Ruthless (28 page)

I swing my arm back and hit this crazy bitch upside the head with the gun, knocking her off balance. I hit her again; this time she topples over and hits the floor. But she's quick on the drop and doesn't stay down long. She's back up on her feet, tilting her neck from side to side, cracking bones.

“Oooh, you dirty bitch! Do me right, goddammit! Bitch, I was born
built
for a good goddamn street brawl! Fight me with your hands, Miss Pasha, girl!” She starts pounding her fist into the palm of her hand. “Drop the gun, booga-bitch, ‘n' let me see
you
hand-to-hand, like real bitches do it, goddammit! Let me see the bitch you used to be!” She goes into a boxer's stance, starts bobbing and weaving. “Don't play no goddamn games with me, Miss Pasha, girl. You ain't no pussy-bitch, like the rest of them coon-bitches in the streets! Fight me, goddammit! Do me riiiight, bitch!”

“Oh, you really wanna fist-fight?” I spit furiously. “Then you got it.”

Booty charges me, again. She's strong as a damn man, swinging
her arms wide and connecting with heavy punches. She's on me and we tussle over the gun. I don't want to shoot this bitch because I don't want to leave the State stuck with taking care of her bad-ass, ghetto-ass brats. But I will. One of us is going to have go down. And I'm damn sure not trying to let it be me. Not after everything I've fucking been through.

The gun points sideways, up, down, sideways, again, then goes off, a slug going into the left wall, followed by another bullet hitting the right wall on the other side of the room.

“Get the fuck off me, bitch!”

“Do me…right, god…dam… mit!” She's trying to manhandle the gun out of my hand, but I keep my grip wrapped tight. “Put the…gun…uhh…down…‘n'…uhh…fiiiiiight…
meeee!”

“Bitch, you getting dropped today. Them bad-ass kids of yours…is about…to be…orphans…”

That sends Booty over the edge. She starts punching me with one hand while still trying to get the gun out of my hand with the other. Scrapping with this bitch has my lungs on fire. We're both sweating. Pain is knotting the muscles in my thighs, my calves slowly burning from wrestling her in heels. But I refuse to go down. And so does she.

Another round fires out, hitting the wall again. I'm not sure how long we're in here scuffling before the last bullet finally dislodges. But when it does, I let go of the handle and the gun goes flying across the room. Now it's me, and Booty…and our hands.

“Yessss,
goddammmit!”
Booty shrieks, her fist connecting to my face. “You mine now, boog—!”

I throw a right punch that snaps her jaw shut, causing her to bite down on her tongue. I hit her again. Blood gushes from her nose.

“Do me, goddammit!!!! Wet my drawz, bitch! Yesssssss,
goddammit!
This
is the ole, dirty street bitch I know, goddammit! The bitch who ain't take no shit from no-goddamn-body!” She punches the shit out of me. “Welcome back, booga-bitch!”

Now it's on like never before. Blow for blow, she and I go at it like two wild bitches with something to prove to the other. Heels snap off shoes, buttons pop off, shirts rip open. Hair gets yanked. Nails break. Titties spill out of bras. Lips get split. And for the first time—in like, years—I fight with
everything
that's in me. I fight Booty in a way that I've never fought any other bitch when I
used
to fight in the streets. I fight her in a way I didn't fight Felecia—in a way I've
never
fought Felecia—before I blew her fucking brains out.

No. I fight Booty the way she wants it, the way she loves it. Because the bitch crossed the line when she put her hands on me, because the bitch asked,
begged
, for it. And, crazy as it sounds… because I respect the street bitch that she is. And I'm
not
letting her whip my ass—not today. And definitely
not
up in my office.

I pull from all of my life experiences, tap into everything I've learned over the last year in my Muay Thai kickboxing training, and give Cassandra the fight of her life. I give it to her the way a street bitch is supposed to get it—
good and goddamn dirty!

The walls will close in and have a nigga scrambling long before the floor drops…

“W
hat the fuck, yo?!” Jasper screams into my ear the minute I answer my phone. “You still wanna play this muthafuckin' game, huh? You know I ain't have shit to do wit' our fuckin' crib gettin' burned the fuck down, yo. So why the fuck is you tryna have that shit pinned on me, huh? You been on some real crazy bitch-type shit. Real shit, yo. Why the fuck you give them muhfuckas my numbers ‘n' shit, huh?! What the fuck is wrong wit' you, man? Is you muthafuckin' outta ya fuckin' head? Got them crab-ass muhfuckas askin' me 'bout some dead fuckin' bodies. I ain't touch them muhfuckas.
You
got them niggas bodied wit' ya fuckin' bullshit, yo. All you had'a do is run me my muhfuckin' paper ‘n' we wouldn't be goin' through none'a this bullshit. But, no. Ya dumb-ass wanna let some hoodrat bitch get all up in ya ear ‘n' got you tryna be on some gangsta-type shit.”

I glance at the time, sighing. It's a few minutes past eleven, Sunday morning.
Enough is enough with this nigga. It's time to get this mother
fucker off the streets.

I remove the icepack from the side of my swollen face, lifting myself up from the damask lounge chair. I wince, holding my right side. I have huge bruises on my side, neck, and back. My left eye is swollen. That bitch lumped me up real good, but she got hers, too.

The two of us fought as if we had something to prove, as if we had been longtime archenemies, rolling around on the floor, punching and slapping and choking one another, clawing at hands, arms, necks, titties, tossing each other into walls, doing whatever we had to do to take the other out.

Hairdos tore up, heels broken off, blouses ripped open and stained, we fought until we were too exhausted, too sore, and too damn beat up to keep going. Finally, when the last punch was thrown, the last face was slapped, the last dirty insult hurled, we were both collapsed on our backs, sweating, stretched out, breathing all hard and crazy, our hearts pounding in our chests.

We had to literally drag ourselves over to a chair and pull ourselves up from the floor. Then the crazy bitch turned to me on her way out of my office—with her handbag tucked under her arm—and said, “Nigga-boo, make sure you got yo' ole messy, cum-suckin' ass here on Monday 'cause I'ma be here bright ‘n' early to get my goddamn hair did. And you better do me right, goddammit! Or I'ma fight yo' ass again.”

“Fuck you!” I snapped, still trying to catch my breath. “You ghetto bitch! You better let…that hot trash…Dick…alina do your… knotty shit because I'll burn out…all your fucking…scalp…before I do…shit!”

“Booga-bitch,
boom!”

“Bitch, come get your lashes from off my motherfucking floor!”

“Eat my ass!”

I reached for the broken heel of my eighteen hundred-dollar shoe and threw it at the door as she hobbled on her one heel out the door. All I could do when I finally got back here to my suite yesterday was slip out of my clothes, then ease myself down into the Jacuzzi tub and allow the heat, steam, and Himalayan Pink bath crystals to soothe me… and take me away.

“Pasha! What the fuck is you doin', yo?!” Jasper barks, snapping me out of my reverie. “You hear me muthafuckin' talkin' to you…?”

I blink away the memory of my fight with Booty, groaning as I slowly attempt to stand. Jasper's incessant tirade goes on for another two minutes before he finally realizes I haven't said one word during his whole rant.

I limp over to my vibrating phone on the nightstand. It's a text message from Lamar.
TURN ON CHANNEL 2
!
SHIT JUST GOT REAL
!

I reach for the remote, sitting on the edge of the bed and turn on the television. My eyes widen at the news caption. There's an inset photo of Legend behind anchorwoman Anna Rose Lopez has she begins reporting today's breaking news.

“Newark police were called two o'clock this morning to one of the most shocking and gruesome crime scenes in the city's history, leaving investigators shaking their heads in disbelief. A local Newark man was found in his University Heights townhome sometime last night by a longtime friend and housemate; naked, gagged, tied to a bed, and brutally tortured. The victim had been sodomized, his genitals severely beaten, and his scrotum cut open and his testicles removed. His fingers were cut off at the first knuckle and found strewn about the room…”

I close my eyes, then slowly open them. “Jasper, do you still love me?”

The question clearly catches him off guard. “Say what?”

“Do. You. Still. Love. Me?”

Silence.

“Hello?”

“What?”

“Answer the question.”

He huffs. “Yo, why is you askin' me that shit for?”

“It's either a yes or no.”

“That shit doesn't matter, yo…” His voice cracks. “Did that shit matter when you was out there suckin' them muhfuckas' dicks, huh? Did you give a fuck then if I loved ya muthafuckin' ass or not?”

“Yes, it mattered.”

He snorts. “Yeah,
right
. But not enough to keep ya muhfuckin' ass off ya fuckin' knees.”

“Fuck you, Jasper, okay. Did it matter to you when
you
were out fucking them bitches on
me
, Jasper, huh?”

He sucks his teeth. “Whatever, yo. That shit's different.”

“Different? Are you serious? How? Please explain that shit to me.”

“I wasn't eatin' none'a them bitches' pussies. I wasn't out lettin' bitches bust in my mouth, yo. You was out there lettin' a muhfucka coat ya muthafuckin' tongue ‘n' neck wit' his nut ‘n' shit. You've fucked me over, Pasha. That shit doesn't sit well wit' me, yo.”

I shake my head, bringing my attention back to the television. The reporter's grave expression and laden voice as she delivers the horrifying news sends a chill through me.

“… A sharp instrument gouged out the victim's eyeballs and his tongue was cut out. In addition, both the man's ears were sliced off. Investigators report there was an extremely graphic sexual comment burned into his upper torso, along with the saying: ‘hear no evil, see no evil'… There are no suspects at this time. Authorities are asking anyone with any information regarding this heinous crime to please call Crime Stoppers at …”

“Mmmmph. That's too bad. You might want to turn on the news.”

“What?”

“Turn on the news.”

“What for?”

“To see your fate.” I press
END
. If he
thought
I was playing when I
said he and every last one of them niggas he had attack me were going to drop, he'd better think again. I
meant
what I said.

• • •

“Do you think you'll be able to get at him?” I ask, sitting across from Lamar and Mel. Mel is quiet, observing. Watching Lamar, watching me. I shift in my seat.
Mmmph! He's so fucking fine!

They both are.

Am I wrong for wanting to suck them both, right here, right now?

My mouth starts juicing. I swallow back the neck-juice pooling in the back of my throat.

“Yo, that nigga's toast,” Lamar says, leaning back in his seat. He drapes an arm over the back of the sofa. “We got that nigga's every move on lock. Been waiting for you to give the word, Pasha. Real spit, I've been clocking that nigga for a minute. I just didn't say anything.”

I nod understandingly. “Are you sure he won't get away? You know ever since his spots got hit, he's been armored up real heavy. And now with the shit that just happened Friday night all over the news, I'm sure his goon count is going to be up. We're only going to have one shot at getting him. I need him shut down before he tries to do anything else.”

Like have my grandmother killed.

“That nigga ain't ready for us.” Lamar's brown eyes are intense, filled with fire, as he looks at me. “Trust me. That cat doesn't have enough manpower to stop us from gettin' at him. I'm not about to let nothing happen to you.”

“Nah,
we're
not,” Mel states authoritatively, his gaze locked on mine, “going to let
any
thing happen to you. Lamar and I got this.”

I nod pensively. I know, I believe, they will do whatever they can to keep me safe. They've already proven so. Still, even with a plain-clothes guard down in the lobby, two standing guard at my suite's door, I'm not out of harm's way, I will never be out of danger, until Jasper is handled.

Yet, I have no idea what I'm going to exctly do to him when they snatch him up. But what I do know is, he's going to pay. And this shit with him, one way or the other, will finally be over. Still, my emotions are torn. My heart is hurting. I'm mentally exhausted. I am overwhelmed.

I literally feel as if, in a matter of weeks, my whole world has been swept up in a tsunami; a tidal wave of lies and deceit and betrayal and multiple murders; a downpour of conniving, treacherous schemes, which I have manipulated, orchestrated, or carried out.

Torturing that nigga Legend had given me some reprieve. But it frightened me. I got off on it. I wanted to…I don't know. Fuck. I felt…dirty, but morbidly turned on. No, no. Extremely turned on. My pussy was soaked.

Dripping.

And then I had the sick, twisted nerve to ask Lamar to eat my pussy when we finally pulled up into the hotel's parking lot. And he did! Tongued my cum-flooded hole with greedy need, with an unbridled fervor that almost had me wanting him to push his rock-hard dick inside of me. Almost.