Page 22 of When Sinners Hate
I stand before this becomes difficult to the point of no return. “You, Mother, will learn to heed a warning. I am not your plaything anymore.” That was a long time ago. If it could be called play. She made me good at dispassionate response, though. I can’t deny that.
Checking my watch, I look towards the house. I’m already frustrated that my wife isn't where she’d supposed to be at the time I requested. Add in Mother’s attitude and this day is going downhill. “You neither control nor govern me any longer. Don't push me past my limit.”
“Abel, I wish you wouldn’t get like this. What is wrong with you lately? Have I not given you everything? My whole life has been for your existence and survival.”
I look back at her perfectly manicured body and hair, then up at the place she calls home. “Your life has been for your own survival and wealth. Don’t forget that wealth is now mine and, if pissed, I might become more aligned to my own agenda than yours.”
Walking off without giving her any more room to talk, I scour the grounds for my wife. I have work to do, and if she doesn’t get here within the next few minutes, she won’t be getting the guided tour I’ve decided to introduce her to. Hate or not, and lie or not, she needs to begin understanding what we do. Not because she’ll be involved in it, but because she needs to learn how to be deceitful about it if needed. Our families arenow working together in some respects. My side of that deal is something she's never seen before.
I wait at the entrance lobby, pacing the floor for her arrival. I’m about to just damn well leave when she turns into the corridor and sways towards me. Blonde hair sits neatly in a low bun at her neck, and a fitted blue trouser suit screams class and money. Heels finalise the look, adding that edge of sex appeal I'm beginning to appreciate.
No matter how much my breathing wants to catch at the vision or flawless simplicity, I frown and turn away from her towards the car.
“Good morning, husband,” she says, as she gets in the car beside me and slides her sunglasses on. “What delights do we have in store today?”
I side–eye her cheerful attitude and pull us out down the drive. “You’ll be learning today.”
“About what?”
“Who I am and what I do.”
“Well, isn’t that exciting,” she drawls, looking out the side window. “Perhaps getting to know each other a little better will help.”
“With what?”
“Our marriage.”
I keep driving. In reality, she’s right – it might, because after today she will understand my ability to be as cruel as I am. It took time to build up layers of savagery for my brothers, but for me, treating women like property has always been embedded. They’ve always been that way. My mother belonged to my father, and the rest of the women I knew at an early age either belonged to him, or then her when she finally broke free of him.
The journey continues in silence, as I think about that part of my life. A mother who’s turned from a whore to a madamis a confusing state of being for her son. Respect women, but only certain ones. Treat them like a queen, but only if they deserve it. Hold your family as close as you can, but never let them break free of the villains you’ve pushed them into becoming. And in the middle of that change, my father came back. He found her and wanted to take it all from her, citing that he was her owner – her pimp – and so everything she’d created was his. It was the first time I watched a woman take revenge by way of a bullet. And the first time I realised that a man touching her with anything but respect would die at my hands one day. Several have. One got me a long stretch in Huntsville.
“Abel?” I look over at Alexia. “Where are you?”
“What?”
“In your head?”
“I’m driving.”
“No, you’re thinking. We might not be the perfect match, but I’m well versed in the crease in your brow. It’s currently uncomfortable with your thoughts.”
I keep frowning and pull over towards the exit we’re approaching, shifting gears to ease down the slip road. Prison does that to a man. It makes him uncomfortable with what he did back then to survive. Fighting every day. Killing, often, without being caught. Banding together a gang to do as I ask by making others fear just the thought of me. I even had to back down on occasion so the guards got their playtime with me.
“It’s good that you can see that, Alexia. Don’t play with it, though.”
She doesn’t say anything else for a while as we head through back roads and dirt tracks. She looks at the view, or the car, or anything but me and my thoughts. We’re close to the old airstrip near San Marcos when she sits sideways and does look straight at me.
“This car surprises me.” I glance sideways at her, then back at the road. “Dodge Challenger. Hellcat. Latest model. The black I get, but I would have thought you’d have an older version.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Moodier perhaps. They’re aged like fine wine and full of grunt. Grating gears and all that.”
“Are you flirting with me?” Her mouth stops as if that just rattled something inside her, and then she dares one of those smiles she uses to get what she wants. “Don’t do that, Alexia. There was a minute’s worth of reality there. Use it.” She frowns and keeps looking at me, shifting a little in her seat. “Talk to me about how you know cars.”
“My father. He’s obsessed with them. I suppose I did anything I could when I was young to be noticed – be his perfect little girl. He and Nicolas were always so close, though. I never had a chance.” She looks back out the window, probably thinking about her own version of life before this time we’re in. “Do you like it?”
“The car?” She nods. “Yes. I especially like the bulletproof windows.”