Tempting Bad

“I miss you, too,” she repeated, not caring or sensitive to the fact that I was there.

How many times had she said that to me?

How many times did I believe it?

It was my, I miss you, that she said to other men.

No.

Not men.

Clients.

I didn’t realize I was behind her, until I could hear his breathing on the other end of her cellphone. It mimicked mine in every way possible. The same heady, overpowering, intense rhythm that I thought only I displayed.

How many men had fallen in love with her?

How many men did she make weak at the knees, and blind to the truth?

What number was I?

One, ten, a hundred?

“How much do you want to fuck me? Do you want me to swallow your come?” she seductively asked.

I had been hit, punched, slapped, beaten… to the point I thought I was going to die.

Nothing.

Not one of those blows could have prepared me for what I was feeling; for what I was going through.

The rage.

The fury.

The craze.

“Do you have any idea how hard you make me come? How good it feels when you’re deep inside me?” she added.

The control. The tight rope that I securely held in place, never wanting it to break.

Snapped.

“I’m going to fuck you all night… so that I can’t walk tomorrow, would you like that?”

“You have no idea—” I roughly grabbed the phone out of her delicate hands, and threw it across the room.

It hit the wall and shattered.

Exactly like my control.

I moved in a trance-like state and harshly gripped onto her arms, moving her from the window and pushing her against the wall.

The thud brought me right back to that night.

The night I lost myself.

The night I ended all the hurt and pain… the beatings, the screams, the tears, the begging.

The blood…

So much fucking blood.

“What the fuck?” she screamed breathless.

And I broke.

I lunged at her.

I hurt her.

I pushed her.

I tried to control her.

I knew I was being rough, but I didn’t care. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to feel an ounce of what I was feeling.

A breath of fucking air she shot from my lungs.

Something.

Anything.

“Devon, calm down” she begged in the same voice I had heard my mother scream countless times. She stepped toward me and I lost it. I pushed her with the same strength, I would push a man; her head hit the wall with the force that could knock someone out.

“Shhh…” I quickly went at her. I locked her hands above her head, and grabbed at her throat. Placing her where I wanted her.

Where I needed her.

What happened next, will be the second worst regret of my life.

My first…

Was killing my father.

“You think I’m such a nice fucking guy? Don’t you, Bambi, hmm? Let me hear your pretty fucking lips say the words?” I roared, letting go of the pressure on her throat.

“Yes…” she breathed out, shocked, confused, and torn with how she should feel.

She was terrified, a deer in headlights.

“You want to hear a story, something to tuck you into bed tonight? Or wait, you probably won’t need that… will you? You’ll be busy sucking another man’s cock. Shoving it into the back of your throat like you fucking love!” I shouted close to her face, making her lip tremble and her body jump.

“Let me tell it to you anyway.” I held her firmer, too tight, too hard. “I made my sisters go hide, deep in the back of my closet. I made sure to place clothes all over them, praying that he wouldn’t find them. Praying that he wouldn’t be able to. It wouldn’t get to that. I wouldn’t let it,” I declared, not breaking the intensity of our stares. I don’t think she blinked one time, and I didn’t think I had either.

“I hid a bat under my bed, Brooke, under my fucking bed. I don’t know what possessed to me to hide one, but I did. Maybe I knew what I was going to do. Though I wouldn’t admit it.” I shivered, trying to control the tears that were at bay.

“I walked out into the living room and my mother—that nice, amazing fucking woman you met—was on the floor. Her arm was broken, her face brutally beaten. I had never seen her that bad. Her face still haunts my dreams; my nightmares. The same fucking ones you’re so proud you can stop and calm. Those nightmares,” I whispered, trying to belittle her. Mock her. Hurt her.

“I broke this award that he had received months prior, Cop of the Year, they called him. The man was a fucking monster. I shattered it, just like I did your goddamn phone,” I reminded, squeezing her throat a little bit harder and her eyes watered.

“He was pissed. So fucking pissed, Brooke, I knew it, too. And he came at me. He came at me even with a bat in my hand, that’s how fearless he was. I didn’t even give him a chance, not one fucking chance.” My breathing escalated.

“I lost control. I raised the bat that was seamlessly gripped in my hands, as high as I could from behind me, and as he made his way over to me, I made sure to swing it at precisely the perfect second. It hit him directly in the temple of his head and I heard it snap,” I laughed out, nervously, deviously.

“It snapped so loud that I can still fucking hear it. I watched his body fall to the ground, lifeless. You want to hear the really fucked up part, Brooklyn?” I taunted, as tears streamed down her face, big ugly tears, but she didn’t make a sound.

“I crouched down to the ground and spit in his face, I spit directly into his fucking dead face. Knowing I had killed him and not fucking caring one damn bit. Because he could never hurt my mother or sisters again.” I violently shook my head.

“I didn’t care about me. They could have locked me in prison for the rest of my life, and I would have proudly served my time. See, Brooke,” I whispered into the side of her face, still squeezing her neck, but kissing her at the same time.

“I’m a monster, too.” I held her there, not moving and just breathing her in.

Her fear.

Her sadness.

Her despair.

Her tears.

I wanted it all.

She sobbed and it choked her breathing, which I held onto so desperately; so brutally. When I realized what I was doing, what I had done, it was too late. I immediately let her go and her body fell forward, sucking in the air that I was taking away.

“Fuck,” I stepped back, raising my hands in the air. “Fuck… I’m so sorry,” I frantically pleaded, tears falling down my face that I hadn’t felt before.

Was I crying that entire time?

She was hunched over, placing all her weight on her knees. Breathing in fresh air. She looked up at me with her Bambi eyes that I loved so much.

“It’s okay,” she gasped, standing up and reaching her arms toward me. “It’s okay, Devon, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry you went through that,” she sobbed, walking toward me, as I stepped back away from her.

I couldn’t take it; I didn’t want her sympathy, or her concern. I had hurt her.

I was my father.

“Don’t touch me, Brooke,” I cautioned, moving her hands away from me.

“Devon, please… please… I’m so sorry… just let me…” she pleaded in a voice of pure desperation and sorrow.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Brooke, I’m warning you.”

She didn’t let up trying to touch my face, my arms, and my chest. Her hands burned, it was as if she was touching me with fire. It hurt everywhere she placed them, everywhere she touched me, leaving behind deeper scars than the ones my father had left.

“I’m so sorry, Devon, so sorry,” she mourned, pulling me into a hug.

It was too much.

It was too real

.

It overwhelmed me and consumed me.

It hurt me and it killed me.

I reacted.

I punched the wall behind her, breaking right through the drywall. She screamed and shuddered, when I looked at her face…

I didn’t see Brooke, I didn’t see Bambi, and I didn’t see a VIP.

I saw my mother.

I backed away from her immediately and left her there. I ran toward the door and out of her life.

Terrified of what else…

I was capable of.

I don’t know how long I stood there in shock over what had just happened. I fell to the ground at one point, crying and bawling for everything.

There was no start or beginning to where my tears flowed; they were endless. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think.

All of it.

We were two broken people that had found their way to one another.

God was cruel.

I was shaking so badly, I hurt everywhere. My hand securely wrapped around my throat. It burned and it was sore, but in a fucked up way, it was comforting; because I could still feel his presence. I laid my hand on top of me like a blanket keeping me warm. The chest pains took over and I laid myself onto the floor.

Mourning the loss of my life.

My heart.

My future.

My love.

It had run out my door, taking everything I wanted and knew I couldn’t have with him.

I fell asleep in a fit of despair and loneliness. When I woke up, I was laying in my bed. I had no idea how I even ended up there. My heart soared, thinking that it was Devon who placed me in there. I ran out of my bedroom like a bat out of hell, making my way into the kitchen.

There was a note on the island. I clutched onto it.

Madam knows best. Always. Get some rest; you’re going to need it. Your new phone will be delivered late this morning. You look like shit….

Fix that.

Madam

I sat on the couch with the note still in my hand. I looked around my condo. The drywall had been fixed, and there was no longer a gaping hole in the wall.

My place felt empty without Devon. My sanctuary was no longer mine…

It felt like a home.

With Devon.

I sat at the front door with a half a bottle of whiskey clutched in my grasp. The door opened and I swiftly fell back onto the ground.

“Hey, Mom,” I greeted, half-laughing.

“Jesus Christ, Devon, what are you doing? Have you been drinking?” she asked, lifting me up off the floor.

I pulled away from her. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. What the hell is going on?” she asked, following me into the living room.

I glared at the room where I killed him; standing in the same spot I watched him take his last breath.

“Why?” I said out loud, not taking my eyes off the spot where his lifeless body laid.

“Devon—”

“Why, Mom? You owe me that. I need to know why.”

“Why what, Devon?”

I sat down on the couch, still gawking and picturing his lifeless body before me. “You know.”

“No, honey, I don’t. You see there are too many questions and answers that run through my mind. Every day.”

“Why didn’t you ever leave him?”

She sighed and rounded the corner, crouching herself in front of me. “Devon, look at me,” she ordered.

My neutral, dead stare turned to hers.

“Oh my God, what happened?”

I shrugged. “I lost control. I hurt her. Like I hurt him. Like he hurt you.”

She anxiously shook her head. “No… Devon. You couldn’t hurt anyone.”

“Tell that to the grave where we buried his body.”

She placed her hand over her mouth, shocked. “Listen. To. Me,” she demanded, leaning over and pulling me onto the ground with her. I went effortlessly.

“Devon, you saved us. You saved our lives. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was me; I did. Every time I stayed. Every time I made an excuse for him. Every bruise and scar you have on your body, is because of me. Yes, he inflicted it, but I didn’t walk away, Devon. I didn’t take care of you like I should have, and I will forever have to pay for that. You didn’t do anything. Do you understand me?”

“That’s not how I remember it,” I interjected, taking a swig from the bottle. She pulled it from my grasp, and the liquor fell down my mouth.

“He was different that night. I know it like I know my name. He was going to kill us, Devon, after he finished with me; he was going directly to you and then your sisters. You saved us; do you hear me? Please tell me you understand.”

“Then why did we have to cover it up, Mom? Why did we have to pretend like someone broke in? Hmmm? Makes no sense when you put it that way, does it?” I stated, cocking my head to the side.

“Devon, do you for one second think that his partner would have helped us, if he thought you would get away with it? No. He knew. The second I called him he knew. He rushed over here and he helped us. You know what he said to me? He said he was sorry, honey. He apologized to me over and over again, because he knew… but didn’t do anything about it. That’s why he helped us.” She grabbed the sides of my face.

“I’m so sorry, honey, I love you so much, and I’m so sorry I wasn’t strong enough for you. You didn’t get to have a life because of me. I ruined it for you. But you saved us. You remember that… you saved all of our lives. God knows that. I know that. Your sisters know that.” She kissed all over my face.

“I love you so much. I will never forgive myself for what I put you through; it’s my punishment. I will have to live with it for the rest of my life. You didn’t do anything, but protect us. Exactly how you always have.”

I nodded, sniffling. My body fell forward and I hugged around her waist, clutching onto her, trying to find my bearings.

I sobbed.

“Shhh… it’s okay, baby,” she murmured, rubbing at my back. “It’s okay. You’re not anything like him. You’re my good boy and even better man. I’m so proud of you, Devon, so proud.”

I bawled for hours, and she held onto me so tightly.

And for once I didn’t feel like the man I was always supposed to become.

I felt like the boy that I was never allowed to be…

A few weeks later I groggily answered my phone, “Hello?” I glanced at the time—four thirty in the morning.

“Brooke Stevens?” the man on the phone inquired.

“Yeah… who is this?” I replied, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

“There’s been an accident.”

I sat straight up in my bed. “What?” I yelled out. “What do you mean?”

“Lilith Stone… you’re her contact in case of emergency.”

“Lilith?” I asked confused. “Madam?”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes… I know Lilith. What’s going on?”

“We can’t state any information over the phone, ma’am. She’s been taken to Jackson Memorial.”

“Oh my God! Is she okay? Is she going to be okay?”

“I can’t disclose any of that information. The nurses will inform you once you’ve arrived.”

“Okay, I’m on my way, thank you.”

I barely had time to throw something on before I made my way into the hospital, running up to the nurse’s desk.

“Lilith Stone, she’s been brought in here. Is she okay? What’s going on?”

“Ma’am, please calm down.”

I eagerly nodded, trying to catch my breathing.

“Are you her next of kin?”

“No, I’m her emergency contact person.”

“Can I see a form of I.D?”

I reached into my clutch and pulled out my license, handing it over to her. She took a copy of it and handed it back to me.

“Miss Stevens, she’s in ICU, she’s stabilized. That’s a

ll we know right now.”

“Oh my God.”

“We’re doing everything we can. She’s in good hands.”

“Can I see her?”

She nodded. They took me to a private room, and she was on all these ventilators. I barely recognized her face; it was so badly beaten.

I stayed with her the entire night, holding her hand, and not being able to leave her side. It took two days for her to fully wake up, and then four more days for her to talk. I had been bringing her flowers for the last two days.

She smiled at me as I placed new flowers on her window.

“Are you ready, darling?” she asked.

I nodded. “I still don’t understand why you think I need help running VIP. I can do this on my own, Madam.”

Since the minute she woke up she had been telling me that I needed to call Ysabelle. She had to come home to help me run VIP while she recovered. The doctors said it would take months for her to recover, and she would be transferred to a rehabilitation center; much to her disapproval.

She sympathetically grinned at me. “Brooke, you have heard the doctors, even they don’t know how long it’s going to take for me to heal. I was badly beaten and I’m lucky to be alive. Please, don’t argue with me. Just make the call.”

I sighed, “Okay.” I didn’t think Ysabelle had to come to help me run things. I could have handled it, but when Madam requests something, we listen. It’s part of being Madam.

I dialed the number and it started ringing, I hit speaker.

“Hello,” Ysabelle answered.

“Bella,” I replied, my emotions getting the best of me. I tried to hold back the tears; between Devon and now this, it was a sensory overload.

“Brooke? Are you all right? What’s wrong?”

I took a deep breath. “Bella, it’s Madam. We’re in the hospital and she’s been badly injured. I don’t know what to do and I need you to come home. I need your help with everything. I can’t do this on my own. Please, please tell me you’ll come home,” I pleaded, surprised over the words that were coming out of my mouth.

Maybe I did need her help…

“What? Is she okay?” Ysabelle asked with desperation in her voice.

“Yes… but the doctors don’t know how long it will take for her to recover, and VIP can’t run itself. I need you to come home and help me. Bella, we owe everything to VIP. We can’t let it go down because Madam is helpless. Tell me you are coming home.”