In The Cut (11 page)

Saint followed her outside to the entrance of the apartments above the salon. Miki unlocked the door and looked back at Saint before heading up.

Saint remembered Olivia telling him that she owned the apartments above the salon, but he didn’t know that she lived in one of them.

Miki stopped at one of the apartment doors and listened before knocking. She could hear combinations of thumps echoing off the heavy bag. She knocked on the door and then took a step back. The thumping stopped.

Saint could hear bare feet heading toward the door. The door swung open.

“Miki, didn’t I tell you—” Olivia stopped in mid sentence when her eyes landed on Saint. She blinked as if seeing a mirage.

Saint blinked. Olivia was wearing powder blue sweats with a matching sport’s bra. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she was dripping sweat.

“I know what you said, but Clayton said he really had to speak to you,” Miki looked to him for help.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

Olivia patted herself dry with the towel around her neck and walked away from the door.

“Thank you Miki,” Saint said.

“Don’t thank me. I think I just led you into the lion’s den.”

Saint walked in and closed the door. The apartment, he immediately noticed was actually two. Olivia had the connecting wall knocked down and the two apartments were converted into one big studio. In the corner, there was a Bow Flex machine and a treadmill. In the center of the room, suspended from a chain bolted to the central beam, was a heavy bag. On the other side of the room, Olivia had retrieved a bottle of water from the refrigerator and slammed the door.

“I didn’t know you lived here, above the salon,” he said.

“I don’t,” Olivia said, walking to the heavy bag and ripping a piece of paper off of it. “Say what you came to say, so you can leave and I can get back to my workout.” Olivia put her heavy bag gloves back on and stood staring at him with her hands on her hips.

Saint walked up to her. The heat radiating from her made his temperature rise. And her scent.
Her
scent, the one that would forever remind him of droplets before a hard rain was suffocating his thoughts. He watched a bead of sweat run from her temple, down her cheek, down the side of her neck, as if caressing it, and then end its course between her cleavage.

His eyes instinctively closed as a blurr entered his peripheral vision. He staggered to his right as Olivia’s wicked left hook caught him on the side of the head.

“That’s for playing with my head,” she said.

Saint was holding his head. “Olivia—”

Her right jab landed square on his chin. He staggered backwards. “And that’s for not being man enough to stand up to my brothers.”

“Olivia hold up,” Saint said, holding his hands out in front of himself. “I’m not going to let you hit me again.” She feinted like she was going to hit him, and he back peddled.

“Say what you got to say and then leave,” Olivia said walking toward him. “Or are you not man enough to tell me to my face?”

“Stop walking toward me like that.”

“Like what?” Olivia threw a punch at him which he dodged. “You know what?” he said loosening his tie.

“What are you doing?” Olivia asked, cocking her head. “Are you growing a pair of balls?”

Saint took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “This is what you want? You want to fight? Let’s fight. Get it out of your system. Give me a pair of gloves.”

Olivia took off her gloves.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“All right, Olivia. I’m serious now, all jokes aside.”

Olivia’s eyes were brimming with tears. “How could I be so naïve? All the men that hit on me, I can see it from a mile away.”

“Olivia—”

“Fuck you, Clayton!” She charged him.

Olivia’s movement was lightening quick, but for Saint, it was snail slow. He watched her as she came in low, a common kick boxing feint. He could tell that she trained well, but she will learn in a second that the well trained could never beat the well experienced. He had played her next three moves in his head. She was positioning herself to execute a spinning roundhouse kick to his sternum. He would step to her right, causing her to follow through with a straight right jab to his face, most likely. He would then stumble to her left. Thinking him to be off balance, she would come with her wicked left hook. His eyes got bigger as the beginning of her spin commenced. Like a well choreographed dance, Saint led and she followed.

Olivia’s kick missed, Saint stood in line with her hand. She let it go. Her punch grazed his cheek, he stumbled to her left. She smiled as her left hook, perfectly executed, headed for his chin. One second his chin was there, and then it wasn’t. She missed, and was off balance. Saint had disappeared. She gasped as she felt his arms clamped down around her from behind. She struggled against his crushing bear hug, but with her arms pinned to her sides, there wasn’t much she could do, but thrash in his grip.

“Get off of me!” she yelled.

He spun her around, and before she could gather her wits, she was off her feet and pinned against the wall. Saint watched her chest heave as she struggled against his death grip. He locked eyes with her. He smashed his mouth against hers.

A moan escaped Olivia’s mouth as Saint’s tongue grazed hers. She opened her mouth wider, allowing him to stick his tongue in deeper. She tongue wrestled with him as he slowly dry humped her. She imagined his hardness splitting her open, stretching her walls, filling her to maximum capacity. Then she bit down on his tongue.

“Ah,” Saint mumbled.

“Put me down,” Olivia mumbled.

“Um, all right, all right.” Saint allowed her to slide down the wall until her feet touched the floor. She shoved him back.

“I’m through with you, Clayton.”

“Olivia wait—”

“I refuse to let you play me like some puppet. I want you out of my apartment and out of my life.”

Saint walked over to where he dropped his tie and suit jacket and picked them up. He walked to the door without looking back. As his hand rested on the door knob, he looked over his shoulder.

“In another life time, we would be the perfect couple.”

Olivia jumped when Saint closed the door behind himself. She slid down the wall and hung her head as the tears freely fell from her eyes. She cried til her eyes were blood shot red. She slowly got to her feet and went to the sink where she splashed water on her face and pulled herself together. She had to keep reminding herself that she was a strong woman, and that Clayton was only a man. He wasn’t the first man to hurt her and he wouldn’t be the last.

Marion Claude’s visit gave her world wide recognition. Her volume of customers swelled so much that she let Jon-Jon talk her into hiring two of Lynise’s friends.

Byron became a regular customer. He even convinced a few of his partners to become regulars as well. As usual, Butta Cutz blessed everyone with happiness except Olivia.

In Kew Gardens, Saint sat in his apartment, grading papers and thinking of Olivia. Glenn tried convincing him to come to Butta Cutz with him, but as bad as he wanted Olivia in his life, he knew he could never be the man she needed him to be. As long as Josephine had his soul, he could never give Olivia his heart.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Josephine,” he whispered. He dedicated his life to her, body and soul, building her an empire off of the blood and fear of her rivals. There wasn’t a continent where Josephine Delacroix wasn’t respected. She was a shrewd businesswoman who wouldn’t think twice about invoking the wrath of The Saint upon anyone who dared oppose her. Anyone who knew of The Saint knew that he didn’t just kill, he taunted. He would first kill any pets one had, and then he would take out their body guards, one by one. At that point, they would be breaking their necks trying to get in touch with Josephine to call him off. One would die a thousand deaths before he delivered the lethal blow.

Saint examined his hands. Calloused and conditioned. He imagined his heart being the same way. It had to be. That was probably the only reason why that dagger hadn’t penetrated it. The doctors couldn’t explain it. A medical miracle was what they called it.

That was the opportune time to kill Josephine, rid himself of her forever. She was the one who sent
HER
to assassinate him. But Josephine had come to his hospital bed, crying and begging for his forgiveness. She said she didn’t realize how much she had truly loved him til she found out she nearly lost him. Saint forgave her on one condition. That she would let him go. That she would allow him to go anywhere in the world he chose and live a normal life. She agreed, but with two conditions of her own. His whereabouts would only be known to her and he would never side with her enemies.

He thought of Laurent Petrescu. A book keeper for the Rumanian mob, masquerading as a tailor/fashion designer. Traveling the world to keep an eye on their investments. Then there was Marion Claude. A designer of fashion, but not the type you could wear to a family picnic. His line of fashion consisted of body armored suits outfitted with numerous concealed pockets for weaponry.

Although Saint was out of ‘the business’ as everyone called it, he still kept up on who was who. Information was power. He yawned, stretching his arms out wide. He looked at the papers that he hadn’t graded yet, and decided that tomorrow was another day.

“Sure is lonely, huh?” he said to himself.

“Yeah, lonely but peaceful.”

“I wonder what Olivia is doing right now.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Yeah… I do.”

“I say we gear up and—”

“I say I stop talking to myself and go to bed.”

“Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”

Chapter 7

Olivia sat in her office with her eyes closed listening to her morning messages. Most were calling just to congratulate her on her up coming appearance on Oprah. She’d been receiving so many phone calls from talk shows after Marion Claude came through, but she turned them all down. It was Baby, Esther, Grace and her brothers that convinced her to go on Oprah. They told her that if she didn’t, they were going to disown her.

Business was booming. So much so, that she took Byron up on his offer. It was time for Butta Cutz to go nation wide.

Just as the last message was ending, Miki called her on line one.

“What’s up Miki?”

“You’re nine thirty is here.”

“Tell Mr. Ryan that I’ll be out there in a minute.” She finished her double Espresso and slipped her shoes on.

“Okay, now, there she is,” Mr. Ryan said, getting out of Olivia’s barber chair and bowing his head.

“Cut it out, old man,” Olivia said as she hugged him and kissed him on the cheek.

He was one of the few who remembered Butta Cutz when it was just Brady’s Barbershop. He would come in every Saturday, for as long as she could remember, and Brady would hook him up with a Caesar and a shave. Olivia kept the tradition going, and just like old man Brady, she never charged him. The way he kept her laughing as she hooked him up was payment enough.

“So, what will it be?” She asked with a smile.

“Girl, don’t play wit me. I been coming in this here place from since before you was born, and I always gets me a Caesar and a shave wit the straight razor.”

“You sure I can’t interest you in a pedicure? Baby will do you up real special. Right Baby?”

“Oh, Yeah, I can’t wait to get my hands on those feet,” Baby teased.

“Yous a keep on waiting, ‘cause you or nobody else is getting near these dogs.”

Everyone started cracking up.

“C’mon, Mr. Ryan,” Olivia teased on, “All men are getting their toes done these days.”

“Back in my day, we had a name for men like that.”

“What’s that, Mr. Ryan?” Esther asked from her barber chair.

“Homosexuals.”

“Ooohhh, nnnooo,” everybody said at the same time.

Olivia swatted him on the shoulder. “Just because a man gets his toes done doesn’t mean he’s a homosexual, Mr. Ryan.”

“He’s just taking pride in his appearance,” Chuck said.

Ryan turned his neck to face him. “Didn’t you tell me the other day that you was a homosexual?”

“I said Metro sexual.”

“That ain’t nothing but a new word y’all done came up with to hide what you is.”

“Ain’t nothing homo about me,” Chuck said, flexing his Pecs behind his tank top.

“Ooohhh wwweee,” Esther, Miki, and Olivia, all said together.

“You ain’t did nothing slick, Slick,” Mr. Ryan said, starting to unbutton his shirt.

Olivia draped her chair cloth over him. “Calm down, old man, these young bucks don’t know what time it is.”

“Homosexual, Metro sexual, D.L. brothers,” Mr. Ryan grumbled.

“What you know about DL brothers?” Esther asked, keeping the conversation going.

“I know to stay the hell away from them.”