Chapter 6
6
“ I ’ve been calling you for fucking days! Why did you bring that man around my family?!” Ray thundered into the phone. I’d turned it off the night I arrived at my new prison and had barely powered it on the morning of day three of my captivity when his call came through.
“I didn’t bring his ass. He followed me or had me followed or something,” I informed him.
“So…you still messing with him?!”
“Is your wife still alive?”
Silence.
“Look, it is what it is. I can deal with it. He’s…” I was going to lie and say he wasn’t that bad. I mean, the dick was good, but to say he was tolerable was not factual. So, I settled on, “I’m fine with it.”
“Memphis, you know I can’t stand you, but damn. I don’t like that you’re tied to him.”
I scoffed, “And you think I do? Look, he just wants to possess me. He won’t hurt me. He…he thinks he loves me.”
“He told you that?”
“When we were younger, he did.” I omitted that my silly ass had reciprocated back then.
Fucking Pollyanna.
“Mem—” he began, but I cut in.
“I’ll be fine, Ray. Just take care of my sister and nieces.”
“Oh, I’ma always do that. I’m also gonna figure out how to get you out of this. Seeing him was fucking unnerving. He gon’ be around the family all the time?”
“Nah. He really doesn’t like people. Look, I need to call the rest of the fam.” I mentally added, while this asshole is gone for whatever business he’s attending to.
“Yeah, they all worried about you. They don’t know how evil you are.”
“Man, fuck you.”
Then…
My mother’s death affected me in many ways, the most profound being the toll it took on my sense of security. As a child, one never thinks about losing a parent, or at least I didn’t because mine were always there when I needed them, especially my mother. She loved her babies to the ground, would do anything for us. While Daddy was out on the road, she happily stayed home with us even though she adored being with Fat Frankie King. She was beautiful, a beacon of light, and absolutely my champion. My mother was an angel whose absence left my world desolate.
So, after taking a year off from school to be with her, and after her death, to mourn her, I returned to college as a super senior. To further fill my time and occupy my mind, my twenty-two-year-old self picked up extracurriculars and hobbies like I was collecting Infinity Stones while diving headfirst into my studies.
I considered taking a Taekwondo class on campus but heard about an unorthodox, off-campus self-defense course. It wasn’t something that was advertised. As a matter of fact, I got wind of it by eavesdropping while in the cafeteria one day. These two dudes were discussing what they called a lethal self-defense class, one designed to end your attacker rather than merely injure or disarm them. I was intrigued. So, I kept listening until I heard the instructor’s name. Ironically, it was the same person who taught the Taekwondo class. I reached out to him, and now I was at the location—a nearly abandoned strip mall near my school—mere moments away from joining his newest class.
It was foggy that night, the rain that’d been pummeling the city for days having ceased just as I entered the building. I’d been kicking ass since I was little because I was a chubby kid that some liked to try to bully. They soon found out I was the real bully in the equation. My skill level grew as I aged, but I believed a class like this was essential to the Criminal Justice degree I was pursuing, although I wasn’t exactly sure what direction I would go in with said degree. Maybe I’d become a police officer or a P.I. I could also work in crime scene investigation. Either way, I needed to be able to protect myself from the worst of the worst with or without a gun.
I was a little early for this class but not early enough to be the first student to arrive. That honor went to an older man with smooth mahogany skin, a bald head, and wide, perceptive eyes. He was tall and fit in his gray sweatsuit.
Upon seeing me, he lifted his sparse eyebrows, the look in his eyes flipping to a more lecherous expression. Most often, us chubby girls go from objects of ridicule to objects of desire as we mature. I had titty and booty for days, but his ass wasn’t getting a taste of either.
Because…ew.
“You’re new. I’m Lester,” he said.
Lester the lecher , I thought, but in response, I said, “Nice to meet you. I’m Erica.” Even back then, I didn’t play that real name shit. “Erica Johnson.”
“Pretty Erica. Nice to have some new blood in the class. I’ve been coming here for years.”
“Years? Is it that difficult to master?”
He laughed. “Nah, just ain’t got nothing better to do.”
That almost made me smile.
Almost .
Soon enough, the space began to fill, and I distanced myself from Lester’s ass. He was popular with the others, though. Several of them approached him as soon as they arrived.
When it was time for the class to begin, Lester moved to the front and spoke to the class in a different voice. So, he was the instructor. He’d been faking the old creep accent before, now speaking in a booming baritone. I mean, he was old but less creepy than he let on. Since I’d contacted him via email, I didn’t know how he looked, and his name was listed as BT Riley. Obviously, he knew I lied about my name, too.
Whatever.
“Welcome back to our veterans, and welcome aboard to our newcomers. For those of you who don’t know, I’m Bar Riley, your instructor. Here at Cave Martial arts, we are all about cooperative learning. So, any novice who has questions about what I’m teaching can feel free to ask any of the veterans for help, not just me,” he said.
So, he lied about his name, too. I was beginning to like him.
But just a little bit.
“What I teach is a very lethal combination of Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and military LINE combat,” he continued. “At the end of this class, you will be able to defeat your opponent and cause grave bodily harm, but you will also know when that is necessary. Now, let’s get to work!”
And work we did.
I was always someone who was naturally vigilant, constantly aware of my surroundings. It didn’t hurt that I also had freakishly acute hearing. So that night, a month into the self-defense classes, I knew I was being followed as I left the strip mall heading to my car. The footfalls were soft, as if the person was trying not to be perceived—or since I was the last student to leave, perhaps they believed I was someone who was unaware of their surroundings—but I heard them, felt their presence, and it didn’t feel like it was Mr. Riley. I could sense this was a stranger, a stranger who was trouble .
Although my heart raced, I kept my steps steady and deliberate. I didn’t glance over my shoulder or do anything else that would lead someone to believe I knew what was going on. Arriving at my little Nissan, I unlocked the door and had opened it when I felt a hand on my left shoulder accompanied by a voice.
I spun around, quickly cutting his “Excuse me” off with a shot to his eyes, or maybe just his eyeglasses, from my keychain pepper spray and a swift knee to his groin followed by a hard punch to his nose. He was young, medium brown skinned, and okay looking, wearing eyeglasses that now sat crooked on his face. As he lay on the ground moaning, I lifted my right foot to finish him by stomping his head but paused when he screeched, “Wait! Wait! I have a business proposition for you,” while squinting up at me. I knew his eyes were hurting like a bitch. Those glasses hadn’t protected a damn thing.
Good.
“I’m not fucking you!” I yelled.
He vigorously shook his head. “No! No! Not that. The way you fight? That’s a lucrative skill.”
At that statement, I lowered my foot to the ground and said, “Talk.”