Retribution (18 page)

“…I like Pasha and all, but she a damn fool. She got her a fine-ass nigga who's paid out the ass and she too busy out trickin' instead of stayin' posted up at home playin' her position, waitin' for her man to come home. I swear. Chicks don't know how'ta ride a bid out with a nigga. And that's exactly why she probably got her ass beat in her office today. If you ask me…” Her mouth drops open when she sees me through the mirror.

I wave at her. “Hi. Don't stop now. You were on a roll, bitch. So go on. Finish what you were about to say. If we asked you
what?”

“Oh, um, I-I…girl, I was only talking shit.”

“Yeah, about
me
in
my
salon, bitch!”

The salon goes quiet.

Yeah, center stage, all eyes on me now—
again.

I stalk over toward her with a hand up on my hip, tossing my handbag in my chair. I don't know if I have a contact high from the two blunts Booty smoked while I was with her, or if it's the effects of the five shots I ended up tossing back. But whatever the reason, I light her ass up in front of all to see. Something I've never been known to do—with the exception when I slapped Felecia in front of everyone. Besides that, I've always tried to handle things behind closed doors, in the privacy of my office, away from prying eyes, professionally.

But after the shit with Felecia kicking my back in, I'm done with keeping shit professional. If these bitches want to see the ghetto side of me, then so be it. Obviously that's the only language most of these hoes respond to any-damn-way.

“Bitch, the one thing you must not know is that I don't do two-faced bitches.”

“Pasha, girl, I-I—”

“Don't ‘Pasha, girl' me, bitch. You can finish up your client's hair, but when you're done putting them braids in, you can get the fuck out of my salon. Pack your shit and bounce. You wanna talk shit, then let's talk shit. Yeah, I was sucking dick behind my husband's back while he was locked up. What the fuck you care for? The nigga did five years, okay? And, yeah, he came home and beat the shit out of me. So the moral of the story is, don't suck another nigga's dick behind your man's back. Or if you're gonna do the shit, don't get your ass caught with it stuck down in your throat.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but quickly shuts it when I put a hand up in her face.

“Bitch,” I sneer contemptuously,
“instead
of talking shit about me behind my back, you shoulda been coming to me for some dick-sucking tips 'cause from what I hear, your
baby father
stays up in the strip clubs getting his private party on in the back rooms with whatever whore he can trick the rent money up on. And he's always somewhere tryna get his dick sucked 'cause the bitch he has at home ain't sucking it.” Then I use one of Booty's classic lines, “Don't do me, goddammit!”

A few patrons gasp. Some start laughing. Others cling to every word, waiting to see who's going to swing fists first. Right now as fired up as I am, it'll be me taking it to this bitch's head.

I hear a few saying shit like, “I heard that, girl.”

“Shit. I know that's right. Let me stop in your office later, girl, for some throat tips.”

“Girl, don't you know if you ain't suckin' your man's dick, another bitch will?”

I ignore the comments, narrowing my eyes at Rhodeshia who is now looking like she's ready to crawl up under her sink. She starts apologizing, saying how wrong she was for disrespecting me. How she got caught up in the gossip. Blah, blah, blah…

“Bitch, gossip or not, don't ever apologize for shit you meant to say, or for shit you feel. Be a woman about your shit; that's all. Fact is I walked up on ya ass throwing shit on me, now you wanna backpedal. Don't. I can respect a bitch who says ‘yeah I said it' instead of some phony-bitch tryna apologize her way out of it. So
if
there's something any of you wanna say to me, or
about
me, be woman enough to say it to my face. If you're going to work for me, I expect loyalty—from
everyone
. I don't talk about anyone behind their backs. And I expect the same goddamn courtesy to be extended to
me
. If not, pack your shit and get the fuck up outta my salon. Period.

“And another thing, since we clearing the air.” I point to my face. “You see this bruise right here.” I turn around in the middle of the floor. “I want all of you to get a good look at it. My husband did that this, okay.
Jasper
came up in here earlier and smacked me the fuck up in my office. Why? Because I wouldn't give the nigga some pussy, okay. And I clawed his neck, then tried to bite his goddamn balls off. So, yeah, he was beating my ass. But know this:
Today
was the nigga's
last
time he'll ever lay his hands on me and get to walk.”

I shoot my glare back over at Rhodeshia as she continues
cornrowing her client's head. “From now on,
bitch
, if you wanna talk, make sure you have all your facts.” I stare her down. She looks up from her client's head, nervously shifting her eyes. “Bitch, you lucky I don't punch you in your goddamn sockets.”

She snaps her head back, raising a brow. “Now wait a minute, Pa—”

I put both hands up on my hips. “What, you wanna leap? No,
bitch
, you wait a minute.” I lower my voice, punctuating every other word.
“If
you
ever
…talk
slick
…about
me
. Behind.
My
. Back
again
…I'm going to personally
slice
your
motherfucking
…
throat.”

Her eyes widen in shock. She's never seen this side of me. None of them have. Well, guess what? It's a new goddamn bitch in town! And her name is Pasha Nivea-Alona Allen. And they gonna learn today!

I glance around the salon. “Now. Is there anything else any of
you
want to know or say before my five o'clock gets here?”

“Yeah, girl,” this attractive brown-skinned chick says. I've never seen her here before. “I wanna know where I can sign up for those dick sucking lessons?”

“LaQuandra, girl…I can't with you,” Kenyatta says, chuckling as she spins her around in her chair. “You're a hot mess.”

She grunts. “I'm serious. I need to learn how to suck that trifling-ass baby mother of his up out of his system. He can't seem to shake that crazy bitch.”

The salon explodes with laughter.

Behind every nightmare there's a thin silver lining…

“W
ake the fuck up, bitch!” someone screams, scaring the shit out of me while snatching the blanket off me. “I want my dick sucked.” When my eyes focus, I realize it's the lunatic who choked me. He has on the same clothes, which tells me he hasn't washed his funky-ass balls yet. “Get ya nasty-ass up out this muthafuckin' bed.”

“Yo, nigga, chill,” another voice says. It's the nigga who fed me and watched me shower. Calm One. He's wearing a pair of dark-blue Hampton University basketball shorts and a white wife beater. I glance at the tattoo of a panther across his shoulder. For some reason, I am relieved to see him. He seems to be able to keep this other nigga from going too far.

“Yo, fuck that. I want this bitch to clean my dick and balls.”

“Nigga, fuck!” Calm One snaps. “You got all day to get ya dick sucked. Let's stick to the script, nigga. Let me feed her, first. Then when the rest of these niggas get here, ya'll can do what the fuck you want.”

Lunatic sucks his teeth. “Fuck feedin' her ass. The only thing this bitch needs to eat is this nut.”

I feel myself about to scream on this nigga. I count to twenty in my head. I don't like nothing this motherfucker stands for. I stare him down, counting backward. My mind is made up; these niggas can do what they want, but this motherfucker right here will not get shit sucked by me. Before I can stop myself, I tell him so.

“Bitch, what the fuck you just say?” he snaps, charging toward me. I don't flinch. Calm One grabs him by the arm.

“Yo, chill, nigga. Damn.”

He sneers at me. “Yo, fuck this bitch.”

“No, fuck you,” I snap. I've had enough. “I'm tired; I'm hungry; I'm sick; I wanna go the fuck home; and I don't give a fuck! So fuck you and your raggedy-ass dick 'cause newsflash, motherfucker, I'm not sucking shit attached to you, bitch!”

He yanks his arm away from Calm One. Then in one swinging open-hand, he smacks the shit out of me and mushes me in the face. I stumble back onto the sofa.

“Is that all you got, nigga? You like slapping up on females? Nigga, you ain't shit.”

Calm One grabs him before he hits me again. “Nigga, what the fuck?! You buggin', for real, son. You know what the order was. You really comin' outta pocket, son.”

Lunatic snatches his arm back, storming off. “Fuck that dick-sucking bitch!”

“Yeah, nigga, I suck dick. But I won't be sucking yours. I put that on my life, bitch!”

Calm One helps me up, shaking his head. “Yo, ma, you really got ya'self in some serious shit.”

• • •

I jerk up in bed, sweating and shaking, looking around the massive bedroom. I glance at the clock. 12:07
A.M.
I turn on the lamp and climb out of bed, slipping into my robe to check on Jaylen. An eerie chill slivers its way up my spine. I shiver, wrapping my arms around me as I make my way to my son's room. I stop in my tracks, turning back around and walking back into my bedroom to retrieve my gun from out of the top drawer of my dresser.
Don't ever get caught without it.
I unlock the dresser drawer, then slip the gun down into one of the front pockets of my robe.

The house is exceptionally quiet. I check all the security panels to make sure everything is secured. It is. The lights from the motion sensors blink red, the alarm green. I breathe a sigh of relief. Then head down the hall. I open Jaylen's bedroom door, and peek in. His room aglow from the wall nightlight, he's sleeping soundly. I walk over to his bed, then lean in and kiss him on the side of his head.
Mommy loves you so much.
I gently rub his head.

I stare at him. Torn. I don't want Jaylen to grow up without a father in his life. I see the way he lights up, his smile wide, every time he sees Jasper. Sadly, he's too young, too innocent, to know, to understand, that his father is a fucking brutal savage. A nigga I'm going to do in. I want him to die a slow, torturous death. A quick death would be too easy. I want that nigga to live and suffer. I want his motherfucking ass to beg for his life, then finally beg for me to end it. I want to violate him. The way that he violated me.

I never imagined I'd ever feel this level of contempt toward anyone, let alone Jasper's ass. But I do. I want him fucking…
dead!
Slow and torturous! And the frightening thing is, I can feel my pussy getting wet thinking about emptying a clip into his motherfucking head. My only hope is, Jaylen never learns the truth. If I can help it, he never will. I'll take my transgressions to the grave with me.

Taking a deep breath, then slowly exhaling, I sit in Nana's rocking chair—the one she'd rock my father in when he was Jaylen's age—and rock in silence, listening to the
Blues Clues
clock on the wall tick off the seconds and minutes—feeling my heart hardening, becoming thicker, with each pulsing second, a deeper hatred for Jasper coursing through every artery in my body.

The aching in my chest is so profound I can hardly breathe as I
think back on what
I've
allowed Jasper to get away with. Images of that night flood my brain, flashing and swirling—slow and steady, like strobe lights. Masked faces, lust-filled eyes, stiff dicks stabbing the back of my throat, menacing voices, dirty and gruff—all taunting me, ripping into my spirit, fucking and grunting deep into my mouth. In a flash, I became a rough, dirty train ride; being ridden fast and hard. The evidence of each nigga's fare coated on my lips, stuck in the back of my throat.

Tick-tock, tick-tock…

The clock ticking in my head, the telling sign that time waits for no one, I wonder if it truly does heal wounds; maybe, hopefully, some of them, at least. Hot tears spill from my eyes, everything in me drowning all over again. What's left of my spirit breaking open, shattering into a-million-and-one tiny painful pieces; remnants of a haunting memory. I put my face in my hands, and in the ticking silence, I start to sob uncontrollably for what seems like forever. I let it all out. Then, just like that, as quickly as my tears had fallen—my emotional well dries, and they stop.

You've screwed me raw long enough, Jasper. Now it's time I screw you!

I wipe the remainder of my tears with the back of my hand, finally getting up. I stare at my beautiful son a few minutes more, then lean down and pick him up and hold him in my arms. “Mommy's little man is getting so big,” I whisper, rocking him in my arms. He doesn't stir. He's a hard sleeper like…his father.

“I love you so, so much, sweetheart.” I pull him close to my chest, holding him tightly; inhaling him, breathing in his innocence, wanting to believe with everything that's in me that he was conceived out of love. But with all that has happened, I am no longer certain. I lie him back in his bed, pulling the blanket up over him. Then lean in and give him another kiss on his head before walking out and closing his door, leaving it ajar.

Nigga, your fate is about to be forever sealed!