Secrets of Chalice Bay Read online

  Secrets of Chalice Bay

  Yuwanda Black

  Published by Inkwell Editorial Publishing, 2021.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  SECRETS OF CHALICE BAY

  First edition. February 15, 2021.

  Copyright © 2021 Yuwanda Black.

  ISBN: 978-1393536147

  Written by Yuwanda Black.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  EPILOGUE

  Further Reading: An Accidental Island Wife

  Also By Yuwanda Black

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  Taz

  A twisted marriage.

  A secret inheritance.

  A new love.

  Will Taz survive her painful past long enough to embrace a promising future?

  THE ESCAPE

  After four months of starving myself, I wonder if I’ll fit. I have to, I reason, as I look at the square box that is the downstairs bathroom window.

  Eight thousand and twenty-three square feet encompassing three floors in one of the most exciting cities in the world: New York. Seven bedrooms and eight bathrooms of Italian marble flooring; Brazilian teak-wood cabinets; and ornately-carved, black-iron staircases. The townhouse’s luxury is endless in my gilded prison, except for the one luxury I crave: love.

  Until I met him, I had never thought of love as a luxury. I breathed it as easily as I breathed air. It was always in plentiful supply — my parents, my friends, my cousins; I was always surrounded by a free flow of love.

  So when he came into my life, it didn’t occur to me that he wasn’t just a further extension of the circle of love I’d always known. After all, he had my family’s approval. He was handsome. Successful.

  Respected. Ruthless. But the kind of ruthless that was accepted in society. You know, the kind that made people money. Lots of money.

  He was everything a girl like me could want. And I did want. Oh how I wanted; more than wanted.

  I lusted.

  I craved.

  I adored.

  Him.

  I was the luckiest young woman alive. Until ...

  I learned to read the signs of the universe. For almost as soon as he appeared, my circle started shrinking. Until one day, there was only him. And love was nowhere near what was in his heart.

  Did he even have a heart?

  Seven years had answered that definitively for me. Something beat in his massive chest; the chest I’d lain on, loved on, cried on, been soothed on. But nowhere in that cavernous span of muscle was what one would call a heart.

  I learned that too late.

  Way, way too late.

  Chapter 1

  Taz

  June. The beginning of hurricane season.

  I laugh at the thought because the last seven years of my life have been a hurricane — a Category 5 with an extra measure of, lightening, rain and life-changing wind thrown in. Now that I’ve escaped the eye of the storm, I’m never going back.

  Only, fate has other plans.

  I DON’T REMEMBER HIS first act of violence against me.

  I do remember the first time something he did registered as violence.

  It was a slap. It gave me the kind of full lips Hollywood starlets and women who want what they weren’t born with pay for. Only, it was on one side of my mouth. Seven months later, I got the same ‘treatment’ on the other side. By then, of course, the other side had healed.

  I put my hand over my mouth to stifle the laugh that tickles my throat. I have always had a wicked sense of humor; an ability to laugh and find joy at will, even in perilous times. Especially in perilous times. It’s what has allowed me to survive a brutal marriage, a brutal man and a brutal grip he had on me for seven years.

  Right now, I’m supposed to be taking a pee and having a bath. Yet, here I am laughing about having the shit slapped out of me – twice.

  Bathroom time is the only time I’m free — as free as one can be under literal lock and key. He allows me this one luxury, once a day. But even my moment of freedom is all about him.

  “I like clean pussy. Wash it good baby, because I’ll be ready for my feast later.”

  If there is one good thing I can say about him, it’s that he knows how to make love to me. It’s made me realize that you can definitely become addicted to a person. The man knows how to eat pussy; especially my pussy. He could write a book on the subject and become much richer than he already is.

  Before he even starts, the nerve endings attached to my clit can feel the heat from his mouth. It’s the one hold he has over me; this physical connection. When his tongue hits that little magic piece of flesh between my legs, I forget every slap; every infidelity; and every ‘bitch, cunt, whore’ he slings my way. In fact, I become his whore; begging him to thrust deeper, suck harder, fuck longer.

  It isn’t until five years into our marriage that I realize I am the one who is pussy whipped. Wasn’t that supposed to be the other way around?

  I am addicted to the things he does to me ‘down there.’ He eats me so long, I cry. The way his tongue circles my clit, takes it between his teeth and sucks on, is like a physical spell — a spell from which I can’t escape.

  Every time I swear I’m not going to give in. I swear I’ll remember the mountain of pain he’s buried me under. And every time, he eats it all away; his tongue slicing into the depths of me, making me come so hard I climax the pain away.

  Every.

  Fucking.

  Time.

  Then for extra measure, he slides his steel-hard cock into me just before my climax ends, whispering sweet nothings in my ear and sending me back to nirvana. He never fails to fuck me so thoroughly that all I can do is hang on like a rag doll and enjoy the ride.

  And yes, I hate myself for this weakness. But that doesn’t mean it’s not there. The jumping my vagina walls do when he gets that look in his eyes is something I can’t deny, no matter how much I want to. It’s a look that declares that I’m his his and his alone, and that will never change.

  The part I hate the most is the way he holds me after. So soft. So tenderly, sometimes sliding inside me from behind, his fingers slipping up and down my clit from the front as I come yet again, still nestled in the kind of warm slumber that only a good fuck can bring.

  I yank myself up from the closed lid of the toilet, ignoring the warmth between my legs at the memories. I look over my shoulder at the unlocked bathroom door. I dare not lock it.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  It’s not allowed. And today of all days, I need everything to be normal.

  For seven years, I’ve stayed, been a good girl and been rewarded with my just desserts, so to speak. But I don’t want any more dessert. I now realize it’s killing me. Will kill me. I’ve known this for a long time, but was powerless – in the literal and figurative sense – to do anything about it.

  Until now.

  I put my hand under the still-running water of the bath.

  I take one last look at the heavy wooden door of t
he bathroom.

  Then, I swallow my shame and shimmy through the bathroom window.

  I run for sweet freedom.

  Chapter 2

  Preacher

  “She’s gone, boss.”

  “What do you mean, she’s gone?”

  “I... I heard the water; it never stopped running. So I went in and the water was running out from under the bathroom door. I opened it, and she was gone.”

  My teeth seize my bottom lip as I attempt to control my temper. I look down, my leather loafers leaving a footprint in the deep shag of the bear rug where the water had soaked it.

  My bodyguard – Taz’s bodyguard – sucks in a breath and looks at me, his eyes struggling to stay level.

  I laugh out loud.

  The bodyguard’s forehead creases into a frown. “Boss?” he tenders.

  “I should have your ass for this. I still might have your ass for this, but really, it’s my fault.”

  “Excuse me?” the bodyguard says, perplexed and relieved at the same time.

  “Something in here,” I say, pointing to my stomach, “told me to expect this. But I just never ... How long has she been gone, and why didn’t you call me?”

  “I tried, Boss, but your assistant said you weren’t to be disturbed and that she would give you the message.”

  I thought about my long-standing mid-week appointment, with strict orders not to be bothered during. I consult my Roles, a wedding gift from her. “She can’t be far, not with just a few hours head start. Call—”

  “I already did,” the bodyguard says, cutting me off. “I called Kenwood. He’s already started checking all routes out of the city – trains, buses, planes, car rentals. We even checked the ferry. So far, nothing.”

  I ball up my fist, my initial shock, and admiration – if I am totally truthful – turning to anger. How dare she defy me.

  She belongs to me until I say otherwise. And the vows we took as man and wife said ‘til death do us part.’

  She will keep her promise.

  Or, leave exactly the way our vows declared: by death.

  Chapter 3

  Ford

  “Happy birthday, baby sis,” I say, looking at the wilted bouquet of daisies someone had put in the vase attached to her headstone.

  That was my baby sis. Almost every time I come to visit her, a fresh or wilting spray of flowers are present; evidence of how much she is still loved and missed.

  I smile as I remove them, replacing them with a bouquet of wildflowers I picked on the way over here. They were her favorites. Wildflowers, a perfect compliment to the wild child she’d been. A beautiful, loving bloom that stood out from everything and everyone around her.

  God how I miss her.

  I failed her and have never been able to forgive myself. Although, that is the one thing I know she’d want. I know it as surely as I know my name. She wouldn’t want me to focus on the horror of the past. She’d want me to find love and give her some nieces and nephews.

  “Our family is so small, Ford. We’ve got to start pumping out some babies or the Burns name is gonna die off.”

  She’d done her part – almost.

  And then he’d killed her.

  THE AIR IS SCENTED with her favorite perfume: magnolia. The morning sun bursts through the stately magnolia by her headstone. It’s why I’d chosen this spot for her grave.

  A tear rolls down my nose and lands on the E in her carved name. I kiss my fingers and tap them to her name.

  I stand and make my way back to my truck. My fists bang the steering wheel – hard. Then I grab it, bend over it, and cry like a baby.

  I should have been here to protect her. I should have been here to protect her. I should have ...

  It has been my most haunting thought for four years now.

  Chapter 4

  Taz

  7 Months Later

  I feel a gaze boring into me. I put my hands on a shelf that holds cans of paint. Realizing I’m backed into a literal corner in the tiny hardware store, my eyes quickly take in all the items that can be used as weapons.

  Paint cans. A row of hammers. A few heavy wrenches. I could grab and handle all of these quickly and easily. I decide to go for the hammer if I have to. So I inch closer to the shelf that holds them before turning around.

  “You,” I say, gulping air as I face the stranger; the very handsome stranger. I’ve seen him at least a dozen times since I came to Chalice Bay. But I’ve never been this close to him before. “Are you stalking me?”

  “I might be,” he says, his cat-gold eyes sweeping over me in obvious admiration. It excites and angers me at the same time.

  My right hand tightens around a hammer. The stranger’s hypnotizing eyes goes to it. “Who are you hiding from, and why?”

  “I ... I’m not hiding from anybody.”

  “You’re not a very good liar,” he says, cocking his head to one side and eyeing me more intently.

  “I’ll thank you not to stalk me, and to mind your own business,” I hiss, moving to brush past him. Those eyes. Trouble. So much trouble.

  One of his hands shoots out and grabs me by the forearm. “If I’ve noticed that you’re jumpier than a cat on a hot tin roof, other people have too. Chalice Bay is small. And as I’m sure you know by now, everybody knows everybody’s business. Most of the townsfolk figure you’re running from something. The rumors range from a shameful past, to a debilitating illness, to an abusive husband.”

  I jerk my arm free at his last words, trying to contain the stretching I know my eyes are doing.

  “So that’s it; an abusive husband. Sorry to hear that.”

  “I never said that,” I reply, jerking away from his grip.

  “You didn’t have to,” the stranger says.

  “People need to mind their own business,” I counter, stiffening my arms at my sides to keep them from shaking.

  “That they do, but it ain’t about to happen in this town. ... I’m Ford; Ford Burns, by the way,” he says, holding out a large palm.

  I stare at it, trying to keep a giggle from escaping.

  “What’s so funny?” he asks.

  “A firefighter with the name Burns. I’d say a bit of destiny was at work there,” I smirk, noting his fireman’s uniform.

  “Not the first time I’ve been made aware of that bit of irony. Maybe that’s why I’m a big believer in destiny. Being a firefighter is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to be. And speaking of destiny, I’m thinking that’s what keeps throwing you in my path.”

  “Smooth transition,” I note. “And for the record, you’re the one that keeps showing up where I am, not the other way around.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “We seem to be pretty much in the same places lately. The grocery store. The gas station, and the line at the post office. What are the chances of that, considering how most people do everything online these days? And now, here in the hardware store. Don’t know many women who frequent a hardware store.”

  “I’m sure you don’t,” I reply, taking him in in earnest now. His scent sucker-punches my nostrils, assaulting them in a way that made it impossible not to study him further.

  He smells all smokey and woodsy and vanillowy and sandal-woody ... and delicious. A mass of wavy, almost-black, hair that is a little on the long side rules his head. Deep-seated gold eyes, soot-black lashes and cheekbones you could sharpen a knife on jut out from a face that is just south of handsome. Something keeps him out of the handsome department. The slightly crooked nose. The chin that is a hair too square and a smidge too long. The direct gaze that demands forthrightness, even when you don’t want to give it. Some of it. All of it. Whatever it is, it puts him squarely in the unforgettable category. Ford Burns is forever burned into my memory. And he is only the second man I can say that about.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he says, putting one hand on a shelf beside my head. The movement unleashes an even more earthy scent of him.

  “What’s what s
upposed to mean?” I ask, having truly forgotten the question he’d asked. I lick my suddenly chapped lips as his gaze sears me, like he is trying to find an opening for something.

  He can stop looking. All my openings are closed.

  “I’ll tell you over dinner? How ‘bout it?” he asks, his gaze glued somewhere in the region of my lips.

  “I can’t,” I respond, looking up at him. Anything to keep from focusing on the strong column of his neck. The urge to reach out and touch him is so urgent that I ball my hands into two tight fists, my nails digging into the flesh of my palms.

  “Can’t, or won’t?” he says. “I haven’t been stalking you, but I have been curious about you. Ever since I saw you sitting in the diner months ago. It must have been soon after you came to town. I told myself that surely a woman like that had a man. Now, I know you’re running from one. I promise you, you’d never want to run away from me.”

  “No!” I insist, batting his arm away from the shelf and running out of the hardware shop.

  “THAT’S STRANGE,” LUTHER, the owner of the hardware store, says in his wiry voice as he peers out the massive front window of his store.

  “What?” Ford asks, still looking at the door through which the jittery, beautiful stranger had passed.

  “A woman running away from you. Usually, they’re running to you and you’re running away from them. Did ja find out what she’s running from?”

  “Not exactly,” Ford admits, “but I will,” he says, more to himself than to the old man sweeping the store.

  “Good luck with that. She’s been round these parts for six, seven months. Never see’er with anybody. Nobody a’tall. Strangest thing. She’s always nice though.”

  “Always? Does she come in here a lot?”

  “Oh, ‘bout once a week or so.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  “Yeah, sure. Tanya, Tammy, shoot – neither one of them’s it. It’s short. Sounds like a boy’s name if you ask me; one of them citified boy’s names. Something nobody from around here would name their kid.... Let me look it up, cuz now it’s gonna drive me crazy ‘til I remember it.”