Tell Me Now, Don’t Hold Back #MondayBlogs #fiction


Continued from I Knew It Was Too Good To Be True.

“Where is she? Something’s up with her, and I’m not leaving until she answers my questions.” Genevieve stood tall with her arms crossed and chin high in the air.

Before I could protest, her guard pulls out his .45 semiautomatic Glock in my direction. Damn!

https://pixabay.com

I stared back at Genevieve’s guard, his gun, then at her. So, it has come to this? I’ve been here, working my ass off to pay off a debt I hadn’t started in the first place, and a gun is pointed in my damn face.

“What the hell? What’s going on?” I said in a rush, trying to keep my voice down. I would hate for my client to be frightened. Then I remembered Genevieve had mentioned her upon entering.

“Kevin, we need to speak to your client. It will only take a moment,” Genevieve explained as she stood tall, glaring at me like I did something wrong.

I was taken aback because normally, she wouldn’t behave in this manner. The normalcy of her personality when it comes to women is extreme jealousy. Right now, I cannot diagnose the problem even if someone serves it on a fine china platter.

“Something I should kn-“

“Just call her out. It’s urgent,” Genevieve said, pointing in the direction of my bathroom.

I blinked. Just as I turned around, she ambles out with a lavender terry-cloth robe wrapped tightly around her body. A white towel is draped over her left shoulder as she used one end to dry her hair.

“So, what normally happens after-” her words trailed on as she noticed someone other than us in the room. Her green eyes fixated on Genevieve and then her guard with his Glock dangling from his right hand.

She appeared undisturbed; in fact, in her eyes held a challenging stare like she is prepared for a duel.

“Look, Tracey, I need for you to verify something for me, for security reasons,” Genevieve said, walking up to her.

“Okay, but it make it quick. I didn’t pay to be interrogated, so whatever you have to say, say it now or knock off a hundred dollars of the money I gave you upon arriving,” Tracey replied defiantly.

Genevieve gave her a long stare that said, “don’t go there with me.”


“I don’t know what that was all about, but Genny normally doesn’t act that way,” I assured Tracey, taking her hand and leading her to my cream-colored chaise lounge.

She quietly followed behind me and sat even quieter as I gazed into her eyes. She looks back at me with this expression I couldn’t pinpoint. No one wants to discuss Genevieve and her pitbull of a guard, and their unknown reason for busting in the way they had.

To be honest, I’m not sure if I can carry on with tonight with the usual stuff like I would with any client. This particular one here, still staring at me like she’s peering deep into my soul, frazzled me to the core.

I carefully traced the outline of her hand, feeling the heat radiating from her igniting; it warmed me up. She leans forward, and I took that moment to kiss her soft lips.

The moment felt so right, perfect timing, as our lips meshed. I used one hand to snake around her waist pulling her closer to me, while the other caresses her face and slender neck. Her ruby-red fingernails raked through the small hairs on my chest sending shock waves to my system.

All past apprehensions seemed to have melted away. She moans softly, bringing the kiss deeper. I’m thinking she wants this. Whatever she wants, it’s her night.

However, as I reach for the belt of her robe to open it, she alarmingly jerked back. Her eyes widen. She went stocked still. The color drained from her face leaving me in utter shock.

What’s wrong now? I wondered. I couldn’t believe we are back to being estranged.

“What is it now?” I asked, trying not to sound impatient. It is becoming unbearable to think you’re sure about something, feel it deep within yourself just to have it slapped you across the face.

Tracey stood up, muttering as she did so, trying to form the right words to tell me whatever it was that kept her hostage since she first arrived here.

“Tell me now what you want to say, and don’t hold back,” I demanded.

“Okay, okay. I’m a private investigator hired by your parents to find you,” she explained, appearing relieved.

My what did what now? I pondered the thought.

By: Pamela E. Hester ©2017

This concludes Part 3. Thank you for being patient with me as I write this post. I’m thinking of writing Part 4, but we’ll see. 😉

 

I Knew It Was Too Good To Be True #MondayBlogs #fiction


Continued from Tell Me What You Came Here For.

I glimpsed quickly at Genevieve, who forks an eyebrow, gazed back at this strange woman, and in a low, deep voice, I seductively said,

“Tell me what you came here for,” stroking the middle of her palm.

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She continued to stare at me, carefully; watchful eyes never leaving my face. I waited patiently on her answer to my question. My signature question for all clients was told so many times; however, I’ve managed to make each one feel equally special.

That line was about as tired as I am. There are only so many ways you can say a particular line. It’s not just for doing my job; it’s who and how I am.
Before I could open my mouth again, Genevieve speaks up.

“As I had mentioned, Kevin will take excellent care of you. He comes highly recommended. You will be taken wonderful care of. Have fun!” Genevieve explained to this medium-build woman who refuses to utter a word since they walked up to me. She left us with a concerned expression and a smile that didn’t quite reach her amber eyes.

The woman intently watched Genevieve leave for a moment, turned to me, and said,
“Well, Kevin, I’m sure you live up to the name they called you here.” Oh, what name? I wondered. “I’ll feel more comfortable once we’re upstairs and away from prying eyes and ears.” Oh, so she does talk.

“Sure.” I see what she meant. Genevieve and her guards are watching us… too carefully. I nodded their way. Genevieve raised her glass; her usual gin and tonic. She forked an arched eyebrow in question, and I slightly shrugged.

“Would you like a drink now or prefer to have one in my room?” I asked the woman, noting how she kept watched on Genevieve from the corner of her left eye. There was a passing glint that nearly nerved me as if she detested Genevieve for something I couldn’t quite place my finger on.

“Oh sure, in your room. Thanks for asking.” She blinked and started walking towards the stairwell. I grabbed her bags and lead the way.
In my room, she glances around at the decor. Hues of reds and beige colors filled the room with an ambiance of romance and warmth; even so, with an overall cozy feeling.

“Very impressive!” She said, moving over to the cherry oak armoire.

“Thanks,” I told her. “Here you go.” I handed her a pineapple and vodka concoction she mentioned on the way up here.
She mumbled thanks and wrapped an arm around her slim waist. She appeared out of place the way she stood rocking from foot to foot, shaking her glass to the point the liquid was sure to spill out. I reached out to take it from her.

“Can’t have you ruining such a beautiful outfit, nor a new carpet,” I told her. She grins sheepishly.

“Tell me about yourself,” I asked, pouring a drink for myself. I turned around from the wet bar and saw her checking out the bed.

“Plenty of time for that later,” I joked to make light of things. When she didn’t laugh, I let out a low sigh. There was something odd about her. It wasn’t for the fact she was nervous about being up here with me and what’s going to take place. No, she strikes me as if she was an undercover agent, or something. I’m determined to get to the bottom of it.

She eyed me in a way that spoke of confusion… and disgust, maybe. While she collects her thoughts, I busied myself with my mixed music playlist, setting it to smooth jazz. Acoustic Alchemy’s Jamaica Heartbeat serenaded through the Bose speakers.

Now, that I’ve gotten her attention, I reached for her hand, inviting her to dance with me. She hesitated at first, then place a small hand in mines. We sway, spin, and gyrated our hips, slightly bumping into each other. She laughs, then suddenly, pulled away.

“I-uh… I need a bath. It has been a long day.” She says, looking somewhat embarrassed. I watched her grabbed items from her bag like she was mad at it, and dashed into my walk-in closet.

“The bathroom is this way,” I pointed towards the left, to a door that was slightly ajar, trying not to laugh.

She avoided looking at me as she went inside. I chuckled softly at her embarrassment, but it was cut short when there was a loud knock at my door.

“Kevin! Open up, now!” Genevieve yells through the door.

“What is it?” I asked. She had her bulldog of a guard with her while the other stood back near the stairs.

“Where is she? Something’s up with her, and I’m not leaving until she answers my questions.” Genevieve stood tall with her arms crossed and chin high in the air.

Before I could protest, her guard pulls out his .45 semiautomatic Glock in my direction. Damn!

Stay tuned for Part 3 next week. Thanks for reading.🌹

By: Pamela E. Hester ©2017

Tell Me What You Came Here For #amwriting #MondayBlogs #fiction


Passion comes by the dozen. On the other hand, make that four. Love, one in a million.

black-and-white-man-person-eyes
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Her. It started with her. She took full advantage of me, and I allowed her to. I was too young, naive, and innocent, wanted to experience what love is like. Though, she left me confused, sad, angry, even; yet, took my heart and haven’t given it back. Nine months later, a baby girl was placed in my arms by my parents telling me she’s my daughter.

I didn’t even know when she was born, let alone conceived. I was fifteen and in college then. Yeah, I started college at a young age and became a father around the same time. So, to my understanding, we’re going to just sweep how my daughter was conceived under the rug? At this moment, I can’t… I’m feeling suffocated by…

(Shuddering.)

🔸🔹🔸🔹🔸🔹🔸🔹

I gaze out through the bay window, waiting for my “shift” to end. Unpleasant memories are back torturing me. I’m twenty-four years old now, not fifteen. The day is nearing an end. I’m not particularly considering another client to walk through the door requesting for my time… and services at this hour; however, I’m known for clients to strut in as late as 10:00 p.m. It’s 8:30 now on this dreary evening and all I really wanted is to sleep. I sighed.

I moved away from the window, taking in the other guys sprawled out throughout the living room, the getting-to-know room, I like to call it, where our clients and we can become acquainted. They are entertaining the women, having a joyous time, sipping wine, and swaying to slow jazz.

Some of them appeared interested in tonight’s episode of enticement; I’m sure, while a few including me are ready to turn in for the night. Unlike me, the few already have their rooms occupied with someone waiting for them.

“Kevin, you want a drink?” Someone called out to ask me.
I turned swiftly and saw that it was Ash walking my way with a shot glass filled already. Oh yeah, filled my glass first without asking me, I thought sarcastically. The last time someone had done that, I ended up here, against my will!

“No, dude! An already-filled glass ready? Um, no, you know I don’t go for that!” I exploded. He knew not to do that. It’s kind of hard keeping my anxiety down living here. The majority of the guys think they are living the dream, while I am secretly planning on ways to leave this bewildering place.

“Oh, alright, damn,” He scurried away, mocking my agitated face.

Squatting on a barstool to calm my nerves, staring over at the new décor in the lavish, spacious adjoining room Madame Genevieve furnished a month ago, I am in awe. She finally managed to change the previous dreadful look that made me sickened by it. This new look… wow!

She went with an Egyptian theme of ivory, red, and black colors with decorations that are in the form of the head of the Sphinx, animal figurines, wall paintings, all the works; she has definitely done well. It was probably purchased with my money since I made her the most money than all the guys here. Hmm…no wonder she won’t let me leave.

“Are you booked tonight, Kev?” Brian asked, knocking his knuckles against the wooden table to get Sam, the bartender’s attention.

“Nope. Hopefully, I’ll stay unbooked. These women are tiring me out,” I told him, taking in a breath, reflecting back to a beautiful Latin woman named Marissa. She really knows how to have a good time. Whatever happened to her?

“Really? I find that hard to believe. An attractive Italian-Native American guy like you with all the works… you got it going on man, you’d graduated from a four-year Ivy League college at the age of nineteen. Man- oh, thanks, Sam. What was I talking about?” Brian leaned toward me, scrunching up his forehead. He’s so confused it made me feel the same way. This guy’s short-term memory is no laughing matter; he got it bad. I waved the confusion away.

“Nothing. You have a client?” He nodded, then made a head gesture towards the Egyptian room to a gorgeous Latin woman with a curvaceous body talking to a stunning, tall African woman. Brian tells me her name is Miss Matthews. She winks at him, and with a curve of her finger, she beckons for Brian’s overeager ass to lead her to his room.

He met my smirk as he drowns the rest of his vodka, and nodded in another direction. “Looks like Madame is hooking you up for tonight, you lucky man you. Enjoy!” He informed me, very close to my ear, I might add. Too close.

I cut my eyes at him and from the corner of my eyes, saw Genevieve sashaying in a pink floral print, full-length kaftan dress leading this strange woman my way. Oh, damn! I should have been prepared for this, but I’m not. My breathing starts to hitch.

I motioned for Sam to pour me a drink; the guy was already on the job. I hear the Southern drawl of her voice coming closer. The sultriness of her drawling can only mean one thing… she has a potential client personally for me; who wants an all-nighter; I can see the never-ending greed in Genevieve’s eyes.

This woman she has with her has a hard glare trained on me with catty green eyes like she is assessing me. She is a red-headed beauty, wearing a purple lace camisole and black skirt, her purse and night bag bounce against her toned legs.

I glimpsed quickly at Genevieve, who forks an eyebrow, gazed back to this strange woman, and in a low, deep voice, I seductively said,

“Tell me what you came here for,” stroking the middle of her palm.

****To Be Continued…

©2016 Pamela E. Hester

A Supernatural Dream #fiction #writing


Secret, Darkness, Nature, Tunnel, Tree
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Repost.

Her heart quickened with each step she took as the men in black followed her in quick strides. She glanced back briefly and gasped when she saw they were only ten feet behind.

In the dark of the night with little light from the moon had cast shadows in front of her. Her feet pounded against the dirt trails that were used for hiking. She got to keep going. She pushed herself to make it to the end of the trail. She refused to be taken back to a place she doesn’t belong like the others. She wanted to go to the place she called home where she felt safe and secure.

The men were coming closer; only four feet of distance separated them from her. She ran faster with all her might. She has been running for what seems like an hour. She got to make it to the white truck where others like her were waiting.
She was getting close though. The light from one of the men’s flashlights reflected on the truck that was not so far away now.

“We won’t let you leave!” One of the men in black exclaimed. His voice was taunting like he knew for sure she won’t leave the compound.

She shook her head violently, determined to make it even if she had to fly her way to the others. But, she won’t give the men the satisfaction of seeing her use her powers. It would give them the ammunition to use it against her.

Just when she neared the white truck, she screamed when she felt a bony hand reach out to grab hold of her shoulder. The sharp fingernails of the hand were digging deep into her flesh.

“This is it. I had made it,” she murmured. She lay in the grass with tears cascading down her cheeks and down her neck.

“What didn’t you made yet, sweetie?” A calm and soothing voice asked her.

The young girl’s eyes jerked open, and she carefully scanned her surroundings. She wasn’t in the woods running away from the men in black anymore. They wanted to snatch her just to turn her in to run extensive tests on her.

She was safe in an all-white room laying on a full-size bed. Also in the room was a night table by the bed with a book about healing, a small window with a radiator heater underneath it, and a box-shaped television in a corner on top of a wooden table.

She threw her head back against the pillows. It had all been a dream. All a dream. She was in a safe haven for people with supernatural powers just like hers. She laughs softly, but it was cut short.

The woman who stared down at her with kind eyes said, “It was such a shame those men in black wanted to take you back. They would have made life hell for you, dear. Luckily, you were able to use one of your powers to save yourself.”

“What do you mean?” The young girl asked with a puzzled look. She sat up abruptly.

“If you didn’t use telepathy, the man and the woman wouldn’t have been able to drive up in the white truck to get you. Not only that, a supernatural ability you have that I can’t seem to fathom right one, was another power you had used.” She sighed.

“Some of us aren’t so lucky. Some get captured. Well done, Phonecia! You are now safe.”

Phonecia threw her head back. So it really wasn’t a dream then, she thought.

©2018 Pamela Hester

Genesis- Meet Carena: Maternal Love #MichaelJseries #fiction


Photo by Gui Spinardi from Pexels

As told by Carena Johanssen

I know it sounds like I am a terrible person for laying up with my boss, Xander, and getting pregnant by him. And all the while doing so being a married woman. It’s a bad thing to do, I know. Not trying to discount what I’ve done, but growing up I noticed that men do shit like that all the time, and people would wave a hand saying that what men do. And wanted us to look the other way. Men are always given a pass for stuff they shouldn’t. When and if a woman does that, it’s deemed as not ladylike and morally wrong. Whatever.

Anyway, an innocent child came out of my affair and it is a responsibility that I had to take care of. Though, still I had held my head high amidst the fact that my son was growing in my womb then. Held my head high when pushing him in his stroller wherever we would go. I am a Native American woman from the Iroquois tribe who caused what they called a scandal with a Greek man who owned a business that was blossoming. From what people say, the two races should not have mixed. Anyway, why should they care?

From Canada to the States, I had endured the fights, arguments, name-calling, you name it from my family and husband’s, and that’s including from my husband, Jarren himself as well. Yeah, I know what I’ve done, and still to this day, some people won’t let me forget it, especially when they see Michael. I wish they would stop womb-watching and stop worrying about what I do with my vagina.

It was already bad enough that I had to quit my job which I thought was a good idea at the time. There was no way I could see Xander’s face every day. Jarren had me to be something I didn’t want to be and that is to be a stay-at-home mom. It was Jarren’s idea. I was never to work again outside the home. So, sometimes after my last child, I started making my own money by making oils and soaps for people and other spiritual stuff.

It’s quiet in the house now because all five of my children are gone. The oldest is living with her husband and their triplets in Italy. The next two are in college. Michael just started college living in a dorm with his friend Craig, and the youngest is a junior and hates high school now that Michael isn’t there anymore.

Let me say this, it was hard as hell raising Michael; not because of him, but the reminder from my mother-in-law that I was “a slut”, and my husband’s constant anger that only started since my affair. And to top it off, Xander harassed me so bad about being in our son’s life that we had to move to another country. He literally had people follow me everywhere whenever he couldn’t. And he even followed Michael and had people at his school, either working there or otherwise to “keep watch” over him.

Now, I feel like the worst had already happened. Michael graduated from high school and started college; and, he’s passed the age where I don’t have to be a hovering mother anymore. Though he is of legal age now to make his own decisions now, you know I am always going to be Mommy. I want the best for my son and I never forget the day Jarren wanted to help raise Michael.

I stood up from where I sat and walked over to the fireplace and touched the frame that held a picture of Michael when he graduated. Thinking back to a couple months ago, when there was nearly a fight in the backyard when Xander brought our son back from wherever he took him. That and everything hasn’t really taken its toll. And, I thought believing that if I allow Xander to come see Michael whenever he wanted to see him would keep him for taking me to court for joint custody. And also to keep him from harassing me so much. Well, he didn’t take me to court in which he most likely would win the case, but he still didn’t stop making matters worse.

I’ve done whatever I could to protect my child like I would for any other. And that’s including moving to the States in which he followed us and found out where we lived. It seems like I spent most of my son’s life just fighting for him. Oh, I am tired just thinking about it.

As I paced the dark carpet in front of the fireplace still deep in thought, I heard a lock being turned at the front door. Thinking it was my youngest daughter coming home, I called out to her to ask about her day.

“It’s me, CeCe!” Jarren called out instead, holding a large black bag in his hand, and wearing a sneaky smile on his handsome face.

“What’s in the bag, Jay?” I asked, holding my composure while forking an eyebrow.

©2020 Pamela E. Hester