Chapter 4 #2
I just sat there, leaning back against my seat.
I let her do her thing as I took another sip of my drink.
She squeezed right into my space, nuzzling her face right against open lap.
She was bound to wake my smaller head up.
I just hope she wasn’t the type to be scared of some dick after asking for it.
I ain’t been fucking around, but a one off might help my nerves.
I smirked, looking down at the moving fabric as she confidently pulled back my zipper and pressed her lips right against my boxer briefs.
I was enjoying the view and anticipating her next move.
Until the crazy bitch bit me.
My grin vanished as I slapped her forehead.
Smack!
"Ow!" she yelped, echoing out from under the booth.
Heads turned, and the attention of the nearby section snapped directly onto my face. I cut my eyes around the room, giving the surrounding tables a warning glare that had half of 'em looking down at their plates real quick.
"Mind ya' fuckin’ table," I snapped at 'em, annoyed by the audience. "Nosey people, mane."
I cleared my throat and reached down, lifting the heavy white tablecloth just enough to peek at her. She was sitting on her knees with the nerve to look shocked.
I stared down at her. "Did you just bite me? The fuck wrong wit’ you?"
I let the tablecloth drop back down, and adjusted my zipper.
"I gotta pee," I mumbled, leaving her crazy ass hiding under the table.
Big Bane ain’t really like women who came on that damn strong anyway. Or maybe I just wasn't in the mood to fuck a woman who didn't mean a thing to me.
I stepped into the bathroom stall, pulling my phone out. That phantom itch on my ring finger was buzzing like a live wire, and my intuition was screaming at me.
Something was wrong. I could feel it.
My thumb bypassed my messages. I headed straight to the private tracking portal. My eyes locked onto the Benz, the one I’d built and gifted to Lauren years ago. I never could bring myself to delete her VIN from my system. If the world ever went crazy, I needed to know she was safe.
I tapped the locator link. The map buffered for a split second before the satellite grid loaded, and my jaw tightened. The little blue dot was moving way too fast. She was tearing down the interstate, crossing state lines, and heading dead south.
I pulled up the live telemetry data. The digital speedometer read 108 MPH.
“Oh, she was flying.”
I instantly opened our thread and my thumbs flew across the glass.
B.B.: Are you OK?
Before the message could even register as delivered, the screen flipped. The phone began to rattle heavily against my palm.
Incoming Call: L.
My heart stopped. I had wondered what it would feel like to see her name on my screen again. I had prepared myself for every scenario, every conversation, but nothing could have braced me for the sound that came through the speaker when I slid the bar to answer.
I didn't even get her name out before a sound tore through the line that froze the blood in my veins.
It was a breathless, hyperventilating choke. Lauren was sobbing so hard she couldn't even catch her wind to speak, sounding completely broken into pieces.
The bathroom completely faded out. My jaw locked until the bone popped. The old, ugly reflexes I’d spent a decade trying to bury snapped right back to the surface.
"Laurie," I said. "Talk to me right now. Who the fuck hurt my wife?"
Lauren
The tears were coming down, and I hated it. I was completely out of character, and I hated that for me.
Muscle memory is a real bitch, because I hadn't even realized my thumb swiped across the glass. I hadn't meant to call him. I didn't even realize the line was open until that deep voice boomed through the speaker.
"Lauren. Who the fuck hurt my wife?"
I froze, the sob catching in my throat. The tears were still rolling, but the hysterics stopped right then and there. I just stared down at that ticking call timer as my heart beat fast as hell.
“Can you hear me?”
Ten years later, and this man still sounded like he could rearrange something in me just by opening his mouth. His voice had dropped into a full deep bass that I felt more than heard. He still had that accent sitting underneath everything he said, rolling off his vowels.
The dead air on the line suddenly felt thick enough to choke on.
"Laurie." His voice dropped lower, losing his patience.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to steady my hand as I finally picked up the phone and brought it to my ear.
"Bane," I whispered, hating how cracked my voice sounded. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to call you."
"Fuck all that. You crying?”
“No.” I needed to calm him down before he went off. “I’m not crying.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Nothing.”
“You lie to me?”
“No.”
“You lying to me now?” Bane snapped instantly. "Why you crying like that? Huh? Talk to me."
I got quiet, trying to wipe my tears.
"Babygirl," he said. The way my name rolled off his tongue made my body calm down. I even started to breathe. "Who the fuck hurt you?"
"Nobody," I muttered, trying to force my feelings back down. "I'm fine, Bane. Seriously."
"Don't play in my face, Lauren," he cut in. "Who the fuck is it?"
"Bane, it was an accident. I didn't mean to call—"
"I don't give a fuck if it was an accident," he snapped. "It’s fucking up my head real bad. Tell me what happened before I come find you myself."
He didn't even leave me room to lie. My defenses completely crumbled.
"It's Malcolm," I spat out as the image of that leather styling chair flashed behind my eyelids. "I went to surprise him. The nasty nigga was playing in my face with some bitch right, but I’ll be fine."
There was a sharp intake of breath on his end, followed by the distant sound of a car door slamming. "Those tears are for a nigga?" Bane growled. "A basic nigga is the whole reason you are crying like this?"
I rolled my eyes. Big Bane wasn’t ever good for me, but he always did something to me.
But, I couldn't do this. I couldn't explain the wreckage of my love life to my husband. "I have to go, Bane."
"Nah. You ain’t gotta go nowhere," he said. "But you know what you can do? You can come home."
I pulled the phone away from my ear for a fraction of a second, staring at the screen.
I snapped it back to my ear. "What?"
"You heard me," Bane said, and I could hear the rustle of his clothes as he moved. "I’ll be up there tomorrow.”
"Bane, are you insane? I work tomorrow," I stuttered.
"Fuck that job," he said.
"I don't know who the hell you think you’re talking to right now, Bane, but you cannot just—"
"I can do what I damn well please when it comes to MY WIFE," he cut me off.
"Would you stop calling me that? I am not your—"
Before I could even finish the sentence, the line went dead.
“Oop. Hello? Bane? Hello?”
He hung up on me.
I stared at the black screen. The possessive audacity of that man hadn't changed an inch. If anything, the years had only made him worse.
I let out a shaky breath, finally looking up through the windshield, and my entire body locked up.
I was flying down the highway. The speedometer on my dash was glowing with a terrifying 108 MPH, and the green overhead highway signs flashing past weren't for Baltimore anymore. I’d completely bypassed my condo exits miles ago.
The navigation map was tracking my little blue dot tearing straight down I-95 South, heading dead toward the state line.
I let out a breathless sigh. I was back here arguing about my morning shift at the private practice, but my subconscious had taken the wheel the second I left that alley, running straight back home. Slowing down, I took the next exit to catch my breath.
“Lord, please don’t let him find me.”