Prologue #8
Sexuality, in my opinion, was far too critical and sensitive of a subject.
I didn’t give a damn who the people I loved were fucking or sucking unless they were detrimental to their health or our family’s wealth.
Beyond those parameters, I hoped they got the ceilings sucked out of their pussies every chance they got by whoever they chose.
Solitude quieted my thoughts. I stripped down to the body that God had given me. My feet glided into the slippers near the bed. I stalked the suite’s floor until I reached the bathroom. My things lined the shower. A smile rearranged the features of my face.
My nipples hardened as the bathroom’s coolness rested on my skin. Painfully, they stretched, protruding without apologies. I pressed them against the glass as I reached over and twirled the gold knob.
“Mmmm.”
Water poured from the showerhead. The pleasurable pain I was suffering from subsided as heat began to warm the space around me. I straightened my spine and spun around, facing the mirror.
As it began to cloud from the steam, I peered at my reflection.
My hands pulled together, palms covering my breasts.
I tilted my head, admiring all the wonderful parts of me.
My pussy was bald. My thighs expanded slightly.
My frame was thin. And lean. And long. My belly button was just that.
A button. It was neither protruding or sunken. It was circular. Perfectly round.
Rhea and Richie had paired well. I was a combination of them both, but I was my father’s daughter. To my core, I was Richard Childers. I bled his blood. Thought his thoughts. Said his words. Took his lessons to heart. Strategized as he had taught me. And, kept my head on straight as he’d required.
I pulled my bottom lip into my mouth as my emotions surrounded me. Deeply, I drew in a breath. And, slowly, I released it. A smile pulled at my lips as I shook away the heaviness creeping into my spirit.
“There’s no time, baby. There’s shit to handle.”
I snatched the silk hair dressing from the counter and slid it on my head, sure not to destroy whatever the full face covering hadn’t.
“Hey, Ria.”
The small, round ball on the bathroom counter lit up a golden brown.
“Yes, Miss Raines?”
Chuckling at the alias I’d used when booking the room with Derrick’s hard-earned cash.
“I’d like to hear soft Jazz by Black musicians like Louis and Miles and Duke and Ella.”
“Black Jazz now playing.”
“Thank you,” I whispered as I stepped into the warm shower.
I emerged from the stairwell with the black leather bag on my forearm. The thought of the elevator’s doors closing on me for the twentieth time today was repulsive. I couldn’t bear it.
“Besides,” I reasoned, “I needed the steps.”
My heels collided with the floor beneath me. My chocolate-colored dress swayed with each step I took. The door of The Balgaria was so near but felt so far away. And, frankly, I wasn’t ready to end my night in the bed, under the covers.
The night was still so young. I’d collected all of the infinity stones and had Derrick by the balls, quite literally. A celebratory drink sounded so much better than the wine waiting for me at home.
I’ll still have it though. I chuckled as the thought crossed my mind.
There wasn’t a day on earth I’d turn down a cool glass of wine. It was my energy source. It fueled my thoughts and my ability to handle any fucking thing on my plate.
Anything.
I ambled toward the front desk. The line for check-in was lengthy. I bypassed those waiting, taking the first available receptionist.
“Excuse m–”
As the words of the impatient fella spilled from his lips, I turned on my heels. With a penetrating gaze, I encouraged him to continue whatever it was he was about to say. Knowing what was best for him, he quieted.
“Good evening,” I greeted the receptionist, placing my bag on the counter.
“Good evening, ma’am. How can I help you?”
“A girl can’t quite explore this beautiful building with luggage weighing her down. I thought maybe you could hold it for me until I’m ready to depart.”
“Sure. The name?”
I didn’t have one to give. By the time the question had rolled off her tongue, I was near the entrance of Bar Balgaria.
My feet halted at the entrance. Nearly every seat in the house was filled. Because the owner of the hotel was a friend of the family, it brought me great joy to know his establishment was still thriving.
“Welcome to Bar Balgaria. How many tonight?”
I was whisked from my thoughts and brought back into the moment by the lovely host waiting to seat guests.
She smelled divine. I turned in her direction, finding a petite, brown-skinned beauty with a sleek bun to the back.
I clenched my walls and swallowed back the adoration quickly building in my system for the stranger.
Hmph.
“Just me.”
“Alone, huh?” She asked, “Anywhere in particular you’d like to sit?”
“Never alone,” I clarified, knowing there were eyes on me. There were always eyes on me. “And, save your menus. I’m going to have a seat at the bar.”
She shoved the menus back into the pocket of the podium she was standing in front of.
“Enjoy your evening.”
“You do the same.”
The path was paved for me. Not literally, but figuratively. Bodies moved aside to accommodate my presence. My journey to the bar was seamless, uninterrupted, and quite the breeze.
“Thank you.”
I sat in the chair that had been pulled out for me.
“My pleasure,” responded the nice gentleman who’d just paid his tab and was on his way out of the door. “Hey, Justin.”
“Yeah?” The bartender looked up at him as he typed numbers into the computer.
“Open that tab back up for me. Give this pretty lady anything her heart desires for the night.”
“Sure thing, man.”
“Appreciate you,” the hotel guest called over his shoulder.
I didn’t bother wasting my time telling him he didn’t have to reopen his tab for me, because he understood his role well. He was a provider, a man. And, I was a receiver, a woman. There was no need to complicate things, not even with a stranger.
“What can I get for you?”
“A bottle of your finest champagne.”
Justin’s eyes bulged. My shoulders lifted and fell.
“You heard the man. Get me whatever my heart desires.”
He nodded, chuckling. “That’ll be seventy-eight hundred dollars, ma’am.”
“He looks like he has it to spare.”
Justin said nothing more. He placed his hands in the air, surrendering.
Smart man.
I surveyed the area, taking note of everyone and everything. Bar Balgaria was no hole in the wall. Neither was it a sunken place. It was lively and vibrant, full of life and full of wealth.
Connections.
Money.
Drugs.
Illegal activity.
Bosses.
CEOs.
Leaders.
Lenders.
All in disguise. Their thousand dollar suites concealed their true identities. While eighty percent of the guests were legal, tax paying citizens, the other twenty were deep in the dirt.
Sparkles began to pop behind the bar. Fire danced on the sticks in the bartenders’ hands.
A gold bucket of ice holding a gold bottle headed in my direction.
Justin’s eyes found mine. I placed a hand near my neck and swiped it across my throat.
Mid-stride, he halted, forcing everyone behind him to do the same.
I wasn’t interested in a light show. In fact, I wasn’t interested in lights, at all. Being seen was hardly ever my mission. I only desired to be felt, experienced, and remembered.
Quietly and now alone, Justin set the bucket on the bar and removed the bottle of champagne. He placed a champagne flute in front of me and cocked his head leftward with a smile.
“Little Miss Simplistic.”
“Nothing about me is simplistic, Justin. Enough eyes are on me, already.”
“All the eyes are on you, and I don’t blame them. You sparkle alone.”
“Mm hm.”
Pop.
Bubbles slid down Justin’s hand as he lifted the glass.
Clink.
The bottle and flute kissed. I was poured a generous amount before he retreated. I pulled the champagne toward my nose and inhaled. Small bubbles popped against my skin.
“You know,” I began, still admiring the aroma of my drink, “You should be more careful. I’ve found the same set of eyes on you since I arrived.”
Curiously, the hooded man with the glass of brown glued to his fingertips turned his head from one side to the other. As his features became more visible, I was reminded of his radiance. The darkness he possessed was consuming.
A shrug lifted his shoulders as he lifted his drink up to his mouth. Words wouldn’t wash ashore. He didn’t have any. His type hardly did. They were so guarded. So reserved. Cautious. Observant. Always in their head.
But, he was intoxicated.
Senses slightly disabled or possibly delayed. Either way, he wasn’t the man whose car I’d sped off into the night in hours ago. He was merely a shell of him. The night wasn’t kind to him. From the snigger that left his lips as he shook his head, I could sense the bitterness.
Disappointment.
The vulnerability.
“You’ve had too much to drink,” I acknowledged, sipping from my glass.
A heavy sigh pushed from his body.
“Or not enough,” he tittered.
The hair on my arms lifted, standing straight up at the sound of his voice. I lost the silent battle inside my head. Involuntarily, I twisted my neck, finding him hunched over the bar.
Defeated.
Drunken.
And, handsome.
No words were exchanged as our eyes met. His through a pair of dark shades. Mine through a lustful haze.
God doesn’t make them like him anymore.
I guzzled the champagne in my flute and reached for the bottle. The fizzing liquid filled my glass again.
“I’m no cop,” he revealed, facing forward.
Losing his gaze felt too much like torture to admit. Still, I retrieved my pride and did the same.
“That’s usually the first thing a cop says.”
I bit the inside of my bottom lip, unsure how to feel about the displacement of my emotions.
Time to go home, Royce.