Unintended Consequences (Act One) Completed

Chapter 9: Get Smoochie!

My whole body tensed as soon as I woke up. I dont know what phantom from my past stalked my dreams last night but my immediate thought was to flee. I was caught. I'd been found.

It wasn't unlike Smoochie to come home after a long night at the strip club where he liked to conduct "business" and then climb into bed next to me. In fact, it was one of the things that I loved about him. I loved that he was a man who could be an apex predator in the streets and then morph into a slumbering little boy. I used to love his weaknesses and insecurities. I used to love the way he would get jealous. It was the first time in my life that a man ever acted like I was something worth protecting, worth fighting for.

I was a fool.

I learned my lesson the hard way. And now, even though my mind knows that he is hundreds of miles away, I can't help but feel the panic crawl through my veins as I choke back a scream and the sickening thought...

He's got me!

"Are you okay?"

The voice isn't Smoochie. I look down at the large hand resting on my hip. Devoid of tattoos and scars. Devoid of the kind of callouses that you develop when you make your money from runners and connects. Devoid of all the nightmarish violence that I had come to expect from men who swore they loved me.

This man didn't love me.

This man was my husband, and that made me safe. I was safe from Smoochie, who loved me, because of my husband, who doesn't love me. Life is such a mind fuck. I'll never figure it out, and I'm ready to stop trying.

"I'm good," I grumble, snuggling deeper into the pillows and closing my eyes again.

"Your phone kept ringing so I turned it off last night," Rayyan says, drawing my body closer to his so naturally that it's easy to pretend that this is the real deal and not just an arrangement.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, I was annoyed by it so I silenced it," Rayyan grumbled by my ear.

"Who was it?"

"Dunno. The number wasn't in your phone book."

That news shattered any hope for slumber.

"Nobody has the number except for people in my phone book," I said, shaking his hands off of my body. I retrieve my phone from a nightstand drawer and power it on.

"Don't panic," Rayyan assured me, sitting up in bed as well.

There was at least a dozen missed calls but no voicemails. There was, however, one ominous video clip.

"Are you going to watch it?"

I look at him, unsure how to answer.

"How about I give you a minute to watch it alone. I'll get us some coffee," he says, climbing out of bed and moving into he next room.

I looked down at the screen and say a silent prayer. Please God, nothing too gory. I can't handle the sight of blood first thing in the morning.

What I find was much, much worse. It's a video clip of my grandmother, Darletha Gregory, handing a brown bag full of food to a homeless man. She was out with her church group, helping the homeless by handing out brown bag lunches and hygiene kits. She'd done it all off my life. She even had a special coat and hat just for her "missionary work". The images swam as my eyes filled with tears. She was unmistakable in her red coat with the shiny black buttons that she's sewn back on more times than I care to count, and that silly plaid red hunter's hat with the ear flaps. That stupid hat that didn't match anything she ever wore. Nobody could be that badly dressed and still look so cheerful. I watch in silence for a few minutes as the silent videographer followed her as she made her rounds. I watch her stop to chat with a woman who seemed to know her.