Chapter 2
Big Bane
The hot water was slamming against the slate tile, turning the whole bathroom into a wall of white steam.
I could see Lauren’s silhouette through the frosted glass, standing right under the shower head with the water running down her back.
I stood by the sink for a second watching her, before I stepped inside the enclosure.
The heat hit my chest immediately, but I didn't pay attention to it.
I stepped right into the stream with her, letting the water drench my tattoos as I wrapped my arms around her waist.
She let out a gasp when my hands hit her wet stomach. When I leaned down to bite her shoulder, she tried to shift away and put her hands over her head. She started complaining about her hair getting messed up and her edges getting ruined by the steam, but I wasn't trying to hear any of that.
Once she calmed down, I turned the dial to cool the water down a little bit.
I grabbed the bar of soap, worked up a good lather in my hands, and started washing her down.
I took my time smoothing the soap over her hips and down her legs, rinsing her off and kissing the back of her neck while she stood there quiet and compliant.
When we stepped out and dried off, she was still moving in a daze.
She stood inside the master closet just staring blankly at her racks of clothes.
I leaned against the doorframe watching her bare silhouette, fighting the heavy urge to just throw her right back on the bed and do it all over again.
My jaw ticked because I knew if I put my hands on her, we wouldn't leave the house.
I went and got her bags from the entryway and placed them in front of her.
"Let’s get ready. You definitely need some real food in your system."
I picked out a chill outfit for her since I already knew where we were going tonight.
We were skipping the uptown spots and heading straight to a low-key joint in the city for some real flats and a few cold beers.
She always tried to act like sitting back with a beer wasn't sophisticated enough for a lady like her, but Lauren secretly loved beer and wings paired together.
I tilted her chin up with two fingers and held her face still, focused on the job at hand while she squirmed underneath my grip.
“I’m trying to get to the root,” I explained. “Could you hold still for a second ?”
She rolled her eyes up at me. “I can do it myself.”
“You’ve been picking at your chin and ain’t got it yet.” I tilted her face toward the light coming off the bathroom mirror. I found the hair I was after, and pulled it clean from the root.
She winced and grabbed my wrist. “Ow.”
“It’s done.” I checked her chin for any others, found one more, and took care of that too before she could brace herself for it. “You know your PCOS is gonna keep doing this if you keep eating the wrong things and stressing yourself out.”
“I know, Bane.”
“I’m just saying.” I held her face a second longer than I needed to, just looking at her, and then leaned down and kissed her forehead.
I let her go and she went back to the mirror, checking her own work in the reflection like she didn’t trust that I had actually finished the job.
“No fried foods tonight,” I said, already heading toward the dresser. “Last thing you need is a bunch of bumps coming up on that pretty face.”
She gasped and turned straight to the mirror, tilting her chin up. “I don’t have any bumps.”
“Not yet.” I pulled a clean tee out. “I’m just letting you know ahead of time.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m being proactive.” I grabbed my jean shorts and laid them out next to my shoes.
I saw her pouting in the mirror, rolling her eyes. “Fine, you can have a little something. Don’t overdo it though.”
She mumbled something under her breath that I didn’t catch.
“You said something?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Mhmm… finish getting ready,” I said, pulling my shirt over my head. “We got somewhere to be.”
She stayed in the bathroom with the door cracked, working her hair up into a bun, taking her time, fixing and re-fixing until it sat exactly where she wanted it, which meant I had at least ten minutes.
I picked up my phone off the nightstand and went to the quiet end of the house.
The back sitting room was dark except for the porch light coming through the window. I settled into the chair and pulled up the number I had saved some nights ago, going through everything on Lauren’s phone with a bowl of organic popcorn and entirely too much free time.
Malcolm’s mother.
Her name was Denise, and she had called Lauren’s phone twice in the last week, which told me she was involved in her son’s life in a hands-on way. Which meant she was exactly the right person to have this conversation with.
I pressed call and listened to it ring.
She picked up on the third ring with the warm, unsuspecting energy of a woman who had no idea what was about to happen to her evening.
“Hello?”
“Good evening, Ms. Denise.” I kept my voice calm. “My name is Bane. I apologize for calling at this hour, but I have something important I need to discuss with you regarding your son.”
A pause. “Who is this? How did you get this number?”
“I got it the same way I got everything else.”
The silence on the other end was long and specific.
“I’m sorry, who did you say you were?”
“Bane.” I let that land before continuing.
“Now I want to be clear with you, Ms. Denise, because I have a feeling you’re a reasonable woman and I’d like to have a reasonable conversation.
I’m not calling to be disrespectful. I’m calling because I genuinely believe your son is about to make a decision that’s going to be very bad for his health. ”
“Excuse me?” Her voice shifted. “What decision?”
“He’s thinking about coming to Atlanta. To see my Lauren.” I let that sit for a beat. “And I need you to understand, as clearly as I can say it over a phone, that would be a mistake he would not enjoy recovering from.”
“Now wait a minute.” Her voice climbed. “You cannot call my phone threatening my son—”
“Ms. Denise.” I kept my voice even. “I haven’t threatened anyone, but I’m informing you.
There’s a difference, and I need you to hear it.
Your son got involved with a married woman, and I’ll be honest, I hold some responsibility in that too, because I created the opening.
I understand that part. What I can’t extend the same understanding to is the idea of him getting on a plane to come pursue my wife in my city after everything that’s already happened. ”
“Everything that’s already happened?” she repeated. “Do you know what happened to my son? Do you know the man who came into his place of business and—”
“Yes ma’am. I do know. I was there for parts of it.”
Another silence followed, but it was longer this time.
“You were—” She stopped. I could hear her putting it together. “So you’re the one who—”
“Ms. Denise, I want to be honest with you because I think you deserve that. I love my wife. I’ve loved her for a long time, and I’ve made my own mistakes in this situation that I take full accountability for.
But Lauren is home now, and what I need your son to understand is that home is where she’s staying.
She ain’t going no fucking where.” I paused, finding my composure.
“I’m calling because I would genuinely hate for him to get hurt.
I take no pleasure in the idea of real harm coming to him.
” That was a lie, I would love to beat his ass again.
“If he gets on a plane and comes down here looking for Lauren, I can’t promise you my restraint holds a second time.”
“Are you threatening my child right now?” Her voice had gone high and tight, somewhere between furious and genuinely scared. “Because I will call the police—”
“Then call them motherfuckas, ‘cause you not hearing me and I’m losing my patience. I’d encourage you to put that same energy toward convincing your son to stay home, and move forward with his life.
He about to get his feelings hurt, and I’m tryna help his stupid ass out.
Malcolm needs to understand that Atlanta is not the place for him right now. ”
“I cannot believe—” She made a sound. “I cannot believe you have the nerve to call my phone after what you did to my son’s shop—”
“Tell your son not to come,” I said.
“I beg your pardon—”
“I said tell your bitch-ass son not to come.”
I hung up.