The Ultimate Sacrifice 1-2-3-4

The Ultimate Sacrifice III: No Regrets

Prologue

Shawnay

Where You Left Off . . .

"I got trouble with my friends/trouble in my life/problems when you don't come home at night/but when you do/you always start a fight/but I can't be alone/I need you to come back home/I know you're messin' around/but who the hell else is gonna hold me down . . ."

I walked around my living room singing Melanie Fiona's hit song "It Kills Me" as I picked up after the kids. Yesterday at the hospital I ran into Khadafi while I had Kashon with me. To me, it was a sign from God that my son needed to know his father. Laughing to myself, I thought about the look on Khadafi's face when I told him that Kashon was his son. I thought about what he said . . .

"Say hello to your son Kashon," I told Khadafi as I stood in line at the register.

"My son? Kashon?" His brows narrowed as if I'd just told him to give me the answer to some game show trivia question.

"Yeah. Look at him. He looks just like you and me. That's why I named him Kashon. I took the 'Ka' sound in your name and put it with mine. Just spelled differently. He's eight months old and he's the best little boy in the whole world."

"My son? I don't know what to say. Can I hold him?" He hesitated before reaching out for him. "Sure. He's your son."

"My son?" Khadafi repeated as he took Kashon into his arms.

"If you say 'my son' one more time I'ma think you're losing your mind."

The conversation that Khadafi and I had after that was good, but not sufficient enough to say everything that needed to be said. So I did what I thought was best and invited Khadafi to my house. I told him that we could sit down and talk comfortably, just him and me. The looks that my girls gave me as they sat watching from the cafeteria table were a bit much, and I didn't feel like explaining myself to my children just yet. But in time I would. They had a right to know who Kashon's father was and how everything came to be. Being an old fashioned woman, I knew it wasn't a good idea to have any men around my daughters. That was the reason I requested that Khadafi and I talk alone.

And alone meant just that. So after school, my daughters went to my grandmother's house, where Kashon already was and would be until I picked them up.

I looked at my watch. I still had an hour before Khadafi was scheduled to show up. In that hour, I could shower and make myself a little more presentable, a little sexier. I wanted to impress him. Don't ask me why. I just knew that something inside me still called out for his body, his touch, his tongue, his dick. The thought alone made me shiver. It had been about fourteen months since we'd last been together, and I missed him with a passion. That last hour or so when we were together, I had no idea that I was already pregnant with his child. I had no idea that shortly thereafter, a man with a beard would try to kill me!

That night somebody rang the doorbell. I stopped what I was doing and went to answer the door. "Who is it?" I called out as I approached the front door.

"Harold," a voice on the other side of the door said. "Ameen told me to come by and check on you and the kids. He said . . ."

I didn't think anything suspicious because Antonio had all kinds of friends who were loyal to him. "When did you speak to Antonio?" I asked as I unlocked the top lock and then opened it. I stood face to face with one of the men that I recognized from the pictures Antonio sent home from Beaumont.

"Yesterday," the caramel complexioned man with the long beard, low haircut, and pointed nose said. "He sent you a message."

"He did? What's that?"