Dirty Rotten Liar (18 page)

 

Selah heard the commotion going on outside her window, and after peeping out and seeing her husband on his feet and her son hemmed up by a strange white man, she flung her cell phone to the floor and bust through the doors going a hundred miles an hour.

She had damn near flattened her brother Digger as he stood with his ear pressed to her bedroom door, but she barely noticed him as she ran down the steps with no shoes or drawers on to get to her child.

Digger had gotten the shit knocked out of him when Selah hit the door running, and he was just about to follow her when he spotted her panties and her cell phone laying on the floor near the bed.

“Hello?” he spoke into the phone as he picked it up. There was nothing but silence on the other end. But not the kind of silence you heard when a call had been discontinued. Nah, this was the silence of someone listening in, but just not responding.

“Hello?” Digger said again, and then a slick grin spread over his face.

Digger couldn't believe his good luck. He'd caught his boss with his fat, greasy hand in the nookie jar! He didn't feel so bad after all, because not only had Ruddman stolen
him
from under Viceroy's nose, he'd stolen Viceroy's
wife
too!

“How's it going, Rodney?” Digger spoke smoothly into the phone as he thought about that Monday morning meeting in his boss's office that was never gonna happen now.

He chuckled when there was no response. “Sorry my sister threw the phone down in ya ear, my man! It seems there's some sort of emergency going on outside with her, um, husband. So I'm sure you understand why she didn't stick around to say good-bye.”

Still no answer. Digger could tell Rodney was still there and listening, though. And he knew how to get that nigga to talking too!

“Speaking of good-byes, I got a call from your HR department the other day. They told me to report to your office Monday morning, and I hope you don't plan on telling me good-bye. Because if you do”—Digger lowered his voice and threatened—“I'll just have to tell Viceroy who's been creeping with his woman while he was laid up in that hospital bed. ‘Yes, Rodney! Fuck me, baby! Fuck me
good
!' ”

“Tell him!” Rodney Ruddman's voice came booming through the phone so hard and loud that Digger fumbled with it and damn near dropped that shit. “You go ahead and tell that muthafucka!” Ruddman hollered at the top of his lungs. “In fact, I'll tell him my goddamn self!”

I
t was Monday morning and Selah slid her firm body into a peach-toned pantsuit as she tried real hard to push the ugliness from the barbeque at the lake house from her mind. Her womanly juices had been flowing like a river and she'd been finger-deep in an erotic phone fantasy with Rodney Ruddman when she heard a commotion going on outside her bedroom window.

Kicking off her panties, Selah had slung the phone down and rushed downstairs to find Jock being questioned by the local police and Viceroy about to have a damn stroke.

Selah's face had been flushed red from the multiple orgasms that Rodney's erotic instructions had stoked up in her, but when she saw her baby boy standing there looking terrified and being accused of rape, her entire body had flushed with hot guilt.

Viceroy was right. What kind of mother was she? While she was sneaking upstairs to get her phone swerve on, her son had been sneaking next door to get inside some teenaged girl's panties!

The police had taken a statement from the young girl next door, and since her and Jock were the same age and the girl admitted the sex was consensual and that
she
had initiated it, the police took Jock's statement but declined to take him in for questioning.

Selah knew the situation could have turned extra ugly, and she was grateful the white girl had told the truth, but to say her nerves had been shot out wouldn't have been saying a damn thing.

Peering in the full-length mirror, Selah smoothed the collar on her waist-length jacket and then turned around to check out her ass. It looked high and firm in her tight tailored pants. Satisfied, she turned around and eyed her hair and her lipstick, and then she grabbed her designer shoulder bag and walked out of her suite with sure, quick steps.

She had promised Viceroy she would fly down to Houston and have lunch with him at the hospital, but an early morning text message had killed those moves and changed her plans in a hurry.

Selah had been awakened by her cell phone vibrating on her end table, and when she raised her head off the pillow and clicked the backlight she couldn't believe what the hell she was squinting at.

It was a picture. Of a nice long chocolate
dick
. It had thick gobs of honey swirled all down the shaft, and it was sitting on a three-hundred-dollar fine-bone crystal platter.

The dick was pretty as hell and it was perfectly shaped. It was also ramrod stiff, and gripped in a thick fist.

Selah's heart had banged as her lower lips instantly became moist. She knew that dick. She knew it well. In fact, she would have known it anywhere because it was the dick that she feened for all day and the dick that haunted her in her dreams all night.

The caption beneath the picture had said,
Sexual chocolate. Served today at noon sharp
. Selah had licked her lips hungrily, and just like
that,
Viceroy was shit out of luck for that lunch date with his wife.

Too excited to sleep, Selah had texted her pilot and canceled her flight to Houston and then got up and packed a small overnight bag with a couple of her favorite toys: a pair of bondage handcuffs, a few colorful Hermes scarves, a black garter belt with a matching thong, a pair of sheer black stockings that came up to her thighs, and her favorite battery-operated toy.

Deep inside she had felt a brief pang of guilt for what she was planning to do, but it wasn't strong enough to slow her roll or to make her change her mind.

And now, as she waved off her personal assistant and headed out the door, Selah walked briskly toward her car so she could drive herself to her secret little lunch date.

She turned the dial to a talk radio station and listened to that bullshit all the way to Dallas, hoping the ridiculous conversation would take her mind off what she was about to do, but the shame of it all was a turn-on all by itself. Selah knew she was a beauty, and Rodney was damn sure a beast. There had to be some psychiatric explanation for this intense burst of lust she was feeling for him because it couldn't have been about his looks.

It's because Viceroy hates him and that makes him a no-no
, she admitted to herself. By all rights, this man should have been way off-limits. Rodney was like a forbidden piece of fruit tantalizing her from a low-hanging branch. Not only was he rich and powerful, he was also her husband's worst damn enemy, and deep inside Selah knew that was the one true reason she couldn't get enough of him.

Selah's body was humming with excitement as she walked a half-mile from the parking garage to the Omni Hotel where Ruddman Energy was headquartered. Her shoulder bag was heavy with her sexual toys, and the stiletto shoes she had on weren't exactly meant for strolling, but Selah couldn't risk being seen parked anywhere near the hotel.

Rodney had given her a key to his private elevator, and Selah hoped like hell nobody was watching her as she put on a large pair of sunglasses. She walked inside the hotel lobby with her head down and sped toward a bank of elevators on the left. Stepping into an empty elevator car that she knew would take her straight up to the top-floor penthouse, she stuck the key in the lock and turned it, then put her head down again and stared at the floor as the doors closed and she rode upstairs.

And at exactly twelve noon, when the elevator doors opened directly onto the building's executive-level penthouse apartment, Selah caught her breath and blinked rapidly at the delicious treat that was waiting for her.

“Mrs. Dominion . . .” Ruddman was stretched out butt-naked on a white satin sofa. His belly was a big round hill just'a sticking up in the air, and his dick was a foot-long hammer just'a banging in his hand. “Come on in, baby cakes. You're right on time. Lunch is served.”

 

As usual, the sex had been outrageous but it was getting late in the day and Selah had to go home. Rodney had whispered sweet things in her ear and pounded her out real good, but his mood had changed when she told him she had to leave.

“Have you thought about the things we discussed, Mrs. Dominion?”

Selah shook her head. She was starting to hate it when he called her that.

“I haven't had much time to think about anything lately, but considering the circumstances I don't think the timing is right.”

“First you said you couldn't walk away from your husband when he was down, Selah. And I accepted that. But Viceroy's good to go now. I heard he's back on his feet and ready to get to work. I think now is a perfect time for you to tell him about us.”

Selah frowned and shook her head.

She thought not. True, she had agreed to a whole lot of things while she was in the grips of passion with her overweight lover, but didn't this fool know that shit was all pillow talk? She couldn't walk away from Viceroy and her family and move in with Rodney! Not now, and probably not ever!

“It's still too soon for me to make moves like that,” she muttered as she slipped into her clothing. “Viceroy's not even out of the hospital yet. Besides, our children . . . they've been through a lot, Rodney. They don't need another disruption in their lives right now.”

“So that means you continue to get everything you want, and I continue to get nothing. Am I right?”

Selah paused as she slipped her foot into her shoe.

She loved fucking Rodney but he wanted too damn much. Hell, all she'd ever wanted was sex, and now this fool wanted to own her!

“It's not like that,” she lied as she threw her used sex toys back inside her bag. “I'm not trying to be selfish, Rodney. I just don't think the time is right to consider something so important, that's all. Can you feel where I'm coming from?”

Rodney's hungry gaze had looked sexy to her before, but now this fool looked like a man-eating wolf, and even though he nodded like he had caught her drift, Selah could tell he wasn't feeling her at all.

S
uge had finally caught up with that bitch nigga they called Dopeman, the dude who had fucked Barron up. He had stretched that old fool out on a cold piece of ice and he wouldn't be slipping nothing in nobody else's drink no goddamn more.

His boy had come through for him in a major way and gotten rid of those pictures of Barron on the Internet too, but their little problem still wasn't quite solved yet, and there was still something left undone.

So Suge called the family pilot and caught a ride in the
Dominion Diva
up north to Philly. He landed at a heliport, where three of his manz were waiting for him in a tricked out Lexus. They smoked a couple of trees and talked about the good old times, and then they swung over to the projects to pay a certain hustling chick a nice little visit.

 

I was planning on jetting upstairs to run some game on Mama Selah, but instead I ran into Fallon flouncing her lil grown ass up to her room.

“Hey, what's up?” I said as we switched our big booties up the spiral staircase side by side. Me and Fallon had gotten pretty cool with each other and I was actually feelin' her lil fast ass.

“Nothing much,” she said, turning her sad puppy eyes on me and giving me the pouty-face look.

“Yo, what's wrong?” I asked, linking my arm through hers like we were pretzels. “What you lookin' all down about, baby sis?”

She twisted her lips. “I don't know. Probably because I just got off the phone with Freddie. I swear to God sometimes that girl be tripping.”

I almost busted out laughing. Baby girl was having
man
trouble! I shook my head and grinned at her. “You know how dudes is, honey-boo-boo. You let 'em lick a lil titty and the next thing you know they tryna bang ya damn lights out! Niggas can
always
find some kinda way to trip out on us.”

“Uh-huh,” Fallon said, “but tripping ain't even the word for Freddie's shit! Come with me to my room for a minute,” she said, pulling me down the hall toward her suite.

I hesitated for a quick second 'cause I wanted to get up in Mama Selah's bed before Dy-Nasty got her stank ass up under the covers, but Fallon jerked the shit outta me so I went ahead and followed her.

“I wanna show you these crazy text messages she's been sending me. I'm serious, Mink. Freddie's wildin' like she thinks I'm stupid or something.”

Uh-huh,
I thought a few minutes later as I lounged on Fallon's leather sofa and scrolled through the fifty million text messages from her slick-ass stud lover. Oh, Freddie damn sure thought baby sister was stupid. Stupid and
dumb
too!

“Damn!” I said giving Fallon the side eye. Ol' Freddie was on her pimp lean for real. “How long this damn dude been shaking you down?”

Fallon shrugged. “At first she just used to ask me for a couple of hundred every now and then. You know, to pay her light bill and stuff like that. But here lately she's been hitting me left and right, coming at me like crazy.”

Like crazy
wasn't the word, I thought as my eyes skimmed over Freddie's text messages. Didn't none of that shit surprise me. I was born and raised in the gaming life, so I'd seen this type of grind many, many times before. Freddie was a pussy playa. This broad wasn't nothin' but a grifting pimp-a-lina who had landed her a sweet little mark. She was gaming for dollars. Texting Fallon three and four times a day tryna get up on her pocket stash.

I scrolled through the text messages and smirked. A couple hundred my black ass! Freddie's hustling tail had been tryna stick Fallon up for a grand or two every couple of days! I was hoping like hell baby sis hadn't been stupid enough to fall for that shit.

“So how much dough you done dished off to her so far?” I asked with my lips all twisted.

Fallon took a long time to answer and she looked real stupid in the face as she shrugged. “Around ten grand,” she finally admitted. “But not all at one time, Mink! She kinda eased it outta me a little bit at a time, and before I realized what was going on, almost all my spending stash was gone.”

Stupid ass!
I hissed inside. Not even in my
youngest
,
dumbest, darkest
days had I ever given a nigga a dime of my hard-earned loot! I didn't give a fuck how good a cat licked my coochie or how deep he planted his pipe, Mizz Mink was
always
on the receiving end of the yardage!

I realized Fallon was young and hard-headed, but I was about to bust on her anyway because not only was Freddie a moocher, she was the type of stud who liked threesomes. I used to run into them types all the time when I was on my stripping grind, so it wasn't no surprise to me. Ol' Freddie got her sticky off by watching Fallon strip for horny dudes, and then her and the dude would put Fallon's lil tender juicy ass in a fuckery sandwich and eat that sweet tail right on up!

“So,” I asked her real slick-like, “Freaky Freddie still got you dancing for dudes or what? When's the last time she got you in a threesome so her and some nigga could freak you off, boo?”

I almost laughed as Fallon's face got all red and she started protesting.

“Uh-uh, Mink! Hell, nah. I don't even do that no more! All that club dancing is over for me. Besides, I ain't feeling Freddie like that. I hooked up with a guy I know from school and we've been kicking it really hard. I feel different now than I've ever felt before. Believe that.”

I side-eyed Fallon to see if she was bullshittin' me, but all I saw was the truth shining in her eyes. Deep inside I thought Fallon was stupid as fuck, but I reminded myself that I had an advantage over her.

A chick like me had grown up scrambling on the streets of Harlem with junkies and hoes as my teachers and idols. Fallon, on the other hand, had been raised in the lap of luxury with a paid-out-the-ass daddy and servants who walked around waiting on her hand and foot.

Sheiiit, what lil mama needed to do was get her ass up outta this damn mansion and see how shit flowed in the real world! Fallon had been sheltered so tight by the Dominion dollars that she didn't even recognize a flimflammer like Freddie when she was tryna dig up in her pussy and her pockets at the same time!

“Umm, Fallon, boo, you seem like you already up on shit so I ain't tryna tell you what to do,” I said as I got ready to tell her ass
exactly
what to do, “but you gonna hafta cut Freddie's ass loose, ya feel me?”

She nodded.

“And for starters, that tatted-up bitch gets no more free pussy, you hear me?” I demanded as I laid out the new rules of the game.

Fallon waved me off. “I already told you, Mink. I got a boyfriend now. I don't get down like that no more.”

“Yeah, well,” I said, igging that noise, “don't you give her thirsty ass not another dime, neither! Matter fact, the next time she so much as slides her crooked eyes over toward your pockets, you pick up the phone and call me. Hell, if that hustlin' heffa even
looks
like she wanna ask you to buy her a goddamn Happy Meal you hit my digits and put her ass on the phone, ya heard?”

Fallon nodded again.

“On the real,” I said, sighing as I passed baby sister back her cell phone. “I told you this before. Freddie ain't no different than any other dude who's out there looking to stroll a chick. Let her buy some chips and rent herself a pole freak if that's what her bald-headed ass is into. Just don't let her freak
you.
”

 

Dy-Nasty sashayed her hips down the dark streets of Dallas cursing her ass off under her breath. She had bummed a ride into the city with Jock's young ass, and they had smoked up some good piff and killed a bottle of rum all the way there.

Ever since she tried to hustle Uncle Suge for a million dollars them fools up in the mansion had been acting real stank toward her and treating her some kinda way, but Dy-Nasty gave less than a fuck about all that attitude that was floating around.

Like Pat had reminded her, she didn't bring her ass all the way down to Texas tryna make no damn pizos. She was on the scene to gank these fools and to get up on some of that bank they was holdin', and just as long as she did what her mama told her to do she was gonna walk away from this scheme paid real lovely right outta her big yellow ass!

Dy-Nasty smirked. She was getting tired of them dumbfuck Dominions anyway, and she couldn't wait to get up outta that dead-ass mansion and find her some action to get into. She was a true-to-the-bone Philly hustler, and she'd been just a' lookin' for a party and just a' itchin' to shake her ass. So when Jock said he was going up to Dallas to find him some pussy and re-up on his stash, she had hopped up in his ride and told him to drop her off at the hottest club on the strip.

Jock had taken her to a joint called the Animal House, and Dy-Nasty had started working her mojo the moment she stepped through the door. Mad dudes tried to swarm her and push up on her fine body, but Dy-Nasty was a pole professional, and the only time a stray nigga got close enough to rub his dick on her was when he was coming outta his pockets with some greenery.

Shrugging off all the local ballas who was feenin' for some fresh meat, Dy-Nasty had picked herself out a mark who was sitting alone at the bar hunched over a drink. She had hooked him into buying her two double shots of Patrón before she zoomed in on another victim, and when mark number one started making noise like he was tryna get some kinda return on his drink investment, Dy-Nasty made like she was going to the bathroom and moved on to target mark number three.

She was violating like a muthafucka and she didn't give a damn neither. It was an unwritten rule that didn't no outside bitch go up in a strip joint hustling for drinks or nothing else. Chicks riding the poles would jump down off that stage and straight fuck a scab up, and that's exactly what happened when Dy-Nasty over-played her hand and over-stayed her welcome.

“I'm tryna
tell
your ass I don't fuckin' work here!” she had screamed on some drunk baller who kept slapping her on the ass and demanding she make it jiggle for him.

“Go slobber on one of them funky bitches over there!” Dy-Nasty pointed to some ratchet-ass chicks who were squatting over chairs and grinding on customers in the corner. “Fuck wit' one of them hoes!”

Suddenly Dy-Nasty's hood intuition came down on her. She felt a hot ball of hate coming her way, and she tried to duck through the crowd and keep it moving toward the door, but some jealous bitch had raised the alarm and all the other hoes had spotted her.

She had peeped an exit sign over a side door, and she was just about to bust up outta that bitch when she felt her weave jerked hard from behind.

“Skank!” One of the strippers yoked Dy-Nasty up and tried to quick-flip her down to the ground. “Who the fuck you think you is, coming up in here gamin'!”

There were three of them, and fighting to stay on her feet, Dy-Nasty cowered as they landed killer blows all over her head, back, and arms. The girl who yoked her was soft and juicy everywhere, and twisting into her body, Dy-Nasty sank her teeth deep into that bitch's pudgy upper arm like it was a warm buttered biscuit.

The stripper screamed and turned her loose, and Dy-Nasty ducked a punch from a girl with a red spiral wig and fought her way outside to the rain-soaked alley. She broke out running without looking back, knowing damn well them heffas wasn't gonna miss out on no dough just to chase her down the block.

Zooted up and breathing hard, Dy-Nasty stormed down the wet streets of Dallas cursing Jock out as she dialed his cell phone number and that shit just rang and rang off the hook. He was supposed to swing back by the club and pick her up, but she'd told him to come get her around two o'clock, and here it wasn't even one yet.

With her cell phone pressed to her ear, Dy-Nasty was swinging her big hips across a busy intersection when the screech of wet tires cut into the air and she looked back just in time to scooch forward so her ass didn't get clipped by a car bumper.

“Hey! Watch where the fuck you goin'!” she screamed as she whirled around and blasted the driver of a sweet silver BMW. “I had the goddamn light, you know!”

The windows were tinted and dotted with raindrops so she couldn't see who was driving that baby, but she stood there posted up with her hands on her hips shooting eye-bullets in his direction.

She braced herself to curse him out from bumper to bumper when the driver's window slid down, but when she peeped the chubby old man sporting a thirty-thousand-dollar designer watch and grinning at her from behind the wheel, the first word that went through her mining-ass brain was
jackpot
!

 

And a jackpot was exactly what Dy-Nasty had hit as she rode down the wet streets kicked back and chillin' in the showroom-fresh luxury Beemer that belonged to some rich-ass oil tycoon who told her to call him R.R.

Dude had apologized fifty million times for almost ripping her ass on his bumper, and since it had started raining again he offered to give her a ride to wherever it was she was going.

Dy-Nasty was all for that shit as she pumped up the music in his whip and enjoyed the liquor buzz that was still rolling through her head.

“I'm going wherever you going,” she had told him, cheesing all over herself. She recognized his whip as a fresh-outta-the-factory absolute top-of-the-line BMW, and everythang about that baby smelled brand-fuckin'-new!

And old dude was smelling pretty damn good too. Dy-Nasty's eagle-eyes had scanned over him like she was airport security, and in about five seconds flat she had peeped his platinum and diamond ring, his tailored sports coat, and the fact that his fat frog-lookin' ass had a quick eye for hot chicks with thick yellow thighs.