10

Morgan was so deep in her feelings she was drowning. The ceremony was torture. She couldn’t sit still as she waited for her name to be called. She kept turning to look in the crowd, her eyes scanning hundreds of faces, looking for just one. Her heart ached and eyes clouded as she tapped her foot against the concrete floor in angst. Her eyes found Aria, who was seated two rows behind. Her brows knitted in concern as she swiped a tear from her cheek.

“You okay?” Aria mouthed the words as she held up her hands and frowned at Morgan’s distressed face.

Morgan couldn’t breathe. She stood abruptly, interrupting the speaker onstage, and bolted for the door. She caused a slight disruption as people whispered as she ran past them. She burst out of the auditorium doors and raced for her car. She hopped in and peeled off just as Ethic rushed out of the building. Morgan’s tears flowed as she pressed her gas pedal to the floor. She reached to the passenger seat, grabbing her phone, her eyes barely on the road as she tried to unlock it. She went to her favorite contacts. He was still the only number on the list, even after all this time. She had never erased it. She hadn’t used it in years. She hoped the number was the same. She touched his name SSIAH and held the phone to her ear. Voice mail. Morgan drove faster. When she pulled up to his trap house, she saw him. He stood at the back of an SUV, removing boxes that she knew from experience were filled with a load they had just robbed. Same Messiah. Still thugging. Still risking it all … risking even more since she was no longer a factor. She pulled up recklessly behind the truck, blocking it in and throwing her car in park. The men standing beside him turned to her in surprise as she hopped out in her cap and gown.

Messiah stepped up and Morgan ran to him, practically knocking him over as she threw her arms around his neck. She kissed him so deeply, giving him years’ worth of passion. He knocked that square hat off her head as he grabbed her braid and returned the kiss.

“Hmm,” he groaned as she attacked those lips with aggression, aggression she had hidden, aggression he had taught her and that she had locked inside for years. She pulled back, placing her hands on his cheeks as he gripped the side of her face desperately. Their foreheads connected as she cried.

“What are you doing, shorty?” he asked in disbelief.

“I don’t know,” she answered while stroking his face gently.

He turned to the man behind him. “Yo, park the truck in the garage and lock shit down. Move her car around the block. I’ll meet you back here tonight. I’ma text the details. Be ready,” he said in a low tone. “Come on,” he said, focusing back on her.

He grabbed her hand as they rushed to his bike. He handed her his only helmet, and she strapped it on in haste before climbing on the back without hesitation. He kicked off the stand as Morgan wrapped her arms around his body. She leaned into him, and he took off.

He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers, then balled his fist. Morgan closed her eyes because he took her breath away, and she held him tightly as the thrill of the high speeds caused nervous jitters to fill her. An hour outside of the city, they retreated to a hotel, and Morgan climbed down, removing the helmet. She sniffed away her emotions, wiping her eyes, and then ran her hands through her hair as Messiah held her under his scrutiny. Morgan looked away, unable to withstand the eye contact. It was like she didn’t know him … like she was afraid to be alone with him. He reached for her hand, and her feet didn’t move.

“I need to keep your gun. In my bag,” she finished.

Her words were like a jab to Messiah’s chin. He recoiled, stunned. Morgan Atkins, the one person on earth that he would never lay a finger on, feared he would hurt her. She saw the flicker of emotion in his eyes. No one else would have, but she did.

“I’ve been around you since I’ve been back,” he said, looking for an explanation as to why she felt unsafe all of a sudden.

“Never alone,” she answered.

It was a blow to his soul … the fact that she thought he would hurt her, but he reached into his waistline and held it out for her. He wouldn’t protest. This was as calm as she had been around him in a long time. This was reminiscent of times past.

“It’s your world, shorty. You hold the power,” he said.

Morgan took it from his hand, clicked the safety on because Messiah never used his safety, and then put it in her purse. “The other one too.”

It was an order. Her tone let him know it wasn’t optional. Messiah’s lips lifted on one side, a smirk … a disbelieving smirk. Nobody had ever relieved him of his pistol. Not even the police. Morgan fucking Atkins had disarmed him merely with words. He removed it and handed it to her. She removed the clip and checked the chamber, putting the ammunition in her bag, then handed it back to him, empty. He had taught her that. Apparently, he had taught her well. He remembered the days she had been terrified to handle a gun.

Messiah scoffed, then led the way into the hotel. They were silent until they entered the room. He went to the bed and sat on it as she stayed near the door.

“I ain’t gon’ bite you, Mo,” he said.

“Are you sure, Messiah?” she asked. “I barely know you.”

“Nah, everybody outside these four walls barely knows me. You know, Mo,” he said. “What you doing here? You pulled up on a nigga. What you want, shorty?”

“I don’t know,” she said, breathless, eyes prickling, as she rustled her hair and turned toward the door. She reached for the handle.

“Let go of the door and bring yo’ ass over here,” Messiah said.

Morgan’s hand froze, and she closed her eyes. She turned and leaned her back against the door. “Don’t tell me what to do. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen me, so I know you don’t know, but nobody tells me what to do.”

“You let that fucking door go, didn’t you?” he baited. “Now bring that shit over here so I can finish eating.”

Morgan’s feet had a mind of their own, and she crossed the room. She stood between his legs, and shaky hands reached for the top of his head as he unzipped the graduation gown. The dress beneath hugged her curves as if it were molded to her frame. She was so damn nervous. Everything was heightened, her senses on alert because this was new for them, reconnection over anger, over resentment … none of that had existed before between them, but it crowded the space between them now. Still, this moment was inevitable. He had been home too long without this happening. Flashes of what they used to be to each other caused her eyes to prickle. They would spend hours stuck between four walls with each other as the itinerary for entertainment. Trapped in a bubble. Their love had grown without sunlight, without water … like the plants that grew between the cracks of urban concrete. They had been resilient until a terrible storm had destroyed them.

“Damn, shorty,” he groaned in appreciation. Morgan had filled all the way out. It had been years since he had left her in that hotel room, and she had transformed. He hated that somebody else was hitting it. He knew Meek was in it, and it burned him. He suspected Bash may be hitting it too. Not well. He was almost positive the lame nigga was trying, and the thought set a small fire inside his chest. Little Morgan had some ho in her with the juggling of two men, and oddly, it turned him on. He lifted the dress above her hips as Morgan stifled her breaths in anticipation. She held his ears, her thumbs caressing the side of his face, a familiar stroke she hadn’t done in a long time. His eyes closed. Morgan was such comfort. She knew exactly where to touch, and he felt his nose burn as his emotions tried to push to the surface. He pushed them back down. Buried. Always unexposed beneath years of bullshit. Morgan knew this was wrong. She was already stretched too thin. Pieces of her were everywhere. Stuck to Bash like lint to a black shirt, attached to Ahmeek emotionally because even now he was in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t stop herself because Messiah owned pieces too. He possessed the most broken parts. At one point, he had held them all because the pieces used to be whole … the pieces used to make up a heart. A heart that beat for him. She straddled him. She pulled back, lifting his face, forcing him to look at her as she sat in his lap while his hands rubbed her behind. She saw a new tattoo on his neck. Two M’s. One inked on top of the other like a logo. Branded on his body like she was the last woman he would ever be accountable to. Like he didn’t have the rest of his life to find another one who would dislike the imprint of Morgan on his skin.

“Why did you pull up on me, Mo?”

“I don’t know,” she answered again, looking off at the ugly painting on the wall. It was hideous, and Morgan took in every detail of its ugliness to avoid looking at him. She couldn’t face him.

“You know, shorty. Don’t do that. You’re supposed to be walking across a stage right now, but you’re here. Why?” he asked.

“Because…,” she started, then stopped. There was a lump in her throat. So much resentment existed between them.

“You know how my patience is set up, Mo. Because what?” he pushed. She marked him with angry eyes.

“Because, Messiah,” she said weakly. Her lip quivered because she couldn’t even admit that she needed him. She hated that she loved the feel of his hands on her body. She hated that his eyes on hers felt incredible. Having him back was a miracle. She had never thought she would see him again, feel him again. Her anger had been masking how grateful she was that he was even alive. “You came back!” she cried. Her lashes were so heavy from the tears that clung to them. “What took you so long?”

Messiah stole her mouth, not giving one fuck about her resistance because he still owned every part of her. He would own her forever. Morgan withered under his touch. She bit him. Hard. He pulled back and caressed his lip as she pushed him down onto the bed, eyes glossing, angry tears spilling from her … challenging him. He reached up, gripping her neck, and flipped her onto the bed, dominating, hovering over her, one hand squeezing slightly on her throat. Morgan tried to lift, but Messiah grabbed her wrists and pushed her back down against the bed.

“It’s been two years,” she said, shaking her head. “And you just show up.” Tears rolled from her eyes and pooled in her ears as Messiah hovered over her. Morgan’s sobs escaped her, and she turned her head to the side as her chest quaked. “You should have left me alone.”

“I can’t, shorty,” he groaned as he lowered to her ear. Messiah licked the side of her neck, while still holding her wrists hostage. “I’m sorry. I’m a reckless-ass nigga, but I’m your reckless-ass nigga, and you’re a spoiled-ass brat…”

“But I’m your spoiled-ass brat.” She barely managed the words. They were a ghost on her lips. Morgan pinched her eyes closed as he released one of her hands. She used her newfound freedom to grip his head and push him south. Messiah obliged, rolling down her panties and taking her swollen clit between his lips. She was like a pink Starburst … the motherfucking best out of the bunch. “I miss this shit, shorty. Damn,” he groaned as he pulled on it with his full lips, hoisting up her hips to press her into him, adding pressure. Morgan’s back arched clean off the bed as she grunted. This was wrong. She was in love with someone else, but damn it, how could she deny that behind all that anger for Messiah was indeed the love he had abandoned? She loved his bitch ass too. She didn’t know if she was cheating on her fiancé, cheating on Meek, or cheating on Messiah, but she was definitely cheating. Perhaps herself. She was cheating on her soul, but she couldn’t stop. Messiah smeared his face in her wet. Nasty. Nasty as ever for her, especially after all this time. She reached for his shirt, pulling it over his head, and the reflection of his back in the mirror made her eyes mist in disbelief. A mural of her face was staring back at her in the reflection. His body was a canvas dedicated to her. It hadn’t been there two years ago. That tattoo was proof that he had thought of her while he was away. Her heart ached. It was bawling. She could feel her soul bleeding. How had they lost touch with each other for so long? How had he let it occur? How could he not need her? Not once had he reached out. Morgan had so many questions.

“Your back, Messiah,” she gasped.

He paused and came up for air, his eyes meeting hers. “Every inch of me belongs to you, Mo,” he said.

A streak of guilt flashed in her eyes because they both knew she had given her body away. He rubbed a gentle finger on the cover-up tattoo where his name used to be. She didn’t know what to say.

“Lay down, shorty,” he said as he went back down. Any grudge he held he took out on her clit. He made light work of her body, sucking that first orgasm out of her so fast Morgan had no time to do anything but bask in it. Colors exploded behind her lids as his soft tongue lapped at the small piece of flesh between her swollen labia.

“Ugh!” she groaned. “Agh!”

Messiah came up her body, peeling that dress up along the way. The feeling of his erection dragging against her skin made Morgan weak. Her head spun like an addict’s, pining for her first hit. Hoisting her legs over his shoulders, Messiah entered her.

“Oh my God,” she moaned as her head rolled left, then right. He filled her, every part of her, and Morgan felt him tap on the window to her soul as the familiar aching pleasure made her bite her lip. It was a feeling she hadn’t had the privilege of indulging in since him. The pain that came with the pleasure of his lovemaking was uniquely his. Only he could make something this rough feel so good. Ahmeek gave her orgasms, back to back, sometimes all night, but Messiah punished her pussy without remorse. He made her take dick even when she couldn’t handle it, even when it was a little past her limit, he made her bite down and endure the ride because, like a roller coaster, once it started, it didn’t stop. He kissed the insides of her knees as he dug into her middle, hitting her with deep strokes. He brought her left foot to his mouth, and Morgan wanted to stop him … because she knew what he would do next. Her feet had been cramped in heels all day, but when he wrapped his mouth around her big toe, you would have thought she was fresh out of the shower. Her face collapsed in pleasure. Messiah’s tongue worked its way between every single one of her pretty phalanges, a word she had learned doing something exactly like this with him during a sex-study session. His rhythm never changed. His stroke never altered. He sucked those toes and worked her middle at the same time, and Morgan could feel her temperature rising. Morgan fisted her hair, going crazy from delirium, her head whipping back and forth, her bottom lip lowering slowly as he led her toward a glorious orgasm. Her forehead pinched, and she held her breath as he released her legs and lowered to her ear.

“Give me that nut, shorty.” His voice. Demanding. Aggressive. Messiah’s mean ass held the key to her pleasure. Who was she to defy him? Her body jerked as she rained all over him. “A fucking super soaker, shorty,” he groaned as he put one arm beneath her body and hit it deeper. Harder. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned. Deeper.

“Messiah, I’m cumming.” Morgan let the words escape her glossy lips. They were pulled tight in a grimace across her pretty face. Her desperate plea. Was there such a thing as too much pleasure? He was making up for lost time. He owed her a couple, and he planned to deliver. Morgan’s nails dug into his back as she shuddered beneath him. His fingers entangled in her hair. The braid was nonexistent now from the pulling as he gripped her tightly, burying himself in the pocket of her neck as he came too.

Morgan was destroyed as she looked off to the side, tremors never leaving her because now she was crying, and crying hard, crying and riding a wave of euphoria at the same damn time. Bawling … the one thing he hated to see her do.

“Mo,” he whispered as he rose slightly, hovering over her. She was trapped in the prison of his biceps as they stretched out on the sides of her head. She noticed another tattoo. The words Doo Wop on the inside of his arm. She covered her face with both hands, her chest quaking as she cried from her soul, emotion rattling her and hindering him. The sight of her distress was bringing out things in him that he had been able to tamp down in her absence. He had been unfeeling for two years because if he allowed himself to feel anything about her, he would murder everyone in his path that kept him from her.

“I’ve got to go. This is fucked up. I’ve got to get the fuck up and go.” She pushed him off of her and scrambled into her clothes. Messiah wasn’t quick to go after her. He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows to knees, head lowered.

“I didn’t come back for this,” he said. The emotions she brought out in him weakened him. He wasn’t comfortable with the control she had over him. This fucking tender spot in the middle of his chest that ached so terribly when she was around, even worse when she wasn’t. He couldn’t get rid of the shit. It made him feel as if he were having a fucking heart attack.

Morgan fumbled with the tight dress, pulling it down and then flipping pillows and covers in frustration. “Where the fuck are my panties?”

Messiah held them up on one finger, and she stalked over to him. She reached for them, but he snatched them out of her grasp, bringing them to his nose, then balling them in his fist, trapping them between those chocolate fingers. “Nah, shorty, these on me.”

Morgan shook her head, enraged. “Nigga, give me my underwear.”

He stood, dwarfing her with his height, but Morgan didn’t back down. He was so close that her breath caught in her throat. Her stomach tightened. Nervous. He made her nervous.

“You got my mind all messed up,” she said, lip quivering.

He lifted her chin with one finger, and she moved her face.

“You should have stayed gone, Messiah!” she cried. “I was moving on. I was putting things back together.”

“I just want to be a part of your important days, shorty. A part of your life. A part of you. Like I used to be,” Messiah said.

Morgan’s lashes fluttered as she sucked in air.

“Today was too much. My bad. I know we ain’t there yet, but shorty, it’s been two years. A nigga dick get hard every time he see you, Mo. That pussy so sweet, shorty. I just wanted to taste you. Every time I see you, Mo, I want it,” he whispered. The angst in his voice told her it was true. He hadn’t been able to help himself. He took her hand and placed it on his dick. Morgan gasped. “Feel that,” he groaned. “I don’t want to fight with you, Mo. I just want to fuck, shorty. Love you and fuck you. That’s it.” Morgan’s hand massaged him. He was so damn strong. Hard. Big-dick-ass nigga. Lust made her breaths heavy as she felt her skin flush. His mouth. It was disgusting. The things he did with it … just filthy. She felt her pulse in her clit, then she felt his coarse hands as they slid up her thigh, then two fingers, middle and ring, as he wet them inside her. Morgan went up on her tiptoes to run from those two fingers, but he chased her, catching her. Her teeth pinched into her bottom lip as she grimaced from the tune-up he was giving her. His thumb circled her bud.

She was goddamned ruined by this man, even after all this time. The mind control he had over her was uncanny. She guarded the part of her heart that he had touched. No one else could access those depths; she would never allow it because the last time someone had trespassed there she had been hurt, but he had the key. He could come and go as he pleased.

“Now stop talking all that shit and nut for me, shorty. Make a mess so I can clean it up.” He growled the words to her as her legs weakened, and he wrapped his other hand around her waist to hold her up. She had always been a good student—a follow-every-rule, raise-your-hand-to-answer-every-question, obedient type of girl—so she did as he asked. The faces she made as she rained all over his fingers were hideous, but she didn’t care. He took those fingers and just like every other time he had ever touched her there, he put them inside his mouth.

“You’re disgusting. You don’t know who you’re eating after,” she said. She knew what the notion would do to him before the words ever left her tongue. Her eyes blazed with challenge. Like a hood nigga who fought pit bulls to make them tough by inciting them, slapping them around a little bit, to get them to snap. She was tagging Messiah’s ass with those words. Yanking his chain. Provoking his rage.

Her words were like the first strike of a match, the practice strike, the one that made the sound but didn’t find its blaze. She was testing him, playing with fire. He could see the challenge in her; she was different, harder, and he smirked.

“Be careful, shorty,” he warned. “That’s a big trigger you trying to pull.”

He grabbed her roughly, a thumb caressing her cheek and four fingers around the back of her neck. She pulled away, and he jerked her toward him.

“I swear you love when I send niggas up outta here over you,” he said as he looked down the bridge of his nose at her through low lids. She pulled away again, and he pulled her right back.

“Messiah,” she gasped. Those ss’s for zz’s. His heart fluttered, and he scooped her, hands under her ass, and pushed her back against the wall. Their lips met, and she was weakened again, by his presence, by his kisses. Morgan slapped him. She had a fit as she jumped out of his arms and pushed him, then socked him upside his big-ass head, as he lifted his hands to block her attack. She was bawling, distraught, as he captured her wrists and pinned them above her head.

“Stop!” he shouted.

“You left me for two years!” she cried. “Where were you when I needed you? There were so many days that I needed you, and now I don’t anymore!”

“You didn’t need me, Mo. Look at you. You’re a big girl now. You’re graduating. You’re living. You’re—”

“Getting married, Messiah, and fucking your friend on the side,” she finished in a weak admission of guilt. He released her. Her words were like a cannonball, jolting him back. Like a bullet … no, he had been shot before. This was worse than that. The hurt and confusion that took over his face hollowed her stomach. “I thought you were dead, and now I’m getting married.” She shrugged and held out her arms in defeat.

He snickered. “Yeah, you want me to kill a mu’fucka today, shorty,” he said with a nod. Then his eyes went to her ring finger. The brilliance of the diamond sparkled. It was like it had magically appeared there; he hadn’t noticed it until now. He had known she was engaged. This wasn’t new information, but he’d never thought she would actually go through with it. He always thought she was playing games, seeking attention, because, well, that’s what Mo did, but hearing her speak the words so frankly … like it was inevitable for her to be another man’s wife … it hit him differently. It hurt with significance. It hurt worse than the molestation he had survived as a young boy. It ached more than the day he’d found his mother murdered. It tortured him more than the look of betrayal he had seen in Ethic’s eyes when he had snaked him all those years ago. It affected him more than killing his own sister. Morgan hurt him most with just words.

Match two. He felt that fire trying to start, and he smothered it as the words he was trying to form got stuck in his throat. He gritted his teeth, jaw locked, fist closed unintentionally as if he were preparing to knock a nigga out.

“You left me,” she said, defeated.

“I ain’t worried. You can’t marry a nigga that’s no longer breathing,” he said.

“Messiah!” His name on her lips like she were chastising a child she had birthed, but hadn’t she? He was a by-product of her love. That counted. She was his family, his Shorty Doo Wop, and she was engaged. He’d thought he had more time. “You’re going to murder every man I ever meet?”

She didn’t even know why she was defending Bash. His death would mean her freedom. She wanted to tell Messiah to go ahead, to pull triggers for her because Bash was hurting her, but she knew it wouldn’t truly mean freedom. It would just be a transfer of power. From Bash to Messiah she would go. Messiah would kill him for her without a second thought, but then he would expect to take Bash’s place, and Morgan wasn’t ready for that. Letting Messiah in again, indulging in their obsession for each other, would kill her. She had fought hard to breathe without him, and he would suffocate her all over again.

“Pretty much,” he said. He was so nonchalant that Morgan knew he meant it.

Messiah snatched up his jeans and sat on the edge of the bed as he dressed.

“How long did you expect me to wait?” she asked. “You never even called.”

“I had shit to get in order, Mo. Shit to handle,” he said.

“Shit that took two years?” she asked in disbelief as she spun toward the door. She opened it, and he came behind her and closed it. Apparently, she wasn’t going anywhere.

“Yeah, Mo. The shit took two years. Two long-ass, hard-ass years. I wasn’t out fucking with no hoes. I didn’t move on. Every day I was on my shit, so I could come back for you … so I could get right for you!” he shouted. He was frustrated. She could see it rising in him, and the guilt she felt eroded her as she stood in front of him, half of the woman she had walked in as.

“You’re too late. It’s too late,” she whispered.

“How you let this happen, shorty?” he asked.

Match three, only it was Morgan’s fire that came alive.

“How did I let it happen? No, nigga, how did you let it happen?” she shouted as she pushed him. She opened one palm and slapped her other hand inside it as she spoke. “Bash was there for me, Messiah. He ain’t the best man. He has his ways, but he was consistent!”

“Bash.” Messiah scoffed and shook his head. “Fucking corny-ass college boy?”

“Yes, Messiah, the corny college boy! You disappeared, and he didn’t. He was solid. On days when I felt like taking a razor to my wrists, he would show up out of nowhere. We talked. We went to the movies. He cooked for me. We read books together. He was my friend. He saw me through depression. He welcomed me into his family, helped me keep up with homework while raising two babies. He put in the time, Messiah … with the space and opportunity you gave him!” She shook her head and stopped speaking as she turned away from him so he wouldn’t see her tears. She couldn’t believe she was advocating for Bash after what he’d done to her. After the threats and him being physical with her, she was defending him vehemently. It hadn’t always been bad between them, and if she was honest, she’d played a role in the way things had changed for the worst. She was wrecked, decimated by the cloud Messiah had cast over her life. She hadn’t been happy without him, but she hadn’t been sad either. She had just been coasting, on autopilot, through each day. His strong hand on the back of her neck, massaging, coercing her to face him made her feel like she couldn’t breathe. She knew he liked to hijack shit. Semis, her heart, now her air. Damn him for being so good at it. “I think about what would have happened if that girl never showed up at your house that day. I think about it every day. When would you have killed Ethic? Would you have killed me? Eazy? B? How would it have all gone down? Would I have seen it coming?”

She closed her eyes as her lip trembled. The thought alone destroyed her. Messiah blew out his exasperation and stumbled backward until he felt the bed behind him. He sat and leaned forward, dragging his hands down his face. It was time to address what he had avoided for years.

“No. You wouldn’t have seen it coming,” Messiah said. “Cuz I’m good at the shit. You wouldn’t have known shit until everybody was in the dirt. You only know because I told you the shit … because I loved you too much to keep hiding it, Mo. Hitting you was never an option, shorty. My issue was with Ethic. Day one I saw you, I wanted you, shorty. You were young, though, and I knew what I was there for, so it wasn’t even an option, but your ass kept chasing it. You kept begging me to pop that, and when I did, it was over. You got in my head that night at the falls, and then I fucked with you and everything changed. I couldn’t figure out how to touch Ethic without it tearing you apart. Then I started questioning if it was even worth it in the first place. Ethic was more of a brother than Mizan ever was, but there was pressure on me to make that right. Either I made it right or somebody else was gon’ come through and make it right, but somebody else might not play fair. Somebody else might touch you or B or Eazy. I was never touching you, though. Touching you is like touching myself.”

He sat there so pitiful, so dejected, and Morgan was conflicted. Eighteen-year-old Mo would have wrapped her arms around him. She would have broken every rule to have him a part of her world, but he had proved to be a disappointment. He had burned her, and she hadn’t been the same since. At twenty-one, she was a bit older, a bit wiser, a bit tarnished, and she held some resentments. She couldn’t deny that she loved him still. Even after 912 days, he made her entire body react just by being in her vicinity. He activated her spirit whenever he was around. She didn’t know what to say to him, what to do with him.

The buzzing of her phone caught her attention, and she picked it up to find she had missed calls. Bash. Ethic. Alani. Even Bella had been trying to reach her. “I’ve got to go,” she said.

“Don’t marry him, Mo.” Messiah’s words stopped her feet from working.

She was in the threshold of the door—all she had to do was keep walking—but her fucking feet wouldn’t move. His hands around her waist, pulling her back into the room, back into his arms, as he kissed the back of her head. He breathed deeply, inhaling her scent because he didn’t know if she would ever let him get this close again.

She turned around and marked him with sad eyes. She reached into her purse and removed his guns, placing them on the stand by the door. “There is a part of me that’s going to always wonder what we could have been, Messiah, but there is also a part of me that will always wonder who I could have been if Mizan had never come into my sister’s life. If my daddy and my mama and Raven were alive, and I had them. When I look at you now, I see him. I don’t know how I didn’t see him in you before. The anger issues, the quick temper. I’ve always been afraid of him, Messiah. I used to be extra good when he was home. Try to be extra nice to him so he wouldn’t get mad and blow up on my sister. He thought I liked him, because I used to pretend to try to keep him in a good mood so he wouldn’t hurt her. I was terrified of him, though, and with you being here, it’s like I’m a little-ass girl again, staring at him, pretending that my heart isn’t in my throat. I’m afraid of you now, Messiah.”

Messiah nodded as his temple throbbed, and he sniffed away his emotion. He was trying his hardest to keep it together. She could see his struggle, but damn if antipathy didn’t stop her from soothing him.

“You know I wouldn’t hurt you, Morgan,” he said, pained as he caressed her face. She rested her cheek in the palm of his hand, relishing the moment, holding on to it because it was going to pass soon. He never called her Morgan. He barely called her Mo. It was Shorty Doo Wop. Just shorty when he was being lazy. He was serious, dead serious, because this was serious. She was giving herself away to another man.

“That’s the problem, Messiah. I don’t know that at all,” she replied.

“I’m trying to fix shit,” he said, his voice catching. He cleared his throat. “I swear to God, shorty, I’ma make it right. I’ma make up for all my wrongs.”

She shook her head.

“Messiah.” She sighed. He kissed her forehead, and her eyes lowered until the black behind her lids greeted her. He lived there too. He haunted her. There was nowhere to run, because he existed everywhere. He kissed her nose, and she gasped. Her stomach lurched as he moved to the valley above her lips, the oddest place, but he deemed it worthy to kiss as well. Her stomach went crazy with anxiety. There was no aggression in his touch. This time, she felt weakness. He took her lips, and she let him. It was a soul-stirring kiss. The kind that made electricity shoot through her nerves and made the slightest touch feel erotic. This was the gentlest he had ever been, and it felt so good. It felt earned. Morgan melted.

Morgan’s head was cloudy, spinning, as confusion made a mess of her. She placed both hands on his chest and pushed softly, not really wanting space, but wanting their lips to disconnect so she could breathe … so she could think … so she could find her no … but as he looked at her, brows dipped low in pain, cheeks heavy in devastation, all Morgan felt was yes. She lunged for him, unleashing the aggression he had taught her, the aggression she had locked away since the last time she had seen him.

The buzzing of her cell phone snapped her back into reality.

What am I doing?

She pulled away, breaking the trance he had her under. “I can’t do this,” she said.

“I can’t not do this, shorty, so what we gon’ do?” Messiah asked. “I’m ready, Mo. I’m ready for you, ready to do whatever I got to do to make it right … to be your man, shorty.”

“I have a man, Messiah,” she said as she shook her head. He thought she was talking about Bash, but her heart had given the title to Ahmeek. Ahmeek was her man. Yes, she was trapped by Bash, but she was trying to figure out how to escape. One day, when she was able to break free, she would be Ahmeek Harris’s woman. “And I ain’t shit because I’m here with you. He doesn’t deserve this. I’ve got to go,” she said.

Every step she took away from Messiah burned him. He had walked away from her many times before, and if she had felt like this, like she was suffocating, he was sorry as hell because the ache was unbearable.

“Yo, shorty,” he called out as he stepped into the hall, shirtless, tattoos covering him, marking him up, proving he was a glutton for pain.

She pressed the elevator button repeatedly as he strolled up to her.

“Just let me go, please.”

“I’ma let you go. You got a wedding to plan and all,” Messiah said with a scoff as he caressed his lips, his lips that still tasted like her. “But yo, while you at it, plan a funeral too, shorty. You gon’ need a black dress that day, because the day I watch you walk down the aisle to that lame-ass nigga is the day he takes his last breath.” Messiah kissed the side of her head and then walked back to his room, leaving her standing in the hallway, heart racing, feeling more alive than she had in two years.