Ruthless (35 page)

That whore was a dirty bitch.

I was loyal to her and she backstabbed me. But I'm at peace with
it now. The snake is gone. Its head cut off. Still, I'm annoyed for having to close the shop on a moneymaking Saturday just so salon staff can come pay their respects, if they want to. Even in death, this bitch is costing me time and money.

Andre leans in and kisses me on the cheek. I glance up at him. His handsome cocoa-brown face is etched in pain. His eyes are swollen and red. I reach for his hand and squeeze. “She's really gone, Pasha. Felecia. She's r-r-really gone.” His lips quiver. I can see him straining to keep it all together. I stand and give him a hug. It's the least I can do.

He clings to me a little longer than I think necessary and I pull back. “You know she really loved you, Pasha,” he says, his eyes brimming with tears. “She never stopped loving you.”

I give him a blank stare. Then decide to give him another hug. “Andre,” I say in his ear real low, “you're a good, hard-working man. Felecia didn't deserve you. I understand you're grieving. But that bitch didn't give a damn about anyone except herself. So you hold on to whatever lies you need to to help you get through your loss.”

I sit back in my seat, then glance around the massive church, before casting my eyes over at the sixteen-by-twenty-four photo of Felecia propped up on a gold easel. Nana is sitting in the first pew with her nieces Fanny, Lucky, Penny, and Priscilla. And, of course, Andre, who is beside himself with grief is sitting up there with them.

Of course the hushed whispers and questioning glances from relatives as to why I'm not sitting up front beside Nana swirl around the church. But I don't give a damn. I'm not serving up sympathy for Nana toward a bitch that stabbed me in the back, and fucked my damn man. So sitting directly behind her is good enough.

I sigh.

“Oh, there, she is,” I hear someone say. I smell Mona's favorite perfume, Signorina, before she even leans in and her lips brush my cheek. She wraps an arm around me, pulling me into her. “Hey, girl. How you holding up?” I tell her I'm fine. She rubs my back. I thank her for coming.

Stax is right behind her. I glance at him, giving him a weak smile, thanking him for being here. He looks stressed. When Mona steps back, he leans in and kisses me softly on the cheek. Then whispers into my ear, “Have you talked to Jasper?”

Truth is, even though Jasper was snatched up early Monday morning, I haven't seen him since court. Right at this very moment, he's down in a basement blindfolded and tied to a chair, his hands bound behind his back…the same way he had me. The only difference is no one is forcing his dick into his mouth. But they are going upside his head. And he knows who's behind it. Me.

I've made it no secret. Unlike him, I want him to know that I'm coming for him. That I'm going to serve his ass. And I want him on edge—waiting.

I shake my head. “No. Why?”

“No one's seen or heard from him in five days.”

I shrug, turning to him, my face void of expression. “Not my problem.”

He eyes me, furrowing his brow. “I'ma holla at you later, aiight? We need to talk.”

I nod. He acknowledges Paris, Porsha, and Persia who are sitting in the same pew with me. Stax squeezes my shoulder, and I'm instantly flooded with unwanted heat. I shift in my seat, eyeing him as he follows Mona over to the other side of the church, taking a seat.

I take a deep breath.

Mygod, all he did was touch my shoulder and my pussy is churning. This is so not good.

Lamar leans up in my ear, his hand on my shoulder. “You cool?”

I nod, closing my eyes. I reach for his hand, squeezing it. He's not even supposed to be here. He's supposed to still be in the hospital recuperating, but he insisted on being here with me. I thought he was dead the day of the shooting. But when the doctor came out of surgery and assured me that he was alive and had only suffered a bullet in the back of his right thigh and shoulder, I broke down in tears. Real tears. Mel had to console me. Lamar's taken three bullets on account of me.

Although the first one grazed his shoulder, he still chooses to put his life on the line for me. And all I keep hearing him saying is, “It comes with the territory. I'd take a bullet or two, for you any day…”

Still in all, the shooting on Monday turned out to be a bigger blessing than I'd imagined. And after almost two hours down at the precinct giving my statement, disclosing the number of events leading up to my obtaining an order of protection and the murders on my property while sobbing like a nutcase, I walked up out of there with Jasper Tyler being a “person of great interest.”

I glance over at Mel who smiles at me, then gives me a sly, conspiratorial wink. Thanks to him, Jasper's fresh fingerprints are now the only prints on one of the guns that were used to shoot up my salon Monday. With his gloved hand, Mel placed the weapon into Jasper's limp hand, closing it around the weapon while he was drugged up.

Having my salon shot up was part of a plan to set up Jasper.
Not
killing anyone; particularly a damn cop. How was I supposed to
know they were coming to the salon that day? But they did. And they stayed longer than they should have, even after I tried rushing them along. So an asshole detective's head got blown off instead. In the end, his untimely murder is going to help me in ensuring Jasper's demise. And his fingerprints are all over the gun that pulled the trigger.

At least the detective's death isn't going to be in vain.

Yes, I'm framing his ass for murder, as a backup plan. I'm covering all of my bases. If Jasper somehow gets out of this without a bullet in his head, he'll crawl out, instead, with a warrant for his arrest. They'll put his ass under the prison. Lucky for him, Jersey no longer has the death penalty. Mmmph. What a sinful shame.

I glance back at Mel again. I can't help but smile. He's another one loyal to the bone. Willing to do whatever he has to in order to keep me safe
and
satisfied. It's amazing what a good dick suck and fifty grand—of Jasper's money—for a job well done can get you. I still wonder if he and Lamar have discussed with the other how I've handled their dicks down in my throat. Not that it matters. Neither of them are my man.

Pasha gasps, squeezing my knee. “Oh, God, no.”

“What?” I say, looking over at her, then in the direction of her gaze.

I cringe.
This bitch!

It's Booty laid out from head to toe. Her body is wrapped in a form-fitting, black designer dress with the back cut out, black sheer stockings cover her legs, and six-inch, black Louboutins are on her feet. She has on a pair of black shades and a wide, black, floppy hat is on her head. In the crook of her arm hangs a black Hermès in calfskin leather.

“Who in the world comes to a funeral dressed like that with their
back cut out practically down to their tailbone?” Paris whispers, leaning into me.

I have to give it to her, the bitch is slaying the wears. Still, she's way overdressed and over-the-top with it, but it's so her. She's wearing, from my modest guesstimation, well over ten thousand dollars' worth of high-end fashion, and her backward ass would rather trick her money up in malls and boutiques instead of owning her own home.

I bite the inside of my bottom lip, hard, practically breaking skin to keep from laughing at the absurdity. I can hear her saying something like, “Don't do me, sugah-boo. I came here to steal the show, goddammit!”

I shake my head.

Standing beside her wearing a cute, little, black one-piece is a pretty, dark-chocolate teenaged girl. She favors Booty, but has a flat-ass and big, bouncy titties.

“See, Day'Asia,” Booty says with no regard for filtering what comes out of her mouth, “this the dirty ho I was tellin' you 'bout. Ole Miss Messy FeFe. The one I wanted you, Clitina and Candy to jump up on for me. But looks like somebody else done got to the ole Bobblehead, first. Mmmph.”

For the love of God!

The air around me is practically sucked out of the room as all eyes within earshot of what she said snap over in her direction.

My cell vibrates. It's Mona texting me. W
HAT IS THAT CRAZY BITCH DOING HERE
?

I shift in my seat, letting out a sigh of relief when Cassandra Simms makes a beeline around the other side of the pews where Stax and Mona are. I look over at her and shrug, catching Stax staring at me. I hold his intense gaze for a few minutes, then quicky
break away when my phone vibrates, again. It's Lamar.
U WANT THAT FREEZER SITUATION HANDLED
?

I nod my answer as the pastor finally enters the pulpit and begins his eulogy. I drift in and out of most of the long, drawn-out encomium on the life of a shady bitch gone too soon. Whatever. Felecia is right where she should be. In a box. Out of her misery. And the only thing on my mind now is finally handling Jasper, so that I can close this chapter of my life and move on.

I still have no idea who the
Calm One
is since no one seems willing or able to tell me. And I still don't know for certain if Desmond was also down with Jasper and the rest of those niggas or not. And at this point, I don't care. That nigga Legend's newstory got the message out loud and clear. And if it hasn't, after I'm done with Jasper, it'll be clearer.

I look over at Paris. She smiles at me, grabbing my hand. I squeeze it. Then glance over my shoulder at Bianca and Garrett. Then Mona. She catches my eye and gives me a wry smile. She knows. It's in her eyes. I smile back. Stax's gaze is locked on me, again. I shift my eyes before he sees more than he should.

Before I allow him into that part of me more than he already is.

I lean my head on Paris' shoulder and close my eyes as the soloist takes the mic and belts out, “Father Can You Hear Me.”

Where there is smoke, there's always a blazing fire…

“O
oooh, you dirty, stink bitch,” I hear in back of me as my six-inch stilettos click against the concrete toward the waiting Range Rover. I toss my hair and continue stepping as if I don't hear her. “Oh no, Miss Pasha, girl. Don't do me. Don't have me jump on ya goddamn back out here on church grounds. And you know I'll do it. I know ya messy ass hear me. Don't take me there, Miss Pasha, girl. You know I don't do messy.”

I take a deep breath, stopping dead in my tracks and turning to face her. If I weren't pressed for time and still annoyed with her ass, I'd laugh. I shift my Balenciaga handbag from one hand to the other, letting its straps hang in the crook of my arm.

“How can I help you, Cassandra?” Yes, I'm serving her attitude. I'm still not over her for putting her damn hands on me. “I don't have time for your messy ass today.”

“Now, you wait one hot goddamn minute, Miss Pasha, girl. Don't do me.” She glances over at her daughter and tells her to go sit in her truck, handing her the keys.

Her daughter rolls her eyes, sucking her teeth. “I'm ready to go, now. This place gives me the creeps.”

Booty gives her a dirty look. “Well, maybe if ya ass wasn't creepin' out in the streets bobbin' for dingaling all the time, you wouldn't
be all creeped out 'bout bein' at a church. Now I'm tryna keep it classy out here, Day'Asia. Don't muthafuckin' press me to get messy. And you know I don't do messy. Now go on ‘n' take ya ass to the truck. I'ma take you shoppin' when I'm done wit' my business wit' Miss Pasha.”

“I'm out here tryna keep it classy, comin' to you as the bigger woman but you already tryna take me to the other side. And all I'm tryna do is share my condolences.”

I toss my bang. “Then send me a card.” I turn on my heel for the SUV when what she says next stops me dead in my tracks.

“What ya ole cum-lovin' ass do after you sliced that nigga's balls out, huh? Lick 'em, then eat 'em?”

I glance around the to see who else might overhear this bitch recklessly flapping her jaws. “Excuse
you
?”

She pulls her shades down to the bridge of her nose, eyeing me. There's still a bruise around her right eye where I punched her. “I don't know how you did it, Miss Pasha, girl. But I know ya sneaky ass is the one who had a hand in doin' that nigga Legend in. And I
know
you the one who made Miss Messy FeFe a permanent Bobblehead. And ya sneaky ass doin' it all wit'out me when I'm the bitch who got shit poppin'. Mmmph. You'se a real dirty bitch. You knew I wanted me a lil' taste of the action. But, mmmph. Motherfuck you, nigga-boo. It'll be real messy if some lil' birdie chirps in the wrong ears, now wouldn't it?”

I cock my head to the side, stepping closer to her. “Bitch, know this. I don't know what you're talkin' about. But I don't take kindly to threats. So think what you want. But don't
you
ever forget that I
know
you're the one who bodied JT, and
your
son Darius and his boy, Beetle, are the ones who disposed of the body, then dumped his car.”

She blinks.

I glare at her, crossing my arms. “Yeah, sweetie. I did my homework, so don't
you
try to do me.” It was actually Mel who told me about JT's car being brought to a scrap yard in Newark; the one his
peoples
owns. Apparently, the nigga Beetle is the one who drove it there. My guess, while Booty's son dumped JT's body somewhere.

I glance over her shoulder and spot Stax and Mona walking out of the church.

I decide to stir the hornet's nest. I step in a little closer. “And I
know
where
Darius
dumped the body
and
the gun used to finish him off, so let your little birdies chirp if you want.” It's a bluff. Well, about knowing where the body and weapon is. Still, she doesn't know that. And judging by the way she's standing here looking at me, she believes the lie. Dropping the bait is one thing. Now waiting for the sharks to bite is another. Eventually, Darius will lead me to where that body is. When he does, I'll be there to reel him in.