My Time in the Sun
My Time in the Sun
Naleighna Kai
Macro Publishing Group
Contents
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
King of Durabia
Sugar Ain’t So Sweet
Loving Me for Me
Was it Good For You Too?
Open Door Marriage
The Pleasure’s All Mine
Rich Woman’s Fetish
About the Author
Macro Publishing Group
Macro Marketing & Promotions Group
888.854.8823
www.macrompg.com
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My Time in the Sun © 2019 by Naleighna Kai
[Ebook] 978-1-7326225-8-6
Trade Paperback: 9781732622579
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living, dead, or somewhere in between, is entirely coincidental.
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical or photocopying or stored in a retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages to be included in a review. For permission, contact Naleighna Kai at lissawoodson@aol.com.
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Cover designed by: J. L. Woodson www.woodsoncreativestudio.com
Interior design by: Lissa Woodson www.woodsoncreativestudio.com
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Editorial Team: Janice M. Allen janiceallen7519@gmail.com
Katie Walsh ktwedits@gmail.com
J. L. Campbell jlcampbellwrites@gmail.com
My mother, Jean Woodson
My grandmother, Mildred E. Williams
My brother, Eric Harold Spears
My niece, LaKecia Janise Woodson
My niece, Tanisha Donique Woodson
My nephew, Emmanuel Donnell McDavid
Priscilla “Lady PBJ” Jackson
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Anthony “Green Eyes” Johnson,
the man who helped me learn
what unconditional love is all about;
the man who was always chasing a dream.
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To Leslie Esdaile Banks (L.A. Banks), one of the best storytellers the planet had to offer. Thank you for your encouragement, advice and uplifting words
and for gracing us with your gifts.
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To Octavia Butler, a woman whose writing was stellar and something that set the writing bar so high, it will take a lifetime to live up to.
Acknowledgments
All praise is due to the Creator first and foremost. A special love and respect to my guardian angels, ancestors, teachers and guides.
To my mother, Jean Woodson, to my spiritual mothers: Sandy Spears and Bettye Mason Odom; to my son, Jeremy “J. L.” Woodson, the graphic designer for all of my covers, who is a never-ending source of inspiration and a joy. To the people who have been my anchors from the moment my literary ship sailed: Rev. Renee “Sesvalah” Cobb-Dishman, the late great Leslie Esdaile, L.A. Banks, Louise L. Hay, Debra J. Mitchell, Marilyn Gill, Ehryck F. Gilmore, Royce Slade Morton, and Margaret “Bunny” Ervin. To Janice M. Allen, thank you for pushing me to write something different. To my Tribe: J. D. Mason, Pat G'Orge-Walker, S. L. Jennings, Shakir Rashaan, Karen D. Bradley, Lisa Dodson, Martha Kennerson, J. L. Campbell, London St. Charles, MarZe Scott, Michelle D. Rayford, Terri Ann Johnson, Siera London, Sierra Kay, Christine Pauls, Anita L. Roseboro, Kisha Green, Shannan Harper, Brynn Weimer, and Mo Sytsma.
To the readers who have supported me throughout the years. I can’t thank you enough. You are truly appreciated.
Author’s Note
This was not the novel I wanted to write. This is the novel I was destined to write.
My sister was a victim of child sex trafficking. Years later when she escaped, she had a daughter who also became a victim at age fourteen. Though I wasn’t placed on the open market as a sex slave like they were, I did not escape unscathed. In my home, the place where I had a right to feel safe, my father did not respect my right to say “No”. My uncle did not respect my right to say “No”. Their vile acts against me, coupled with my knowledge of the abusive experiences of several other female children in my family, led to a mental and spiritual breakdown of sorts—a disconnect from myself and from the Creator. To this day, I still struggle with faith on a daily basis and question the existence of a Supreme Being who would allow such atrocities to happen to women, children, and to people of color.
Fast forward a couple decades to when I became an established award-winning, national bestselling author. One year, I found myself working on three novels, but none of them were panning out. My editor said, “We can get one of these done and it would be good, but not up to the Naleighna Kai standard.” Ouch! I had a close deadline to meet, but none of these fit the bill. So I put those three manuscripts on the back burner, pulled out my yellow tablet and blue ink pen, and surrendered to my creative process.
Armed with only the opening line, “I cut him until I felt better”, My Time in the Sun flowed out of me over a five-day period. The premise of the book started with one heroic act that enabled my main character, Kari, both to escape her abuser and to protect someone who was even more vulnerable than she. My editor said the raw draft was shaping up better than any of the other three we had tabled.
In writing My Time in the Sun, I discovered a power that came from admitting vulnerability. Power from acknowledging that I’d been giving God the side-eye for a hot minute. Power from recognizing that it’s all right to be honest in that regard. This book right here helped me explore all of those feelings through the vessel of a main character who’s a first lady who does not believe in God. She married her husband long before he answered the calling on his life. Though she changed a great deal during their marriage, one thing remained consistent—she does not believe. Unfortunately, she can only hide this fact for so long, and her past comes back, demanding a reckoning.
This is not my normal genre. In fact, my own writing in this book took me a little by surprise. But know that this is not another book about “dirt in the church.” There’s too much of that, and I didn’t want to add to it. Although the setting in My Time in the Sun might start in a sanctuary when the first lady’s secret is revealed, the novel is more about her relationship with the man she married, and his response when her past forces members of his congregation to take sides, nearly destroying everything he built.
This novel starts the first chapter with Kari’s escape, but no graphic details but even still her recount can be considered a little dark so you can understand what her life had been like. The rest is filled with a good balance of humor, hope, and love.
I hope you will enjoy this story.
Chapter One
Memphis, Tennessee
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“I cut him until I felt better.”
The words, in their chilly delivery, caused an icy silence to descend on the police interview room.
Seconds ticked by before a blonde officer whispered, “Everyone, out.”
Three hours ago, two uniformed men were the first to arrive on the scene at a penthouse in the heart of downtown Memphis, where a man named “Daddy” housed a stable of teens that serviced clients with an array of wicked tastes.
Those officers gave Kari a lingering look and threw a glare at the blonde before trudging toward the steel door. When it closed behind them, a ring of finality lingered in the dimly lit room that would only be matched by that of prison bars clanging shut, separating Kari from the outside world. Yes, that was what she had to look forward to because …
I cut him until I felt better.
Flashes of his blood spreading on the faded carpet and his screams for mercy echoed in the corners of her memory. All it took was the appearance of another innocent to incite her to do the one thing that would stop her suffering and that of others. She stood at the edge of the bed and witnessed his gasp of surprise, eyes widened in shock. He mirrored the horror she felt over an action she’d taken to protect one who could not protect herself. After two years within Daddy’s clutches, sixteen-year-old Kari Mason had done whatever it took to ensure that her nightmare would finally end, and someone else’s would never begin.
“Tell me what happened,” the officer commanded, sliding a half-filled notepad to the other side of the metal table. Then she went to a console and switched off the speaker that allowed those on the opposite side of the mirrored glass to listen in.
“Don’t I need a lawyer?” Kari asked in a bland tone that spoke to the fact that she was beyond feeling much of anything, including remorse. Shock, maybe, but not an ounce of remorse.
The blonde took hold of Kari’s upper arm, holding it firmly but not roughly, guiding her to a chair with its back to the glass. The floral scent of the woman’s perfume permeated the air, bringing a warmth that the starkness of the grey walls couldn’t provide.
“Sit,” she commanded, nodding toward the seat, blue eyes flashing with some type of unfamiliar emotion; thin pink lips pressed into a hard line. “Tell me what happened.”
Kari closed her eyes for a moment, summoning any ounce of strength she had left. Most of it had abandoned her the moment she saw Daddy for the monster he was. The same moment she realized she had left the safety of her parents’ household and traveled nine hundred miles with a predator who had every intention of using her until she died. And the girls all died at some point. She stopped counting after the first nineteen.
“I disobeyed him,” Kari admitted. “And this time he was going to send me to the slicer.”
“The slicer?”
“A john who specialized in killing a girl … ” Kari swallowed around the lump in her throat. “One piece at a time.”
The blonde grimaced, tried to keep her expression neutral, but when her anxious gaze flickered toward the glass, Kari could tell she was familiar with that type of crime.
“I told Daddy I couldn’t do it anymore. The men. So many of them. Every day,” she whispered in a weary voice that she barely recognized as her own. “I was tired. So, so, tired.”
The tears came and she was surprised that she had any left to shed. Kari turned her face to the woman sitting across from her; a woman who had given her name but it still escaped Kari whenever she tried to remember. So, she was just “the blonde” for now. “I was tired of not knowing what new thing they’d do to me. I was tired of men beating me, hurting me, doing all manner of whatever to me. Like I didn’t matter. Like I was never somebody’s something.”
Kari wiped her tears with the back of a trembling hand. A hollow place within her soul had absorbed everything worth mentioning. Had felt that way for a long time. “The slicer would have ended all of that for me. And I accepted that. But it wouldn’t have helped the new girl Daddy brought in.”
The blonde’s gaze narrowed and she shifted that much closer. “What was so different about her?”
“She’s the youngest one,” Kari replied, lowering her gaze to the remnants of her half-eaten meal as the image of the raven-haired child with expressive dark-brown eyes came to mind. “She couldn’t be more than … six. Seven.”
The blonde stiffened. A vein throbbed at her ivory temple, making Kari question if unburdening her soul to an officer of the law was a smart thing. Someone had to tell the story, right? Especially since the chance that she wouldn’t be alive became a greater reality the longer she remained in this room.
“I was fourteen when I fell in love with Daddy,” Kari confessed, clasping her hands to stop the trembling that began the moment his image came to mind. “He wasn’t anything like this in Chicago. He worked in the lunchroom at school. He was … nice. Kinder to me than my parents had been. I didn’t know what he was. I didn’t know men like him existed.” She inhaled and let it out slowly as seconds ticked by and she was no closer to calm than when they first escorted her into the station and past the bustling activity from officers, victims, and criminals alike. “But that child … I … I … ”
Kari looked away, putting her focus on the glass. She’d seen enough cop shows to know that even though the speaker had been turned off, an audience of people were probably looking in hoping the blonde would pull some information that would make their case an easy one. But what did it matter? Her real life had ended the moment she slipped into the passenger seat of Daddy’s Mercedes two years ago for what she thought would be a new adventure that would take her away from her strict mother and even stricter Bible-thumping father. She’d been so certain that the man in the driver’s seat loved her more than he loved the other girls she’d seen him with over those few semesters. She’d felt so special then. He went by the name of Marquis Golden at that time. Only when they’d landed in a cheap motel in Memphis did the beginnings of a never-ending nightmare start.
“I’m your Daddy now,” was said in a tone that was so cold it sent shivers up her spine. The punishment he inflicted was far worse than anything her real daddy had ever done.
Chapter Two
Chicago, Illinois
Twelve years later
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“The first lady was a prostitute,” Terrence Henderson bellowed loud enough to carry the entire length of the church sanctuary and echo from the cathedral ceilings.
All eyes were focused on the richly-dressed minister swaggering past the organ, down the plush maroon carpet of the center aisle, then around the maple wood pews filled with morning worshippers.
“A fourteen-year-old prostitute,” he continued. “Not the kind of woman we want our little girls and young women to emulate.”
Aridell Henderson Slaughter stood, joined by several other members of the Mothers Board, as she said, “Get thee behind me Satan. And stay there.”
Sam, the choir director, shouted, “Have you lost your cotton-picking, chicken-plucking mind, mother—” he caught himself before adding the last, more profane part of that Southern saying. “How dare you put her on blast like that.”
The silence was nothing short of mind-blowing. Slowly, murmurs became whispers. Those whispers became a collective voice. That collective voice became a roar of discontent so loud it could have broken the stained-glass window of Christ holding out the goblet of wine to Mary Magdalene.
Kari Baltimore’s heart rate sped up to the point where that life-sustaining organ nearly burst from her chest. She brushed a hand down her thighs to smooth the lavender silk dress that draped her curvaceous frame. She glanced at her husband in the pulpit, noticing the second he quickly shuttered his shock as he stood and moved to the edge of the dais.
Pastor Tony Baltimore’s hand went up. Voices trickled back down to whispers, then silence slowly descended once again.
“And you’re saying this in front of the entire congregation hoping to achieve what, Minister Henderson?” Tony challenged, his sun-kissed complexion aflame with angry color. “To somehow make me ashamed of my wife? To make the members turn against her?”
For a se
cond, the confidence that had been so evident in Terrence’s arrogant demeanor slipped. But only for a second. Because the church’s board and deacons suddenly rounded him in what seemed to be a show of support.
Kari zeroed in on their solemn expressions which didn’t show one ounce of surprise. Evidently, this outburst was a long time in the making.
The fire in Tony’s dark brown eyes would normally be enough to quell the most disruptive of people. But not Terrence Henderson. Ever since he’d been ordained to preach by some still-yet-to-be-identified pastor in California where he once lived, the ambitious minister had his sights on being the pastor of the church founded by his great-great grandfather, the good Reverend Jacob Lee Henderson. The position of pastor had been held for four generations of Henderson men. That is, until a scandal with one of the members forced Terrence Henderson’s father to make an exit stage left—with teenage mistress in tow—long before the son of his wife had come of age to enter the pulpit.
A board of deacons and trustees had conducted a series of interviews and background checks, searching for a new pastor to lead the modest congregation. Overlooking a slightly flawed past, they’d deemed Anthony “Tony” J. Baltimore worthy to make the cut. If Kari had undergone the same rigorous scrutiny, they might have seen that she had a little baggage and a carry-on.