Mr. CEO(111)

“Oh, bullshit. You left me behind. Why?” I look at Theresa, ignoring Samuel for a while. “Huh, Mom? Him, I can understand, what with what I've learned... but you? Why did you go along with it?”

“Wives, submit to your husbands as you do to the Lord,” Theresa shoots back. “My husband's will as head of this household is the final say. He said that this was the plan, and I obeyed him.”

“The very next paragraph though says that husbands should love their wives as Christ loved the church, and that they should ensure that their wives are pure and blameless, to love them as their own bodies. I don't think faking your death and abandoning your daughter follows that particular teaching,” Jackson says quietly. When I look at him in surprise, he shrugs. “I've been to my fair share of church in my time, too.”

“Regardless, you're still lying to me,” I add, looking back at Samuel. “Why?”

“You need to go, Katrina. It's not safe,” Theresa says, her control wavering. “You can't be here. You need to go.”

“I'm not going anywhere. Not until I have answers,” I say, my own calm evaporating. “For Christ's sake, you two left me! Why?”

Theresa starts crying, sobs shaking her shoulders, but I feel no guilt, no pity for her as she trembles and shakes. She's muttering to herself, and as I catch words of it, she's praying or quoting the Bible or something like that, which just infuriates me more. I jump to my feet, having had enough. “Shut up!”

“That's enough!” Samuel half-screams, getting to his feet as Theresa sobs harder. “We did it to protect you, Katrina! The mob was after me, and I couldn't think of any other way to protect myself and my family!”

Protect his family. His words are yelled with such vehemence, with so much passion that for a moment, I want to believe him. But then I remember what Jackson told me Nathan Black said, and what I went through going through foster care. Virginia may have trained me, but it was tough love from the beginning, and there was nobody there to protect me for the six years I lived under her roof. The pain of the past ten years protects me from being swayed by his lies, and I square up, looking at Samuel, who I realize I am now actually taller than in my boots.

“You lie, Samuel. You were a corrupt cop, and if you were running from the mob, why'd you go to Peter DeLaCoeur for help? Why'd you get Nathan Black to rig the whole thing? Peter's as much in the mob as anyone else.”

Samuel stops, then starts to go red, his anger at being called a liar turning him the color of old brick. “Fine. If that's the way you want it, you miserable little whelp, then I guess I'm going to have to throw your ungrateful ass out of my house.”

Jackson goes to move, but I hold up my hand. No, this is my battle. I tilt my chin, cracking my neck, and nod. “Then come on. Maybe while I'm kicking your ass you can finally tell me the truth.”





Chapter 20





Jackson





I'm tempted to move from my position on the wall, but Katrina's gesture stops me, and I remember how well she can handle herself. I settle back, waiting. Actually, I do have to admit, part of me is looking forward to this. It could be better than a Bruce Lee movie.

“So why'd you do it, Sam?” Katrina asks as Samuel raises his hands and tries to come after her. Katrina moves with a ballet dancer's grace, avoiding his grab and spinning out of the way, pushing him on the back as she does, causing him to stumble a bit. “Was it that the FBI was going to come after you? Internal Affairs?”

“I was a good cop!” Samuel yells, turning and coming after Katrina again. She's backing up, light on her feet even in her boots, and I can see she's toying with him. It's hot actually, watching her move. She's graceful, not like a dancer or a stripper, intentionally working her body to tease, but instead she's graceful in an unconscious way, like she's focused on something greater and her grace is just a means to an end.

“You were a dirty cop,” Katrina replies, ducking as Samuel grabs a little knickknack off the top of the television and throws it at her. Katrina moves so quickly that it almost looks like the porcelain projectile passes right through her, exploding on the wall behind her. “You were a dirty cop who worked for Peter more than you worked for the people of New Orleans.”

“You don't know a damn thing about what I did!” Samuel screams, trying to grab Katrina again, who blocks his hands, slapping them away before shoving him in the chest. Samuel stumbles back, and gets ready to charge Katrina, who I can see is obviously ready for him. Before he can, though, Theresa is up and out of her chair, trying to get in between her daughter and her husband.

“Michael, no! Stop!” she yells hysterically, grabbing his arm and yanking. Samuel's not in good shape, hell, I'm worried the man's going to have a heart attack if this goes on much longer, but Theresa's scrawny. Maybe Katrina doesn't understand, but I do. She might get some of her height from her father, and I can see a little bit of his face in hers, but the hair, the slender frame... that's all from Theresa Grammercy, and that body's been worn down by a decade of guilt, so what was once thin has become bony and weak.

Theresa tugs, but Samuel barely moves at all, except for turning and pushing his wife, sending her sprawling. “Shut up, bitch. You're half the f*cking reason I left anyway, you and that constant harping on me, threatening to go to Peter and tell him about me and Margaret. If you were a good wife, I wouldn't have had that problem!”