Red Hot Liar (9781617738654)

Also by Noire

 

 

 

 

Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless
(with Kiki Swinson)

 

Maneater
(with Mary B. Morrison)

 

 

 

 

Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

This work is dedicated to my boo and my mini-boo!
Belonging to you has taught me what true love is,
and shown me that life really is worth living.

Thanks going up to the Father above for blessing me with a mind that allows me to write from my own creative pen. I'm sending big ups to my entire team! Thanks for keeping me in the space I need to be in and for looking out for me 24/7. Nisaa, Kelly, Black, Reem, Man, Ree, Missy, Jay, and all the rest, I see you and love you for everything you do.

To my loyal readers and friends in The Urban Erotic Tales Book Club on FB, I'm sending crazy lub to you guys for holding me down while I was off doing that thang. I have the best damn readers in the world and I'm gonna keep on saying it because it's true! Keep riding the train every time it pulls into the station because there are many more Flirty Dirties yet to come!

To Reem Raw, I see you with that New York State of Mine! Your pen is hot and your flow is beast. Thank you for mixing ink with me!

Lub y'all,

Noire

WARNING!

This here ain't no romance it's an urban erotic tale
Rival cliques and conniving tricks are sure to be unveiled!
Scandals, secrets, scams and leeches all begin to surface,
Pilar, Ruddman, and Selah's husband have reasons
to be nervous!
Mink and Bunni are living lovely but now they face
dilemmas . . .
Barron's blinded and Suge is forced to set his own agendas!
The Dominion clique is once again in sudden imminent
danger,
By faces known and close to home and even from
total strangers.
So welcome back and brace yourself and watch us
set this fire,
Because this
thot
is red and hot, but of course she's
still a LIAR!

 

 

 

Y
eah, the hard-knock hood life might take a Harlem girl down, but if she was slick with the lips and smooth with her groove, it damn sure couldn't knock her out!

Me and my rowdy Bowlegged Bunni Baines had come a long way from the run-down tenements of New York City, and if it was up to us we wasn't never going back! For a gritty con-mami turned club stripper who had spent her life swinging off poles and yappin victims for illicit loot, I was finally saying good-bye to my beloved con game and upgrading to the life of an heiress to a multi-billion-dollar fortune.

All those long days and nights of hustling, scheming, and conniving were over forever. With about nine hunnerd grand in my bank account and more pouring in every day, the whole world was at my fingertips and I had enough yardage to do whatever the hell rocked my boat!

It felt like a dream. A minute ago I was just a regular old Harlem girl. A broke-ass Club Wood headliner: crotch-polishing them golden poles and luring horny niggahs with my slinky slides and my notorious double-hump lap dances.

But then Bunni came home from the corner store with a carton of milk that was sporting my six-year-old face on the back, and suddenly my luck—and my life—straight up changed forever.

You see, Selah Dominion, the mama-bear in the stupid-rich Dominion Oil family of Texas, had gotten tipsy while on vacation in the Big Apple and lost her three-year-old daughter Sable outside of a Duane Reade drugstore. Eighteen years later she was still looking for the kid, and for Sable's twenty-first birthday Selah had offered a fat-ass bundle of reward money to anyone who could help find her.

Bunni had been hyped as hell when she spotted my age-progressed picture on the back of the milk carton, and some kinda way I let her convince me to catch a flight down to Dallas so we could hustle the Texas oil family out of Sable's inheritance and the reward money too.

“This lil mama is
you,
Mink!” my ghetto day one chick had sworn up and down as we eyeballed the pictures of the missing girl on the back of the carton. “I swear this chick is so you!”

“
Me
?” I had bucked on her real quick. “Heffah,
please
!” Me and Bunni went way, way back. She knew damn well I wasn't no missing heiress to no shit-load of money way down in no Texas! Hell, I was Harlem born and Harlem bred. From my rooter to my tooter I was a con-mami, a pole dancer, and if shit wasn't nailed down I could also be a big-ass thief.

Bunni had called the number on the milk carton and we almost checked out when they told her in order to get the money I'd have to take a DNA test and the results would have to match what was on file for little Sable Dominion.

“Forget about it,” I had told Bunni. “It's a wrap, boo. The only damn DNA I got in me is from those lying-ass LaRues!”

But the lure of fifty grand in birthday cash was more duckets than us two broke bandits could possibly resist. Me and Bunni's ratchet little minds got to clicking and calculating like computers as we tried to come up with a ruse to swindle those mofos outta that dough. Bunni had back-rent due out the ass on her and Peaches's apartment, and I had some real major playas hounding me for some real major cash in Harlem's drug game. Getting our hands on a few racks was right up our alley. So, with visions of fitty thousand big ones dancing in our heads, we had flown down to Texas looking to pull a sweet little flimflam on a bunch of uppity rich niggas who were just a-swimming in cream.

We busted up on the scene during a Fourth of July barbeque and damn near set that whole mansion on fire! You shoulda seen the way I performed for them boojie-ass black folks. I was super slick with my con game, and I laid my brilliant make-money scheme down on them with sass and finesse! I didn't give a damn if the sisters and the brothers believed a word I said, with Big Daddy Viceroy laid up in the hospital in a deep coma, all I had to concentrate on was yanking Mama Selah's heartstrings as I lied out the ass and pretended to be her long-lost daughter, Sable.

To top the act off, freaky-butt Bunni hooked up with a pain slut at the DNA lab and got him to write a phony report saying my DNA was a match for the missing girl Sable. I ended up rolling fifty thousand deep in happy birthday heaven, and Bunni ended up getting twenty-five racks as a reward, and a few days later we hauled ass back to New York City with our pockets fat and full.

Well, you ever heard that saying, “Give a hoodrat a hunk of cheese and she'll gobble the whole thing up in one day”? Yeah, yeah, yeah. Easy come and easy the fuck go. By the time me and Bunni shopped our asses off, took us a vacation, got swindled by a slanga named Punchie Collins, and tried our hand at flipping dope, we were broke as hell again and right back where we started from.

We probably coulda handled all that, but when my ex boo-thang Gutta hit the bricks and came gunning for my throat, I had no choice but to get up outta Dodge, and where in the world was a Harlem hoodrat like me supposed to hide? Damn right. It was back to Texas time, where me and Bunni made plans to dig our grimy little fingers even deeper into the Dominion family pie.

It looked like this time everything was gonna go smooth and according to plan. Viceroy was about to kick the bucket, Mama Selah was hanging off my loose bra strap, and the rest of the family was practically eating outta the palm of my hand. I was
this close
to getting hold of a sweet three-hundred-grand annual payday when big brother Barron pulled a slick move and dragged some stink-ass Philly 'rilla named Dy-Nasty down to the mansion to toss her nasty weave up in my game.

Dy-Nasty turned out to be a ratchet-looking extra-gutter version of me, and to say that trick was a natural born liar wouldn't hardly be saying enough! Between the two of us thirsty heffas we got to scratching and biting and kicking and slapping, and doing whatever it took to get our hands on the Dominions' pot of gold. But when it was all said and done DyNasty messed around and dipped her chips in the wrong damn bowl and ended up on lockdown, while me and Bunni claimed us a prime suite in the Dominion mansion and got ready to live La Vida Loca for the rest of our days!

Oh, what a joy it was to be a paid-out-the-ass chick like me! Rich, black, and beautiful! Damn right, I had it
made
, baybee!

V
iceroy Dominion was on a big one. The slick and ruthless Big Daddy of the Dominion Oil family was straight wildin' out in his plush corner office as he stared at the colorful image glaring at him from the large computer screen. The virtual box of Gurkha Black Dragon cigars were stacked like a pyramid, with three on each side and one sticking up prominently in the middle like it was screaming
fuck you, chump!

But it was what was slid down on that “finger” that had him ready to reach in his desk drawer and grab his tool. It had him ready to jump in his whip and haul ass to the Omni Hotel and bust a cap in Rodney Ruddman's monkey-ass grill!

But first he was gonna handle his muthafuckin' wife. How in the
fuck
did that bastard get a hold of Selah's million-dollar engagement ring? Oh, Selah was about to explain that shit. She was gonna tell him how her precious ring, the one she claimed she had lost eighteen years ago, had ended up in his arch enemy's fuckin' hand!

A graphic vision of Ruddman ramming his black meat up in Selah as he held her pretty legs high in the air flashed through Viceroy's mind and he had to grip the desk to keep from passing the fuck out.

Enraged, he swung his arm in a wide arc and knocked the forty-inch monitor off his desk along with almost every damn thing else that was up there. Foaming at the mouth, he stomped his foot and crunched the hell outta their framed wedding photo that bore her smiling, deceitful face.

“That dirty rotten
liar!
” Viceroy screamed. He
knew
it. He knew that shit all down in his bones. While he was laid up in a coma for all those months Selah had been out there fucking that frog-faced bastard! Now that he was back on his feet and ready to roll she didn't wanna give
him
no pussy, but she'd been steady sucking Ruddman's dick and licking his balls!

Whirling around, he snatched a jewel-crusted photo from their Mediterranean vacation off the wall and hurled that shit across the room like it was a boomerang. It hit the far wall and exploded, and countless glass shards rained down on the floor.

“I'ma murder her ass!” Viceroy fumed as he kicked over a fifty-thousand-dollar Chinese vase and started snatching wooden plaques and awards off his shelf and flinging them at the tinted glass window. “I swear to God I'm gonna kill that bitch!”

There were rushing sounds of footsteps in the hallway and then his door belched open as several of his staff members burst into his office and swarmed around him, their frowning faces red with concern.

“Mr. Dominion!” His chief contractor and long-time friend Bob Easton grabbed him by the shoulders and held him firm. “What's going on in here? What's the problem, sir?”

“It must be his head injury,” his elderly secretary cried out. “It has to be his head!”

“I'ma kill her!” Viceroy shrieked as he stared down at his toppled computer screen where the seven cigars were still screaming “fuck you” and mocking the shit outta him. “Y'all better hold me back,” he hollered, “ 'cause when I get my hands on that grimy bitch I'm gonna fuckin'
kill
her!”

“Mr. Dominion!” His secretary trembled as she grabbed hold of his arm. “Please sir, you'll be fine. Just don't say such things!”

“Get the hell off me!” He jerked his arm away so hard old Miss Ginny lost her balance and stumbled forward, then yelped as she landed hard on her brittle knees.

Ignoring her cries, Viceroy looked around wildly, searching for something else to throw. But when his staff fanned out around him so they could protect him from himself, Viceroy drew his hand back and threw a short, hard jab at the wall. Every bone in his knuckles screamed. The impact split his skin and a mist of bright blood sprayed from his hand in a wide arc.

“Oh, shit . . .” Viceroy moaned, ignoring the staff members who were pulling out handkerchiefs and rushing to his rescue as he damn near crumpled to his knees from the pain.

“That lying bitch!” he groaned and gasped. “Look at what she did. Just look at what the fuck she did!”

 

“Rise and shine!” It was the crack of dawn on a Monday morning and Bunni busted her tail up in my luxurious suite making all kinds of crazy noise.

“Hey now!” She plopped down on my bed, disturbing my groove. “You gonna be on TV today, Miss Rich-ass Domino! Wipe summa that slobber off the side of your lip and let's roll!”

Squinching my eyes tight, I raised my arms and stretched out in my luxurious Egyptian sheets ignoring Bunni as I fought back a satisfied smile.

Ever since I hit the once-missing-but-now-found jackpot I woke up in the mornings feeling like a real shady crook. Like I had just ganked somebody for their whole damn life. For
Sable's
life! Every night old broke-ass Mink from the projects went to bed just a' praying like hell that the super-turnt-up mansion, the shiny whips, the jewels, and especially the ocean-deep moolah wasn't some sorta crazy hallucination. And when the sun came up in the sky and I opened my eyes again—still rich and surrounded by all the luxury and finery a hood chick could ask for, I couldn't help feeling like a straight-up thief!

“I got a taste for some grits and bacon this morning,” Bunni blurted in my ear. “And maybe some panny-cakes too. You want me to call the cook and tell her to bring Okrah's ace boon coon some grub, or are you gonna get up off ya royal ass and go downstairs and get it yourself?”

The news of my return to the Dominion family fold had been blowing up the airwaves. I mean that shit had made big-time headlines everywhere. It was the best rags-to-riches ghetto princess story in decades and the media ate that shit up. The word FOUND stamped over my smiling face was in every Internet news feed, not to mention all the newspapers and magazines between New York and Texas, and my name was ringing major bells.

The National Centers for Missing and Exploited Children had gotten a big boost in donations after that special milk carton campaign, and they quickly arranged for me, Selah, and Viceroy to go on a whirlwind media tour. We had already done some radio and a few television spots, and now they were calling for us to appear on
Good Morning America
, TLC, and
The View
, but first we had to get past Okrah Sinfree, who was coming to D-Town to blow up the spot live from the mansion.

Okrah was a white, southern-fried ratings diva who billed herself as a cross between Wendy Williams and Paula Deen. She was the queen of the south and had a real hot talk show and a nasty cooking show that white people amped out about, and with Viceroy's permission she was bringing a film crew to our crib to shoot a live segment about my miraculous return to the fold. The attention I was getting was real exciting and all that, but Bunni was ten times more hyped over that shit than I was.

“Get up, Mink!” she hollered, jumping all over my plush king-sized bed like she was two damn years old. “They're filming live, you know. Whatever comes outta your mouth is going straight into America's ear. So come on now. You only got a couple of hours to shake some of that ugly off ya face before all them cameras roll up in here.”

“Owww!” I shrieked as Bunni jumped high in the air and landed hard on my shin-bone. “Sit your ass down, Bunni! Stop acting so damn ill! We ain't back in the projects no more, you know.”

She snatched my pillow from under my head and cackled.

“You goddamn right we ain't! 'Cause if we was in the projects wouldn't nobody on the Oh-So-Sinful Network wanna hear shit you had to say! Now get up, Mink! You snooze you lose, boo, and you got a date with the Queen of the Dirty South today!”

I igged Bunni and rolled over on my stomach. I had gone to sleep with a big smile on my face after receiving a real sweet good-night sex-text message from my boo-baby, Suge. We had started out playing our roles with him as my so-called uncle and me fronting like I was his missing-from-a-long-time-ago niece. Suge was big and fine and powerful as hell. His massive build and his gangster swag put you in the mind of a cool, calm, and calculating killer. He was the enforcer in the family. The big homey behind the Dominion fortune. Whether shit needed busting up or burying deep, Suge was the nigga everybody called when the crack of their ass got hooked on a fence.

A flaming hot spark had flared up between us the very first time we met, and it wasn't long before we were deading all that “Uncle” shit and getting our undercover smash on. Hell, the Dominions had adopted their missing daughter Sable anyway, so even if I
was
her—like I had been tryna fool everybody into thinking—me and Suge still wouldn'ta been related by blood.

The real deal was, I had come down to Texas looking to gank the Dominions out of as much dough as possible. Falling on Suge and all that good ol' country sausage he was packin' just happened to be the icing on top of a thick hunk of cake.

The text message Suge had sent me late last night had been sexy as fuck and it promised to set the stage for the kind of x-rated showdown we was gonna have the next time we ran a horse race at the OK Corral. I pushed my face deep down in my pillow and squeezed my thighs together as I thought about his big ol' rough cowboy hands and the way he slung his monster pipe up in me like he was roping wild steer. Bunni was right, I thought as I shivered with excitement. I needed to get my horny ass up and get it in gear. For true, for true, I was amped about getting turnt up in front of the cameras with my rowdy Okrah, but on the real tip the best part of my day was gonna pop off tonight when I climbed on that chocolate bronco and got my guts busted open by my favorite black stallion, Big Suge!