Sex in the Hood Saga (47 page)

She's for real.
His intuition said.
Go
.

But where? He needed someplace where nobody would see them, and if prying eyes did catch a glimpse of their meeting, he'd have a legitimate explanation.

“Reba, meet me by the bar in The Garage. Fifteen minutes.”

As they stepped into the elevator and its doors closed, The Queen, CoCo, and Honey talked about plans for the dickfest that was scheduled for tonight in The Garage. Babylon would be hosting the VIP after-party for some of the country's hottest female rappers, who were giving a sold out concert downtown.

“Make sure the bar is stocked,” The Queen said as CoCo used her pink rhinestone pen to check-off tasks on her clipboard. “We need some extra Studs to walk around with bowls of condoms, hot wash cloths, and bags for the wrappers.”

As her mind reviewed all the tasks they had to complete that day, The Queen stared at the way Honey's tits curved up and out of the top of her dress.

A hot, swollen sensation delighted her between her legs. But Celeste was feeling something else too. Something about Knight. It was hazy and vague, like he was deliberately blocking their supernatural mind connection right now, which he seemed to be doing a lot lately so she wouldn't know what he was thinking or doing.

The stomach flipping sensations of the descending elevator intensified this out-of-whack vibe that she didn't like. She had to figure out what the hell was causing this, so she could squash that shit. With all the work they had to do, the last thing she needed was this distraction.

But deep down, it wasn't that she thought he was fucking around or anything like that. It was more like he was scheming, or plotting something that would affect her. Like he was making decisions about her life and Babylon without consulting with her first. If they truly were a team, working as partners to make Babylon all that it could be, then she needed to contribute to any and every decision and plan.

“Queen,” CoCo said, “come back to Babylon. You lost in outerspace.”

The Queen shook her head to focus her thoughts back on that night's party. “The last time Emcee Sexarella and her crew were up in here,” she said, “they wore the Studs out. These girls some crazy nymphomaniac bitches. So I want extra Barriors and B'Amazons on hand to keep they shit in check.”

CoCo nodded. “I have here that she ordered fifty Sluts as well.”

The Queen smiled. “Yeah, the freaky bitch.”

As the elevator hummed past the VIP balcony, The Queen noticed how the recessed lighting cast a soft glow around her and her inner circle. “Hey, y'all, look.” The Queen smiled and motioned for them to turn and face the mirror next to the row of elevator buttons. “Check us out. Fine, fabulous an' runnin' the shit!”

The Queen loved the sense of camaraderie she felt with CoCo and Honey. Sometimes the three of them would sit in flannel pajamas up in The Penthouse, pop some corn, and watch corny romantic comedies on the huge, flat-screen TV in her and Knight's home theatre. Other times, they'd hit the upscale Somerset Collection to shop, go to the Nordstrom Spa, and have lunch at P.F. Chang's. And they always worked out together in the Babylon gym for sexercise, exotic dance lessons, cardio, and strength training.

“Friends for life,” CoCo said, holding both their hands.

The Queen smiled. “Oh, before I forget,” The Queen said, “we gotta meet wit' the seamstress after this. Up at The Penthouse.”

CoCo nodded. “I told her to bring your veil and our shoes and purses. This is the final fitting before the big day.”

Honey's face beamed, “Queen, you inspire me so much. You got the fairytale we all dream about.”

The Queen kissed their cheeks. “You're both livin' it too. So let's get this work done so we can play!”

Everything was running smoothly but she just couldn't' shake that strange feeling in her gut about Knight. Was he all right?

All she heard was the tapping of their heels on the floor as they walked quickly past rows and rows of Navigators, Hummers, and Escalades. On raised platforms, a red H2, a gold Lamborghini, and a baby blue Bentley sparkled like new.

In a matter of hours, every inch of this giant space would be “orgified” with hundreds of girl rappers, their groupies, and as many Studs fucking them up, down, and sideways. Sitting on top of cars, bending over the bar, twisting up on the plush cobalt blue couches situated in cozy seating areas, and on the stage.

“Where the hell are the cages?” The Queen demanded as she pointed to the huge, black stage that was framed by towering speakers. “Emcee Sexarella specifically ordered four cages, two on the stage and two on raised platforms with dancing Studs inside.”

CoCo checked her clipboard. “The cages are scheduled for installment within the hour.” She pointed to a bed that was the size of a boxing ring, sitting in the center of the stage. “The crew set up the bed first.”

“Ok, great. Make sure they stock the bar with all what the girl drinks. Supplies too.” The Queen scanned the glass shelves holding hundreds of bottles of booze and glasses. “Emcee Sexarella only drinks shit that's blue, but her crew loves them green apple cosmopolitans.”

“Mmmmm,” Honey said. “Me too. I personally made sure this morning that we've got extra cases of the mix. And the bartenders know how to mix 'em just right.” Her nipples hardened and poked through the front of her dress. “I'll never forget the party she had last year when she had those four Studs fuck her so long, one of them passed out.”

CoCo laughed, but The Queen stiffened.

A low rumble echoed through The Garage. The sound underscored The Queen's worries. Blinding sunshine poured in as the huge metal door rose.

Knight, baby, how come the telepathic shit don't work when I'm stressin'?
Celeste answered,
Relax. He's handling business.

“Babylon!” The deep chorus of many voices boomed into the huge, hollow space. Their cadence made it sound like a military chant as they exclaimed, “Babylon” with a proud upward swing at the end, like U.S. military leaders bark, “Attention!”

The Queen, CoCo, and Honey turned to watch part of the army file in with a gust of strength and sex power that was so strong, every tiny hair on The Queen's body stood on end.

“Damn, that's sexy as hell,” The Queen whispered as CoCo and Honey watched on.

Jogging toward them were four columns of twelve shirtless men in black-white-gray camouflage pants. Their black combat boots hit the floor in unison to create a powerful rhythm.

These were Barriors, whose work originally, was strictly security. But Babylon was growing so fast, she was recruiting many of them to work as Studs as well.

She checked out the sexy contours of the men's broad backs as they marched up the staircase in the far corner, making their way to the gym. That valley of muscle around a man's spine was so damn sexy, she just gawked at the marvels of the male anatomy. But no man was as sexy as Knight.

Thinking of Knight brought that bad feeling in her gut again.

“Babylon!” a female chorus chanted over and over as the B'Amazons now marched into the garage. Also sporting fatigues and boots except they wore tank tops and bras.

“Huuuuuut!” a deep female voice called.

This cornucopia of women was a beautiful sight. They radiated an aura of woman power so strong that The Queen wished she could bottle it and hand it out to every insecure girl on the planet. That was the power of Babylon, which was tattooed on the women's chiseled biceps. They followed the men up the stairs. Not far from them, a circular staircase led up to the VIP balcony.

“Honey,” The Queen said, “make sure they got buckets for jimmy wrappers up there. And ashtrays.”

She did a 180 to face the row of doors in the wall leading out from the bar. “CoCo, make sure they locked those doors. We don't need nobody fuckin' in the supply rooms and offices—”

An ear-splitting siren blared.

“Oh my God!” The Queen shouted. She cupped her palms over her ears as the noise echoed horribly off the floor and walls of The Garage.

“It's a test of the alarm system,” CoCo shouted.

The Queen read her lips because it was impossible to hear her.

“Gotta check it for The Games.”

The siren amped up that vibe that something wasn't right with Knight. How long would that noise last? She, CoCo, and Honey stood covering their ears, looking around.

The Queen wanted to phone Paul and tell him, “Yes, the alarm works in The Garage—now turn that shit off!” But he'd never hear her over the phone, so she looked around helplessly. She noticed that one of the office doors was opening.

And out stepped Knight with Reba.

The crimson velvet couches inside one of D-town's hottest nightclubs set the perfect tone for Duke to hold this first meeting with the leaders of his coup. Up here in the VIP lounge, with its sexy Moroccan decor, Duke took a minute to congratulate himself. Because downstairs in the many private rooms, lounges, and dance bar areas of the club, the first pussy party thrown by Oz was in full effect. And the folks who would rake in all that bank were sitting right here before the young wizard of their new Emerald City.

“How e'rybody feel tonight?” Duke asked, raising his crystal flute as butt-naked waitresses poured Cristal for him and his new crew. Timbo was staying hard at the idea that Duke was in another world, one very different from the crack houses where he'd puffed away his troubles over the last year.

The light of low hanging, fringed red lamps cast a sexy pink glow over the waitresses' asses and titties as they walked on clear spike heels to pour bubbly for everybody. Shar Miller with her Stud and Baby Blue, Leroy Lewis, Raynard “Dickman” Ingalls, Red, Marco, and Liam Moreno with that big black bodyguard, their white local operations managers, B-Boy and Birdie, the Stud Antoine, and Duke's lady, Reba Sheba.

She'd been one crazy bitch after that condom broke. But a gold-digging ho always got what she deserved. He was using her just like she was using him, and they'd both get their due in the end. Plus, her days were numbered anyway, because she'd get tossed out like yesterday's meat scraps once he got his Duchess back.

Since Doc Reynolds had gotten him all that medication and he'd been eating better, his skin was clearing up and he was putting on a little weight. At twenty-one, Duke was already middle-aged for a brotha from the hood. So if he lived another ten, or twenty, years on the HIV drugs, he'd be doing better than a lot of other muthafuckas he knew.

Plus, whoever he infected, whether Reba or even his Duchess, their status would keep them together in life and in death.

Duke suddenly stood taller and felt stronger than he had in a year. Even the constant ache of his healing bullet wounds subsided. He suddenly felt ridiculously powerful and invincible. It was his destiny to rule like a king. And if he had to knock off his brother and steal his lady back to do that, then so be it.

And so it
is
written, and so it is done.

“Here's a toast to the zillions we gon' make from D-town to 'round the world,” Duke said, raising his glass. “Bigger an' better an' bolder than Babylon.”

Glasses clinked as everybody toasted each other.

“Now, we gon' talk bidness for a hot minute to make sure we all on point for the night of The Games when the real shit go down. Then we gon' celebrate.”

Something in Moreno's eyes still didn't feel right. Yeah, this was honor among thieves. And yeah, Moreno had the overseas contacts and expertise to handle the bank accounts where they'd deposit the millions from The Games. But Duke had to find some leverage to wield over Moreno's sneaky ass.

The funky electric beat from the party downstairs was loud enough in there to get several folks bobbing their heads. And not just in the dancing way.

Three of the waitresses were already on their knees in front of the Moreno triplets. Their pretty asses aimed back at Duke as they sucked dick.

“I said we'd party after we talk bidness,” Duke said loudly.

“We heard you,” Red said, smiling, and squinting behind the smoke of a Cohiba cigar. “Talk on, my brother. I am very gifted with the ability to multitask.”

Duke stared back at him with a look that said,
I don't like that shit one bit.
But that night he'd let it slide.

Moreno kept a hard stare on Duke as the chick's head rose and fell in his lap. His feet were wide apart on the crimson carpet as her suntanned body rested between his legs.

“Now,” Duke said. “We gotta handle the logistics of the money drops. Antoine, tell us what you know.”

Wearing denim overalls with no shirt, Antoine stood and shared everything that Ben had heard in the tunnel when Knight explained how they'd deliver the loot by boat.

“Who gon' be at the vault wit' you?” Duke asked.

“He ain't tol' us yet,” Antoine said, “but Crew Q got a meetin' in a couple days. Then I'll know.”

“Cool,” Duke said. “Shar, you in charge of—”

She was following Moreno's bad example. Her Stud, who never seemed to wear a shirt, was kneeling on the floor in front of her, eating her pussy. Baby Blue was sitting next to her, licking all over her titties. “Transportation,” she said, opening her eyes. “Here's a list of the vehicles and boats, the drivers and their cell phone numbers, their locations and their projected pick-up times.”

Baby Blue turned forward without closing her mouth. She bent down and pulled a folder from the black leather briefcase beside the Stud's hip. Then Baby Blue stood. She strutted forward and handed the folder to Duke.

He rested his huge hand on her hip.

“Sorry, Massa Duke,” she said, casting a tender gaze down at him. “I don't like dick no more. Yo' girl turnt me out at yo' birthday party. I ain't fucked no dick on my own time since she made me cum like it was a lightnin' storm between my legs.”

“Quit clownin',” Duke said. “Girl, you used to beg me for a beat-down wit' Timbo. An' I saw you suckin' Red's dick in the limo.”

“That was work, baby; this pleasure.” She smiled then pivoted so that her booty was in his face. Smooth patches of skin peeked out from her round, tight ass under the blue, knitted fabric skirt she wore. She walked back to the couch. Real quick, she let the crocheted skirt fall to the floor. She pulled strings at the side of her thong, so it fell too. Her ass bare, she extended one long leg around Shar's head then put both knees over the back of the couch and over Shar's shoulders. And she ground her pussy into Shar's mouth.

“Dam,” Duke exclaimed. “She ain't lyin'!” Now Shar was hidden by bodies, except for her lower legs and feet over the Stud's shoulders and her hands cupping the bottom of Baby Blue's juicy ass.

But Timbo didn't respond because Duke had business to take care of. And these nymphomaniac muthafuckas were acting like they had all damn decade to make a plan for the heist.

No surprise that Leroy already had a bitch in his lap too.

“Leroy!” Duke shouted. “I need a report on all the preparations you makin' for backstage during The Games.”

Leroy's knees twitched. He opened his eyes and leaned his head forward from the spot where it had been resting on the back of the couch. “We all set to rig the lubricants. They gon' be burnin' like they got army ants up they pussies an' all ova they dicks. Won't be no victories for Babylon.”

Duke nodded. “What about the body oils for the Sexiest Slut and Sexiest Stud contests?”

“Same deal, boss. They skin gon' be bubblin' like pork rinds. Nothin' sexy 'bout that shit.”

The disgust that Duke felt inside over all these muthafuckas who couldn't hold they nut long enough to have a meeting only intensified when he checked out B-Boy and Birdie on the long, low coffee table. B-Boy's chubby ass looked like Buddha laying on his back with his big, pale belly bulging up from his open dress shirt that hung over the edges of the table. And that white skeleton on top of him with the bones for an ass.

They were on the table at an angle where Duke could see Birdie's back. Her skinny legs were all bone, with loose skin and knobby knees.

She reminded him of his first baby momma, Milan, starving herself from just-thick-enough down to skin and bones, to look like a fashion model.

Duke watched in disgusted fascination as B-Boy's chubby hands gripped her bony hips and raised her up and down. The bitch probably didn't have any strength of her own.

Damn, Duke remembered that day in the Cleopatra Suite when Duchess had climbed on and taken a ride into a place that left him paralyzed and speechless. Her legs had been like pistons, pumping up and down, slamming down on his dick with relentless force, speed, and stamina.

Timbo swelled. He couldn't wait to get Duchess back. His plan was to wait until the night of The Games. That would be the night he would take his brother out and be back on top.

Duke stood. He would go outside where it was quiet, get with his contacts inside Babylon, find out where she was, and go take what was his. Tonight.

And so it
is
written. And so it is done.