Plus, at the end of the day, La’Nova already knew she was at fault for making a deal with the devil himself. She was tied to Kentrell in ways she blocked out long ago. She considered herself to be intoo deep with him ever since the day she agreed to some shit that she couldn’t take back or reverse.
Working for the House of Angels had saved her in many ways money never could, so she dealt with what she felt she had to. Lucille trusted her, gave her authority, and even on good days spoke purpose into her mind. She had hope and felt like it wasn’t too late to find the hope that she had for herself if she survived after everything was said and done.
There were women behind those beautiful, marbled walls that came in broken and within months they spread their wings beautifully. That’s the one thing La’Nova admired about most of the women inside of the House of Angels.
“I’m still here…it’s a reason for that. Get your shit together and do what it do.” She backhanded the tears that rolled down her round chubby cheeks and stood.
Her body filled the small space unapologetically. Wide hips, thick thighs. Her heavy breasts matched her nice round ass. La’Nova was well rounded and proportioned beautifully. Beyond her scar and the tainted things she had been through, she saw her own beauty, even when others tried to deny her of it.
She leaned down and winced out in pain as she reached for her small makeup bag underneath her vanity. Most days she hated using makeup; to her, using makeup was another way of covering her identity. La’Nova wore her scars proudly. She taught herself years ago to love herself, flaws and all, no matter how uncomfortable her exterior made others feel.
The ache all over her body was a torturous reminder of who Kentrell Bonetti really was. She couldn’t believe that at one point in time she actually saw potential in him. She didn’t fallfor him all at once. It happened in pieces. At first, Kentrell felt like safety. The kind that stood tall and didn’t flinch in front of danger. When he used to look at her, it felt like he really saw her and understood all the fucked-up things that caused her to lose everything.
He courted her secretly and slowly. Protected her and even listened to her at one point in time. Loving him in the beginning felt like being chosen. But love also had a way of sharpening a person’s sight. The first crack showed in the way his kindness had painful conditions. His smile stopped reaching his eyes whenever she disagreed with him. Once the young her fell in love and Kentrell knew he had her, the devil in him started to show unapologetically.
He’d openly flaunted other women in front of her since he manipulated her into believing that no one could know they fucked around because of their plan against his family together. His apologies never came for all of his wrongdoing either. Then he started to lie effortlessly and would tell her it was for her own good.
Kentrell had a way of making La’Nova feel small in a ways she couldn’t name. Often times when she allowed him to get too far deep into her head, she believed all the foul things that he started to say about her. La’Nova’s weight was the first thing he attacked until she desperately started to search deep inside of herself for the beauty she thought she didn’t possess.
Strangers always complimented her mystical eyes first. They never talked about her other features. Life for La’Nova was like living in hell in the flesh. Her childhood had been good until the age of nine. Her father, Love Reign, and her mother, Relita Reign, never left her brain. On good days La’Nova could block out the day that they were murdered right in front of her youngeyes. Bad days she still remembered what their blood felt like against her flesh. How wide both their eyes were stuck in place the night they were murdered. She replayed how slow-motion things seemed to move when she got knocked out with the butt of a gun then carried and placed into a trunk.
There was security and trauma mixed in with Kentrell. He gave her the closure she needed. Gave her, her first gun to avenge her parent’s murderer. Although their blood oath wasn’t yet completed, she vowed to fulfill her debt, play her role, so in return she could finally receive her freedom.
Still, Kentrell was the type of man that kept things over her head to keep her in line. His evil didn’t announce itself. It revealed itself in patterns. It was the casual cruelty of his choices, the lives he disrupted without blinking. He made sure La’Nova was involved with all of his plans, good or bad. He wanted to make sure that she was tainted with him, even after everything was said and done.
“Bitch ass nigga,” she spat out venomously.
With shaky hands and a heavy heart, she took out the makeup that she needed along with the brushes. She eyed the digital clock that sat next to her bed then took a seat quickly. Normally, she would shower first but she wanted to at least apply a light beat of makeup.
Her nerves were so bad she fought the strong urge she had to pull out another cigarette and smoke it. She chain smoked because the pain inside her never learned how to be quiet. Trauma left her body in a constant state of alert. La’Nova’s nerves were always tight, her chest felt heavy, and her thoughts always felt like they were outrunning something invisible.
Cigarettes, for her over the years, had become her pause button when nothing else would stop her chaotic feelings and emotions. It was like a ritual that comforted her. From the flick of the lighter to her first inhale, the way the smoke filled her chest and forced her to breathe slow and deep calmed her. It gave her hands something to do when they constantly shook. Each drag felt like it was grounding her.
The nicotine smoothed the rough edges of her nerves and the dull sharpness of her panic. No one had to preach to her about how nasty her habit was. She knew it because she admitted to herself years ago that she was addicted. She vowed that when her life made more sense she would stop. For now, her smoking back-to-back was her only illusion of peace.
Saying fuck it, with shaky hands, she dabbed concealer beneath her eyes. Once she was done doing a light beat to her face, she quickly lit up a Newport long and inhaled deeply. She swallowed the smoke down then exhaled it through her nose, ignoring the burn in her throat.
“I’m still here, that’s all that fuckin matters… I’m here for a reason,” she whispered to the mirror, voice barely louder than the crackle of the tip of her cigarette.
She took a quick shower, greased her body down with her favorite vanilla body butter then quickly put on her cotton bra and matching panties. La’Nova exhaled slow, then reached for the crisp white-collar shirt draped over the back of her chair. She preferred to wear her House of Angels uniform on the days she had to work since she didn’t care about having an extensive wardrobe like Lucille suggested.
The shirt wasn’t cheap cotton or stiff polyester. The fabric was smooth, with high quality stretch that moved when she moved.The lining of the collar had gold stitching along the edges. Down the center ran pearl snap buttons instead of plastic, each pearl was stamped with a tiny, winged emblem that only insiders recognized.
She slipped her arms through the sleeves then rolled them once to expose her right wrist to be able to tell time throughout the day from her Apple watch. The shirt skimmed over her stomach without trying to flatten the swell of her belly. Next, she stepped into her black slacks, pulled them over her wide hips, and fastened them with a practiced tug.
She then walked over to her perfumes and started to layer it. First she sprayed a soft vanilla sprit over her pants and shirt. Then she reached for the Baccarat that Lucille gifted her every three months. She sprayed it low at her throat, between her breasts, one spray behind each ear, and one at the bend of her elbows.
She didn’t care that the cigarette smoke clung to her skin and hair. She actually loved the contradiction of it. Sweet and spicy. La’Nova grabbed her badge clipped it to the edge of her collar. She slid on her black wedge heels that Lucille couldn’t stand. The last thing she picked up was a fresh pack of cigarettes. She placed them in her back pocket then walked out of her camper with her head held high.
She placed all of her personal bullshit to the back of her head. The gravel crunched under her feet as she crossed the lot. One look at her, a person wouldn’t be able to tell that La’Nova just went toe to toe with a ruthless, controlling man.
She slipped in through the back entrance and inhaled the cold vented air. Soft gold lights spilled down the hallway reflecting off polished marble floors veined with pale gray like angel feathersfrozen in stone. Velvet curtains framed doorways. Crystal sconces lined the walls, casting a flow that softened everything it touched. All six floor levels smelled like money, perfume, smothered out by heavy secrets.
Music floated low and slow, loud enough to entice a new comer and remind the ladies of House of Angels where they were. Inside of here, La’Nova felt powerful, worth more than she ever imagined herself to be. She moved through the first floor like she belonged because she did. Everything ran smoothly whenever she was inside.
She passed the dressing rooms where girls laughed too loud and peeked in just to show her face. Each station had tall vanity mirrors rimmed with angel shaped bulbs.
“Hey, La’Nova!” One of the ladies shouted.
