Chapter 8
CRACKS IN HER ARMOR
“Man, who the fuck?” I had just dozed off for a nap when the repeated sound of my doorbell ringing snatched me right up out of my sleep.
After I calmed myself down, willing my body to accept the fact that we weren’t under attack, I drug myself from the bed and to the front door.
I didn’t even check to see who it was before swinging it and immediately wishing I had.
“What are you doing here?” I asked with wide eyes which were glued to her shimmery body, clad in a soft yellow dress that fit her so well that it looked like it was suctioned on.
“What?” she asked with wide eyes. I chuckled, remembering that I was standing there in a pair of basketball shorts and didn’t grab a shirt… or draws. It didn’t help that my shit was half bricked up because I was probably laid up dreaming about her ass.
“Amaya, what are you doing here?” I waved my hand in front of her face to break the trance—only then did her eyes finally snap back up to mine.
“How long did you know Chanel was on drugs?” she asked in a serious tone, making me shrink like she caught me popping pills.
“Fuck… come in,” I sighed and stepped aside so she could make her way inside, trying my hardest not to notice the way her ass moved in that fucking yellow dress.
“Give me a minute.” I left her in the living room and ran to my bedroom to throw on a t-shirt and a pair of sweats over my shorts so she could focus without looking at a nigga’s print.
When I got back, she was sitting on the couch, typing frantically on her phone.
“Hey,” I said as I sat across from her. I had changed, but she was still sitting there looking good as hell with her chocolatey thigh on display through the split in the dress.
I had just got to the point where I could be around her without getting hard in business casual, but now she had the thighs out?
! Shit wasn’t fair! She took another moment to type something else into her phone before looking up at me.
“Hey,” she called back. “So when I asked you to tell me everything, I’m assuming you left out a few things?” She scolded me with a single brow raise that had me rubbing my hand over my face in shame.
“I didn’t tell you about the drugs,” I sighed.
“Tell me now… please?” she asked gently.
I paused wondering how she knew the cheat code.
I expected her to come in, guns blazing,—like she always did—and cuss me out until I complied.
Yet the softness in her voice and the sincerity in her tone was just what I needed to open up like a can of sardines.
“Shit…” I sighed, rubbing my hand down my face before I went on, “Her mother Dior has been an addict her whole life… drugs, alcohol, men, gambling, you name it, she does it. Chanel ended up in the system for a few years when she was young and some horrible shit happened to her—shit that she never healed from. When I first met her, it wasn’t so bad.
She liked to party, but it’s Hollywood, everybody parties. ”
“Did you—” I cut her off before she could even get the question out.
“Never. I’ve never had anything stronger than weed or a couple drinks.
My dad is an alcoholic and that had the opposite effect on me.
On the rare occasion that I have a drink, I won’t ever get too drunk, and I keep it in house.
I don’t know how many people I had to pay to keep her shit under wraps, and she never gave a fuck.
I tried to get her into rehab multiple times, but she would always just check herself out and go get high again.
She was the abusive one—put her hands on me more than a few times.
The time I found her overdosed on the bathroom floor was the last straw.
I put her in rehab and she didn’t even make it eighteen hours before she left to go get more drugs.
After that I was done. I couldn’t continue to love her more than she loved herself, and I couldn’t keep hurting myself trying to hold onto her. ”
“So why not make this known?” she asked. “When the lawsuit came about, or when she was dragging you to the press, why not say something, Chase?”
“I promised her.” My head lowered in shame. “When I first found out she had a problem, she begged me. She sobbed and broke down and made me promise not to tell anyone. It’s not her fault. She’s sick.”
Amaya bit her bottom lip in thought, then sighed heavily before she spoke again.
“She’s doing this so you’ll take her back. She doesn’t like that you finally cut her loose and she’s basically extorting you unless you take her back.”
“What?” I rubbed my hand over the top of my head, eyes focused on nothing in particular before they rose back to her face. “Nah, there has to be another explanation.”
“I heard it straight from the horse-headed hoe’s own mouth. She said you haven’t been taking her calls and are ignoring her advances, and until you do, she’s gonna go through with the case until you lose everything.”
“Amaya…” I blinked slowly. “How do you know this?”
“I ran into her at an event today… nice lady by the way. Her loose lipped ass was bragging about the shit as her and her friend shared some nose candy in the fucking bathroom. The bitch is dumb as fuck.”
“I thought you told me not to call her a bitch?” I questioned with my brows raised.
“Yeah, you. I’m not on trial and have the common sense not to do the shit in public where people can hear me… Unless you plan on telling on me?” she asked with a teasing smirk on her face.
“Your secret is safe with me.” I resisted the urge to wink at her.
“We should really get ahead of this—do you have any proof of her drug use? Rehab receipts? Anything?”
“Amaya, I can’t use that shit against her. It will go public, and I just can’t do that to her.” She gave me the blankest of stares as her eyes scanned my face for some sort of indication that I was lying. She found nothing
“You fuckin’ with me, right? Why would we not use this?”
“I don’t break promises,” I said. My head was still swimming at the depths of Chanel’s betrayal, and the sheer audacity to think that I would ever give her another chance after the shit she was pulling.
“So if it comes down to it in the end, which is more important, Chase? Protecting her, or protecting your legacy?” she inquired, brows raised.
“Fuck…” I sighed. “If there’s absolutely no way around it, I gotta choose me. I’m hoping that with all this money I’m paying on this bougie-ass attorney, we can win the case without having to air her out.”
Her nostrils flared as she suppressed a laugh.
“I’ll do what I can, but I don’t fucking lose. If it comes down to it, I’m airing that bitch out. She’s lucky I didn’t put my fucking hands on her.”
“Damn, you gon’ set it off like that for me?” I chuckled.
“For you? Boy, fuck you! She came at me! And the only reason I didn’t lay her looney ass out is because it wouldn’t look good for this case. Let me catch her with no witnesses around.” I looked at her with a perplexed expression on my face
“You… got a few screws loose, don’t you?”
“Now, how you want me to answer that? I mean, if you’re asking if I put my hands on people for no reason, no I don’t. Have I been known to smack a hoe when she gets out of line? Fuck yes! And I enjoy it.”
“Yeah… loose screws,” I teased with a laugh. If she wasn’t making my dick hard, she had me laughing. Shit, sometimes she had me cracking up with my shit on rock and that was uncomfortable as hell.
“Nigga, you engage in the one of the most violent sports ever and you got the nerve to talk shit to me? Again, boy fuck you!” She laughed and stood up.
My eyes did a quick scan over her body and I licked my lips, recovering before her eyes made it back to mine.
At this point. I was willing to cut a check just for her to let me sniff it.
“Where you headed?”
“Home… well to the house,” she shrugged. Niko had budgeted a rental for her and Jocelyn in a neighborhood not too far from mine to keep them close and reduce their travel time. He wouldn’t even tell me how much that shit was costing.
“You tryna kick it or something?”
“Chase. No,” she laughed. “Just because I can stand you for more than thirty seconds doesn’t mean that we homies. I’m still on your payroll. I gotta go.” My face instantly screwed up—I knew she was right, but that didn’t change the fact that I wanted her around for more than just business.
King vs Andrews
Today begins the official proceedings for the high-profile domestic violence case between ex-lovers Chanel King and Chase Andrews.
King claims to have suffered from physical, emotional, and financial abuse at the hands of Andrews.
Both sides gave their opening statements, and this looks like it could be a long one, possibly taking weeks or months before it comes to a close.
We made our way through the courthouse with me and the rest of the guys leading the way, and Amaya and Jocelyn behind us talking as they walked.
When we hit the hallway, I looked to my left, and saw a man on his way in.
He was in a tan scrub set with chains around his wrists and ankles.
The sight was enough to make me shake my head sympathetically.
I had seen far too many of my brothers in chains and had my fair share of homies that I knew would never see freedom again.
The same moment that I started feeling bad for the nigga, he lost his fuckin’ mind. He somehow escaped the two guards escorting him, bolting across the hall and ending up right in front of Amaya. She went stiff as a board when she saw him approaching to scream in her face.
“Bitch, this is what you do? You help rich niggas get off, but you can’t do shit for a broke one!
Huh? You think he better than me?” It was clear the nigga was either on something, coming down from something, or dealing with some sort of mental health crisis, but the look of pure shock and terror on her face made me spring into action.