Property of a Savage Page 7

  Though Derrick and I were in a distant relationship, we did manage to see each other at least once a month. So, my sex life had not been completely lacking. However, our sex was mundane. It was routine. It lacked passion and dominance. Derrick had been a soft and even sometimes boring fuck. He didn't hurt me so good. I oftentimes was left wanting to get my ass smacked and hair pulled ever so lovingly. Looking at Dame, I just knew he was capable of doing all of that and then some.

  Dame groaned as his palms washed over his face. “Good as can be, I guess.”

  “Your ex still trippin’?” I asked, taking a seat on the loveseat.

  “No, actually. She is surprisingly being the total opposite. She has never been so nice to me.”

  “Well, that’s good. See?” I smiled. “I told you that you all might get back together.”

  I was attracted to Dame. Any woman with a pulse would be. But I knew that my attraction to him was merely surface and wouldn’t go anywhere for many reasons. So, I was genuinely rooting for him to get back with his ex because I had learned about his deep-rooted passion for being a full-time, heavily involved father. He reminded me so much of my own father when he spoke so passionately about his children, causing my heart to go out to him.

  Dame confidently shook his head. “Nah, she tore her draws with me. It's a wrap.”

  I sighed, giving him a sympathetic expression. “That's too bad,” I said, standing. “Let me go get your suit.”

  “What suit?” he inquired, his deep voice rising an octave.

  “The one you’re wearing tonight.”

  “Why can’t I wear this?”

  I laughed as I looked over the embellished Rag & Bone jeans and Timbs.

  “These are three hundred-dollar jeans,” he told me.

  “I get that, but, like I told you, my stepfather is very judgmental.”

  He sucked his teeth. “Maaan, fuck him.”

  I pressed my lips together, shaking my head. “No. It’s not ‘fuck him’ when we want his money,” I reminded him. “Trust me. You’re going to look nice.”

  I scurried away from the persistent refusal in his eyes and went into my bedroom. I had broke the bank to get the fitted suit from Express, but it would be worth it because I knew it would look delicious on his frame.

  I carried the garment bag into the living room. I giggled when I saw the reluctance still dancing his eyes. I handed him the bag. He unzipped it with his lips pressed uncomfortably together. His jaws were so tight. His stubbornness was cute.

  His head slowly swayed from side to side as he eyed the suit.

  Dame cringed as if he were forcing those words out. “I like the color.”

  I smiled, knowing that he would. The burgundy would look great against his dark complexion.

  “You don’t have to wear a tie and you can keep a few buttons open on the shirt, if you’d like.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Can I wear my gym shoes too?”

  I looked down. Noticing that they were white Gucci sneakers, I complied. “Sure.”

  Dame nodded, while slowly allowing a smile to appear as he stared at the suit again. “Bet.”

  “You can change in the bathroom in the back. All I have to do is slip on my dress and freshen up my makeup. Give me like fifteen minutes.”

  “Cool.”

  I hurried into my room so that we wouldn’t be late. We had an hour until we were to meet my mother and Amaechi at the restaurant, which was going to be a hell of a commute since it was downtown.

  Once inside my bedroom, I hurried into the master bedroom. I then locked the door behind myself before going to the sink and washing off the day's makeup. In case my mother wanted to take pictures, which she always did, I wanted my makeup to be popping so I could make Nneka’s stomach turn when she saw them. I needed to apply a fresh face.

  I rubbed makeup remover over my face and wet a washcloth. I then began transforming from the beauty I portrayed to the world to the beast that I saw in the mirror daily. Every time I saw myself without makeup was a reality check for me. It was so easy to forget how I looked underneath the concealer and foundation. The makeup provided such a perfect mask. However, as I wiped away the dark brown foundation, the scars were once again painfully evident.

  The right side of my face, from my hairline down to my chin, resembled the pattern of a snake's skin. However, it did not look expensive and appealing like a pair of shoes. The skin on my face was wrinkly and appeared to be fragile, as if it would break to the touch. Yet, it was actually thicker and tougher to the touch than normal skin.

  I had undergone many revision surgeries when I was younger. Unimaginably, my scars had been worse than what they had healed to be, after I’d received as much reconstructive surgery as possible.

  This was the outcome, an odd mixture of bright white, pinks and black hues. My face looked like a living before and after picture. Before was on the left, when I was normal, and flawless. On the right was the aftermath of the fire; burnt and a sea of cicatrices.

  I hurriedly redid my makeup. Within fifteen minutes, I could hear that Dame had reentered the living room and had found the remote, because I soon heard the television come on. I sighed as I noticed the comforting feeling that came over me, knowing that a man was there with me. I shook it off, however, because I was still fighting to overcome Derrick breaking off our engagement. Pushing back the heartache, I stripped out of my work clothes.

  I avoided the mirror because I did not want to see the raised, discolored pigment that my chest and arms were covered with. That day, I needed to be confident, so I didn’t want any more reminders of my flaws. I grabbed the lantern-sleeved bodycon dress off of the back of the bathroom door and threw it on. It hugged my tight physique, but the cowl neck covered the scars that started right below my neck.

  I combed through my bone straight wrap to ensure its perfection and then darted out of the bathroom. I went for my heels that were placed in front of my bed and stepped into them, praying my feet would last the next few hours in the pointed toes.

  Time was ticking, so I hurried into the living room. However, I was suddenly halted by what I saw. Standing in the middle of my living room was a wet dream morphed into reality. Dame stood in the middle of the floor, in front of the TV, his hands casually in the pockets of the fitted, straight-legged dress pants. He stared at the recaps of the game that was playing on ESPN. The track lighting shone down on him, illuminating the deep ocean waves in his fade and the shininess of his full beard that hung like a ducktail at its tip.

  The slacks hung on his thick, long legs perfectly. The jacket clung to his massive arms like a second skin. The suit left none of his perfect build to the imagination.

  “That—” I paused, feeling my words fumbling on their way out. I cleared my throat, attempting to collect my composure but failing. I could feel the goosebumps forming on the surface of my skin as I admired him. “That looks nice on you.”

  Dame smiled, and it weakened my stance. The way his top lip cockily turned upward, the way his cheekbone flinched; his smile was like sunshine, but I was sunburnt… literally.

  “Thank you,” he smiled. “Ready?”

  I took a long, deep, calming breath. “Yea. I’m ready.”

  “Here we go,” I muttered under my breath as I spotted my mom and Amaechi at the table that the waitress had directed me and Dame to at Mastro’s.

  Just as my hands began to shake, Dame had reached down and grabbed it softly. I looked up at him, smiling at the gesture and his dedication to the task at hand. That had given me confidence that this dinner would go well. Therefore, I began to saunter alongside him as he guided me towards the table. However, I fought not to halt my steps when I noticed Nneka sitting beside Amaechi.

  Urgh.

  “Did I tell you how pretty you looked tonight?”

  I smiled at Dame’s attempts. “Stop trying to make me smile.”

  “I was, but it's still the truth. You look great.”

  “Thank you,”
I said softly just as we approached the table.

  My mother eagerly stood. Amaechi was reluctant to do the same but did so as he eyed Dame up and down.

  “Hi, baby,” my mother beamed into my eyes as she greeted me. She seemed so happy. I knew that her only child finally getting married would please her, but she was happier than I had ever imagined.

  “Hey, mommy.” I hugged her quickly and then allowed Dame to approach her. “Babe, this is my mother, Nina.”

  “Call me, mom,” she insisted as she embraced him. She even rocked slightly back and forth as she held him in her arms. Once she released him, I could tell by the twinkle in her eye that sparkled as she looked him up and down that she was thoroughly impressed.

  “Hi, mom,” Dame told her with a deep chuckle. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Lovely to meet you,” my mother smiled. She then gestured towards my stepfather. “This is my husband, Amaechi.”

  Amaechi didn’t even reach out to shake his hand. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up with irritation. Yet, regardless of Amaechi’s crassness, Dame reached over the table. His long, intimidating arms were able to take Amaechi’s hand and demand that Amaechi shake it.

  I pleasantly smirked discreetly.

  Per usual, my mother spoke over the tension that always surfaced in result of her husband’s attitude. “And this is my stepdaughter, Nneka.”

  “Hi.” Nneka was short and rude. She remained seated as she avoided Dame’s eyes and gave her full attention to her drink.

  Dame, having been fully educated on her attitude by me, continued to be unfazed as he pulled out my chair for me.

  As I sat, I introduced him. “Well, guys, this is my fiancé, Damien Coleman.”

  “Damien?” Nneka spat. Her eyebrow rose so slowly that it was evil. “I thought you said his name was Derrick,” she said to me.

  Shit. “I, um—”

  Thankfully, Dame quickly cut in. “My middle name is Derrick.”

  “Damien Derrick?” Amaechi questioned.

  Dame chuckled. “It's odd. I know.”

  I giggled to myself, hearing Dame attempt to lose his hood vernacular. I appreciated his attempts, though I missed the roughness already.

  “My father’s name is Damien, and his favorite uncle's name was Derrick…” Dame then shrugged. “That’s what I was left with. You all can call me Damien, though.”

  I inwardly giggled at the quick lie he had come up with.

  “Well, Damien, tell us all about yourself,” my mother started.

  Damien then regurgitated what we had rehearsed. Most of what he had told them about himself was true. He was raised on the west side of Chicago, but he, his mother, and sister had moved south when he’d begun high school. He’d gone to Dunbar Vocational High School. After that, he started to tell the lies we’d rehearsed. Instead of telling them the tales of the street life that he had told me, Dame told them that he had attended Xavier University in Louisiana. He was no longer a dope boy. Instead, he was an architect serving as a real-estate developer for JFJ Development. Most of those lies I had taken straight from Derrick’s real life, adjusting the names of the company for one based in Chicago.

  “That sounds exciting,” my mother gushed.

  “It is. You’ve probably seen some of my designs. I was on the team that designed Harper Court.”

  Amaechi looked up from the menu that he had been carefully inspecting, as if he hadn’t been to the restaurant a hundred times, just to avoid acknowledging Dame’s story. His untamed, bushy eyebrow raised curiously just as my mother gasped, “Really?!”

  Dame nodded proudly. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Nneka’s high pitched, judgmental sarcasm suddenly cut in. “You have three kids?”

  My eyes bulged as they darted towards her, but she was rudely scrolling on her phone, not even giving us her eyesight.

  I gasped, realizing, “Are you on his social media page?!”

  Nneka shrugged and answered, “Yea,” as if she weren’t being completely intrusive.

  “Nneka, stop it,” my mother snapped with a tight jaw. “And put that phone down. Don’t be so rude.”

  Amaechi snatched her phone from her just as the waiter walked up.

  “Are you all ready to order dinner?” the waiter asked.

  Amaechi began to rattle off his order. I quickly lifted the menu and leaned over into Dame’s space. “Is your ex all over your social media?” I whispered frantically.

  “Nah,” he said lowly. “Just my kids. I don’t be on social media like that.”

  I then relaxed, and we both started to look over the same menu. As we leaned into one another, he put his arm around my chair, closing me into his space.

  I heard my mother squeal below her breath. I looked up, noticing that the waiter had made his way to Nneka. I tore my eyes from her and gave my mother my attention. Dame and I chuckled as she gazed at us lovingly.

  Then, unexpectedly, Dame reached for my chin. He turned me towards him and slowly placed his lips on mine.

  That kiss… it didn’t feel fake. It felt like two strangers finally becoming intimate. His lips on top of mine felt like we were connected within. Warmth radiated between our lips, swam into my mouth, and radiated through my body. My body loosened just as he pulled away and a flash blinded me.

  “Mama!” I squealed as Dame chuckled.

  He once again softly grabbed my chin and turned my face towards his. I knew that I looked lost in his dominance as his thumb softly wiped off lipstick that had smeared with our kiss.

  He had to notice the delusion in my eyes because he smiled into my eyes, telling me, “Love you, baby.”

  I fought to keep my composure.

  Damn, he’s good.

  Chapter 7

  Damien Coleman

  Pulling up to Maya’s house, my phone rang. It was my mother, so I quickly answered. “Hey, Ma. What’s good?”

  Her voice came through the car’s Bluetooth. “How you doin’ this morning?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “How are things with Maya?” she pried.

  “The same.”

  “She still hasn't come back home?”

  “She signed a lease. She can’t. But, regardless, she’s not welcome back home. I’m straight. She stole from me and took my kids from me for no reason. I’m good.”

  “You still haven’t talked to Nimah?”

  While answering, I sent Brea a text, telling her that I was there to pick them up for school. “Nope. She’ll talk to me when she wants something. I’m not tripping. That nigga ain’t been back over there, has he?”

  “No. I hope she didn’t move in with him.”

  I shook my head. “She probably did.”

  Nimah was always in and out of our mother’s house. She would only move out when she was moving in with a boyfriend. Once they broke up, she would move back in with Mama.

  Nimah was a true product of her environment. She had been born and raised in the hood and never had a desire to leave. I wanted more for her. I wanted my little sister to get out of the city and go to college. Instead, she was chasing hood niggas and hood dreams. However, I had done the same, so I couldn’t judge her.

  “I didn’t call you for all of that, though.”

  “What’s up?” I pressed.

  “Darcel wants to know if you are interested in working with Jeffery. He needs someone with your eye for renovations.”

  Darcel was my mother’s best friend. Jeffrey was her new husband. She had married him a year ago. He was a cool older dude who owned one of the only black construction companies in the Midwest that built houses. He prided himself in hiring his own as well, not the cheap labor Mexicans that most construction companies relied on.

  As soon as Jeffrey and I met, when he and Darcel became official, we clicked through many discussions about renovations. I had shown him a lot of the work I had done as a hobby, and he praised it, saying it was the best he had ever seen. He invited me over when he had gatherings,
usually when it was a big sporting event. The much older kat had become like a friend to me over the last year. I had never told him that I was in the streets, but I knew he was smart enough to know.

  “Ma, you know I have never worked a day in my life.”

  “I know, but he really needs you, Dame. He says that you really have an eye for it. He needs someone like you in his company. You said you wanted to change your ways and do something different. This just may be your opportunity.”

  I shook my head, smirking at her persistence. “I’ll think about it, Ma.”

  “Okay.”

  “I gotta go. I’m here to pick up the kids for school, but Brea hasn’t answered my text yet. I need to call her.”

  “Okay. Tell my babies I said hi.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  I ended her call, then called Brea’s phone. She didn’t answer, so I called Joziah. He didn’t answer, either.

  “I should have bought Faye a damn phone. Bet she would answer,” I fussed.

  My teenager and pre-teen were unreliable and irresponsible as fuck. But Faye, being only five, didn’t miss a fucking beat.

  I groaned as I hung up the phone. None of the kids were answering the phone, so I climbed out of the car and prayed that one of them would answer the door, instead of Maya.

  It was seven in the morning, and I was doing my usual: taking the kids to get breakfast, then dropping them off at school. It had been a big adjustment having to leave my home to pick them up. I was so used to them coming into my bedroom or the living room, wherever I had chosen to crash for the night, and waking me up themselves. I missed my kids like I would miss my next breath if it never came. I wanted them back. However, unfortunately for them, their mother had dug herself in a hole that she couldn't get out of and had drug them down in it along with her.

  I rang the bell while enjoying the warm, March air. Mind you, it was only about fifty degrees that morning. Yet, fifty degrees in Chicago after our winters felt damn near like summer weather.

  As I heard the locks unlatching on the front door, I also heard Maya’s voice on the other side of it. “Hurry up and get your shoes on, Faye!”