate of already cooked ones gathering beside her workspace.
“Morning,” I greeted.
She carefully plucked a Belgium-sized waffle off the thing before flashing me a smile.
“Are you guys hungry?”
“Starving.” I didn’t bother denying.
“I have some with blueberries, some without.”
“Wow.” Sammy sounded impressed as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and glanced toward the sofa. “Where is your mom?”
“Shower,” she chirped. “Mom made the juice; I made the waffles.”
“Nice.” Sam sleepily chimed, settling next to me at the table.
Her eyes were still low, and her hair was in a messy bun. I winked at her and she grunted, twitching the corners of her mouth up.
“I thought marines were used to being up at the ass-crack of dawn?” I teased.
She raised a finger and kept her hand that way while she shot me a salute.
“You were a marine?” Rumi asked, peeking over her shoulder.
“She sure was,” I answered for Sam, when she seemed uncomfortable all of a sudden.
I tried to brag about her skills, rather than focus on the career itself. “She bested me in a boxing match. She’s a helluva fighter, and you should see how fast she moves in an emergency.”
“I did,” Rumi giggled, picking up the stack of waffles.
She set it on the table and fetched a pitcher of fresh juice from the refrigerator.
“All done?” Octavia asked, as she emerged from the bathroom, toweling her hair.
“You’re just in time.” Rumi waved her over.
“What time does your bus come?” I asked, once we finished, and Octavia got up to brush her hair.
“I’m not taking the bus today. Aunt Aug’s coming.”
“What?” I shot a wild look toward the bathroom, but Octavia didn’t emerge and offer any explanation.
Rumi nodded, “She has to take mommy to chemotherapy. They go every Wednesday.”
“That's nice of her. Is she your mother’s older or younger sister?” Sammy spoke up, when my face fell.
“She’s my mom’s best friend. They’re not really related, I’ve just always called her Aunt Auggie,” Rumi chattered, thankfully not seeming to notice my hitch of expression.
Octavia emerged from the bathroom and went upstairs after mumbling under her breath about shoes for a few minutes.
“Be right back.” I winked at Rumi, gave her shoulder a squeeze and hauled ass upstairs.
I couldn’t help it. I’d meant to wait until Rumi was at school or something to have this conversation, but hell. It was one thing to not tell a kid something, a whole other matter to lie to her directly and put on a charade. She was a young lady, not a toddler, for fuck’s sake. She deserved to mentally prepare herself, to be able to fucking say goodbye!
My eyes were stinging with tears by the time I hit her bedroom door. I knocked on it even as I was opening the damn thing.
“Hey– wh–?” Octavia shut up when she saw my face.
“This is bullshit.” I whispered, my hand shaking as I brought a finger out to stab at her. “Chemotherapy with Aunt Auggie?”
Her eyes widened, for a fraction of a second she looked scared, then her face skewed with anger.
“Fuck you,” she hissed back at me, those eyes turning into dark-jeweled daggers. “You don’t get to come into my house, begging for cover, dropping bodies and bringing— What is she—? Your ol’ lady, or your pinche cautiva? How dare you bring this shit to me, to my daughter!”
I knew what that pinche meant, I’d heard her say that a great many times. As to the other word– I got the feeling it wasn’t nice. I tried to let it roll off me, but then she shoved me. I stepped back, thinking she wanted to go through, but instead of passing, she shoved me again.
“Fuck you!” Her fierceness cracked, and so did her tone. “Fuck you for leaving us, Menace.”
I didn’t know words could gut a person, but it felt like she physically punched me in the stomach. My mouth got all watery like I might even vomit for a minute.
I hadn’t left them. They were never mine!
I didn’t know what the fuck to say to make her comprehend that except, “You talk a lot of shit. For someone who don’t want dreams sold– You sure sold ‘em to Henny when he came home didn’t you?”
I knew she’d kept that dirty secret just as tightly as I had. Henny wouldn’t give a fuck what the reason was. She was his baby momma. Everybody knew how that shit went.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” she scoffed, stepping into my space.
I braced myself for a third shove and smiled, “You know what I’m talking about. Act like you told him. You sell as many dreams as I do, woman. Regardless of the reason, we fuckin’ sell ‘em. Don’t we?”
Her hand was as fast as lightning and it landed with a crack that sounded like it, too. Pain splintered across my cheek, and I set my jaw against the urge to throttle her.
“Pendejo, I did tell your brother. I told him years ago.”
She stormed out of the room, leaving me crippled behind her.
Henny knew?
For years he knew I fucked his baby momma; that I lived with her and his daughter as a family while he was in prison and my niece too young to recall?
How long had my brother been looking at me as the world’s biggest traitor? How the fuck had he not killed me?