01.01 // REZA // Dominated by their Landlord
BOOK 1 * OWING REZA * CHAPTER 1
“Good morning,” he said, softly and sweetly, as her eyes fluttered open. He’d been waiting for her to wake.
She smiled, and he cupped his hand to her neck and brushed his thumb along the angle of her jaw. There was happiness there, a sparkle in her emerald eyes, a curl to the corners of her pouting mouth and he cherished it, ached for the moment to last. The smile faltered, the sparkle fizzled; she was fully awake now, and she remembered it was the first of the month.
They lay on the double-size pullout couch in the center of the living room of their eight-hundred-square-foot studio apartment. The sun streamed in from the windows at the foot of the bed, the ceiling higher in the sunken living room than the raised kitchen behind the couch they slept on. They both fell in love with the apartment the moment they saw it two years ago. The rent wasn’t cheap but Jonny was making money back then, lots of it, and, God, it was worth it to see the happiness that it put on his Charlie’s face.
And that face. The one whose eyes he stared into lovingly right now as his thumb caressed her skin. How could he have not fallen in love with his shy and demure, yet stunningly beautiful wife?
She was a quiet wallflower taking library studies, and he was a flat-broke game designer with unending passion that kept him up all night, and often, when things were at the worst, he would work in the university library for the free wi-fi. And that was where he met Charlie. His ginger-haired, freckle-faced supermodel.
Her self-esteem needed a polishing, but had she recognized her own beauty, would he have ever been good enough for her? Would she have even given him the time of day? She was long, and thin, and leggy, with creamy apricot-speckled skin. Big emerald eyes and a long and crazy mane of hair that she kept tied back and put in a bun. She dressed demurely, like she worked at the Post Office sixty years ago. When he learned she’d been raised in a religious household, it didn’t surprise him.
Her entire family lived on a Kansas homestead; Mom and pop and seven siblings, a grandma and grandpa, and a grandma on the other side. Even a great-grandmother for a short while. When she showed him family pictures, Jonny imagined his sweet Charlie took after her maternal grandmother, including her style of dress.
All the better for Jonny, though, because he had a careful eye. He watched that pretty alabaster doll as she read her books on the other side of the Thompson Memorial Library. Watched her long limbs and her pensive face. His favorite was to see her graceful finger pause over a page in anticipation as she neared the bottom, then perform this elegant and delicate maneuver to flip to the next page. Charlie was always eager to see what was on the next page. Jonny’s careful eye registered all that Charlie seemed to want to hide. She was a goddess, and if she dressed like most of the other female students on campus, she would have had all the boys eating out of her hand. But he had Charlie all to himself.
Charlie licked her lips, said, “Morning, Jonny.”
He said, “What do you want for breakfast? We could go down to Ruth’s Diner. They have the Sunday Morning Special.”
Her smile waned, and she said, “We have to stay here.”
Jonny inhaled, chewed his lip. He said, “He usually comes at night.”
Charlie tucked her hands under her face, said, “He can come at any time.”
“I know.”
“Hey,” she said abruptly, forcing her face into a manufactured, bright expression. “I can make us some pancakes.”
“Do we have eggs?”
She frowned, a smile returning. “For pancakes? You don’t need eggs for pancakes, silly,” she said and kissed his nose.
His arms went around her waist and he pulled her tightly to him and she giggled and squirmed like he was molesting her. He kissed her neck and her collar and her hands went through his hair. “You sure?” he said. “I swear you need eggs for pancakes.”
“Nope, buster,” she laughed as he blew a raspberry on her neck under her sweet smelling hair.
He held her tight and closed his eyes; wished that things were better, wished that things were like they were when he was on top of the world. He’d get there again. He’d get there soon. They’d just have to ride this turbulence out; grip their arm rests and clamp their jaws shut. There would be blue skies again. “We have any syrup?”
“Shoot, no,” she said, her lips pursing and her brow furrowing.
“We don’t?”
Her face opened bright again, and she said, “We have butter and honey.”
“Mm, perfect,” he said, and he ran a finger along the low V-neck of the soft cotton T-shirt she slept in. He tugged the V low and exposed her bare nipple; the circumference a pale brown until it hued to the same shade as her skin, the tips a darker brown, blushing rosy where the flesh puckered to a concave duct, shallow in the centre. Someday, when things were better, she would feed their babies. For now, he locked his own lips over top, and her soft flesh turned hard and rubbery against his tongue.
He suckled her for a while and her nails scratched his scalp. When he pulled away, he said, “Maybe we should bring that honey down here. I’d rather eat it off you, anyway.”
She giggled and threw her head back, then returned her gaze to his and he watched as it slowly sank from frivolous to serious and she said, “Jonny, it’s the first.”
“I know it is,” he said.
“You can’t have me on the first.”
“I know, Charlie,” he said.
They stared into each other’s eyes for a long while, the moment drawn out in tension and sadness at the inexorable facts of their situation.
She inhaled deeply and his cheek rode on the swell, resting in the warm space between her breasts. “Okay, Jonny-boy,” she sighed. “Get off me… Charlie’s going to make her hubby the biggest batch of pancakes he’s ever seen. I won’t even be able to see him over the top.”
“I love you, Charlie,” he said.
“I love you, Jonny,” she said, and her lips pressed softly on his forehead, right at the peak of his hairline.
She slipped out from under him, and he lay on their bed and watched her. Charlie wore just her old T-shirt that came down to the tops of her thighs, under that she wore a pair of cotton panties. As she rose, stepped out of bed, her T-shirt hung up on her waist and Jonny saw a full unhindered view of her perfect bottom, scored by the pale pink triangle. Charlie felt the coldness there and, still shy and demure, she blurted, “Ope,” and pulled the T-shirt down to cover herself.
She stretched at the side of the bed, thrusting her little fists to the ceiling above, and then wiggling left and right, extending her trembling legs out behind her, first the left, then the right. She groaned and exhaled, then when she was done, she staggered away and put a hand out to steady herself, giggled, turned to Jonny and smiled, said, “Hoo, dizzy.”
He smiled for her, watched her with glowing ardor.
A fist pounded on their front door and both the smiles were wiped clean away from their faces.
***
Jonny stayed in bed while a sick dread wormed its way through his stomach, weakening his arms, making his palms sweat. Charlie’s bare feet made sticky sounds as she padded across the heavily lacquered parquet floor and up the one step to the open-concept kitchen behind the bed. Two more steps and then came the sound of brass latches unclasped, the knob unlocked, and the door opening. He couldn’t look. Knew who it must be, but didn’t want to see. It was confirmed when he heard his deep voice.
“There’s my sweet angel.”
Charlie’s quiet voice replied, “Hi.”
The deep voice, as if to someone else, said, “What I tell you?”
A new voice from the hall, even deeper, one he didn’t know, but instantly recognized as African-American, said, “You ain’t lying, man. Your girl hot as shit.”
Now Jonny turned in the bed and looked up through the kitchen pass to see the door. The counter blocked the view, but he saw the three people from the waist up. His Charlie, in the apartment, one hand on the door. And in the hall, smiling meanly with narrowed eyes, were two men. Their landlord’s son, Reza Khan, and another gentleman, equally intimidating, with black skin and an afro knobbed in tufts like a coral reef.
Reza said, “Invite us in, Charlie.”
She said, “Come on in,” stepping back so they could enter, facing them, but not looking at their faces, her gaze lowered to their chests. They passed her by, and she quietly shut the door behind them and locked it again. Reza stepped down into the living area and the black man followed, his gaze going up and down and all around, checking out the apartment and their things in it. He said, “Your dad own this whole building?”
Reza said, “Yeah, and a couple more like it.”
“Shit man, he do all right, don’t he?”
“Not too bad for an immigrant,” Reza agreed, as he crossed the room in his expensive shoes, kicked a crumpled pair of Jonny’s pants to the corner, then sat down heavily in a red armchair he and Charlie bought at Ikea when things were better. Reza kicked his legs out straight and crossed them, wove his fingers together over his middle and looked to the bed. “Morning, Jonny.”
“Hi Reza,” he said.
“Hey,” he said, nodding, then threw a thumb to his friend, said, “This is Demetrius. He trains with me at the gym… one of my fighters. Welterweight. Jiu-jitsu, boxing, wrestling… Demetrius has a knockout uppercut. He’ll be pro in eight months, he’s that good.”
Charlie stood in the kitchen still, her arms folded across, hiding herself, her toes curled over the top edge of the single step down to their living space.
“Hey man,” Demetrius said to Jonny, “how you doing?” He sat himself in an identical chair next to Reza.
“I’m okay,” he said.
Reza said, “Me and Demetrius been up all night, down at Kwest.” He drew his feet closer now, sat up straight, then leaned forward. “You know Kwest?”
Jonny shook his head. Reza eyed Charlie, and she shook her head as well.
Reza wore Louis Vuitton sneaker boots with loose black laces and he leaned and pulled one off, let it drop to the floor in front of him. “Club on Jameson Street. Just opened. Dude I know DJ-ed last night. This crazy kid from Barcelona. Shit, we had a good time, eh, Demetrius?”
“Word, man.”
“Spanish kid has some hook-ups.” They slapped hands and smiled knowingly, rumbling deep laughter at some hidden joke.
Reza removed his other boot, held it for a moment, looked at Charlie, then let it drop to the floor.
“Charlie, girl, come on over, don’t be shy.” He sat back in the chair and pat his thigh for her.
Charlie crossed the room with her arms still folded, and Demetrius watched her long bare legs the whole time.
“Sit, sit, come on,” he urged, cupping his hand and wagging his fingers to her.
Charlie came between his legs, then sat on his muscular thigh, her legs kept pressed together, her arms still folded. Reza put an arm around her waist and smiled at her, though she wouldn’t look in his eyes.
“You still my girl?”
Charlie nodded, her jaw clenched tightly, her lips pouting.
“And this dude’s her husband?” Demetrius said.
Reza didn’t take his eyes off Charlie. He said, “Jonny’s her husband, but I’m her Daddy. Isn’t that right, Charlie?”
She nodded again.
“That’s right. I take care of Charlie because Jonny can’t. He watches her for me until I need her.”
“Why can’t he take care of her?” Demetrius asked.
“Jonny’s out of work.”
Charlie said, “He’ll find something. Jonny’s amazing.”
“What he do?”
Reza said, “Video Game Designer? That right, Jonny?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Hey, cool, man,” Demetrius said, leaning forward. “Shit, you ever play that Gods of War?”
“Yeah,” Jonny said.
“Dude, the graphics — ”
“I know.”
Reza said, “You need me this month, Charlie? You need your Daddy?”
Charlie looked to Jonny, her eyes sad and watery, and she nodded again.
“There’s my girl,” Reza said. “Don’t be sad, honey. It’s going to be okay. Daddy will take care of you. How much you need?”
She shrugged, her mouth turned to a trembling bow.
Reza took her hand and kissed it, said, “Daddy will take care of you, okay?”
She nodded.
“Okay?” he said again and cocked his head to make her look in his eyes.
“Okay,” she agreed, and now the down-turned mouth formed a weak little Charlie smile.
“Yeah, don’t you worry. Daddy won’t let you live on the streets.”
He sat back and his eyes traveled her body, Charlie’s eyes turning away, feeling self-conscious being looked at. Reza was older than them, probably somewhere in his mid-thirties. He was powerfully built, but not bulky or terribly tall. There was a toxic masculinity that exuded from him. He smelled of musk dabbed with cologne, and he had a thick, dense beard. His hands were large and muscular.
“Hey, Charlie?” Reza said, his voice sounding fun.
“What?”
“I brought you something.”
“What?”
Reza smiled. His hands came together at his jeans and unbuttoned them, then undid his zipper, the whole while watching Charlie’s expression. His hands went to the arms, clutched the ends like a king on his throne, and he said, “Put your hand in there and see.”
