Page 34 of Blade

Sighing, I got it all out.

“This again, Beck?”

“Yes, Grams, this again. And again. And again. And again, until I get you to understand what is going on over there.”

“What do you think is going on over there?”

“Grams, the men control their every move. Most of the women aren’t even with a guy in the club.”

Grams narrowed her eyes at me and asked, “Define controlled.”

“Everywhere they go, someone follows them. Grace isn’t even seeing anyone or related to anyone in the club, but someone sits at the bar every night she works at and watches over her. And Samantha, she lives out of town and has to drive around to lose whoever is following her just to get away.”

I sat there waiting for her to process what I said, expecting her to get angry. I realized quickly I would be waiting a while as she laughed.

“Grams, this is serious!” I sighed, frustrated that she didn’t understand what I was saying.

“Beck, I have known these men for five years. I have cooked for and had dinner with them every Saturday night for the last four, and Blade has been helping take care of me at least that long. I think I know them better than you do.”

“But, Grams, the girls—”

Grams stood up from her chair and glared at me. “The girls what? Did the girls complain?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Did the girls ask for help? Have they said they asked them to stop?”

“No.” I sat there looking at my shoes. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw Grams this upset with me.

“Rebecca Lynn Washington.”

Uh oh, she full named me.

She wasn’t happy.

I looked up at her under my lashes and waited.

“Those girls all knew what they were getting into when they got involved in the club. Someone in that club loves each one of those girls.”

“But, Grams, they aren’t—”

Pointing her finger at my face, I closed my mouth and waited.

“Those girls may not know it, but they are all loved by a man in that club. Those men will do whatever they have to in order to keep them safe, and I have never heard one of them complain even remotely seriously. They love it.”

Sighing, I tucked my tail between my legs and turned to go, stopping when I heard the last words Grams said before she left the room.

“Girl, you better get used to it. Your time’s coming.”

With that bomb dropped on me, she headed to the kitchen.

I stood there speechless, too afraid to ask what she meant.

As I left the house, Grams’ words floated around inside my head. What could she possibly have meant by that?

‘Girl, you better get used to it! Your time’s coming.’

My time for what?

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