Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Let me go.
Jasmine.
My phone rang. I rushed to grab it, hoping it was Jasmine. My father’s image ran across the screen and I pushed the damn device away.
You fucking left me, Jasmine?!
Screams corroded all the thinking parts of my head. My brain was mush. I could not form one thought, just emotions of rage and grief. If someone had witnessed my breakdown, they would’ve guessed that a relative had died. I wanted to scream like one had, just spread my arms out to my sides and wail like a mother who’d lost her child.
Was that what heartbreak really felt like? This excruciating rip of the insides that went on and on and on.
A knock came at the door. Aggravated and broken, I looked up. Maylin scurried in with a tray full of food.
I waved her away. “Unless that’s liquor, you can take it back.”
“Okay, sir.” She edged away and paused. “But, sir, there is someone downstairs to meet you.”
“Who?”
“A Mrs. Montgomery.”
I grimaced. “What? Jasmine?”
“No. She looks like Jasmine, but an older version. Not that I think all black people look the same. But this woman and Jasmine look the same. Except, this woman is darker and older. Not that she’s old, but more mature. Well that’s not a good word, more—”
“I got it.” I held up my hand and walked over to the small bar in the corner of my home office. “Send her upstairs.”
“And the food?”
“Take it back.”
Maylin watched me pick up a certain bottle, the one I saved for emergencies, the one thing that could cheer me up in times of chaos. I’d had to drink from a bottle like this before. Three other times to be exact, the moments when my past three girlfriends had been murdered.
“You should probably have food, if you’re going to drink,” Maylin said.
“Send Mrs. Montgomery up, please.”
“Okay, sir.” She glanced at the bottle again, and then left.
I thought back to Jasmine’s little good-bye note.
“Our love isn’t worth other people’s deaths?” I turned the big bottle in my hand. “Says who, Jasmine? Let them all die around us. I’m not letting you go.”
Jasmine loved food. I had a thing for liquor, but I didn’t partake much. Yet, when I sipped, the liquid was more than blocks of gold.
A bottle of Louis XIII Black Pearl sat in my hands. Before one could even open the bottle, they had to marvel in the glamourous design. As the name suggested, the bottle was the color of a black pearl, shiny and made from some futuristic crystal. The liquid evoked turbulence, just like my jet engines. The high came fast, but smooth. The taste blended honeysuckle with passion fruit, nutmeg with ginger.
Paul-Emile Remy Martin created the drink in 1874. Louis XIII was the rave of the decade. The Cognac of Kings. Royalty served it to Queen Elizabeth. Winston Churchill drank it during his stay in the Aix-en-Provence of France.
At a 100 years old, the liquid aged in an oak barrel that was several hundred years old themselves. Four generations of Cellar Masters tended to it and used the grapes from the Grand Champagne area. It was a limited edition cognac individually numbered from one to 786 dark crystal decanters and priced at $3,400 per bottle.
“Do your magic.” I broke the seal and pulled out the top. A haunting fragrance drifted from the opening. I inhaled it, and hoped that I would never have to smell the scent again. This was a sick tradition in itself. Swimming in expensive liquid, due to the loss of another girl.
Not a girl. An amazing woman. One that loves me just because I’m me, not because I’m Chase Stone. She was never impressed with that part of me. I got her because she was mine. We were made for each other. And I didn’t lose her. Don’t say that.
A woman’s voice sounded behind me. “Your father loved cognac, too.”
Sophia. No wonder Maylin thought the woman looked like Jasmine.
I kept my back to Jasmine’s mother and poured a glass. “You knew my father?”
“Yes. I thought that was assumed.”
“Why?”
“Because we all hung out in that time.”
“His friends and Benny?”
“All of us.”
I put the top in the bottle, knowing I’d be pulling it back out soon, as I chased Benny and Jasmine all over the earth. And I would. I’d chase her until I had no breath left.
With the glass in hand, I turned around and tried to face Jasmine’s mother. “Why did you come to visit us, today?”
“Several reasons.” Her gaze fell on my hand. “Is that my glass?”
“Of course. Sorry. I just woke up.” I brought it over to her.
“Thank you.” She didn’t get the glass from my hand, instead she gestured for me to follow her to the chair. I did.
I can’t deal with her today.
Sophia moved like she’d practiced it for years. With each step her pinkie flickered to the side and her hips twisted. She was the opposite of Jasmine, exactly the type of women I was used to dealing with. Fake and greedy. Sophia was someone I didn’t want to rumble with. She rubbed me the wrong way, many times, and I could never pinpoint how it started or why.