Ruthless (33 page)

“Mmmm, this pussy's so wet for me,” he murmurs, his eyes becoming slits of boiling lust. His voice comes out a husky whisper as he says, “Oh, fuck…mmmm…” His big hands grasp my hips as he slams himself up into me. “Take it all, baby. Don't hold back. Fuck me back, Pash…show me what you got for me, baby…”

The harder Staxs fucks me, the wetter I grow around him, allowing him to go even deeper.

“Yeah, that's it. Fuuuuck! You got my head up all fucked up, baby…” His hands move all over my back. “Shiiiiit…mmmmmph…you feel so good on my dick…”

An image of Stax kneeling in front of me, his hands holding my thighs apart and him loving my pussy with his mouth, pops into my mind, causing me to moan out in pleasure. The sheer memory of how he stroked my clit and sucked at me as if I were a ripened sweet fruit floods my senses.

I throw my head back. I am moaning louder. I am getting lost in the swirling heat. Getting lost in the memory of the night I seduced him in my office, manipulated my way between his legs. The taste of his cock in my mouth, the sweet, salty tang of his nut as he emptied his balls down into my neck. The firm-soft wet of his tongue pushing its way into the slit of my pussy, fucking in and out of my wetness, flicking and toying with my clit, sucking
on my swollen cunt lips. The sizzling sensation of the memory and the way his dick is feeling inside of me at this very moment has me reeling.

I arch into the blaze.

Stax's dick hits all the right spots, the way his tongue had licked all the right ones. Each stroke steals another piece of something inside of me, robbing me of my senses, raiding my pussy with strong, powerful thrusts.

I am mewling. Then catlike sounds seep out from the back of my throat as Stax's mouth finds my left breast, sucking in the rigid sweetness of my dark nipple. Then, without warning, he bites into it, causing bolts of pleasure to shoot through every nerve in my body. The sudden ache pushing out a steady flow of juices. His dick slipping in and out of wet heat, pumping in and out in a steady rhythm.

I am coming.

No, no, no, no!

Oh, God, yesssss…

His tongue is now licking; his mouth now sucking, the spot he's just bitten, his wet tongue exploring the distended tip of my thick nipple.

I bite down on my bottom lip, groaning. Bucking my hips. Fucking him back. I fight from growling, from gnashing my teeth and biting into his flesh, like a wild beast in heat.

He backs me up into a wall. I find his mouth again, and this time it's my tongue that pushes its way inside. Stax allows it, welcomes it, showing his voracious need in the eager way his tongue greets mine. He loops a hand in my hair, pulls me deeper into our kiss. And fucks me mercilessly against the wall.

He moans my name over and over again. We both know; we feel it…the electricity zapping through my walls, the current rising. I know.
He knows. He should pull out…
now
. Before it's too late. But he doesn't. He wants more from me. Wants all that I am offering him. And I give it as fast as he takes it.

My pussy becomes a fist, a wet glove of muscles clenching him tightly. Stax bucks and thrusts into me, and I go wild with fiery hunger, throwing my head from side to side, screaming his name. I am coming.

He is coming, nearly howling as a burst of wet fire shoots out of his dick and empties deep inside of me, engulfing us both into the flames.

Hatred can be as blinding as love; not seeing the thin line can be deadlier…

“Ohhhhhhmygod!
Nooo!”

“Sssh, sssh. Somebody turn that up…!”

“Ohmygod! Who would do something like that…?”

These are the responses of patrons and stylists in the salon, first thing Monday morning, as the air around the room freezes solid while everyone looks on in horror and shock at the three flat-screen TVs airing the morning news.

“This is Channel 4 News reporting live from Maplewood, New Jersey. Authorities were called to this home on Prospect Street at approximately five thirty-seven in the morning on what is one of the most grueling, horrific crime scenes. A decapitated woman's head with its tongue cut out was found placed upon a stake in the middle of this lawn.
Cheating Whore
was carved into its forehead…”

My eyes widen. And, of course, I gasp and my hand flies to my mouth as I stand in the middle of the floor and feign shock.

“Reporting live from Channel 2 News…a quiet Maplewood community is shaken to its core and in shock at a decapitated woman's head found placed upon a stake in the middle of this family's front lawn early this morning. The young woman, who had been reported missing a little over two weeks ago, was identified by one of the grandsons of the woman who lives at the residence where the decapitated head was found. Investigators at the scene…”

I choke back an Oscar-worthy sob, clutching my chest as I collapse into Lamar's arms.

My cell and office line rings nonstop with an outpouring of condolences, and shock over the news of Felecia's head up on a stake. Calls from my cousins Paris, Porsha and Persia, followed by their aunts Fanny, Lucky and Penny, then their mother, Priscilla; followed by Bianca and Garrett.

Now I'm on the phone with Mona, who's asking what everyone else has asked, “Where's the rest of her body?”

“In an urn,” I want to say. But I don't. My lips are sealed. Lamar and Mel are the only two who know that the rest of her body was cremated. That her ashes are kept locked in a safety deposit bank, waiting to be served up at the right moment.

“How you holding up, Pasha?” Mona asks, sounding genuinely concerned. I tell her I'm doing the best I can. “What happened to her is horrible. It's on every news channel nonstop. I don't understand who in their right mind would do something like that. I only hope she wasn't alive when whoever did that to her. MyGod! How barbaric, cutting off her head and carving
Cheating Whore
into her forehead like that? And then”—she blows out a breath—“to put her head up on my grandmother's lawn like that. Who the…” Her voice trails off as if a light bulb has gone off in her head. “Pasha?” Her voice is above a whisper. “Did you…? Oh, God, no. Please tell me…”

“Ohmygod, no,” I lie, glancing up at the television in my office. I glance up at the television. Another newscaster is reporting on the bitch's head being found. How her front teeth were knocked out and all the rest of her teeth either yanked or twisted out of her mouth. Felecia's decapitated head is the hot topic for every newsroom today, so much so, that no real extensive coverage is
being given on the two suspected drug dens burned down to the ground last night—well, early this morning, and how all the niggas in each spot were found outside naked with their hands and feet tied together and drugs and stolen guns in their laps.

There were only two bodies. And that's because they popped off their weapons first, trying to protect their beloved drug king's work. They fought for the cause, and are now dead for the cause.

“I hate the bitch for what she did to me,” I say, reaching for the TV remote and shutting it off. I've had enough. “But I'm no monster, Mona. I can't believe you'd even think I'd…”

She quickly apologizes. “I know, girl. Even I know you're not capable of being
that
vicious. There's no way you could ever do some gory shit like that. It's just that, well…whoever did this knew her. And it was very personal for them, like they wanted to send a message.”

“Well, sounds like I'm not the only one she crossed.”

“Stax is really messed up behind it.”

“Yeah, I bet,” I say, rolling my eyes up in my head. Stax is the one who first saw the head in his grandmother's yard when he pulled up into her driveway five o'clock this morning after fucking me all through the night.

“And now no one seems to be able to get in touch with Jasper. Stax and Sparks have been calling him all morning.”

I smirk.
And they won't be getting in touch with his ass until I'm done with him.
Lamar's
peoples
were able to snatch his ass up last night an hour before his drug spots went up in flames. I guess he called himself slipping out for some sidepiece pussy in the middle of the night without any of his goons and got got before he could get his dick wet.

“Mmmph. I haven't talked to him; not since the day he shot up
my security staff and kicked in the doors to my house. And I bet you anything that nigga was behind having my home burned down.” I throw that lie in for good measure. She knows how ruthless the nigga is, so it isn't inconceivable for him to have done it.

I eye Lamar as he walks into my office carrying a box of supplies. I reach into my desk drawer and hand him the key to the closet. He stacks the supplies in the closet for me, then shuts the door and relocks it.

“No one still has heard from Jasper. Sparks said he was trying to reach him late last night and he still hasn't gotten back to him.”

“Mmmph. Not my concern,” I say dismissively. “Whatever happens to him, he brought on himself.”

“This is such a fucking nightmare, Pasha. Mygod! When will this shit end?”

“I guess it'll be over when the last hand is dealt.” Lamar hands me the key. I gesture for him to have a seat. “You know Karma plays no games. When it's time to go around, it hits hard. And it's always when you least expect it.”

“I know,” she states bleakly. “And, sadly, they all deserve to get what they get. I just wish that whoever did that shit to her wouldn't have put her up on my grandmother's lawn like that. I mean, how the fuck disrespectful was that?”

“Well, like you said, whoever did it was obviously trying to send a message to someone. Sounds like it was meant for Jasper's ass if you ask me.”

“I guess. But it still doesn't make any sense.”

“Nothing that bitch did made sense. I found out she was the one who hired niggas to smash out my windshield and the salon's front window.”

“Whaaaaat?!”
she shrieks. “You have
got
. To. Be. Kidding me.”

“Mmmph. I wish.” I fill her in on everything else that bitch did, leaving out—of course, all the details of where and how I got the information.

“Oh, Pasha, that bitch was real dirty.”

“Exactly.
And that's why her damn head was found up on a damn stick for all to see just how fucking messy her ass was.” We talk several minutes more, then end the call.

Greta calls a few seconds later to express her condolences and shock as well. I fill her in, then let her know I'll be flying out over the weekend. She wants to know if I'd rather her fly back with Jaylen instead, particularly if Felecia's service is this weekend. I tell her absolutely not. I don't tell her how I'll begrudgingly pay my respects for appearance's sake, but my son isn't coming anywhere near Jersey or Felecia's fucking casket. Besides, as far as I'm concerned, as long as Jasper is still breathing, my son is still in harm's way. And I won't risk it—for anyone.

“Okay, well keep me posted,” Greta says. “If you need me to do anything, let me know. You know I'm here for you.”

“I know.” A few more words are said, then I ask her to put Jaylen on. The minute he hears my voice, he starts getting excited, talking a mile a minute. I close my eyes, pinching back tears. I miss my son so much. I tell him how much I love and miss him at least six times before finally ending the call while doing everything in my power to keep from breaking down. Hanging up, ending our FaceTime moments, and leaving him in L.A. are always hard. And the longer he's away from me, the more difficult it's becoming.

Each call after that becomes increasingly more difficult to keep up the façade of being the grieving cousin/sister when I really don't give a fuck about the bitch being dead. When I'm the one
responsible for the bitch's head being found up on that spike in the first place.

I did that shit. Hacked off her head and took a carpet knife and carved into her forehead. That bitch is lucky after what I heard from that nigga Vernon that I didn't douse her fucking head with gasoline, then toss a match up on her scandalous ass.

Still, out of the calls this morning, all the pretending I'm doing, the hardest conversation I've had to have is with Nana. Over and over she kept saying how I got my wish. “You wished my gran'baby dead. God have mercy on your soul.”

“No, Nana,” I countered before I got the dial tone in my ear. “May God have mercy on
hers.”

I grab my neck. Tension courses all through my body, wrapping itself tightly around my neck, like a noose. Nana's hurting, rightfully so. She has to bury a bitch she raised and loved as if she were her own child. And all she has to put Felecia to rest is…her head.

“So what now?” Lamar wants to know, leaning forward in his seat. I get up and walk around my desk, closing the door shut, then walking back over and leaning up against my desk, folding my arms.

I take a deep breath. “Is my package all secured?” I ask, referring to Jasper. He tells me it is. “And what about the cum dump from the night before?”

He laughs. “Oh, them niggas still poppin' off in that nigga's mouth.”

“Good. And the pictures?”

“No doubt. Got his face and mouth flooded wit' nut.”

“That'll teach his ass. I want his asshole filled with the Gorilla glue, then when it dries, toss him the dumpster with the rest of the trash.”

“Daaaaaayumn.” He smirks, rubbing his chin and nodding his head.

A brow arches. “What?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, nah. I'm sayin'…you're more ruthless than I thought.”

I shrug. “It's definitely not what I aspired to be.”

“But it's in you, Pasha. My peoples really wants to holla at you 'bout that proposition I came at you wit. You give it any more thought?”