Chapter 12
The drive to the motel was a blur of dark streets and regret.
Juelz parked in the back, away from everybody else.
He took the stairs, each step a deliberate act of betrayal.
Shyann opened the door before he could knock, wearing nothing but a silk robe she failed to tie close.
She stepped aside, and her sweet perfume hung in the air, making him sneeze.
“Took you long enough,” she said, eyeing him up and down like he was a piece of meat she was about to buy.
He frowned, easing by her. “Miss me with all that shit. Come get this shit over with.”
A slow, cruel smile spread across her face. She stood and walked toward him, her movements deliberate. She reached up to trace the line of his jaw, and he flinched away from her touch as if it were a lit match. “Aye! Don’t touch me,” he said, the words low and sharp.
Her smile widened. “Okay, okay. Fair enough.”
She sank to her knees, her hands working at the button of his jeans.
He closed his eyes, his head tilting back to rest against the door.
He focused on the hum of the ice machine down the hall, on the distant wail of a siren, on anything but the feeling of her hands on him, her mouth on him.
He hated every bit of this betrayal. But for Tasha, he would do anything.
He tried to stay detached, to think of Tasha’s face, her smile.
But Shyann was good at what she did, and his body betrayed him before his mind could catch up.
He felt himself stiffen, trying not to give in to her.
He gripped the back of her head, drilling harder in her mouth.
He could see her becoming uncomfortable.
She pulled back a little bit, tears forming. “Damn, baby. Slow it down a li’l for me.”
He ignored her, setting a brutal pace, fucking her mouth with a detached fury, using her like the tool she was.
His fingers were tangled in her hair, pulling tight enough to make her whimper around him.
But Juelz didn’t care. Fuck her. He drove his hips forward, jamming his dick deeper, each thrust was a curse, a punishment.
He heard her choke, her nails were digging into his thighs, and a dark part of him was satisfied.
When he finally finished, it wasn’t just a release.
It was a collapse, a shudder of disgust that started in his bones and worked its way out.
He pulled back, tucking himself back into his jeans with shaky hands.
“That’s it?” she called out from the floor, her voice raspy and triumphant.
He ignored her, turning and walking toward the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He flicked on the light, a cheap ass bulb that buzzed and made everything look sick. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. He was sick. His eyes were hollow.
He turned on the shower, turning the knob up to warm.
While the water heated up, he stripped off his clothes, letting them drop to the grimy tiled floor.
He stepped into the shower, the water dripping down his skin.
He leaned his forehead against the wall, the water beating down on his neck and back.
He grabbed the tiny, wrapped bar of soap, ripped it open, and started scrubbing.
He washed his every part of him that Shyann violated.
He scrubbed his dick until the skin was red, trying to get the phantom feel of her mouth off him.
He tilted his head back, letting the water pour into his face, hoping it would flood his lungs and wash him out from the inside.
But it didn't work. The smell of her perfume, the motel air freshener, and his own disgust all mixed together, a smell that was stuck in his nose no matter how hard he scrubbed.
He was trying to wash off a sin, but the stain was on his soul.
He finally shut the water off and stood there, dripping in the steam. He felt dirtier than when he got in. He grabbed one of the thin towels and dried off, his movements slow and heavy. When he opened the bathroom door, she was on the bed, watching him, wishing this could last forever.
Juelz didn't even acknowledge her. He just walked past her, grabbed his keys, and headed for the door.
“Damn! Bye to you too, nigga.” she called out.
Juelz shook his head, walked out, and didn't look back. He got into his car and slammed the door, the sound echoing the self-loathing that was screaming in his head. He did this to protect Tasha, but all he felt was poisoned.
“I can’t keep doin’ this shit, Mar,” Juelz said, blowing out a long stream of smoke from his blunt. He was at the one place where he knew he could finally drop the armor. Whenever he was with the crew, he could let his shoulders drop.
Mar kicked his feet up on the glass table, taking the blunt from Juelz. “Doing what? The drops? Nigga, we been—”
“Not the fuckin’ drops, nigga,” Juelz cut him off. He stared at the 90-inch TV screen, but saw only static. “Shyann, hoe ass.”
Mar’s head tilted, his eyes narrowing. “What she do now? Asking for money or some shit?”
Juelz let out a harsh, broken laugh that was more of a sob. “Worse.” He sat up in the recliner, eyes locked on Mar. “This bitch be textin’ me non-stop, thinkin’ I’m just ‘posed to stop what I’m doin’ and go give her some dick.”
“Damn, Jue,” Mar finally breathed out, the sound of a blunt being lit again filling the pause. “That hoe foul for that shit. I can’t believe you still playin’ puppet to that bitch.”
“Man, I’m over this shit, too. I just met up with the broad. I swear I tried to fuck that bitch mouth ‘til my shit came out the back of her head.” He stood up, swaying from side to side. “I’m ‘talmbout just ahhhh, ahhhhh, ahhhh…all in that bitch mouth.”
Mar burst out laughing, coughing from the blunt. “Nigga, yo ass hell.”
Juelz looked at Mar, his eyes hollowed out and pleading. “Seriously, I can’t keep fuckin’ that girl, man.”
Mar took a long, slow pull from his blunt, his brow furrowed in thought. He wasn't a man of many solutions beyond violence, but he was one Juelz could trust. And right now, Mar could see the rot festering inside his boy.
“Okay. Aight, look,” Mar said, his tone shifting. “She got mad control over you, bro. You need to handle that shit. Get ya nuts back.”
“How, nigga?” Juelz asked, his voice cracking. “She got my girl’s whole career in her damn phone.”
“Well, shit, you wanna kill her?” Mar asked, blowing smoke in the air.
Juelz looked at him, his face twisted in a mix of desperation and dark humor.
“Aye, nigga, don’t tempt me with a good time, shit.
” He leaned back in the leather chair, his head thumping against the headrest. He stared at the ceiling, at the water stain shaped like a crying angel. “Man, I’m just sick of this bitch.”