12. Juliet Echo #3
I rose from my repositioned seat and moved close enough that both men could hear me clearly.
"Not before he gets me what, Psalm." He gave me this look but said nothing.
My voice was steady, but my chest was burning.
Every answer he'd never withheld, every moment he'd ever shown up and said exactly what he felt like saying to me — he didn't get to stop now. Not here. Not about this.
"Juliet," Psalm said, his tone shifting into something that sounded almost like a warning.
"No." I stepped closer. "You came over here with something on your chest about me and you have never — not once — held back when it came to me. So, say it. All of it."
The pause between both men was so heavy I could hear their rapid heartbeats.
That's all I heard. One beating in anxiousness — Nazir.
The other in anger. And something that felt dangerously close to sympathy.
Psalm repositioned his body to face me, regret already present in his eyes before he opened his mouth. He took a breath.
"A little over a week ago I had a five on five at my house. Nazir was on the opposing team. During the kickback at the pool, he made it known that you were his target. His cash cow. That if he scored with you — including getting you pregnant — he'd be set financially for life."
And just like that, my own heartbeat accelerated.
Thumps of anger — the audacity. Confusion — why me?
Rage — I was going to kill this man where he stood.
But I couldn't move. Above every emotion that should have delivered a surge of righteous strength, embarrassment swallowed them all whole.
Here was a man who by all accounts couldn't stand me, delivering humiliating news about someone I'd actually allowed myself to consider.
And then there was Echo, who was right once again.
Oh God. Why didn't I just listen to Echo.
Tears began to well. My breathing labored. But I refused — absolutely refused — to let either of them walk away without hearing from me. One for being a predator. The other for his timing. The former first.
But when I went to speak, nothing came.
Not a sound. Not a syllable. I knew how to speak — I had always known how — but the knowledge and the ability had severed from each other completely.
Selective mutism. I hadn't had an episode since I was a little girl and it chose right now, in the middle of Sunday's, in front of Psalm Mitchel and a man I now wanted my brothers to murder, to return.
Panic arrived before I could prepare for it.
My eyes began moving at a speed I couldn't control, darting across the room, across faces, searching for something to anchor me.
The tears I'd been holding back broke free and tracked down my face in steady streams. I felt the vibration of Psalm's voice against the air but heard nothing.
Not a single word. Nazir's mouth was still moving — I could see that — but my God, there was nothing.
Silence where sound used to be. My hearing had collapsed entirely and taken my voice with it.
The guests around us began rising from their seats. A commotion. I could feel the shift in the room's energy even if I couldn't hear it.
I signed. Echo. Hands shaking, I signed again. Echo. Desperate now, both hands, full body — ECHO. Nobody turned. Nobody saw. The signs dissolved into the noise of a room full of people focused on the spectacle in front of them and not the girl at the center of it coming apart at the seams.
Nobody heard me.
Nobody heard me at all.
Survival instincts kicked in and I grabbed my phone to text my brother — but the moment I opened the app I froze at the sight in front of me.
Psalm connected with Nazir's jaw and blood flew from his mouth like paint splatter.
Nazir, like an enraged animal, launched the dining table out of his path and charged — landing a blow of his own.
Psalm, unbothered by the hit, delivered two calculated strikes to Nazir's torso that looked like something cracked.
Nazir buckled to one knee. Before his body could fully meet the floor Psalm scooped him up and slammed him with a force so decisive the chandeliers trembled.
My stomach turned and my vision blurred. I was about to join Nazir on the floor. My eyes fell shut — but before I could go down, arms came underneath me, scooping me up bridal style.
My babysitter? No. This person felt familiar. Echo? No — the energy was protective but not mature enough, if that made any sense. Mega.
I forced my eyes open just enough to confirm it and his expression alone settled something in my chest.
"I got you," he said. I read his lips.
One arm under my knees, one at my back, he moved me clear of the wreckage and toward the exit.
"I'm okay," I signed.
As Mega carried me I glanced back at the chaos, and Psalm still had the upper hand. Either this fight was moving at an impossible speed or Sunday had given her entire security team the night off. Why was this still going?
Then I saw him. One of Nazir's crew — I recognized him from Flip'd — coming up behind Psalm with a wine bottle raised.
It connected with the back of Psalm's head.
He staggered, caught the table before he fell, and brought his hand slowly to the back of his skull.
Blood. A lot of it, trailing dark and steady down the back of his neck.
My voice was still gone. So, I used everything else I had.
I grabbed Mega's shirt with both fists and pulled — hard.
He kept moving. I pulled again, twisting the fabric, yanking with the full weight of my body leaning backward.
Nothing. I kicked my legs, sharp and deliberate, targeting his forearm.
He adjusted his grip and walked faster. I slammed both palms flat against his chest repeatedly, frantic, urgent — stop, stop, stop — but my hands against his body registered as nothing more than panic he was already trying to move me away from.
I looked back wildly, eyes desperate, and signed with one free hand — go back, go back — but his eyes were forward and the exit was getting closer and Psalm was still down and still bleeding and the coward who hit him was lifting what remained of that bottle again, aiming it directly at Psalm's face.
Psalm was disoriented. He didn't see it coming.
Something split open in my chest — less than anger, more powerful than fear — and before my brain could catch up to what my body was doing, sound came crashing back all at once like a dam giving way.
"Help him!" I screamed.
Mega stopped and looked at me.
"Now, please!" I begged.
He set me down — gentle but quick. And like that, Mega moved.
He delivered one blow to the coward's face that sent him crashing to the floor.
Nazir, having recovered enough to continue to brawl, moved toward Mega — but Psalm intercepted.
Two people more associated than friends, operating in the same language without discussion.
Whatever Nazir and his homeboy had left to offer, it would be their last attempt.
Sunday's went completely still.
Psalm straightened. Reached back and touched his neck, then checked his fingers.
The blood was still coming at an alarming rate.
He rolled his neck slowly, turned, and found Mega.
The two of them held each other's gaze for a moment.
Fists connected. Words were exchanged — too far for me to hear or read.
But their body language said everything. All was as well as it could be.
So, I did what any frightened, embarrassed, naive, sheltered girl would do.
I ran.
Echo
"Stop playing with me and throw that ass back. You said you were a big girl, said you could take dick — show me and stop playing."
I had some Instagram model named Pepper bent over the mixing board at HUSH.
My parents had taken flight to Jamaica earlier and Juliet was out with friends, so I'd come down to get a little work done.
Got a little bored and needed a little snack, so I checked my DMs — Periwinkle had been hitting me up for several days, so I invited her over.
"But you're so big, Echo. It's so much dick," she moaned.
I removed myself from her, gently stood her up to face me and carried her to the empty desk across the room.
Laying her on her back I positioned myself between her legs and slowly pumped back inside.
I gave it to her slowly until I was balls deep — then I picked up the pace, stroking her long and hard but never sloppily.
I placed one hand around her neck; arm stretched for leverage and began squeezing with precision.
I knew exactly how and for how long to cut off her breathing, sending all her blood rushing straight to that good tight pussy she was blessed with.
Popsicle was about to experience the hardest orgasm of her life.
"Echo, baby, you are driving me crazy. Don't stop, please. Don't. Ever. Fucking. Stop," she sang. "Oh fuck, it's too much, it's too much.”
"You whining or you fucking?" I asked, still making my mark in her body.
"Fuc — fuck — fuuuccckkkiiing," she moaned.
"Nah, do both. Talk to me nice."
"I'm about to — about to cum," she screamed.
"Yeah? Then let me fuck you through that shit."
Removing my hand from her throat I placed both hands on her hips and thrust into her as her eyes rolled back and drool ran from the corner of her mouth.
My mission was always to give a woman the best time of her life.
If she was willing to give me access to her temple, I was going to make the visit worth her while.
Feeling my own orgasm building I began grunting and stroking harder.
"Echo, baby — let me taste it," she begged.
"What? You sure?" I asked, breath shortened from the effort.
"Don't let that precious serum go to waste, daddy."
Almost instantly I pulled out and removed the condom.
"Come get it then, mama."