Ruthless (21 page)

God, how I love a big, clean dick!

And there aren't many dick suckers out there who can put in the kind of throat and spit work the way I do. Oh, sure there are lots of chicks out there sucking the skin off a nigga's bone, professing to be on top of their head game. But they damn sure aren't sucking the nut, the snot, and the guts out of his ass. And they're definitely not serving up that wet, sloppy throat heat and making his ass see stars, or feel like he's having an out-of-body experience the way I do.

Only one-and-a-half more inches of snake meat to conquer,
I think, pulling out my ringing cell. It's a call from my realtor. I put my house on the market two weeks ago, shortly after the shit between Jasper and me hit the fan, eager to be rid of it. So far, the house has been shown to six couples. My fingers cross, hoping like hell she's calling to tell me someone has put in a bid.

“Hello.”

“H-h-h-hello, P-P-Pasha?” she says, sounding frantic. “This is D-D-Dana Lamb. W-w-we…h-h-have…ohgodohgodohgod…”

My heart drops. “Dana, girl, please. What the fuck is going on? You're making me nervous, hon.”

“I-I-I…” She starts hyperventilating. “Ohgodohgodohgod… you h-h-h-have…t-t-to…g-g-get…ohgodohgodohgod…t-t-there's b-b-blood… e-e-everywhere…”

I swallow back the realization that it had finally come to this. “Blood where, Dana?”

“T-t-the…p-p-p-police…are on t-t-their w-w-way…”

I try to keep calm. “Dana, the police are on their way where?” Mel looks over at me with questioning eyes. I shrug, giving him an I-have-no-damn-clue look. “Where is there blood everywhere?”

I hold my breath, wait for her to tell me what I already know. What I've been expecting. It was only a matter of time.

And still I wait…

“At t-t-the estate,” she pushes out. She takes a deep breath, steadies the shaky rattling in her voice. “They're d-d-dead, Pasha! Everyone!”

Someone else takes the phone from her. A man. He says the guard at the gate to my estate was found shot in the head. That there are two more guards also dead. One lying facedown in the middle of the circular driveway, shot in the back of the head. The other inside the foyer of my home, shot in the chest multiple times.

The house has been ransacked.

My nose flares.

“Shit! Please tell Dana to stay put. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

I glance over at Mel. But before I open my mouth to say anything, he's already making an illegal U-turn, wheels angrily spinning as he presses down on the pedal, hitting a hundred.

I immediately dial Jasper's number. The nigga answers on the first ring as if he'd been anticipating my call. “Did you find what the fuck you were looking for, motherfucker?”

“Where the fuck is my paper, Pasha?”

“Up in flames with the rest of your shit, nigga! Stupid motherfucker!”

“Oh, you wanna be funny, right? You think I'm fuckin' wit' you, huh? Bitch! You lucky I didn't burn that muhfucka down. I want my muthafuckin' paper, yo!”

“Nigga, you'll
burn
in hell before you
ever
see a motherfucking dime of that money! And the
only
thing that's getting burned down are your stash houses, motherfucker!”

Silence.

“Oh, what, nigga? Did I hit a nerve? You thought I didn't know? Yeah,
bitch
, I know all about those six houses going up in flames. I told you, nigga. Every time you fuck with
me
, I'm gonna
fuck
with you. You want war, motherfucker. You got it!”

I end the call, narrowing my eyes to thin slits of rage. Not because he's broken into my home because the truth is, I had Lamar handle having all of my personal belongings and anything of value moved out last weekend while I was in L.A. I knew Jasper would be trying to kick the doors in at some point. I'm just surprised he waited as long as he did.

No. I'm pissed the fuck off because I wasn't there to greet his black ass at the motherfucking door!

And now…

The motherfucker has gotten away with three murders!

There's always a sign of danger long before the eye of a storm hits…

“M
iss Pasha, girl,” Cassandra yells into my ear over loud music I hear playing in the background. “You need to c'mon down to the club tonight ‘n' toss back a few Clit Lickers…”

I glance up at the clock. It's a little after nine in the evening. I should be in my car by now, heading to my hotel suite. Instead, I'm here.

On a Friday night.

With Mel up front, and a bottle of Rémy back here with me as I shuffle through pages of inventory. Truth is, my nerves are still rattled from pulling up into my estate—which officially became a crime scene three days ago for triple homicide, then being greeted by yellow caution tape, multiple red and blue lights flashing, a huge white Medical Examiner's van, two homicide detectives, and blood everywhere from where my three guards were gunned down. Murdered.

In the middle of my foyer, there was blood all over the marble tile, and splattered on the walls. My realtor was a hysterical mess by the time I got to the house, and rightfully so. The whole scene was traumatizing. And, of course, there were no witnesses. Of course I have the surveillance footage, but I told the police there was none. That the cameras weren't working.

When the detectives asked if I could think of why anyone would want to break into my home, as if on cue, I burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably. Then told them, “My husband and I are in the middle of a messy separation. He's been violent toward me in the past. Although I don't think he'd go as far as killing anyone, I can't be certain.” I pulled out my final order of protection and showed it to them. “All I know is, he was very angry about being out of our home. Now, after seeing all this, I don't know what he might be capable of. I'm so scared.”

Oh, my whole performance was complete with collapsing into Lamar's arms. Then, when I finally calmed, I kindly offered up the numbers to all three of Jasper's cell phones when they asked if I had a number where he could be reached for questioning. He wasn't a suspect, but the seed had been planted for him to definitely be considered someone to pay close attention to.

Later on that evening, I called Lamar from my hotel suite and told him to torch everything. That's right. I told him to burn my estate down to the ground. The call ended. And six hours later, the job was done. Firefighters were called to the scene of the blaze at approximately 5:42 in the morning.

Pictures of the crime scene and the news of the triple homicide, along with captions of the roaring blaze that took firefighters almost three hours to contain, have been splattered all over the local news. Other than the names of the three victims, reporters had very little to report. News captions highlighting the tragedy, which struck the affluent, gated-community with their sprawling estates, have been plastered on every newspaper.

Once it was discovered that the crime scene plastered all over news was my home, my phone has been ringing nonstop. Although the murders are still under investigation, as of this morning the cause of the fire has been determined as…electrical. All I need to
do now is, wait for the insurance company to complete their investigation, cut the check, then I'm free and clear. Poof…just like that.

Mmmmph. Motherfuckers can keep sleeping on me if they want.

I finish off the rest of my drink, allowing the smooth burn to heat my insides.

“…Oooh, yes, goddammit… Slick ‘n' Chunky are doin' me right on the ones ‘n' twos, sugah-boo. Owwwww…motherfuck you, Chunky! Motherfuck you, goddammit! You tryna do me! Yessss, goddammit…! Miss Pasha, girl, get ya mind right! And c'mon down here so we can turn these niggas out. These thug coons will love you, sugah-boo. You ain't got shit else to do unless you got some dingaling you 'bout to wrap ya lips on…”

I frown. “Listen. I already told you that I'm
not
coming down there tossing back drinks at some damn Crack House. So let it go. I know you mean well, girl. But I can't stand a bitch who tries to impose her social life on me.”

“Oooh, yessss, do me right, goddammit! Give it to me dirty, sweetness! Oooh, yesss, goddammit! I love it raw, sugah-boo. You talkin' my talk, Miss Pasha, girl! Yes, gawd! I like it when a bitch talks that talk. Cuss me, sugah-boo! Wet my drawz, goddammit! But you know I ain't
ever
messy! I don't give a goddamn what you say! Now is you comin' down here to have some'a these Clit Lickers with me or what?”

I huff.
This bitch is really out of control!
“Look, I need to—”

“Ooooh, yes goddammit!” she yells, cutting me off. “This is my shit! Chunky Monkey, niggah-coon,
boom-boom!
You tryna do me, goddammit! Oooh, Miss Pasha, girl, excuse me…this nigga is doin' me right with the music. Oooh, wait…hold on one minute…”

I roll my eyes, getting up to use the bathroom, listening to Booty go off. As tempted as I am to disconnect the call, I hold on.
Intentionally or not, she can be very entertaining. And whether I want her to be or not, she's a distraction from my own craziness. Shit I have no interest in sharing with her.

“Nigga, where's my muthafuckin' child support money? See, nigga-coon, you stay tryna do me… What I gotta do, huh? Beat that fat bitch's ass you fuckin' to get my money?” I can't hear what he's saying, but whatever it is, she isn't having it. “You know what, coon-fucker? You ain't shit! Can't stand nuthin' ya long-dick ass stand for. I don't know why I ever fucked with your no-good ass any-goddamn-way. Big-dick fucker! All you was ever good for is fuckin'…uh-huh, whatever, nigga-coon…eat the inside of my ass, Vernon…”

Vernon?
I blink.
I wonder if…ohmygod, no…it can't be the same nigga. Or could it?

I strain against the backdrop of loud music to catch a hint of his voice, a trace of gruff, a tinge of anything, to confirm or refute the nagging in my gut. That he is in fact one in the same.

Vernon Lewis.

My antagonist.

And…

One of Booty's deadbeat baby daddies.

“Oooh, Miss Pasha, girl. I'm back. These niggas stay tryna do me. Be glad you only got you one baby fahver you gotta deal wit', even though the one you got is 'bout as messy as they come. But these no-good, big-dick niggas ain't worth no more than the nut they bust up in ya guts… Ooooh, yesssss, goddammit! Fuck you, Chunky! Miss Pasha, girl, let me go ‘n' get my drop ‘n' pop on. I'm done with ya stuck-up ass tonight. It's time to turn it up on these nigga-boos. Somebody come wet my throat! I need this neck coated, goddammit…!”

I shake my head.
What you
need
is to take your ass home and be
with your kids. This bitch stays posted up in the bar.
“Go, get your dance on,” I say, staring at my reflection in the mirror while washing my hands. “We'll talk later.”

“I'ma be down to the shop tomorrow after I get the kids off to school, then stop by Dickalina's to get my damn pressure cooker back from that bitch before she starts boilin' her nigga's shitty drawers up in it.”

Ugh!
Dickalina's a chick I'd personally never be caught dead with. I twist my lips up in disgust, letting Booty know tomorrow's Saturday; that's there's no school.

“Ooh, I better ease up off these Clit Clickers. I done forgot what day of the week it is and I ain't even sauced good. Ooooh, goddammit! Yesssss, Chunky, yesssss! This is my shit… Owww…! Look, Miss Pasha, girl, let me go. I gotta turn up the booty heat on these niggas. I'll see you…”

“Go on and turn it…”

She yells into the phone, “Oh, yesss, goddammit! Waaaaait, waaaait, Miss Pasha, girl! You there?!”

I sigh. “Yeah, what now?”

“Oooh, yesss, goddammit! And the shit in the pot thickens, Miss Pasha, girl! You not gonna believe what the wind done blew up in here tonight, goddammit! Hol' one minute, sweetness…” Her voice fades from the phone. I can barely hear what she's saying now. After a few deafening moments, she's back in my ear. “…sent you a picture. Tell me if you've ever seen this black nigga-coon before…”

I tell her to hold on, pulling my phone from my ear, placing her on speaker while switching apps. “Okay, I got it,” I say, opening the text she's sent.

“Tell me what you see, sugah-boo. Tell me what
you
see, goddammit!”

It's a picture of a
fine,
dark-chocolate nigga. He's wearing a dark-colored pullover and there's a thick—what looks to be either white gold or platinum—chain hanging from his thick neck with an emblem hanging from it. He's wearing a Brooklyn Nets fitted cocked to the side of his head. From what I can see in the picture, he looks muscular. I've never seen him before. “Girl, all I see is a dark-skinned nigga flossing. Who is he? One of your sponsors?”

“Look again, Miss Pasha, girl.
Look.…again,
goddammit!”

I sigh. “Look, I don't have time for the guessing games, Cassandra.”

“Oooh, don't do me, goddammit.
Look
at the picture closely, sugah-boo. Now tell me what you
see.”

I stare at the snapshot again. I squint, then blink, moving my face closer to the phone screen. I look at his eyes again—something is very familiar about them.
Omygod!
I stare at the emblem hanging from his chain. My eyes widen in shock. A rush of anger shoots through me. I grip my chest. I feel myself shaking from the inside out.

It's him.

“I can't wait to tear that throat up…you wanna live, bitch…”

His huge, hairy balls zoom into my mind's eye. I feel faint. And sick to my stomach.