Eye for an Eye Read Online Free Page B

dinner. Italian food and red wine. They toasted, talked, and laughed. Love actually felt like it did during the first six months, and for short while, she found herself relaxing ever so slightly. But then they went back to his place. Well, it was their place, but nothing in it represented her. Not unless you counted the toothbrush and tampons in the bathroom.
    He put on Luther. It was his favorite singer when he wanted to fuck. They danced, and as they did, Lisette Jones’s heart began to race and beat heavily. Earlier that day, Mother Nature had delivered her monthly gift. Before the dinner and the red wine, they’d had Hennessey at the bar, waiting for their table. While Luther sang, they began to kiss, and as they did, she began to shiver. The alcohol fueling his fire, Jamil started to work his hands up beneath the skirt she’d been wearing.
    Before he could go too far, she said, “We can’t, baby. It’s my time of the month. You can’t have me that way, but I’ll make sure you have a happy ending.”
    Jamil pulled back and looked at her for a moment before palming her ass. “I don’t give a shit about a happy ending. I want my pussy.”
    He pressed his lips against hers and tried to force his way back up her skirt.
    She pushed him away. “We . . . we can’t, Jamil.”
    Her heart was stammering. Anxiety made it difficult for her to catch a breath. She felt the blow before it came, hard across her mouth.
    She stumbled back as Jamil told her again that he wanted his pussy. Luther was just reaching the breakdown in the song, holding the word “forever”. As he did, everything around Lisette Jones slowed down and then froze.
    For seconds that seemed like minutes, she stared at the Denzel-P. Diddy-50 Cent combination, and within those precious seconds, she saw in the highest definition of clarity the monster she’d given her soul to. He’d been the perfect director, who’d had her starring in the perfect horror film for eighteen months.
    In that moment of clarity.
    Lisette Jones disappeared.
    I took over.
    I caught my balance and with all of the anger, pain, and hatred I’d had built up inside of me, I let out a throaty growl and attacked.
    I hit him with a solid punch in his mouth, causing his lip to bleed first.
    â€œYou fucking bitch!” he yelled out after the shock had worn off.
    He swung out and hit me in my jaw. I staggered back. Nearly went down. Lisette Jones would have. But I wasn’t her. I wasn’t putting up with the shit. I regained my footing and attacked again.
    I punched.
    I kicked.
    I kneed.
    I spat.
    I attacked him with a rage that Lisette Jones would have never been able to attack with. Everything came out with my fury. The bitterness I held toward my mother and her abandonment. The disgust toward my father and his perverted lessons. The anger I had for the boys and men and their disrespect. The hatred that had been building up inside, for Jamil and his perfect deception, for Lisette Jones and the goddamned weak bitch she was.
    Everything came out.
    I scratched at his face and dug my fingers into his eyes as he tried to fight me off. We fell down to the ground. I bit at the top of his ear, taking off a piece of flesh the way Mike Tyson had done to Evander Holyfield.
    Jamil screamed out and rolled off of me.
    I reached out for his paperweight in the shape of a Black Power fist, and grabbed it, my grip damn near strong enough to shatter it.
    He called me a “Bitch!” and as he held his hands to his eyes and ear, I brought the fist down on his head over and over and over again, telling him with each blow how much I hated him. How much I hated the sight of him. How much I hated his sound, his scent. His mother for giving birth to him. His father for showing him how to put his hands on a woman. His ex for not doing what I was doing now.
    Eighteen months worth of hate.
    Two years total.
    That night, Jamil Parker