His M.V.P.

C H A P T E R 2 7

The clean crisp smell of lemon covered the small apartment. It was well kept, looking as if no one lived there. A hermit of a man. Psalms. 2 months. Those two months since she left he was conflicted, in a mummy-like state. She took his ability to be. No phone calls in or out. Business was handled but that was all. He still moved through the city, but he was a shell of himself.  How could he ignore the signs, she was begging for help.

"Fuck!" He yelled from the pit of his stomach. Dressed in all black, the gun sat silently on his lap as he waited. Eagerness was always the demise of great plans, but steadiness, that was what won the race. Even in the dark, he saw flashes of her face, she was hunting him. The ghost of her presence was containing him.

Syrai held his hand dragging him deeper into the crowded fairgrounds. It was all in his posture that he didn't want to be here. The way his body fought with hesitation with each step. Too many people, too much open space, and too much opportunity. And one Psalms. The gun that rested on his side, was his only sanity. He wasn't leaving without it. After sliding the security man a couple of blue faces, he felt he could relax a little. But not a lot, you always had to stay on your toes.

"Come on! You told me you were going to try to enjoy it. Old man," Syrai pouted as she dropped his hand and picked up her attitude. Her hand perched on her hip and her neck slightly twisted like her mouth. Psalms scanned the fairground stoned face, he didn't get much enjoyment out of this, but for her, he would endure. Psalms was stuck in his ways, he appreciated solitude. He loved structure. He craved silence.

"I'm here Syrai," he said.

"Being here and being presence are two different things," her attitude was boiling as she watched with slit eyes him on his phone. She hated that phone, despised it. If she could toss it, then it would have been considered trash. Syrai thought about saying something else smart but she knew Psalms wasn't going to deal with her attitude. He wasn't going to concede to her like the dudes in her past. Nah, he made her stand on all the shit she said. He was nonchalant, to the point it made her insecure, but also gave her a tingle of thrill. He lifted his eyes to her and watched. Maybe it was the way her hazel eyes reminded him of the sunlight he had never had the chance to enjoy. Or the flick of her button nose. Or just the way her teeth grazed her bottom lip when she breathed in. Whatever it was, she had this brick of a heart, crumbling with each movement.

Stuffing his phone in his back pocket he stepped close to her. Invading her personal space. Giving all the gawking eyes of men and women no space to wonder what it was with them. Hell, he didn't even know. However, he lived for the unexpected, uncertainty.

"So what do you want do first Syrai." Syrai's lips curled at her name, she loved how it flowed off his tongue. He made it sound high-class, like a luxurious brand. Shit, don't get her started on his tongue or any other part of him. He was so damn perfect, not a piece out of place. She hadn't even sampled the goods and he had her hooked like a fish searching for bait. If this was an addiction then he was her drug, and she hadn't even had a hit.