Ruthless

Dear Reader:

Pasha Allen is back and this time her vindictive nature is at its extreme: she's on fire to eliminate her enemies one by one—particularly she's on a mission to destroy the team who kidnapped, tortured and violated her in a basement. Retribution. Vengeance.

She's also on a cat-and-mouse game with her baby's daddy, Jasper, and they're both seeking to exact revenge. He's still disgusted that she cheated on him during lockup, and that she has obtained a restraining order and is denying him access to his son.

Watch how this vixen goes to the ultimate to pay back all those who attempted to terminate her.

I appreciate the love and support shown to Strebor Books, myself, and our efforts to bring you cutting-edge stories.

Blessings,

Publisher

Strebor Books

www.simonandschuster.com

This book is dedicated to All the cock ‘n' cum lovers who love having their throats gutted.

Swallow the heat ‘n' enjoy the cream…

This one's for you!

Aiight, my Juice Lovas ‘n' freaks…once again, I'ma keep it short ‘n' sweet. Eleven books in ‘n' countin'. And I'm still pushin' out the heat, one keystroke at a time! And
whaaat?!

To the sexually liberated and open-minded: Thanks for spreadin' the juice to ya peeps ‘n' continuin' to wave ya freak flags. I appreciate ALL of you. Let's keep it wet, keep it sticky, and always keep it ready! Real freaks know how to turn up in the sheets! No questions asked!

To all the Facebook beauties 'n' cuties and cool-ass bruhs who make this journey mad fun: Real rap. I couldn't do this without ALL of you! Y'all my muthaeffen peeps! Thanks for vibin' with ya boy!

To all the closed-minded & sexually repressed peeps: Bless ya lil raggedy, whack-fuckin' hearts!

To Zane, Charmaine, Yona and the rest of the Strebor/Simon & Schuster team: As always, I hope you all know how much ya boy appreciates the never-ending luv!

To Sara Camilli: You are everything I could ever want in an agent. Thank YOU!

To the members of
Cairo's World:
Be on the lookout for a new look ‘n' new shit poppin' over on the other side real soon. I'm finally about to turn the flames up for y'all nassy-asses!

And, as always, to the naysayers ‘n' silent haters: Keep poppin' shit. Ya thoughts n opinions don't move me. So go have several seats ‘n' lick these nuts! The Cairo Movement is here to stay!

One luv~

Cairo

Remorse and guilt don't exist in an empty heart…

I wasn't born a killer.

And I hadn't initially planned on becoming one. I had hoped that if I had to murder anyone, Jasper would be first on my list. Not Felecia. Not my flesh and blood.

But here I am.

In the flesh.

A killer.

A murderer.

Still clutching the gun in my hand, I stare into Felecia's dead face. Her eyes wide and frozen in fear, her curled lashes still wet with tears, what's left of her bloody mouth is gaped open, front teeth cracked and knocked out, smoke still floating out of her lying dick suckers. I feel a surging rush of adrenaline pumping through me, yet I feel
nothing
—for her, for what I have done. I am numb to this, to her current state. Slumped over and lifeless. In a flash, Felecia, along with every mental snapshot—an entire lifetime of memories—of everything we've ever shared, gone. Her last breath snatched by the bitch she tried to do in. Me.

By choice.

I stare at the gun in my bloody hand, then look up toward the ceiling as if expecting the roof to open up at any moment, to only get struck by a bolt of lightning. This bitch betrayed me. She hurt
me. She disrespected me. She fucked me over. And she
fucked
my man. Regardless of whether it's over between Jasper and me or not, this bitch fucked him, sucked him, while things with him were good—even if they were only in my own head. And the bitch continued fucking him on the sly—
after
shit between him and me went downhill.

So
I
killed her.

By choice.

Because I wanted her dead! Because she deserved to be dead! Because she ran her mouth and popped shit.

Sadly, I feel not one ounce of sorrow. No regret. No remorse. No guilt. Nothing. And no goddamn tears.

I'll admit. Killing this bitch wasn't my initial intention. No. I planned on confronting her, allowing her the chance to confess, to redeem herself—not that anything that came out of her cum trap was going to change the damage already done. She and I would never be close again. Then I was going to slip out of my heels and beat her ass real good. However, somewhere in the back corners of my mind, I knew it was a slight possibility that I would take it to her skull—not with my fist, with a bullet—if the bitch came at me sideways and crazy.

And she did.

The more she tried to lie and deny her way out of shit, the stronger the urge became. The more reckless she talked, the deeper my conviction became. Then the bitch had the audacity to tell me she was pregnant. The admission of who planted his nut in her became scribbled in the fear shown in her eyes. It was Jasper.

So, for that, I took her life. There was no blackout. There was no lack of judgment. There was no temporary moment of insanity.
I didn't just get caught up in the moment. I was clear
and
in my right frame of mind when I reached in back of me and pulled out my 9mm, shoving it down into her motherfucking throat.

And I was fully cognizant of the look in her eyes when I pulled the trigger.

I am
still
very much aware of what I've done.
I've
murdered her.

And the scary thing is—standing here taking in the splattered blood on the walls and the loose teeth knocked out of her big-ass mouth—I know, deep down in the pit of my soul, I am very much certain, I'll have no problem doing it again, if I have to,
when
I have to…
if
I am forced to.

Bitch wanted to be me. Thought she was going to snatch my spot. I'm convinced she wanted me dead. Wished it. Hoped for it. Shit, the bitch admitted she didn't give a fuck. That she didn't care then. And damn sure didn't care now. I'm glad I didn't allow her up to the hospital to hover over my bed, secretly gloating that she'd had a hand in doing me in while I clung to my life, and sanity.

I glance over at the clock: 10:38
P.M
. Then step away from her body. I walk into the bathroom and wash off the blood on the gun and my hands, carefully drying them. Then I wash my face, glancing up from the sink at the reflection staring back at me in the mirror. I don't like what I see.

I don't even know who I see.

The bitch staring back at me has my face, my complexion, my hazel eyes. But she is still a stranger to me. I don't like her.

I don't like me.

But this is who I am.

This is what I've become.

Thanks to Jasper.

Thanks to Felecia.

Thanks to every motherfucker who took his turn at fucking my throat raw.

I flip off the light and walk back out into my office over to my desk and pull out one of the burner phone's Lamar had given me, then place a call. “Who this?”

“Pasha.”

“Oh, what's good? You still need that remodeling work done?”

“Yes. I'm ready for that paint job,” I say, unlocking and opening my office door, then walking into the staff lounge, going over to the counter and pulling out the top drawer. I grab a steak knife, then shut the drawer. “And I need the carpet pulled up and tossed along with all the
dead
weight in the room.”

“Oh, aiight.”

He understands, clearly. She's dead. He's the only person I told about my meeting with her tonight here. The only person who I let know things might get ugly between us. He was the only person I let hear the extent of my rage toward her. And when I told him out of anger that I felt like killing her ass, he said, “Then maybe she should catch it. What she did was some real grimy shit. You didn't deserve that. So, whatever you decide, I'ma ride it out with you. Real shit, ma, I know that's ya fam ‘n' all, but I think you should handle her.”

He said it with no expression, no emotion. Then leaned into my ear and whispered, “I have a professional cleanup crew
in case
… things get bloody. I can get you a piece that won't ever trace back to you. You won't have to do anything except pull the trigger.”

He walked me through it. Told me to make sure to turn off the security cameras just in case I decided to handle her—
permanently
, so no one would see her coming in if anyone were to ever ask to see any footage. Not that they would have reason to. But I needed
to be three steps ahead. He told me to be sure to meet with her in my office, where it's soundproofed. Then handle my business.

“Right after you pop her top, hit me up and I'll handle everything else. I
specialize
in these kinds of jobs. Security work is my other gig.” Without him saying more than that, it was evident at that very moment that there was a whole lot more to my armed-security stud. “You wanna rid ya'self of a poisonous snake before it has a chance to strike again, chop off its head.”

The seed had been planted. Her slick mouth sealed her fate.

Hate me? Bitch, please!

There is no room in my life for snitches and snakes. Felecia really thought she'd reap some hefty reward by snaking me. Thought she had snatched her the door prize, along with a quick come-up by backstabbing me. Ha! I showed that bitch. She couldn't have possibly thought she'd get away with it. She almost did.

Almost.

But getting caught happens to the best of us. Eventually she would have to pay her dues. It was only a matter of time. And, tonight, her time had come.

It's over. When I walk out of here tonight, I will go home, grab a bottle of wine, run a bubble bath, then soak away any memory of tonight. Then I am going to pop two sleeping pills and sleep the rest of the night away free from any chance of being plagued with nightmares of what I've done. And, before the crack of dawn, I will wake up with a smile plastered on my face. Catch my flight to Los Angeles to spend the day with my son. Catch the red-eye flight back. Then Tuesday morning, bright and early, I will step up in my salon, facing the day with the same renewed purpose. To shut down
everyone
else who had a hand in hurting me.