Crazy Kind of Love by T. Styles

Author:T. Styles
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: books, amazon, drama, relationship, urban fiction, kindle, ebook, couple, goodreads, bookclub, goodreads author, paperbacks, urbanlit, urbanbooks, tstyles, streetfiction, streetlit, blackauthors, cartelpublications, girlboss, greatread, publiclibrary, teamdom, thecartelpublications, urbanfictionbook, urbanfictionpublisher, urbanliterature, africanamericanbooks, urbanfictionauthor
Publisher: Cartel Publications

CHAPTER TEN

PREACHER

Picturesque, rural green landscapes passed by as the hum the old Chevy made in perfect unison with nature soothed me. There’s nothing like the serenity of driving down a highway on a beautiful day to release the troubled thoughts of the mind. Lourdes sat next to me and, as usual, we argued and then agreed it was okay to disagree, sort of.

Every so often, I would steal a glance at her. Even though she had been battered and bruised, I got the feeling her psychological wounds were deeper than the physical ones. She looked haggard and weary, but she still was one of the most beautiful chicks I’d ever seen. Her short skirt rose up her leg, exposing the cleavage of her thigh as we talked. I couldn’t help but treat myself to some of her eye candy. In the back of my mind, I kept thinking how I could have been so stupid to turn down her sex, amongst other things.

I needed to know just who Lourdes Beaumont was. I wanted to ask her about the hit man at the hotel who was getting ready to rape and murder her. He was a professional, a hired killer, and judging from the way he cut up that girl, he obviously enjoyed his work. I had the feeling Lourdes was running from something and that bonded us in strange a way I couldn’t explain.

In some ways, Lourdes was beginning to open up to me. She told me the despicable things about her past and that her mama was a hoe too. That really got me to thinking. I wanted to know more.

After a heated conversation about Lourdes’ mother, I pulled the car over on a desolated stretch of highway into an old diner with tumbleweeds and trash littering the parking lot. The sweltering heat was unbearable. Lourdes looked like she was hyperventilating or some shit when she hopped out the car. I must have really struck a nerve talking about her mama.

As I got out the car, an eighteen-wheeler passed by and blew its loud horn. Lourdes flinched as dirt and debris stirred like a miniature tornado in the distance. I walked up behind her and put my hand on her shoulder. She turned around and looked at me, still holding her hair in the swirling wind. I had just apologized for the umpteenth time and was about to offer her a much-needed hug when I heard some asshole from behind disrespect her.

In a heated exchange of words with a discourteous thug who just asked me if I was her pimp, I said “Naw, I ain’t her mothafucking pimp, but what you call her a bitch for?” My body went rigid with anger.

Lourdes cut her eyes at them disconcertedly. “Don’t pay no attention to them. Let’s just go,” she said softly and placed a hand on my chest. The trio continued to harass her; it was as if I wasn’t standing there, as if I was a fuck nigga.

With my jaw clinched tight, I tried to muster some semblance of diplomacy.

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