Ruthless (12 page)

To fuck me…

In more ways than one.

The deadly dance of deception can leave one both tempted and tormented…

“Jasper wants Stax to set you up for him. Jasper wants Stax to set you up…”

I repeat Mona's statement, rolling it around in my head. Yeah, Mona had said that she'd overheard Stax telling Sparks this. But the question, “Do you want to, have
you
, fucked her?” wasn't what Sparks had asked him. He wanted to know if Stax had feelings for
me.

And he'd dodged the question.

If in fact Stax had come to my office last Saturday night to put a plan in motion to
fuck
me, to set me up, for Jasper. It doesn't matter.

I wasn't coerced or manipulated by him. I lured him that night. No, Stax hadn't come there for pussy that night. I'm certain of it. He hadn't wanted it—not then. But I'd dangled a string of temptation in front of hm. Used tears to break his resolve. Clung to him. Pushed my body into his. Wrapped my arms around his neck and rose on my tiptoes to kiss him. My intent masked, my tongue found his. Yet, Stax pulled out of my embrace, wrenched his mouth away from mine. Held his ground. Then walked out the door, leaving me feeling humiliated, ashamed, for what I'd done.

Until he came rushing back into my office, lifting me off my feet and giving into his own hidden desires.

Yes, I'm certain of it. It was my womanly wiles that manipulated
Stax, seduced him, enticed him, clouded his judgment…until he surrendered.

I sucked Stax's dick with a purpose in mind that night.

In the end, I got two names out of him.

But I
fucked
him because I wanted to, because I needed to.

Because…

In a quick whirl of images, I see Stax's lust-hazed eyes above me as I am lying on my back, right leg up over his shoulder; left leg draped around his waist, his hips moving with the rhythm of the music playing in the background. My hands exploring the thick muscles of his forearms, his chiseled back, as he caresses my pussy, deep and slow; his long dick slick from my juices, my walls gripping the width of him, milking the length of him, with each stroke.

Stax's face is inches from mine, the scent of my pussy on his breath, still lingering on his tongue. I hear my breath escaping in trembling gasps, feel my stretched cunt tightening around his cock as he skillfully hits my spot—a rushing of wet heat sweeping through my pussy.

Every roll of my hip drives him deeper inside of me, widening the want and wetness of my cunt. I breathe Stax in. The faint scent of cologne and sweat commingling with the heady smell of heated sex. His dick feels hot and heavy inside of me, his steady thrust slicing into the warmth and welcome of my pussy, slicing into my spirit, slicing into my heart. And it is in his eyes—as he watches my face, as I am arching my back and coming, his dick fucking into my juices, our bodies fusing as one as he moans out my name—that I see it.

The answer to Sparks' question.

• • •

“Hello?”
Snap, snap!
“Earth to Pasha…you there?”

I blink. “Huh? Did you say something?”

Persia shakes her head, chuckling as she eyes me through the mirror. “Girrrrl, I don't know where you've been for the last”—she brings her arm out from under the cape, glancing at her watch—“four minutes, and forty-eight seconds. But wherever you were, you weren't here. Is everything okay?”

I attempt to keep my face expressionless as realization hits me that I need to change my panties. I have come on myself. Soaked through my liner. And my pussy is a wet, tingly mess.

I flick my wrist dismissively, shaking my head as I lay the rattail comb on the counter. “Chile, I'm good. It's been a long day; that's all.” I steal a glance over at Lamar, who's posted up front by the door. I make a mental note to serve him my wet pussy for lunch as I excuse myself and quickly go into my bathroom to freshen up.

I return a few minutes later. “Okay, I'm back now,” I say, reaching for the curling iron. “Girl, I had to splash some water up on this face and get it together right quick.”

Persia keeps her gaze on me. “I know that's right. For a minute there, you were nonresponsive. I didn't know if you were having a seizure or what. I was sitting here just a running my mouth until I looked up and saw you standing in a daze. Then I realized you weren't listening to a word I'd said.”

I apologize. Tell her I have so much going on between work, securing the location for Nappy No More II out in L.A., and my court hearing tomorrow that I don't know which way is up.

Truth is, I haven't been right since Mona left up out of here almost three hours ago. My mind has been flitting back and forth from my telephone conversation with Jasper earlier this morning to what she shared with me in my office. I replay the disc in my head over and over.
“Jasper wants him to set you up…”

The idea, the possibility, of Stax having played
me
instead of it being the other way around is… priceless!

I'm not the least bit surprised at Jasper's request, considering what his slimy ruthless-ass had done, what he willingly allowed other niggas to do, to me. But, what I am shocked at, even a little disappointed in, is the thought that Stax might have really been considering it. And why hadn't he told me?

Girl, get over it. Stax doesn't owe you shit. So what if the nigga uses you. So what if he's scheming with Jasper to set you up. You're doing the same shit, using and scheming.

Yeah, on niggas who deserve it!

And on Stax!

That's different.

Still,
I don't think, don't believe, that he'd conspire with Jasper's ass.
Not
to do me in.

Then again…

Everything isn't always what it seems. Everyone has an ulterior motive. Someone is always going to get used. Lies will always be told. And someone is always bound to get hurt, intentionally or not.

Persia waves me on. “Girl, please. No worries. I understand. Between Felecia's scandalous ass and Jasper's mess, I know you have a lot going on right now in your life.”

I huff. “Don't even remind me. I'm done.”

“So it's really over between you and Jasper, huh?”

I nod. “Yes. It is
over
, girl. I want nothing to do with his ass. And tomorrow morning, fingers crossed, I'll be walking up out of court with a final order of protection in my hand. Then I'm divorcing his ass. And for all those bitches out there that want him, who stayed trying to fuck him, they can have at it. But his ass'll be close to broke by the time I'm done with him.”

She gives me a saddened look. “It's really a shame things didn't work out for the two of you, at least for Jaylen's sake.”

I grunt. “Girl, please. I tried that. Trust me. Staying for Jaylen, would do more harm than good. My son wouldn't benefit from that. No child does; especially when they have parents who despise each other. And make no mistake. I can't stand Jasper's ass. That nigga's put me through more shit than I care to remember. The only good thing that's come out of all of this is my son, Jaylen. I am so in love with that little boy. I can't stand being away from him. I miss him so much.”

That last part slips out before I can catch myself.

Persia gives me a puzzled look through the mirror. “You
miss
him? Well, where is he?”

Shit.

“Girl, don't mind me.” I chuckle, attempting to play it off. “Every second that I'm away from him my heart aches. He is my life. You don't know how many times I've thought about begging the owners next door to sell their business to me so I can open up a daycare just so I can have him close by.”

She smiles warmly. “Oooh, you and Paris with your beautiful chocolate baby boys and all of your gushing pride, make me want to have a baby of my own.”

My mouth drops open. “Shut your mouth.
You?
Miss I'd Rather Choke To Death Before I Ever Have Kids?”

She laughs. “Whatever. That was the old me. But now…” She beams. “I don't know. Something's changed. And I'm open to the possibility.” She catches the surprised look on my face through the mirror and puts a hand up. “Now, don't go pulling out bassinets and bottles, just yet. I'm only entertaining the idea. Nothing more than that.”

I smirk. “Oh, Mister Man must really be working that West Indian magic stick to get
you
to even consider having a baby. Sounds to me like someone's—in the words of Miss Miki Howard—in love under new management.”

“Girrrrrrrrl, don't even get me gossiping and telling lies.” She shudders. “Who woulda thunk it?
Me.
In love. With a younger man, no less. But, baaaaby. Mmmph. Royce is everything I could have ever imagined. Then some. And to think I almost let our age difference keep me from giving him a chance.”

I smile. “Do I hear wedding bells ringing in the background?” She tells me it's something they've been talking about. He wants to start a family. Wants to build a life with her. But she's in no rush. “Good for you. Stay in the moment. Simply live, love, and enjoy each other.”

She lowers her voice. “And fuck like wild rabbits. And,
honnnnney,
let me tell you. I stay in heat. And that man knows how to keep my fire lit.”

I laugh. “Persia, girl, you're a mess.” I turn the styling chair, so that she's now facing me. “Between you and me,” I say in a hushed tone, leaning into her ear, “I stay in heat, too.”

“Girl, it's genetic.” We share a knowing laugh before the conversation turns serious again. “Pasha, girl. I hope you know I'm here for you, if you need me.”

“Aww, girl. Thanks.”

“I'm serious, Cuz. If there's anything you ever need—an ear to bend, a shoulder to cry or lean on, I'm here for you. We're
all
here for you. So don't hesitate to call.”

I'm looking at Persia, smiling, as she says this. But, in my mind's eye, I'm giving her the side-eye. Mmmph. I love Persia dearly. And, as much as I appreciate the gesture, I don't trust her as far as
I can throw her, which is nowhere. Persia's ass is messy like her mother, and her mother's sisters, Fanny and Lucky. Them three messy heifers love gossip. And they love telling everyone else's business except their own. And Miss Persia is right along with them.

And what really cracks me the hell up is the fact that Persia really thinks I'm stuck somewhere in the middle of silly and stupid to actually believe she woke up and had some epiphany to step up in here two weeks ago simply to cut her hair off.

Yeah, I'm sure she wanted a
new
look, to go with the
new
her. But trust and believe. The
only
reason Persia's ass is sitting up in this chair, spending her dollars in
my
salon, is because the bitch wants gossip. And she can't get shit from Felecia.

One, because she's pissed at her for talking shit about her to Booty, then Booty's messy ass coincidentally runs into her sister, Paris, at the mall and tells her what Felecia said about her.

And, two, because of the obvious—well for me, that is. The bitch is dead.

So here Persia sits, again, eagerly sucking in every little morsel of dirt I so graciously dish out to her. And, trust. The minute she bores, the second there's no more scandal, she'll be sitting her ass back over in one of the stylists' chairs down at Tender Cuts, where she'd been going for the last year-and-a-half.

I unsnap the cape from around her neck, handing her the handheld mirror. She admires herself, moving her head from side to side. “Yes, girl. You give me life, boo. I love everything this look is. You have no idea how many compliments I've gotten, and heads I've turned, since you cut my hair into this short style two weeks ago.”

“Girl, I'm just happy to know you love it. It's definitely sexy on
you. And as long as you come in every two-to-three weeks to keep it looking fresh and sassy, you'll continue to turn heads.”

She rummages through her handbag, pulling out a leather pouch, before getting up from the chair. She stands in front of the mirror, admiring herself as she applies a fresh coat of lipstick over her full, pouty lips. She blows herself a kiss, tossing her case back into her bag, then follows me up front.

She hands me a hundred-dollar bill. I pull three tens from the register. She waves me on as I go to hand her the change. “Girl, please. That's for you.”

“Ohmygod. I knew I was forgetting something. I meant to ask you about Felecia. There's still no word from her, huh?”

“Nope,” I respond flatly. “There's no telling where that bitch ran off to, or with whom.”

Persia slowly shakes her head. “Mmmph. That's crazy. I'm still pissed at her ass for talking all crazy about me, but I really hope nothing's happened to her. My mother told Paris that she spoke to Aunt Harriet the other day and Aunt Harriet told her that she saw it in her dreams that someone had murdered Felecia.”

I shrug, giving her a look of indifference. “Oh well.”

Her eyes widen, gasping. “Ohmygod, Pasha. That is so not cool. No matter what, Felecia is still family. I'm done with her as well. But I'd never want, or wish, anything bad to happen to her. I'm praying she miraculously appears, alive and well. Burying another child is the last thing Aunt Harriet needs.”

I blink.

“Unless there's a body,” I say nonchalantly as we embrace, “it isn't murder. It's her missing.”

My eyes quickly meet Lamar's glance over her shoulder. I step back from her embrace, tossing my bang from over my eye.

Persia sets her bag up on the counter, then reaches for her jacket from off one of the coat hooks. “Well, let's hope it's the latter,” she says as she slips her arms through the sleeves.