Heart of a Man

By DeLisa J. Bracy

Izrael Washington is a former street hustler evolved into a successful business man as the owner of the hottest night spot - Club IZ. His love-life is flipped upside down after the unlikely encounter with a strikingly beautiful woman.

Not prepared for the derailment, Izrael dives head first into a romantic relationship with the woman while battling a contender - the defense mechanism he built against women. He vowed to never again allow one to infiltrate his emotions.

The chain lock is opened on his heart after he unburies the key by easily taking the chance in love again. Woman after woman he exhausted for his sexual pleasure only, but now Izrael suddenly finds himself madly in love. Will that love find and keep him? Or will it be his demise? The war of love accompanied with the battles, Deception, Secrets and Loss all force Izrael to expose the heart of a man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468528879

DeLisa J. Bracy

Readers will find interest in my writing because they will be able to relate to my characters. As she turns the page gradually her world will intertwine with the characters she is reading about. All kinds of Emotions will be invoked from her as she turns the pages driving further into the lives of the characters. Finally, she will be left with a lasting impression allowing the characters to live on.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1—Meet Izrael

Izrael Washington licked his thumb to help count the big wad of C-notes in his hand. Each taste on his thumb represented a grand. Only a sneak peek of the cash made off the little wannabe ballers.

Damn, he thought, last night slammed for a Thursday. He anxiously waited for the main show tonight. Excitement drilled through him making the silk sheet slide from his naked body. His tallying of the bills was interrupted momentarily to gather the sheet between his legs. After he covered his swollen member, his attention returned to the cash in his hand.

Izrael stroked through the bills as if they were silky strands of a pretty woman’s head. Money green, his true love, was his commitment. He could wife each and every one. Izrael continued to fiddle with money as his enjoyment crested thinking of the rest of his loot.

The revenue report from his accountant will include cash register receipts and the bank deposit slips mirroring each other in total. Izrael demanded the check and balance operation. He was on his business.

A tenth grade education may be what the public school system gave him, but Izrael was a genius for how to generate and stack money. What his head miscalculated, which was rare, ‘big brother’ corrected. Hidden cameras were throughout his club. The employees, cash drawer and patrons were kept under scrutiny. With his good business sense and the ability to stay focused, he quickly developed Club IZ into the social hot spot. It attracted everyone from corner boys to boardroom executives.

With the pedigree of not having proper adult supervision as a youth, Izrael was a statistic like so many of his black brothers. He put in street time, which was short. He forewent the desires of the fancy cars, clothes or the "baddest" chick on his arm allowing him an early exit from the game.

Being twenty-one, black and owning bank accounts totaling over three-quarters of a million dollars were not good attributes for him in retirement by certain groups’ standards. Izrael could feel the bloodhounds on his trail. He didn’t wait for the boys in blue to start breathing heavily down his neck. Averting scrutiny, Izrael sought out a legitimate venture.

When he decided to become a club owner, he researched the field. Men of all colors, creeds and stature took great pleasure in parading around the finest women and especially relished the opportunity to lavish money on them in public. What better place than a night club to quench their desire? The idea, along with dollar signs, dangled above his head like the sugarplums in the Christmas rhyme as he thought of running his own social establishment. With his savvy and wits, Izrael proudly used the street for commuting purposes only and earns his money legitimately.

Women and liquor he used as business ammo. They rained out like bullets at Club IZ. Izrael kept his club fully stocked with the finest women and topnotch liquor to fulfill his only vice. Money was all his heart had room to hold other than his kid brother; Izrael would go to his grave for him. Otherwise, for anybody or anything else, it was nothing but business.

Although life had honestly dealt him some real lemons, he made Country Time Lemonade instead of wearing a puckered face from its bitterness. Pockets once full of lint now overflowed with cash. He wanted for nothing.

The distance he kept from women, whom he considered no different than drugs or liquor, allowed him the concentration he needed. He was hell-bent on limiting his involvement with women beyond physical connections. Nothing would interfere with his desire to be king of his world.

He never touched alcohol or took a drug, not even Advil or Tylenol. His muscular, flawless body wasn’t worth the risk. His blood stream remained a virgin to such substances. Money was his drug. It controlled him, to the point of ruling his sex life.

Rael, baby… The sultry voice escaped from the companion lying beside him. She crept on Izrael’s back and softly whispered, . . . come on, lay back down.

Consumed with thoughts of money, Izrael had actually forgotten his favorite sweetness, Monique, was in his bed. He scratched the side of his head, shook it, and sighed. The dark chocolate beauty with a perfect 36-24-38 figure was the exception amongst other females. Although their relationship remained physical, he forbade other females to get what she got from him. Her plump breast grazed his back. It nearly seduced him to return to the soft harness between her legs.

"Naw, baby, Daddy got some portent bizness to tend to, boo," Izrael taunted before putting the wad of cash in the drawer next to his bed.

Monique was grinning. The expression annoyed Izrael. He grabbed the short trench coat from the floor and dragged it slowly along her lovely lady humps. He whispered coldly in her ear, Come on now, baby, the meter has expired. He placed the coat on her shoulders and gently lifted Monique to her feet.

Are you serious, Rael? Can I at least get dressed? Monique stood in front of Izrael in disbelief. Her hands clutched her hips.

Ignoring her fury, Izrael turned his back to Monique and picked up his cell phone. Hey main, Monique needs a ride, he spoke before turning back to Monique and winking. What was that? Five minutes, main? Awite then. Izrael reached in the drawer, grabbed the wad of cash, counted three bills off of the stack and threw it on the bed along with his cell phone.

Awite, baye… call me later. Izrael kissed Monique on the cheek before he sauntered, still naked, into the bathroom.

Rael, for real, though? Monique stormed behind him. She stopped a few feet from the bathroom door. Can I get dressed? she politely asked as she peered at him through the small crack in the doorway.

Monique, please baby, don’t act brand new. You know I like my privacy. Get going, girl. You betta get downstairs. You close to three minutes now, boo. Five minutes and one second that niggah is ghost. His tone was sweet, but his message was clear.

Monique stuffed the three hundred dollar bills in her coat pocket and shook her head. It was best not to argue a moot point. At times, Monique would even wish for a black eye or busted lip instead of his coldness. Izrael’s torture wasn’t physical abuse ever. Yet it still felt like a hurtful body blow.

Monique passed the bathroom and was unable to resist peering at him again through the slightly opened door. The reflection of his proud, golden frame in the floor length mirror mesmerized her. He was shaving his perfectly sculptured chin. His nude, six-foot-two-inch body seemed to move without effort. Although he was often mistaken for the rapper Common, Monique snubbed the comparison. Other than the similarity in complexion and strong facial structure, Monique saw no real resemblance.

You close to seconds now and Scooter will leave you, baby. Izrael’s eyes reflected seriousness in the mirror. Monique jumped back in shock.

Bye, Izrael! She slipped her feet in the four-inch stilettos and staggered out the door. Scooter would leave her just for spite.

A burst of wind rushed Monique as soon as she stepped outside. She drew her coat tighter, as she walked toward Izrael’s money green colored Cadillac DTS. Scooter sat in the driver’s seat with his head turned to face her looking for the entire world like the former CEO of Death Records, Shug Night. Monique climbed into the back seat.

Damn, it’s cold. She shivered after slamming the door shut.

Home? Scooter grimly asked as he faced forward.

Where the hell else would I be going at the damn crack of dawn, Scooter? Monique screamed.

With one eyebrow lifted, Scooter stared at Monique through the rearview mirror. As she fussed around with the coat, he could see the slightly opened top allowing plenty of exposed cleavage. As much as he detested her, Scooter couldn’t deny Monique’s beauty. He took it all in as his eyes widened with lust.

Is this better? Monique flung open her coat.

Busted, Scooter tried not to react to her display. Izrael refused to cut strings with her, which forced Scooter to deal with her, but it went no further. Forgive and let live may be Izrael’s motto, but Scooter had one of his own: leopards never change their spots. And that one in the back seat had spots as big and bright as sunrays.

*     *     *

Izrael focused on the grown man who stared back at him from the mirror. Complicated? he asked himself. Naw, he answered after securing the box linked sterling silver chain around his neck. He never left home without the piece of jewelry. After he rubbed the heart shaped pendant hanging from the necklace, he slid it under his tank t-shirt. He then rubbed Polo Black Cologne along his smooth cheeks as he thought about his actions toward Monique.

He quicky reminded himself not to sweat it. Emotional detachment from women pleased him. Loving a woman made a man soft. The world wasn’t made for the weak to survive. It is what it is, he thought.

When Granny moved him and his brother in with her and Pa, she told Izrael that his Atlas days were over. He refused to concede. Good thing he didn’t. Now, close to ten years later, his shoulders remained fit for the load. His favorite rapper TI put it down real in his song, No Matter What . . . Still I Stand.

Izrael’s story was a classic tale. Orphaned by his parents, he was rescued by Granny and Pa until their death, which made him and his brother orphans again. Today, the orphan was a self-made millionaire. He stood tall and was still with his brother holding up their world like Atlas.

I ain’t dead I ain’t done I ain’t scared I ain’t run.

But still I stand No matter what people

Hear I am No matter what, remember

I ain’t break I ain’t fold they hate me mo?

Izrael chanted the chorus with TI as it blared out of his surround sound speakers. The more he sang, the less remorse he felt for Monique. No one cared about his pain. Other than his dead friend Mack, his brother was the only other one he had fretted over.

No Woman No Cry . . . Izrael crooned to Bob Marley’s song as he left the penthouse apartment.

Hey, Scooter main, how much time we got? Izrael asked his driver as he closed the passenger door.

You straight, man. You straight. Scooter chuckled. Here, somebody left this on the windshield.

Izrael took the acidic-smelling envelope from Scooter. He wanted to rip it up and throw it away like the others. Instead he casually opened it by sliding his key under adhesiveness. Expecting it to follow suit like the others, he silently read the words in italic print inside the otherwise blank card, ‘BEWARE, NIGGAH.’

Crazy females. Izrael tore it up into small pieces and tossed it out the window.

Can’t nobody be worse than Freaky Neeky, Scooter mumbled.

Monique may trip, but she ain’t crazy. This chick is on some other stuff.

He and Scooter had a history and there was nothing but love. Trust was something else. He surrendered it to no man. He hadn’t shared the details of the messages he had received in the past few weeks with anyone.

He tried not to sweat it. Chalked it up to be the work of a scorned female, but he wasn’t a hundred percent sure. Curiosity tugged at him. He remembered that all three had the same acidic fragrance. The first one read, "LOVE ALWAYS", typed in the center of a letter-sized piece of paper. Then there were the daisies left with Ed, his doorman, and the card attached read, "REMEMBER ME?" Now another one tonight, he thought. Soon he would figure out who dared to play these games.

*     *     *

Quis! Quis! his little brother sobbed. Wake up, please! I can’t find mommy!

Jal, man, go back to sleep. She’s gone, dude. She’ll be back. He turned over and tried to get back to sleep.

I’m scared, and they keep banging at the door, his little brother whined.

Who, Jalal? He sensed the fear in his brother’s voice.

I dunno, but I hear dem talking out there.

Out where, Jal? He sat up on the side of the bed and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Shit! He jumped up and hit his head on the bunk above him.

See, I told you Quis! Dey been out there all the time, his little brother sobbed profusely.

Calm down, Jal, he said as he pulled on his pants.

I want mommy! his little brother heaved. Where she at, Quis? She needs to be here.

It’s all right, Jalal man. Please calm down. Scared just as much if not more now than his little brother, he grabbed a hold of the little guy’s shoulders.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Anyone in there? Open the door, it’s the police! the voice outside the door roared.

Police! Ohhhh, Marquis… Jalal trembled as he held tight on his brother’s leg.

Calm down, Jalal! Chill man, I got this. Lifting his brother up, he walked to the door. He opened it carefully just as a burly white man pushed his way inside. He didn’t say a word to the boys as he galloped from room to room before he rejoined them.

Hey there, young man, the big man said after a quick glance at the young woman who had entered the apartment with him. My name is Max. What’s yours?

Marquis, he said loud and clear. He stared Max directly in his eyes just as his daddy taught him.

Where’s your mom at, Marquis?

Although he and his mother role-played this scenario, Marquis wasn’t ready for opening night. The knot in his throat prevented the words he had practiced from coming out. He felt like tears would accompany anything that came out of his mouth. Crying was the last thing we wanted to do. He had to stay strong for Jalal, who still was in his arms clinging to his neck.

How long has she been gone, sweetie? A most attractive young black woman with a short haircut stepped in front of Max to face him.

About… uhm… The knot gripped tighter at his throat. Unable to speak, his eyes locked on the woman’s. Marquis didn’t have to say another word.

It’s going to be okay, she said to Marquis. She put her hand on Jalal’s back. What’s your name, darling?

Jalal, his younger brother mumbled. He tried to copy Marquis’s stoic responses.

Jalal and Marquis… what great names for such handsome young boys. On her knees now, she faced both of them. Jalal, come here, sweetie. She attempted to grab him out of Marquis’s arms.

Marquis, don’t let her take me! Please, Quis! Please! Jalal begged. He gripped Marquis’ neck with all his strength.

Now, calm down, sweetheart. I only want to help… both of you… her voice was soft and sweet, . . . until we find your mother.

Noooo, pleeeeeeze! Don’t take me from my brother! Jalal slobbered. Tears fell down his face.

I’m not, sweetie. I’m not. The woman had Jalal in her arms now; she stroked his curly hair as he flailed his arms and legs trying to get back to his brother.

Listen… listen… Attempting to calm him down, she continued, my name is Ms. Ivy. I am a social worker here to help you and your brother.

Ms. Ivy heard everything the older brother couldn’t say. It didn’t matter that it was her first case. The letters behind her name and all she learned from the textbooks couldn’t have prepared her for tonight. She needed what she was born with—compassion.

Jalal’s cries became sniffles as he settled down in her comforting arms. He wiped the drizzle from his nose and looked into her eyes.

Please don’t take me from my brother, he pleaded again.

I won’t.

Promise? he asked.

I promise. She cradled Jalal in her arms and turned to walk out the door before Marquis turned away. Where are you going, honey?

I’ll be right back.

Ms. Ivy comforted Jalal as much as possible with her words. Even so, he still shivered even after he stopped crying.

You ready, sweetie? Ms. Ivy said to Marquis after he returned.

With Jalal in her arms Ms. Ivy reached out to Marquis and grabbed his hand. Inside his fist, he clutched a cheap linked chain.

Is that what you went back for? Ms. Ivy asked Marquis.

He shook his head in confirmation.

Is it your lucky charm?

Marquis opened his hand and after Ms. Ivy saw what lay in his small palm, she swallowed hard to retain her composure.

Let’s go, boys. Ms. Ivy, with Jalal in her arms and Marquis’ hand in hers, left the apartment.

Marquis finally exhaled. The feelings of helplessness were set free. Those emotions were buried ever since his mother began her disappearances more than a year ago. She started close to the time his dad had left. He had kept his tears hidden to be strong for his brother. Now he squeezed Ms. Ivy’s hand tight with gratitude. Finally, he thought, someone realized he was only ten years old.

CHAPTER 2—Meet Monique

Ms. Ree… wait a minute! Monique shouted after mean mugging Scooter’s back as he drove off.

Hey, Mo-Mo… you got some spare change? Ms. Ree pulled her tattered coat closer to cover her small, frail frame.

I don’t have… Monique reached into the pockets of her trench coat. Her fingers traced the bills Izrael put on the bed. Why don’t you come in and let me fix you something to eat?

I ain’t hungry, Mo. I… uh… I just need a few cents to get me… uh… uh… some smokes. Her head was bowed as she spoke to Monique.

Monique sighed, Miss Ree, I really don’t want to give you money for that stuff.

In a melancholy voice, Ms. Ree pleaded sweetly, I promise, Mo… I… uh… I promise. I won’t use it on drugs. I really need a smoke though. Ms. Ree’s tiny hand gently touched Monique’s arm.

Monique and Ms. Ree’s relationship was a strong bond. She wanted to help Ms. Ree whenever she could. Sometimes it was food or a place to sleep, but it was always money, no matter what. Somehow, Monique saw beyond her ragged appearance to the beauty she felt was trapped inside of the woman

Here, Ms. Ree… take this. She stuffed Izrael’s money into the Ms. Ree’s palm. Promise me it won’t end up in Gums’ hand.

Oh, Mo… Ms. Ree’s soft voice trembled at the sight of Benjamin Franklin on the top of one of the bills. Thank you. You are so sweet. Dem boys better appreciate you. Ms. Ree reached up and hugged Monique hard before she hurried down the pavement.

Monique watched Ms. Ree until she was out of her sight. She had been sweet on Ms. Ree ever since the night the woman had pulled an ice pick on Gums.

Gums was born Lamar Hudson. He was one of Big Boi’s main henchmen. The nickname derived from the big pink gums he displayed whenever he smiled. Monique had an unfortunate encounter with him years ago while she was chasing after Izrael. She was sixteen and never should have been at Blackjack, a seedy venue, especially at night. She followed Izrael after finding out he was working for Big Boi, the biggest dope man in town. While she was eavesdropping near an open door, Gums snuck up on her.

The thought of what could have happened that night if Ms. Ree hadn’t been there still made her heart stress. They had been down for each other since that night after Ms. Ree made sure she got home safely. Their conversation had ended abruptly, though, when Ms. Ree refused to go any further than the few feet from her house. Ms. Ree made her promise not to mention their encounter to Izrael or Mack. Monique defended her boys, but Ms. Ree remained adamant. She believed them to be no different than Gums, reasoning their link with Big Boi. He was the last person she wanted to upset.

Monique never spoke of that night or of their many encounters to Izrael, Mack or Zion. She kept their relationship a secret but shared everything about herself with Ms. Ree to whom her life was an open book.

Monique said a silent prayer before opening her door, asking for protection and healing for her dear friend.

*     *     *

I told you no, Zion, Monique sighed as she towel dried her silky hair after showering.

Come on, main… don’t do your boy like that. Let me come through, Neek. Zion begged.

No, I’m tired of men, she lied.

So, it’s like that, Neek? Zion sulked. You mad at Iz and take it out on me?

I’m not mad. He gets the hell on my nerves and…

And if he called right now you’d be up his ass like an aggravating wedgey. Zion sighed.

You ain’t a damn comedian, Zion! Don’t trip cause you can’t get it niggah, Monique barked at him holding back tears.

I can get it. It’s just not my turn. Zion laughed. But I am patient.

See, that’s what I mean! Dumb shit like that wouldn’t dare come out his mouth.

Oh, my shit is dumb now, huh? But when you need a niggah whose there on your mutherfunkin dime, who comes to you? Not Izrael! Zion seethed.

Please! There is no comparison! And don’t get brand-new… you know how we get down. Bye! Monique slammed the phone in the cushion of the couch after she ended the call.

Brushing through her damp hair hanging down to the middle of her back, Monique begged for Izrael to exit her head. Why did she care when he could care less? Caveman, her sexual moniker for Zion, would lick her ass if she asked. Why did she have to pine over Izrael?

Monique’s womanhood purred at the thought of Zion’s over-proportioned third leg. She reviewed the backbreaking sex they shared. Legs over her head and her walls beat like an out-of-control paddleball… hmm, a tempting thought. Izrael’s scent still lingered, so she shook the impulse.

If only a mulligan could be granted in life. What she wouldn’t give for a do-over. Monique stretched out on her couch and remembered the first day Izrael Washington came into her life.

She was only eight, but Izrael was her first love at first sight. Kept on a short leash by her mother, Melanie Carter, Monique couldn’t go further than her front porch to check out the new residents. Fortunately, that leash lengthened after the establishment of the V-Crew.

Melanie spent long hours holding down two jobs in an effort to support her family. She worked as a prison nurse during the week and a blood technician on weekends. Her work schedule left Monique at home alone late into the evenings and on most weekends. Before the Washington boys moved onto Vine Street, Monique was a lonely latch key girl.

Melanie put up a good fight at first about her daughter hanging out with the Washington boys. No matter; the harder she fought, the more rebellious Monique became demanding to spend time with the boys. Eventually, Melanie relaxed her rules. Soon Monique had her way.

Time spent with the boys turned out to be beneficial to both Melanie and Monique. Melanie inherited caretakers at no charge, and Monique had some companions.

By the end of the school term, Monique lived at the boys’ houses almost as much as her own. Never once did Izrael or Mack try anything out of the way with her. Their chivalrous ways continued even after Monique blossomed into a teenage beauty. After six years of the V-Crew existence, Izrael and Mack cut ties and became a duo. They began their lengthy pursuit of every skirt in the neighborhood except Monique’s.

This shift left Monique with Izrael’s younger brother, who was kicked to the curb, too. At first, he annoyed her; however, the alone time created their present day bond.

The good old days, Monique thought. Give her a mulligan two years ago. Why did I have to ruin it? She cried hard, swiping at the tears on her face. The pity party lasted as long as she relived the past.

She made the call. What’s up?

Why, niggah? Zion was peeved even though his serene voice didn’t betray him.

Come on, baby, don’t act like that, Monique sweetened her voice to the place where she knew he would surrender to her.

Like what, a little beech always at your beck and call? Ain’t that how we do it? He continued to mope.

Baby, now you know I didn’t mean a word I said earlier. It’s Izrael. He knows how to get me upset with you, Monique pacified him. At the same time it made her sick to hear him cave so easily. The taste of bile entered her throat as she continued the conversation.

You want me? Zion perked up.

You know I do. Now, please, bring your caveman behind to me, her sultry tone went into high gear.

Bet, girl. I’m on my way! he yelped through the receiver.

Sucka! She thought.

Balled up on the couch, Monique poured another glass of the Merlot. Part of her wanted Zion, but all of her wanted Izrael. She felt foolish to think she would be with him this very moment.

Ugh! she screamed. She needed to deaden her emotions to receive Zion’s pleasure and erase Izrael from her mind. She put the bottle of wine in her mouth and emptied the remainder.

While she waited to forget, the truth hit her hard. The Vine Street V-Crew boys will always have her love. Mack may be gone, but Izrael and his brother were still here.

DING DONG!

Monique took her time to answer the door.

Damn, baby, what took you so long? Zion rushed through door. He scooped her up and slung her over his shoulders like a rag doll. He kicked the door shut, and then carried Monique to the dining room. After he had shoved everything off of the table to the floor, he lay her face down on the mahogany wood top.

Monique’s back buckled as he entered her from behind.

UGH, she grunted in delight.

Shut up, Zion pounded on top of her harder. Ooooh… you my good gushy beeech. Uhm. Zion grabbed a fistful of hair to pull her face to him. He rammed his tongue down her throat.

Damn, Zeeeeeeee, she groaned after catching her breath.

Call me daddy! Zion demanded, penetrating her deeper.

Uhhh, Daaaaaaaaady.

Say you want it, dammit! he ordered.

Baby, I want it!

Tell me, I’m the best! he yelled, hitting her walls harder.

Baby, you the best!

Bet. Ter. Than. Iz. Rael.

Monique’s insides fluttered. The turbulence wasn’t caused by Zion’s expert lovemaking. It was the sound of his name. Her tongue pleaded to say NEVER, but she locked it. She refused to stroke Izrael’s ego as much as she would love to deflate Zion’s. Dismissing both men, she gripped her vagina muscles tight and concentrated on the pleasurable eruption between her legs.

Shut. Up. Nig. Gah. And. Do. The. Hell. What. We. Do! She shrieked while Zion’s hefty third leg thrust violently in and out of her.

Uh-huh… you know this is my shit. Zion pressed his lips to her ear. You never forget your first, beech. You never do.

CHAPTER 3—Meet Zion

Zion stumbled through the door and slumped to the floor. Dazed, he lay still for a moment and then slowly eased up onto his feet. He made his way over to the black, Italian leather sectional and flopped down again. He lay there and waited for the peace he knew would come from the pint bottle of Hennessy he’d just sucked down. Holding his sides like a cradle, he curled his lip and drifted off to sleep.

WHHHHHHHY? Zion awoke screaming. He jumped up from the couch and hurled the empty bottle across the room. How long will this keep hurting me? He asked out loud.

Tired and disgusted, he ran his hand down his freshly braided cornrows. As he walked toward the kitchen, he wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

Once in the kitchen, he felt a rush of rage. He slammed one cabinet door and then another and another until he collapsed on the floor.

He needed more in his life, much more. He needed the pain to stop. Hennessy understood him, it knew how to sooth the sting. It was either that or the warm canal of a woman that could ease the ache. Monique’s serum was brief and not nearly adequate to stop his pain or rage.

Play with fire, Zion, you apt to get burnt, his granny would warn. Zion’s head was hard then and nothing had changed. He struck the red head of the matchstick fiercely today. He had no business going over there. After he left Monique’s condo, he had no intention of getting on the expressway. It was a spontaneous decision that he now regretted. He went on the prowl, driven to satisfy a nasty addiction. It wasn’t the first time he saw her, but it had been months since the last time.

Why couldn’t he hate her? Why did he love her so much? Why did he need her so much?

Why, why, why? his thoughts bubbled into a shout.

Zion wanted nothing more than to be in her arms. He longed for her love but settled for any other woman who would give him any love at all.

He wandered into the bedroom and positioned himself in front of the mirror glaring at his reflection. The spitting image of his mother, he shared the same black curled hair, keen nose, light walnut skin and green irises. He stood taller than his older brother at six-feet-six-inches, and and he was lankier, too. He was his mother’s child.

Zion crawled into bed. Once there, he then wrapped himself up in his fluffy black comforter. He stared at the black Jordan’s after he kicked them off to floor.

Black was his favorite color. It was his signature. Everything he wore or used was black except his T-shirts. His brother constantly badgered him about choosing everything in black. He called it an ‘obsession.’ Still, he surprised Zion for his twenty-first birthday with a black-on-black Lexus.

Zion remembered his father mostly dressed in black and inferred that the color represented power. He viewed Senior as the most commanding man in the world even though he hated him.

Granny and Pa tried their best to get Zion to try other colors, but he fought them every time. They loved him so they gave in; anyway, in most things they eventually gave him his way. Out of love they let Zion become the man in black.

Other than their rule that church must be attended, Zion did what he chose to do. He understood his grandparents’ order for him and his brother to attend church frequently was their way of trying to raise them properly, but he had trouble with church. How could he believe in a God who would allow his parents to be taken away? After Granny and Pa’s death, he refused to step into another church. He broke his vow only one time, and that was for his friend’s funeral.

It seemed whenever he loved, that which he loved was taken away by death or rejection. He held his hands to his face. Tears wet his palms. He thought if he could have her in his life, it would blanket all the other pain. Woman after woman brought pleasure to his loins, but inside he remained empty.

He accepted Monique’s love such as it was—empty. At one time, he was foolish to think there was actually something special between them. He finally faced reality. She would never love him as much as she loved Izrael. He lifted up off the bed attempting to ignore the demons that haunted him.

A quick glance at his watch made him remember. It was just a few hours before he could kick it up at Club IZ. Zion cheered up for the moment at the thought of some fresh booty. Ain’t nothing like a fat ass and Hennessy on the side. That was his motto.

Zion grabbed his cell phone and pushed the number two on the keypad. He paced in front of the floor length mirror decorated on the sliding doors of his closet. He flexed his muscles while patiently waiting for an answer on the other end thinking how he couldn’t compete with the noticeably more muscular anatomy of his older brother. Even still it didn’t throw salt in his game. The well-defined physique and prided third leg he possessed strung women like addicts once they discovered the hidden treasures.

He stretched wide in front of the mirror happy with his reflection. Women couldn’t resist his handsome, adorable face. He used the good looks to get what he wanted every time.

Massaging his magic wand as it prepared for its next trick, Zion almost ended the call.

What up, Zee man?

Damn, Izrael! What took you so long to answer? Zion jumped up and down trying to relieve the excitement in his shaft.

Oh… bizness, main. Izrael’s voice was raspy.

Yeah, what’s her name? Zion chuckled.

Niggah, is booty all your behind think of?

You mean ‘the sweet canal’? Hell yeah!

Grow the hell up, dude. That stuff is gonna be your downfall. But it ain’t nothing new… you always been a sucker for the fish.

Main, go the hell on with that shit! You got the same blood trickling in your veins. Zion’s amusement slipped away. Izrael’s self-righteousness always annoyed him.

Yeah, main, that may be true, but where we differ is your selection process. Plus, you run your mouth like a female. How many nights at IZ has there been some kind of drama with two or more females tripping over your ass?

Don’t hate on my game.

Whatever, pretty-ma… Izrael paused.

Say it, main, go ahead. Yeah, I’m a mamma’s boy and damn proud of it. I’m the male version of my beautiful mamma, but you? Zion laughed as he taunted his brother, You look just like the ugly Senior.

There was silence on the other end.

Oh, cat got ol’ Marq tongue, huh, niggah? Get speechless when someone brings up your mami and papi, huh? Zion threw in the dig quickly and then diverted the conversation. I saw her today, main.

So what, niggah! You gonna start that crying stuff? Did she smile at you this time and put her hands on your cheeks, or did she run? Izrael’s attitude quickly reversed. There was no laughter now.

You know, your heart is empty… empty as fuck.

"My heart is what it