Betrayal (24 page)

Brandon and Cynthia were making dinner plans with one of her sorors and her state senator husband when Brandon happened to glance across the ballroom. When he saw his mother and Tamia engaged in heated confrontation, his hackles went up.

“Excuse me,” he muttered abruptly to his companions.

Cynthia grabbed his arm as he started away. “Where are you going?”

Brandon looked at her, saw the bright gleam in her eyes, and realized that she'd been covertly watching the showdown the whole time.

Clenching his jaw, he impatiently shook off her hand and stalked away. As he shouldered his way through the crowd, he ignored the friendly greetings that were called to him and evaded the hands that reached out to detain him for conversation.

By the time he reached the other side of the ballroom, Tamia had already departed. The affronted outrage on his mother's face told him Tamia had probably gotten the last word.

When Gwen saw Brandon charging toward her, she looked startled. “Darling—”

“Don't ‘darling' me,” Brandon growled. “What the hell did you say to Tamia?”

His mother let out a scandalized gasp. “How dare you take that tone with me! What on earth has gotten into you?”

“That's what I should be asking
you!
I saw you arguing with Tamia. Aren't you the same one who abhors public spectacles? Aren't you the one who's always lecturing us about the proper way to conduct ourselves so we won't disgrace the family name?”

Gwen gave him a haughty look. “You talk as if I was brawling with that silly girl. We were having a perfectly civilized—”

“Bullshit,” Brandon snarled. “There was nothing
civilized
about the way you were getting all up in her face.”

Gwen's eyes flashed with anger. “How
dare
you defend her after she came here tonight to flaunt her lover in your face and make a fool of you!”

“I'm not defending her! Believe me, her presence here tonight says more about her than the scumbag she came with. All I'm saying is that you didn't have to confront her. You're always telling everyone else to take the high road, but you hardly ever heed your own damn advice.”

“That's not—”

“I'm talking,” Brandon cut her off.

As her eyes widened with indignation, he glared at her. “The evening's almost over but you just
had
to have your say, didn't you? You just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? I mean seriously, Mom. What more are you after? You and Dad got what you wanted. I'm marrying your precious chosen one—”

Gwen sputtered. “Is
that
how you're referring to—”

“What the hell is going on here?” a low, controlled voice demanded.

Brandon and Gwen whirled around to see Bernard standing there, eyeing them with a look of stern reproach.

“Oh, thank goodness you're here,” Gwen exclaimed, rushing to her husband's side like a frightened child taking cover behind her father's legs. “Please talk some sense into your son. He's behaving like a pure brute and using the most obscene language.”

Bernard frowned at Brandon. “You been disrespecting your mother?”

Brandon smirked, bending at the waist in a mocking bow. “My humble apologies, Mother. Didn't mean to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

His parents exchanged troubled glances.

“Brandon—”

He had already turned and stalked away. Angrily jerking his tie loose, he headed to the refreshment table to kill some time before he had to return to Cynthia.

He was glad that no one was over here. He wasn't in the mood for small talk.

Grabbing a crystal flute, he filled it with champagne flowing from an elaborately tiered fountain. He downed the wine in one swallow and helped himself to more, absently surveying the lavish spread of chilled shrimp, caviar, oysters, chocolate, and assorted fruits. They'd spared no expense with the fundraiser gala, and everything had turned out perfect.

Well . . . almost everything.

“Helluva party, Chambers.”

Brandon automatically tensed.
Not this muthafucka.

“Tamia and I really enjoyed ourselves tonight,” Dominic drawled, sidling up to Brandon at the table. “Of course, we've been enjoying ourselves
every
night since she moved in with me.”

Brandon swallowed hard, his chest tightening at the revelation that Tamia and Dominic were now shacking up.

“It was nice running into you and Cynthia the other day,” Dominic commented, reaching toward the fruit tray. “What'd you think of that house we were touring?”

Brandon just looked at him.

Dominic grinned. “Oh, yeah, that's right. You had to leave unexpectedly, so you didn't get to see the whole thing.” He selected a piece of pineapple from the tray, popped it into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. “I'm seriously thinking about buying it for Tamia. You should have seen her running from room to room, squealing so excitedly. Oh, man, she was like a little girl. Hit me right here,” he confessed, patting his heart. “Made me wanna give her the sun, moon, and stars, know what I'm saying?
Anything
to keep that radiant smile on her face.”

Brandon was silent. He knew all about wanting to give Tamia the world on a silver platter. It killed him to think of another man—especially
this
man—enjoying that privilege.

Dominic smiled at him. “We spent the weekend at this lovely bed-and-breakfast outside of town. Now, I realize it's not quite the same as whisking her off to Italy like
you
did, but we still had an amazing time together.” As he contemplated the chocolate-covered strawberry he'd picked up, a lascivious grin crept across his face. “Like I said . . . it was amazing.”

Brandon stared into the twinkling contents of his glass. “Does Tamia know?”

Dominic glanced at him. “Know what?”

“That you got a serious hard-on for me. Does she know that every time you fuck her you're secretly thinking of me?”

Dominic flushed with anger.

Brandon smirked.

Recovering his composure, Dominic chuckled and shook his head at Brandon. “Very clever, my man. Very clever. But I think we both know that when you're making love to Tamia, it's absolutely impossible to think of anything—or anyone—else.” He bit into the chocolate-covered strawberry and sighed appreciatively. “Good stuff.
Nothing
tastes as good as Tamia, though.” He winked. “But you already know that.”

Brandon's fingers tightened around his glass until he heard it crack. Gritting his teeth, he set it down on the table and rubbed a shaky hand over his jaw. He knew he should walk away before it was too late. But he couldn't make himself move.

Dominic let out another sigh. “Yeah, I definitely think this past weekend made up for that whole debacle that happened when I flew her to St. Croix back in May. Hey, speaking of home, I'm planning to take her back there next month to meet my family. Since she's becoming such an important part of my life, it's only natural that I'd want to introduce her to my relatives.”

He paused to let his words sink into Brandon's conscience, a taunt and an indictment. “A woman like Tamia needs to know that she's special, cherished, accepted. Otherwise,” he added, eyes gleaming as he nudged Brandon's shoulder, “
you
know what can happen when she's not feeling the love at home.”

The rage welled up inside Brandon like pools of molten lava, bubbling over in a volcanic eruption he couldn't contain.

Dominic never knew what hit him.

One moment he was cocky and smirking. The next moment he was grunting and stumbling backward, rocked by a blow from Brandon's fist.

Regaining his balance, Dominic slowly lifted his hand to his nostrils. When his fingers came away bloody, he stared at Brandon in outraged disbelief.

“Come on, muthafucka,” Brandon taunted softly. “Hit me back this time.”

Dominic charged forward and swung at him, his fist connecting with Brandon's jaw.

That's good
, Brandon thought. He wanted a worthy opponent—or at least a good fight.

He threw a hard right hook, clocking Dominic on the cheek and knocking him backward. Before he could recover Brandon tackled him, driving him into the refreshment table.

It buckled beneath their weight and crashed to the floor.

A woman screamed.

The two brawlers rolled over platters of food. Dominic briefly landed on top before Brandon overpowered him, throwing punches with the fury of a raging bull unleashed from his pen.

Dominic gave it all he could, but he wasn't fueled by the same wrath, desperation, and despair that had been tearing away at Brandon's soul.

He wasn't a drowning man who'd been kicking against a raging current, clawing for survival.

He didn't know Brandon's heartbreak.

So he didn't stand a fucking chance of not getting his ass kicked.

Through the haze of fury swarming his brain, Brandon heard the sound of approaching voices—shocked, panicked, scandalized.

He landed three successive uppercuts to Dominic's stomach before two pairs of strong hands seized him and hauled him off the motherfucker. The hands belonged to Dre and Beau, who were shouting at him to stop before he killed somebody.

Dominic lay sprawled upon the demolished table with blood running from his nose, his busted lip, and a deep gash in his cheek.

Tamia rushed over, heels clicking rapidly against the marble floor. Her red dress pooled around her feet as she squatted down beside Dominic.

“Jesus,” she whispered frantically. “Are you okay?”

Dominic grimaced, struggling to push himself up to a sitting position.

Tamia looked up at Brandon, met his lethal glare, and quickly looked away again.

Then Cynthia was there, along with his parents and hers and Brooke, all of them looking stunned and horror-stricken as they stared at Brandon like they'd never seen him before.

“WHAT THE HELL HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU?” his father thundered, breaking his own cardinal rule about not raising one's voice in public.

Brandon tightened his jaw, nostrils flaring, adrenaline pumping. Feeling a sticky wetness on his face, he reached up to touch the fresh cut on his forehead.

“Have you lost your damn mind?” his mother hissed furiously. “Have you completely forgotten who you are?
Where
you are?”

Brandon swept a hard glance around the ballroom, encountering a sea of shocked faces. Only Tamia looked grim. Almost resigned.

He gave her a coldly mocking smile, then pivoted on his heel and stalked off, the crowd parting eagerly this time to let him through.

Once Brandon departed the ballroom, all eyes turned to Tamia.

Her face burned with shame under the weight of their stares, rife with speculation and condemnation.

“Look what you've done,” Gwen spat accusingly. “This never would have happened if you hadn't come here tonight, you trouble-making whore! I ought to—”

“Gwen,” Bernard murmured warningly.

“
You're not welcome here!
” she raged at Tamia as her husband gently steered her away. “
Goddamn you! Leave my family alone!
”

Tamia blinked rapidly as tears stung her eyes.

As the deejay began bumping Wiz Khalifa, Justin, Cornel, and Brooke ushered the crowd over to the dance floor.

Tamia got unsteadily to her feet as Beau and Dre helped Dominic off the floor. He grimaced sharply, holding his stomach.

Dre frowned, observing him as if he were examining one of his injured athletes. “You might wanna get those ribs checked out. They might be cracked or broken.”

Dominic shook his head, gritting his teeth in obvious pain. “I'll be fine.”

Dre snorted. “Not for a while, you won't. And you need stitches,” he added, pointing to Dominic's bleeding cheek.

“You can bring him to our first aid office,” offered the hotel manager who'd been hovering nearby, waiting to be of assistance. “We've got an experienced RN on staff who can do minor sutures.”

Dre nodded. “Great. Let's go.”

Dominic reluctantly slung one arm over Dre's shoulder and the other around a scowling Beau.

As Tamia moved to follow them from the room, Dominic shot her a look, all wounded male pride. “Stay here,” he ordered gruffly.

She hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I don't need a damn entourage.”

Beau snickered, muttering “punkass muthafucka” under his breath as they headed off with the hotel manager.

Tamia watched them leave, then glanced around the ballroom. She spotted Cynthia standing in a corner with her parents, her arms gesturing as she vented to them.

Bracing herself for another confrontation, Tamia squared her shoulders and made her way over to the small group. When Joseph and Coretta saw her approaching, they looked so enraged that Tamia expected them to summon hellfire and brimstone from the heavens.

“Young lady,” Joseph scolded, shaking his finger at her, “you are being used by the devil tonight! You need to repent and—”

“I'd like to speak to your daughter,” Tamia cut through the man's sanctimonious diatribe—which was hard to take seriously when his eyes were glued to her cleavage.

Cynthia gaped incredulously at her. “
Are you serious?
We have
nothing
to say to each other, Tamia! And I can't believe you're still here! Haven't you caused enough trouble for one night?”

Tamia rolled her eyes. “How is it that
my
date got his ass kicked, but everyone's blaming me?”

“Because you're the one—”

Tamia held up a hand. “Never mind. I didn't come over here to discuss that.”

Cynthia's eyes narrowed. “What
did
you come to discuss?”

Tamia glanced pointedly at Joseph and Coretta.

Cynthia hesitated, then turned and murmured to her hovering parents, “It's okay.”

Joseph and Coretta frowned with displeasure.

“I'll be fine,” Cynthia assured them.

Shooting a warning glare at Tamia, the bishop and his wife reluctantly moved away, but not very far.

Tamia sucked her teeth in disgust. “Damn, bitch. Are you thirty-three or thirteen?”

Cynthia scowled. “Whatever, Tamia. Now please get to the point so I can go check on my fiancé.”

Tamia shook her head at her. “If Brandon were my fiancé, I would have followed him right out that door. Why are you standing here with your parents when you should be tending to your man?”

Cynthia's mouth tightened at the edges. She didn't respond.

“I understand,” Tamia murmured. “I saw your face after the fight. I know you probably didn't think Brandon was capable of such violence. Or maybe you've already seen that side of him, and it kinda scares you. Brandon's a sweetheart—a gentleman through and through. But he got a lil crazy in him.”

“Only because of you,” Cynthia spat resentfully. “Every time I've seen him explode like that, it had something to do with you. You bring out the worst in him.”

Tamia smiled sadly. “I think that's the first thing we've ever agreed on, Cynthia.”

Cynthia looked surprised at the admission.

Tamia sighed. “That's what I came over here to discuss with you. I need to go talk to Brandon, but I honestly don't think he'll open the door if I show up at his place tonight. So I was wondering if you could give me the spare key.”

Cynthia stared at her. “Seriously, Tamia? You're asking me to hand over the key to my man's apartment so you can have a
talk
with him?”

“That's exactly what I'm asking. And I need you to give us some privacy to really hash things out.”

Cynthia snorted derisively. “Bitch, please. You must think I'm fucking stupid.”

“What I think,” Tamia countered quietly, “is that you're tired of having a third person in your relationship. What I think is that it's time for you, me, and Brandon to grow up and get on with our lives. So you need to let me say good-bye to him once and for all. Not over the phone. Face-to-face.”

Cynthia silently regarded her, a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “You're telling him good-bye?”

Tamia nodded slowly.

“Give me the key,” she said, holding out her hand, “and I promise you'll get it back for good.”

 

Dominic was silent and sullen on the ride home from the hotel. Seated beside him in the Rolls-Royce limo he'd rented for the occasion, Tamia stared out the window, lost in her own troubled thoughts.

When they arrived at Dominic's penthouse, she helped him undress and brought him water to take the painkillers the nurse had given him for his sore ribs. After he'd crawled into bed and drifted off to sleep, Tamia took his car keys and snuck out.

Twenty minutes later, she let herself into Brandon's condo and quietly closed the door behind her. As she ventured toward the living room, she heard the sound of male voices coming from the back. She recognized each one as belonging to Beau, Dre, Justin, and Cornel.

The fellas had obviously come to do damage control or some sort of an intervention. But judging by the frustration edging their voices, they weren't making much progress.

As Tamia neared the open doorway of the study, she heard Brandon issue a low warning, “Y'all niggas need to get the fuck out.”

There were rumblings of protest.

“Yo, man, you really need—”

“I said GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Tamia froze as the fellas shuffled quickly out of the room, grumbling darkly and shaking their heads.

Not one of them looked surprised to see her standing there. As they filed past her, Beau shot her an accusing
I told you so
look.

Dre's eyes were full of guilt:
Please don't tell him what you saw earlier!

Justin's expression warned:
I wouldn't go in there if I were you.

Cornel gave her an appreciative once-over, craning his neck to ogle her backside as he exclaimed under his breath, “Dayum! Shorty fine as hell, though.”

Tamia barely registered any of it.

She was focused on the open doorway of Brandon's study. Crossing the threshold would be as insanely dangerous as wandering into a lion's den.

But she couldn't turn back now.

When she reached the door, she took a deep breath to shore up her courage and stepped into the room.

Brandon stood at the window overlooking a moonlit park. His head was bent, broad shoulders hunched, long legs braced apart, one hand gripping a glass of scotch. He'd removed his tuxedo jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, tugging it from his pants.

Without turning around, he said in a deceptively soft voice, “I thought I told you to spend the night at your parents' house.”

Tamia swallowed hard. “My parents are dead.”

Brandon went still, then turned slowly and stared at her.

She stared back.

He had a nasty cut on his forehead that had crusted over, and the skin around his left eye was starting to swell. But that was it.

Dominic looked worse.

Much, much worse.

Brandon's eyes narrowed menacingly. “Fuck you doing here?”

Tamia winced, stung by the harsh words.

To give herself something to do, she closed the door behind her. But it took extra courage to release the doorknob and turn around to face Brandon, especially given the way he was glaring at her.

She took a step forward. “I came to talk to you.”

His lips curled into a sneer. “So now you wanna talk?”

Another step. “Yes.”

He stared at her for a long moment, silent and brooding.

She swallowed nervously, watching as he set down his scotch and slowly rounded the desk. As he prowled toward her, her heart tried to batter its way out of her chest, as if it didn't want to be trapped inside her body should any harm come to her.

She briefly wondered if he still kept his Glock in the bottom drawer of his desk.

“I've been trying to talk to you for over a week, Tamia. But you ain't been trying to hear from me. So why the fuck are you here now?”

“Because . . .”
Because I came to tell you good-bye. Because your mother thinks being a mistress and a whore is all I'm good for, and apparently you feel the same.

“Because what, Tamia?” he growled. “What did you come here to say?”

He was nearly upon her.

And her courage hauled ass.

“You're right,” she mumbled, backing toward the door. “I can see this was a bad idea—”

“Nah.” As she turned and opened the door his arm shot out, shoving it closed. He pressed his hard body to hers, trapping her against him. “You're here now. So let's talk.”

Tamia kept her back to him, willing her lungs to expand and contract the way they were supposed to.

“Well?” The warmth of his breath on her bare back sent shivers down her spine, goose bumps pricking her skin. She could smell the barest trace of his Clive Christian cologne, a delicious scent that always drove her absolutely crazy.

“Whatcha gotta say, Tamia? I'm all ears.”

She dragged in a shallow breath. “I can see that you're still mad—”

“Really?” he mocked bitingly. “What was your first clue?”

She didn't dare open her mouth again.

“Wearin' this fucking dress,” he grumbled darkly, gripping a fistful of the red silk. “What the fuck were you tryna prove? Huh?
Huh?
”

She shivered hard as he began raising the gown up her bare thighs. The friction of silk against her skin . . . the scorching heat of his body . . . his barely restrained fury . . .

The nigga had her trembling like a rose petal beneath a torrential downpour.

“Answer me, Tamia,” he growled in her ear. “What were you trying to accomplish by wearing this dress tonight?”

She gulped audibly, licking her lips. She couldn't speak as his hand curved between her legs, kneading the fleshy inside of her thighs. Her pussy throbbed, clit swelling.

His hand slid higher but stopped just inches from her crotch, denying her what they both knew she wanted.

“Tamia.”

“What?” she whimpered.

“I asked you a question.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I . . . I don't know, Brandon.”

“Bullshit,” he snarled, the word lashing her cheek. “You know. You were trying to hurt me. And I'm really trying to understand why, Tamia. Wasn't it enough that you used to fuck that scurrilous nigga behind my back? Nah. Wasn't it enough that you popped up outta the blue wearing his engagement ring? Nah. Wasn't it enough that you decided to show up on his muthafucking arm tonight? Nope, that wasn't enough for you. You had to put on
this
dress and strut your pretty ass into that ballroom to torture me all fucking night.” He gave a low, dark laugh. “And now you wanna come here and
talk
.”

Tamia had never been more terrified and aroused in her life. Even as alarm bells clanged in her head, her pussy was raining like a waterfall, soaking her panties through.

“Brandon—” she whispered.

“I'm tired of talking, Tamia. I really am.”

“Th-then I'll just g-go—”

“The hell you will.” He seized her lace thong, ripping it clean off her ass. Then he picked her up and carried her over to the low black sofa against the wall. He set her down and pushed the gown out of the way, then shoved her knees apart and sank to a crouch before her.

She stared down at him as his face disappeared between her shaking thighs. And then he tasted her, licking her swollen clit before sliding his tongue down between her slippery folds. She moaned brokenly and opened her legs wider, grabbing the back of his head and pushing his face deeper into her sex. He opened his mouth and sucked her whole, taking her labia and clitoris in one hot, greedy swallow.

“
Oh, shit,
” she squealed breathlessly. “
Ohhh shit . . . shit!
”