Love and Law (14 page)

I protectively put my arm around her shoulder and guide her away from the sickos in this place. We walk quickly out of the station to my car parked down the street, away from his prying eyes. Once we’re safely inside the car, she scrambles into my lap puts her head on my shoulder.

I hold her close to me and stroke her arm. This feels right. She feels perfect in my arms. I’m taking her home tonight. End of fucking story.

“Get buckled in, baby girl. We’re going somewhere special,” I tell her and slap her leg playfully.

She sighs, clearly not wanting to leave my arms, but nonetheless complies.

Once she’s settled, I drive through the streets, on a mission. We’re quiet as we’ve both given in to getting lost in our own thoughts. Not twenty minutes later, we’re pulling into my driveway.

She perks up once I park and smiles at the house. “Where are we?” she asks excitedly.

I grin over at her as we get out and start walking to the front door. “We’re home, Maya. I want you to meet someone.” Taking hold of her hand, I guide her up the front steps and through the door.

As soon as we walk in, she gasps. “Oh my goodness, Ben! This house is gorgeous!”

My chest puffs out with pride. I’ve worked really hard over the years, redoing the hardwoods, painting, and installing all new detailed trim, doors, and crown molding. Grammy loves it, and now, so does my girl. So yes, I’m really fucking proud.

“Pooh Bear? Are you home?” Grammy calls out as she enters the entryway. I cringe at my nickname and Maya stifles a giggle. Once Grammy sees our conjoined hands, she puts her own hand to her mouth. “Oh, my sweet Benjamin. You’ve brought home a girl. A beautiful girl to meet your grammy. Sugar, I’m Velma, but you are to call me Grammy.”

Maya smiles broadly at her and extends her free hand to shake it. “I’m Maya Simpson.”

Grammy rolls her eyes at her. “Come here, silly. We hug in this house.” She squeezes my girl in an affectionate embrace and my heart tightens.

This—this is what I’ve been searching for. My missing link. Maya. And now I know her as Maya Simpson.

Grammy pulls away from Maya and inspects her properly. “Yes, ma’am. You’ve got nice, thick, childbearing hips,” she praises with a pinch to her hip. “Perfect for rearing up some great-grandbabies for me!”

“Whoa, Grammy. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’ve just started seeing, Maya. She isn’t ready to start popping out babies for you!” I scold my overbearing grandmother.

“Nonsense, Pooh Bear. Now get both of your tushes into the kitchen. I’ve a pot of beans and a ham hock in the pot. The cornbread has just come out of the oven.” She bustles into the kitchen leaving us in the entryway. Maya’s eyes are twinkling happily.

“I haven’t sat down to a home-cooked meal in so long,” she gushes with a huge grin. “Plus, the little tease of her cooking you shared with me other day just insured the fact that I’ll love tonight’s meal as well.”

I squeeze her hand. “Baby girl, Grammy never disappoints. Her beans are a church-gathering favorite.”

After guiding her into our small kitchen, I pull a chair out for her to sit. Grammy has already set the table for the third place setting and is dishing up huge bowls of beans. I pour all three of us some freshly brewed tea before I sit down to my steaming bowl.

Maya politely waits for Grammy to sit down with us before she dips her spoon in her bowl and poises it for a bite.

“No, ma’am,” Grammy admonishes. Maya widens her gaze but wisely drops her spoon back into the bowl even though I can tell her mouth is watering for the delicious supper. “We haven’t said or blessings yet, sugar.”

Maya mutters an, “Oh,” and bows her head. She clasps her hands together and looks so angelic. Today, she’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt and some more of her sexy blue jeans. And even though she’s a little scuffed up from getting arrested, she still looks hot.

“Dear Lord, we thank you for your many blessings. Thank you for bringing this sweet Maya into my Pooh Bear’s life. I just know she’ll make beautiful children for my grandson. Please bless her with a baby soon because I’m getting too damn old to wait any longer. Sweet Jesus, forgive me for cursing, but I really am getting too old.” She pauses.

Sneaking a peek over at Maya, I almost burst out laughing when I see her watching my Grammy openmouthed, completely shocked at her bold prayers.

“And, Lord, thank you for giving my sweet boy a skill. He’s a master at what he does and provides such a good living for us. Oh, and thank you, Jesus, for giving Lynetta laryngitis. That old bitty talks too damn much. You did us all a favor. Can you give her permanent laryngitis? Is that such a thing, Lord? I’m a good woman and don’t ask for much. Surely you can help this old woman out. Anyway, in Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen.”

She sets to eating her beans while Maya momentarily recovers from one of Grammy’s epic prayers. As always, I have to hold in my laughter so I don’t earn a swat with her magazine. Maya cuts her eyes at me and questions me with them, but I shrug and grin at her. She smiles back before dipping her spoon into the bowl. When she finally tastes a bite, she moans appreciatively. My dick throbs—I know she’ll be moaning tonight when I’m deep inside of her.

“Grammy, these beans are delicious,” she praises my grandmother.

Not only did she earn brownie points for complimenting her cooking, but the fact that she called her Grammy will make my grandmother adore Maya. Hell, I adore Maya.

“Sugar, you have as much as you want. I’ve got some cookies in the oven too, so save a little room for those. Real women have curves and I think you could use a few more. Eat up, buttercup!” Grammy orders Maya.

Maya grins and we quietly—well, aside from the occasional ‘mmm’—eat our beans. When Grammy gets up to check on the cookies, Maya leans in toward me.

“What ‘skill’ is she talking about? Does she know?” she whispers low enough for Grammy not to hear.

“I’ll show you later,” I promise softly so she won’t bring any attention to our conversation.

“Here’s some of my famous chocolate chip cookies, sugar. I want you to eat as many as you can,” Grammy orders, setting the plate down in front of us.

I watch Maya while she eats. She looks like she belongs in this kitchen with us. Her eyes are sparkling with what looks like happiness. Why would having a simple family dinner make her so happy? I really wish she would tell me more about her past. There’s a fucking story there and I intend to find out what it is.

After dinner, Maya and I offer to help Grammy clean up the kitchen, but she insists I take her down to my workshop.

“Come on. I want to show you something,” I tell her, clasping her hand with mine.

She follows me as I lead her through the house to the heavy oak door Dad designed not long before he was killed. I wrench it open and flip on the switch. Together, we make our way downstairs to my workbench.

She raises her eyebrows in question. As far as she knew, I was just another drug dealer. But there’s more to me than that. This basement is where I love losing hours of time creating works of art made from wood. I’m the kind of guy, just like my father was, who goes with the wood rather than forcing a concept. Dad always used to say, “The wood will speak to you.” And he was right.

She walks over and sits in the newly crafted rocking chair I’ve been working on for Grammy’s birthday. I still need to stain and seal it, but it’s ready other than that.

“Did you make all of this stuff?” she asks, gesturing around the basement to all of my projects—some finished, some not.

“Yeah,” I tell her sheepishly. I’m not sure why I’m embarrassed. This has been kept a secret from all of my friends and any chicks I’ve been with in the past. What if she thinks I’m a lame-ass?

“Ben, this is amazing! Your work is so detailed and beautiful. Did you do the trim work upstairs?”

I nod as I walk over to a bench and pick up my latest finished product.

She stands and inspects some of the chests I’ve been working on in the corner. “What are these?” she asks, pointing at them.

“I’m making them for a client in Canada.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “So you do all of this with wood and sell it? Do you have a shop?”

I shake my head at her. “No, it’s all done online. I’ve taken jobs where I go to people’s homes and install porch swings I’ve made or fireplace mantels—stuff like that. I pretty much can make anything with wood.”

She smiles at me with pride but then pinches her eyebrows together in confusion. “Is this a profitable business?”

“Yeah. I do quite well with it.” I’m not sure where she’s going with this.

“So if it is profitable and you love it, why do you do the other ‘job’? I’m sure your Grammy doesn’t know about that one, right?”

“Grammy doesn’t know about that job, nor will she ever. I do that job because I feel like I owe Oculus for being the father in my life that I lost. He fulfilled that role for me, and I am very grateful. Besides, once you’re into something like being his right-hand man, one simply doesn’t just quit. I’ve been hoping that I can talk to him about it, but I have a feeling it won’t go well.”

I’m being completely honest with her. I hope she’ll be honest with me soon too.

“Can I meet him? The man like a father to you?” she asks innocently. But I see hidden intent behind her eyes.

I do not, under any circumstances, want to introduce her as my woman to Oculus. He may be like a father figure to me, but he’s also ruthless. Up until now, he hasn’t had to use anything against me even though he knows about Grammy, but if I deliver Maya on a fucking silver platter, I’m worried about what he might do with that information. At this time, I’d like to keep business and pleasure separated. And boy, is Maya pleasure.

“Not going to happen,” I growl.

She frowns until I thrust my latest piece into her hands. “Ben, oh my goodness! This jewelry box is gorgeous. I bet you sell a lot of these online,” she gushes as she opens and closes the box, running her fingers across the grooves of the designs.

“I made that for you,” I tell her, pointing at it.

Her bright smile lights up the dim basement. “It’s beautiful, Ben! Thank you.”

Maya throws herself into my arms and I squeeze her to me. “You’re welcome, baby girl.”

She pulls her face out of my neck and plants a kiss on my lips. Here, safe in my home, I feel so carefree to be a real couple with her. She deserves it. I deserve it. I’ve been so long immersed in Oculus’s world that I haven’t taken time for myself. I want to spend all of my time with Maya, and it’s about time I take a stand. I’m going to talk to Oculus soon and tell him that I’m ready to retire.

My hands circle around her body and grab a handful of each of her ass cheeks, pulling her closer to me. I dip my head down and nuzzle her nose with mine. She sighs happily, and I lean forward to press my lips to hers. The sweet moment quickly becomes not so sweet as she parts her mouth open and I slide my tongue into it. I grab her ass again as we kiss. Her curvaceous, round bottom is sexy as hell. I can’t wait to get her upstairs and into my bed so I can finally fuck her properly.

Breaking our kiss, I pull away to stare into her light-brown eyes, which are darker than usual in the shadows of the basement. “Come on, baby girl. I’m going to fuck you and then I’m going to make slow, unhurried love to you.”

I don’t give her a chance to answer before I pull her around the workbench and toward the stairs. We stomp up the steps together in a rush to get to my bedroom. When we bust through the doorway of the basement, we nearly run over Grammy. She takes one look at us and laughs, waving us on toward the stairs.

Maya doesn’t even take the time to get embarrassed. She clearly wants me just as much as I want her. Once we’ve made it up to the second floor, I pull her down the hallway to what used to be my parents room. I only recently took it over after I crafted a huge bed frame from some wooden planks Dad had found and loved but hadn’t done anything with. Grammy stays downstairs in one of the bedrooms since her hips ache when she climbs stairs, so I can make Maya scream to my fucking heart’s content and Grammy will never hear. And that’s exactly what I plan on doing.

We make it to my room and I shut the door behind us. She releases my hand and walks over to my nightstand. Setting down her jewelry box on the bedside table, she bends over to inspect the photos. A family picture of my grammy, parents, and me sits proudly on the shelf. It was on Easter, and we’d all dressed to the nines for church. I remember that day so well. Momma and Grammy made ham and mashed potatoes while Dad and I hid eggs after church. Considering that it was one of our last family moments together, it is one of my favorite memories. The other framed picture on the table is of Dad and me. He and I are assembling the porch swing for Momma’s birthday one year. We’re both so happy in that picture.

Maya turns to face me with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ben.”

I wave her off like it’s no big deal, but the truth is, every time I think about the injustice of losing my parents, I feel like crying. Kicking off my shoes, I climb on top of the covers of my bed and pat the spot next to me. She pulls off her own shoes and crawls into bed beside me. I pull her close and spoon her from behind.

We’re quiet for a bit, both lost in our thoughts, when she finally speaks just barely above a whisper. “Ben?”

I kiss her hair, pull her close to me, and cup her breast. “Mmm?” I mumble.

When she begins to cry, my heart pounds. Why is she crying?

“What’s wrong, baby girl?”

She sniffles and turns around in my arms to face me, stretching an arm around me in a sad embrace. “When I was nine years old, I watched my daddy get murdered.” Tears stream down her face, and I feel instantly angry. Not at her, but the stupid motherfucker that would take a little girl’s daddy away.

“I’m so sorry, Maya,” I tell her genuinely.

“I’ll find him one day and kill him.” Her tone is cold, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that, given the chance, she’d die trying. If I could get ahold of the drunk driver that killed my parents, I’d happily break my ‘no killing’ rule.