Unconditionally Single (2 page)

Honey

S
ometimes a woman had to kill herself to survive. My mother hated me. My father disowned me. Stepfather molested me. Johns used me. My ex-husbands abused me. I had scars on my heart. Blood on my thirty-year-old hands. Despite my hardships, I held my head high. I’d learned that bad things happened to good people. My life was bad. My heart was good.

I hadn’t overcome countless trials and tribulations to exhale my last breath without dignity. The one man who truly loved me for me, I’d pushed away. If I died, right here, right now, I’d regret not telling Grant, “Baby, I love you. Forgive me.” Determined to get my man back, stand at the altar, repeat after the minister, “I, Honey Thomas, take you, Grant Hill, to be my lawfully wedded husband…” and give birth to our children, I had to escape.

As I stared down the barrel of his .22-caliber pistol, my ex-man Benito pointed at the one place I was sure he would like to blast all of his bullets—my mouth. Eradicate his troubles, his jealousy, his insecurities, his love, his hate, his pain by shutting my—scintillating, candid, sharp, sarcastic, independent—ass up for good.

I stared into Benito’s eyes. Women living in fear died at the hands of heartless men who were never worthy of their love. Good pussy made men do strange things. Isolate women. Stalk women. Kill women. Benito didn’t want me; his ego didn’t want another man to have me.

“What are you waiting for?” I asked Benito, pointing my gun at him. “Shoot me or let me go.”

Too many women who were emotionally buried alive suffered in silence. Compromising their children, bartering their bodies, sacrificing their souls, surrendering their sanity in exchange for having a man, in many cases a man who didn’t love, appreciate, respect, or deserve them.

Benito pleaded, “Lace, please don’t make me do this. Put the gun down.”

No way in hell was I going to die, not like this. Held hostage in a parking lot, a deserted guard shack in the distance. Abandoned brick buildings with broken windows created an eerie backdrop. The wind howled like a pack of hungry wolves preparing to feast on me. If my kidnappers killed me, then tossed my body inside one of those buildings, who’d think to search there for my remains?

I panic. They panic. Didn’t want to die from freaking them out.

Valentino said to me, “I never imagined you’d cross me. Bitch, I am the one who got you off your back and you fucking steal my money.” Then he spoke into his cell phone. “Onyx, if you want to see Lace alive, the ransom is non-negotiable—fifty million dollars.”

The muscle in my calf cramped—horrible timing for the onset of a charley horse. I flexed my toes, inched toward the edge of the SUV. There was enough space between the two men for me to get out of the trunk. Benito stood to my left, Valentino to my right.

The chain-link metal fence surrounding the lot stood ten feet high. If I got a good running start, I could climb the fence, but the rusted barbed wire at the top made me change my mind. A bent
STOP
sign partially blocked the lot’s exit, its pole rested horizontal to the ground. I could hurdle it praying my heels didn’t get caught on the hem of my pants. Didn’t want to be the chick in the scary movie who’d escape, run, trip, fall, and be killed.

Flexing my toes far back as I could, I kept quiet while Valentino barked out his demands to Onyx. Onyx had become my number-one escort after my favorite escort, Sunny, was killed. The one year I worked as Valentino’s madam was my worst year in the business. Sunny Day was a gorgeous twenty-year-old girl who should’ve never started prostituting. Her parents loved her. Her twin sister adored her. The day I’d planned to send Sunny home to her family, Valentino refused to let her go. He’d shot Sunny in the head. A part of my spirit died that day. The six hundred thousand dollars Valentino paid me for those twelve months wasn’t worth Sunny dying.

I tried calming myself with
there’s nothing to fear but fear itself.
The words sounded great but with a gun a few feet from my face, I felt only one emotion: fear. Terror. They didn’t know that was my truth. My reality was fear. Perspiration slicked my palms, making it difficult to hold my gun. Toes curled back, I alternated wiping my hands on my pants.

Valentino frowned, told Benito, “Nigga, don’t watch me. Keep your eyes on that bitch.” He bit his bottom lip, then said, “Onyx, you used to work for me. I know how you think. Don’t fucking insult my intelligence. Make it happen today or else I’m coming after you.”

Less than a block from us a few cars traveled east and west on University Avenue. Hotlanta commuters were too far away to notice the SUV I was trapped inside. Were they preoccupied with the declining economy, saving their homes from foreclosure, or worried about how the 11.1 million unemployed would impact them? Maybe they were en route to a Waffle House for breakfast. I had no idea where those people were going. What I did know was that none of them noticed me.

Summer visited winter. Sweat covered my breasts, arms, stomach, and back, causing my silk shirt to stick to my skin, irritating me more. Thoughts of not seeing Grant again motivated me to do whatever it took to get out of this situation. Dying was not an option.

Silently I prayed,
Dear God, please don’t let me become a statistic.
I tried bartering with God.
God, do not, please hear me, do not let me die without fulfilling my purpose to help save the women who’ve given up on getting out of unhealthy relationships. Don’t I get some credit for using Valentino’s money to retire the remaining eleven girls? Answer my prayer and I promise You I’ll help a victim every day of my life.
If that wasn’t what He wanted to hear, I said,
God, You gave me a brain, courage, and a heart. Tell me which one to use first before I kill both of these fools.

Benito stood there tilting his head side to side. “V, can you make arrangements for us to meet with Onyx? You’re burning up my minutes, man.”

During the time we dated, Benito accepted, though he seldom acknowledged, women were smarter than men. I was smarter than him. He hated my constant reminders that I was the one who’d paid the bills the three years he lived in my house. Didn’t need him for much outside of sex. Proved it to him often. The day I’d tied him up, shoved a gun up his ass, left him in my bed in Las Vegas, I’d hoped was—the same as with my first and second husbands—the last time I’d see him.

I saw Benito again on Thanksgiving Day when I arrived at Grant’s parents’ place in Washington, D.C. He was seated at the dinner table. Benito was worse than a bad penny, making my world smaller than I desired in a bad luck kind of way. One step away from him, two back.

I kept staring at Benito. I should’ve remained his number-one fan instead of dating him. His wide shoulders aligned with his waist. His thick body, solid not fat, was the same as when I’d met him. Flat abs. Full lips. Muscular thighs. He’d gained a few pounds. Though his career was over, his football physique was intact. Benito was an excellent lover. His face had changed, though not his warm brown eyes or smooth toffee skin. It was the wild hairy beard I hadn’t seen before.

I prayed silently again,
Lord, please don’t let this man be my destiny.

Our breakup made me realize I barely knew Benito. When we were together, Benito seldom talked about his family. Gave me no indication he had a half brother. Whenever he mentioned his childhood, he blamed his adoptive white mother for screwing up his life. College scholarships, multiple multimillion-dollar football contracts, and Benito was the same as O. J.—broke. No one took Benito’s money; he’d given it away before we met. Pretended he still had it going on. Lied his way into my heart and my house. Communication between us had gotten so bad, I didn’t bother putting him out. I left. According to him, nothing was ever his fault.

I asked Benito, “Haven’t I given you enough?”

Valentino answered, “I don’t give a fuck what you gave him. Bitch, you stole my money, not his.”

“Why do you think I have fifty million?”

“Bitch, I’ve got eyes in the back of my head. I can tell you every time you take a piss.”

Here we go.
I was tired of men trying to scare women into submission. Who’d betrayed me? Who’d told Valentino where I live? It had to be one of the girls.

Valentino could charm or intimidate other women, not me. His hair was slicked into a luxurious ponytail that hung between his shoulder blades. His black hair was as long as mine. My black hair was dyed blond to match my golden complexion and highlight my natural green eyes. His blemish-free cocoa face was chiseled, strong, defined, and hairless with the exception of his full brows, long lashes, and trimmed mustache. His voice was seductive when soft, harsh when deepened. The two both stood about six feet two inches. Difference was Valentino was slim, not thick like Benito.

“I just want alimony,” Benito said, shuffling his feet.

What? I never married that fool. His nervous energy bothered me. Was he imitating a boxer or preparing to swing at me? I wished he would. Put down his gun and I’d bust him in his head with mine.

Valentino told Benito, “Nigga, you mean palimony. That’s not a bad idea.”

I became enraged at them, more at Benito’s pathetic behind. Wanted to shove my gun up his ass again. Tired, frustrated, angry, I found courage to pull the trigger. “Take this,” I said, firing my .45, not knowing, not giving a fuck whose head I’d put a bullet in first.

P
ow! Pow! Pow! Pow!

As I fired the pistol, my body hammered against the mat, forcing me back a few inches deeper inside the SUV. Four gold bullet shells lay in front of me. I had nine rounds left plus one in the chamber. I prayed I’d make it out of this situation alive. The sound of police sirens blaring close by, then fading in the distance gave little hope of my being rescued. My only option—escape. I squinted at the beaming sunshine, searching for an answer to my prayer.

Brain? Courage? Heart?

I should’ve put each bullet in Benito’s forehead. I couldn’t. I once loved him. How did we get here? How does any couple go from love to hate, a hate so deep they could kill one another? I was still in love with Benito’s brother but this was not the time to have compassion for my enemies. Grant’s abandonment of my heart made him my enemy too. He should’ve been man enough to stay with me.

“Ah!” Benito screamed soprano when the shots were fired, ducked, covered his face, peeped at me between his parted fingers. His .22 fell, clacked three times on the pavement, spun, stopped in front of his feet.

I flexed my toes. The charley horse had subsided. Pressing my lips together, I swallowed my chuckle. Benito’s reaction reassured me I’d done right getting rid of him. Former pro-quarterback champion punking out in a shoot-out, intentionally grounding his weapon, terrified of being defeated by a female. If I were a referee, I’d throw a flag on the play, give Benito a fifty-yard penalty, and restrain him from coming near me again. Why was I still protecting Benito? Kill Benito, kill all my chances of getting back with Grant.

Lying knees to chin in the trunk, messing up my red designer pantsuit, inhaling exhaust fumes along with the new car scent oozing from the mat, I aimed my gun at Valentino’s head. My target. The same place I’d shot and killed his bodyguard, Reynolds Ramsey, between the eyes. I wouldn’t miss, if my brain prevailed.

Aw, damn.
My cellular was partially exposed. Rolling onto my side, I hid my cell phone. The only person I’d phoned repeatedly in transit to this deserted location was the woman who’d given me Valentino’s money and the one woman who could track down any man in America and wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. Sapphire Bleu. Called her repeatedly, something they didn’t need to know. Left her one message not to call me back. I’d call her again when it was safe.

“What the fuck is your problem, Valentino?” I said. “Onyx is not going to listen to you. Hand me your goddamn phone,” keeping my gun and eyes fixed on him, with Benito in my peripheral vision.

“Benito, if you bend over to pick up that gun, I’ll slap you upside your head, then shoot you in your ass.”

Standing, Benito brushed his dingy black slacks, squinted, stared over his shoulder as though trying to figure out how I’d shoot him in the ass while he faced me. Maybe I should ask God to give him a brain.

“Nigga, I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you with the gun,” Valentino spat out. “Fuck what she say. Pick up the gun and shoot that bitch.”

The last time I’d seen Valentino was the day Sapphire arrested him at his mansion in Las Vegas. Sapphire gave me a way out of the business without my having to figure out how to exit alive. What if she’d given him a way out too? Would Valentino have had a reason to kidnap me? I had what Valentino desperately needed. Kill me and he’d never get what he’d come for.

Why were these low-down dirty bastards agitating me to the point of wanting to blow their brains out? I could kill them both. Splatter the cells God intended as two male masterpieces against the scorching asphalt beneath their insidious souls. No one would know. But I didn’t want to go to jail or go insane without Grant in my life.

Curling into the fetal position, I pulled the trigger to scare Valentino. Waited a few seconds, pulled it again. Valentino dodged my first bullet, escaped the second. He moved in the right direction both times.

“Slowly toss me the damn phone before I kill your ass for real!” I growled.

Valentino tossed his cellular inside the trunk. “Shoot her ass, nigga,” he said to Benito. “Don’t just stand there! You want her to kill me?”

I wanted to laugh. One toy gun between the two of them and it was on the ground next to Benito’s worn black shoes that curled at the toes.

Valentino tightened his fingers into fists. “Bitch, you gon’ give me my money before I bash your face in.”

This time I had to do it. “Ha-ha, ha-ha-ha,” I belted from my belly, keeping my gun aimed at Valentino. “Benito, get the gun. Give it to me.” I pressed the speaker button on Valentino’s phone, hoping Onyx was still on the line. I laid the phone on the mat, kept my gun aimed at him.

Money was the root of evil for the person who didn’t have any. The cash was mine, a gift from Sapphire. I didn’t owe Valentino shit. Neither did she. Easy come, easy go. “You didn’t bust one nut for that money.”

“The one I bust inside your pussy don’t count?” Valentino asked.

I hated to admit. Valentino and I were more alike than we were different. I’d fucked him once and it wasn’t bad. If we’d met under more amicable circumstances, would we be friends?

My assistant Onyx shouted, “Honey, tell us where you are.”

“McDaniel and University.”

“At the university?”

Benito frowned at Valentino, eased toward me, kicked the gun closer to Valentino. Shifting my aim from Benito, I quickly pointed the gun back between Valentino’s eyes. Coldly stared at him. Eased back the trigger.

“One wrong move and you’re dead. I intentionally missed the first time. You’re bad. Go on. Try me.”

Benito sadly asked, “You fucked my girl, V?”

“Pussy can’t come between us, nigga. Let’s go. That bitch is crazy.”

Sometimes a woman had to be a bitch to get a man’s attention. But I wasn’t crazy. I was a woman who didn’t take shit off abusive men. Not any more. Dealing with two life-threatening marriages and these two fools here, I should be crazy, but I wasn’t. The only people I was crazy about were Grant and my deceased sister, Honey.

I’d killed myself on paper, buried my birth name,
Lace St. Thomas,
then resurrected my sister’s name,
Honey,
dropped the
St.
and kept the
Thomas.
Maybe if I were more like Honey, my past life of prostitution, being a madam and a murderess would perish and never return to haunt me.

“Onyx, I got this. Don’t hang up. Stay with me.”

“What? You’re naked? I think we have a bad connection.”

Valentino stooped to the ground, crawled alongside the car. “Lock that bitch in the trunk and let’s go! I’ma personally put a bullet to the back of her head!”

Always smarter than Valentino’s wannabe pimp ass, I’d organized and ran his escort service, Immaculate Perception. Managed his twelve escorts for a year. Now they were my girls, all except the one he’d killed. Losing Sunny made me retire the survivors from their pain and suffering, give them restitution, and let them live with me. I was proud of them and myself. They were no longer prostitutes and I was no longer a madam. Whoever said “Money doesn’t matter” had enough of it.

Valentino had sufficient time to do whatever he’d intended. Instead he ran like a bitch. Valentino wasn’t a coward—he was outgunned. He’d be back. I’d be prepared for his return. Next time I wouldn’t have a heart. No talking. I’d shoot to kill.

I pointed my gun at Benito. He hadn’t moved.

“Lace.” His eyes softened. “Please give Valentino back his money. He’ll give me half. Forget paying me alimony. I’ll take care of you. You deserve that much from me. I met you first. My brother doesn’t love you the way I do. I know you better than Grant ever will.”

“Nigga, this ain’t
Deal or No Deal,”
Valentino said from the driver’s seat. “And it’s
palimony,
not
alimony,
nigga. Lock that smart-ass bitch in the fucking trunk and let’s go.”

Benito whispered, “Give us the money, Lace. I could never hurt you. Can’t you see I’m still in love with you? I’d die before I’d kill you.”

With no gun, he was right. Aim. Click. Turn.
Pow, pow! Pow, pow!
I shattered the front windshield, reminding those fools if they drove off with me in the trunk, that was their death sentence.

Benito reached for my ankles. I reached for Valentino’s cellular. Two inches too far, I couldn’t grab the phone. Benito pulled me out of the trunk. I stumbled to my feet watching him scramble into the passenger’s seat as Valentino sped over the
STOP
sign and out the gate. With the rear door in midair, the SUV disappeared north down McDaniel Street.

Damn, their gun was on the ground and Valentino’s cell phone and mine were in the trunk of their SUV. “Fuck. Now what?” I was certain that SUV belonged to Valentino’s baby mama, Summer. Some women really were insane. How could Summer love Valentino after he’d killed her twin sister, Sunny? I couldn’t figure that out. Maybe Summer was plotting revenge for her sister.

No money. No phone. No transportation. But two guns. I stood in the middle of the deserted parking lot, placed my gun back in the holster under my arm. Tucked their gun inside my pants behind my back, exhaled, then said, “It’s too early and too hot for this bullshit.”

Red stilettos clicking against the black sweltering asphalt, sweat dripping from my head, soaking my hair, rolling behind my ears, down my neck, I was too exhausted to cross the street to the paved sidewalk. I trampled on the grass instead. Bypassing a hair salon, a restaurant, I walked up University Avenue through the heat wave toward the interstate.

I was too weak to drag my aching body and throbbing feet underneath the freeway to the north entrance of I-75/85 and hitchhike home to Buckhead. I leaned against a pole with a black and white sign that read 54-S and held up my thumb.