Ruthless (16 page)

I glance over my shoulder, and smirk, catching his stare on my ass.
I knew it.

I ring the bell, peeking through the glass panes.

The shop is dimly lit by recessed lighting. And judging by what I see through the glass, it looks like it's a really nice barbershop. I count eight barber chairs. There's a long glass case over to the right filled with what looks like CDs and/or DVDs. I spot another glass case that has different types and sizes of plastic bottles, tubes, and jars of what I suspect to be hair care products. Sitting on top of that case is an oblong case filled with what looks to be earrings and or bracelets.
Mygod, theses niggas even selling jewelry up in here.

I continue scanning the area through the window. There's a clothes rack next to it, and a mounted wall display with hanging jerseys along the wall in back of the glass case. There are several shelves on another wall lined with hats, fitted and probably snapbacks.
Mmmph. Probably all bootleg shit!

I ring the bell again. A few minutes later, there's someone bare-chested, clad in sweats and Timbs, coming from the back area walking toward the door. He's a tall, dark-chocolate, broad-shouldered nigga with rippled abs, round brown eyes and dimpled chin. I eyeball him as he unlocks the door, opening it. He reeks of weed, and hood grit. And there's a faint hint of cologne. My probing eyes move purposefully up and down his chiseled frame.

There's blood on his left hand. He tucks it behind his back, hiding his bruised knuckles.

“Yo, what's good?” he says, eyeing me suspiciously, glancing over toward Lamar, then back at me. “You, Pasha, right?”

I nod, looking up into his dark eyes.
Yes. And I love sucking dick.
I swallow. “Yes.”

He sweeps his gaze lazily over me, then steps back, slightly, motioning with his head for me to step inside. I step in, trying not to brush by him. He locks the door behind me. “C'mon, follow me. We're down in the basement.”

The nigga doesn't introduce himself. And he doesn't need to. Looking at him, I know he has to be one of Booty's sons. He looks like her around the eyes, mouth and nose.
He must be Darius,
I muse, following behind him. I've never seen, or met, any of her children, personally. Never had a reason to. I try not to stare at his muscled back, or the way his sweats hang off his waist. His street swag is on high. And I feel myself losing focus.

I bet his dick is like two king-size Snickers bars. Doubly thick, sweet, and packed with gooey nuts!

Mygod, he has a nice ass!

Bitch, snap out of it!

I blink.

At the end of the hall, to the left, he opens a door, then gestures with his hand for me to go, first. Instantly, I hear Booty cursing and screaming. “Nigga-coon, you tried to do me, goddammit!” Next, I hear the cracking sound of something slashing, then a loud, pained grunt. “I'ma whip the skin off'a ya black-ass, goddamn you, nigga-coon!”
Slash!

There's more grunting.

Slash!

“No-good nigga-coon! I ain't raise no goddamn kidnappers, goddamn you!”
Slash!

I grip the railing leading down into the basement. Take one step at a time, bracing myself for whatever I might see.

The basement is thick with weed smoke.

My eyes widen in shock. There he is. Her son. Jah'Mel. Naked. Bloody. A bloodstained pillowcase over his head, his head hangs, his chin resting on his chest. His arms are extended over his head, his wrists tied and bound together by rope to a large pipe in the ceiling. Judging by the dark-purplish bruises around his ribs and chest area, it's obvious he's fucked up real bad. It looks as if he's barely breathing.

There's a puddle in the middle of the floor. Piss, I think. I fight not to stare at his long, thick dick.
Mygod, he has a dick like a horse!
I shift my eyes. Bring my attention to Booty, clad in a pair of pink Juicy Couture sweats that she's cut off into a pair of booty shorts with a pink wife beater, and a pair of high-heeled, brown knee-high Timberland boots. A brown silk Gucci scarf is wrapped around her head, Aunt Jemima style. She's pacing the floor—looking wild and crazy, a half-smoked blunt dangling from her lips, her ass bouncing and shaking, her ass cheeks showing, as she circles around Jah'Mel; the way a starved lioness would circle its prey. She's sweating like a bull. The brass knuckles on her right hand are bloody and she's holding an extension cord.

I cringe.

She stops pacing and circling the floor. “Yessss, goddammit, Miss Pasha, girl! It's 'bout damn time you got ya ole messy freak-ass over here. We swooped down on this nigga-coon's black, rusty ass the way he did you…!”

Suddenly I am right back where it all began. At the Mall at Short Hills. In the parking lot. Shopping bags in one hand. My other hand stuck down into my handbag searching for my car keys, then
pulling them out and disarming the alarm. Opening the back door and tossing my bags in; my hair being violently pulled and my head yanked back before I can close the door. There's a click of a gun as it presses against my temple. My cell and keys hit the ground.

“Bitch, if you so much as flinch, I'ma dead ya ass right here. You hear me?”

“Yes, gawd!” Booty exclaims, snatching me from the memory. I blink her into view. “He ain't know what hit him. I bailed his ass out, all grins ‘n' giggles 'til we got his ass up in here for the surprise party.” She curls her lip and blows smoke up toward the ceiling. She walks over and roughly snatches the pillowcase off his head. “You still wanna kidnap bitches ‘n' put guns to they heads, nigga-coon?”

I gasp at the sight of him.

Blood is leaking out of his mouth and nose. His right eye is swollen shut and bleeding. His left eye socket literally looks punched in.

Yes, he's the one who held the gun. He's the one who punched me in the mouth causing blood to gush out, when I started screaming and trying to fight him off of me.
“Bitch, what the fuck is wrong with you, huh? I told you to keep your motherfuckin' mouth shut, you stupid bitch.”
He's the one who hit me upside the head with the butt of his gun, causing everything around me to blur.

Booty slaps his face. Blood and spittle fly out of his mouth. “Nigga-coon, answer me, goddammit! You gonna learn today, goddamn you! I
saaaaid
, you still wanna kidnap bitches?”

He sputters. More blood spews out of his mouth as he tries to speak. Whatever he is attempting to say is inaudible. I glance down at the pool of piss beneath his bare feet, again.

I blink.

Ohmygod! They done knocked three of this nigga's teeth out!

“Miss Pasha, girl,” Booty calls out, holding out the extension cord to me. “C'mon on over ‘n' take this cord ‘n' get you a taste of this nigga-coon's black ass. Do him up right. But don't beat the life outta him, Miss Pasha, girl. He's still my baby. And I ain't tryna see you kill 'im.”

Umm, sweetie, I think you're doing a good job of that on your own.

I shake my head. “He's had enough.
I've
seen enough.” I slowly walk toward him. I had thought I'd be ready to jump on him, to punch him. Stab him. Or shoot him. That I'd be enraged for what he'd done to me.

But I am not.

What he'd done to me wasn't a personal attack on me. It was a mission. He was only doing what he was instructed, what he was paid, to do.

Kidnap me.

And Booty has already done more to him than I would have ever imagined doing. There is no need for anything more to be done. He has to live with this. As do I. And his scars, his broken bones, his missing teeth, will all be reminders of what he'd done.

I cast my glare over toward Booty. “Untie him.”

I hear her son Darius mumbling something under his breath to the right of me. I'm almost certain I hear this nigga say, “This trick-ass.” I cut an evil eye over at him. He's standing, glaring at me. Arms folded. His dark lips turned up into a menacing sneer.

Booty grunts. “Mmmph.
Untie him?
Sugah-boo,
boom!
Not tonight. You might run shit down over there at Nappy No More. But you ain't runnin' a damn thang over here, sugah-boo. So,
boom!
This nigga-coon gonna hang there all night ‘n' think 'bout what the
fuck he done did. He tore his goddamn drawz down to the shitty seams. I ain't havin' no coon-fuckery goin' on with none'a my goddamn kids ‘n' they think I'ma cosign it.

“No, goddammit! They know I will bring the ruckus up on they goddamn skulls. I ain't raise his ass to be out there snatchin' up bitches ‘n' tryna pistol whip 'em. He's lucky we ain't hang his goddamn coon-ass upside down instead. Oooh, this black-dick nigga-coon lucky he's my son ‘n' I'm tryna keep it classy ‘n' not do him real gutter tonight. I should dig my nails into his goddamn big, ole, hairy balls. Ole nasty coon-fuck!”

This bitch is really out of control!

I gaze at him warily, taking a deep breath, then slowly exhaling. I glance over at Darius, again. He's smoking a blunt eyeing me suspiciously. I decide he's as ruthless as Booty. They're both cut from the same damn nasty cloth.

I turn my attention back to her. She's staring at me as well with a puzzled look on her face, both hands up on her thick hips. She sucks her teeth. “Umm, is you gonna serve him up a taste or what, Miss Pasha, girl? Or is you gonna stand there ‘n' be all flip-floppy? Oooh, I can't stand me no flip-floppin' bitch…”

I roll my eyes. “From the looks of things, you and…” I glance over at Darius. “Darius, right?” He tosses me a head nod in acknowledgment, blowing smoke up in the air. “Well, seems to me the two of you have already given him enough
tastes
for the night. So I had
hoped
to have the opportunity to talk to him. You know. Maybe get some useful information out of him. But that's obviously impossible with his jaw broken…”

I look down at his hands. They are twitching slightly. His knuckles are severely swollen and bloody as if they'd been beaten with an object.

I give him a pitiful look, shaking my head. I shoot Booty an annoyed look. “And having him write out anything is also out of the question since it appears the bones in
both
of his hands are broken.”

“Now look,” Booty huffs, stamping her foot, “don't do me, Miss Pasha, girl. You damn right his hands are broken. I smashed 'em real goddamn good with a hammer. His coon-ass will think good ‘n' goddamn hard the next time he wanna kidnap another bitch at gunpoint, goddammit! You know I don't do—”

I put a hand up, cutting her off. “I don't want to hear any more of this. I
said
he's had enough. Untie him.” I reach out and gently touch his mangled, bloody face.

He fights to lift his head, struggles to open his one eye. But, when he finally does, recognition registers on his face. He moves his mouth, attempts to speak. “I-I-I…”

I stop him.

“You
helped Jasper ruin me,” I say, looking him squarely in the face while reaching into my bag and pulling out a napkin. “Did you know that?”

He tries to talk. I raise a hand, stopping him. “Don't. Thanks to
you
and your sidekick—whoever he is, the night the two of you kidnapped me from the mall”—I lightly dab the blood seeping out around his swollen eye—“I was sexually assaulted down in a basement for almost three days, before the nigga who paid you to kidnap me finally came down and beat me half to death, then had his goons dump me in Branch Brook park to die.
You
helped that nigga do that.”

He grimaces.

I pause, allowing the weight of what I've said to crush him more. “Did you know that six men took turns skull-
fucking
me? My punishment for sucking dicks behind his back while he was in prison.”

He hangs his head.

I gaze at him for moments before saying more. “I hope whatever money you earned that night,
Jah'Mel,
for being an accomplice to what happened to me was well worth it.”

Booty huffs. “Hell no, it wasn't worth it…!”

I bite down on my bottom lip. Count to ten in my head. I've had enough of this, her mouth. There's no need for me to be here. With a hanging jaw, unable to talk, to provide me any kind of information, Jah'Mel is useless to me.

If Booty wants to spend the rest of her night beating what's left of his life out of him, let her. His meaningless death will be on her hands, not mine. I have much bigger dragons to slay. And, right now, thanks to James securing the location of that IP address for me, the first nigga to be brought down and slaughtered is, MydickneedsUrtongue2.

I'll have to admit, James really earned himself that wet, sloppy dick suck I put on his ass earlier this evening. By tapping into several databases, he not only secured the address and full name of that nigga, but his social security number, date of birth, as well as his criminal history. The nigga has been in and out of the county jail for nonpayment of child support and disorderly persons' offenses over the last seven years. Mmmph. Anyway, dropping to my knees and sucking and swallowing the hot cream out of James' thick-ass dick in order to finally serve that dirty motherfucker a dose of justice was well worth every damn drop.

So for me, being down in this hot, muggy basement—in this thick-ass cloud of weed smoke, with Booty and her hoodlum-ass son, eye-fucking me one minute, then sneering at me the next—is a waste of my damn time. Besides, it's not where I want to be, any-damn-way. No, I need to be home, thinking out my next move,
planning out in my head, how I'm going to taunt, and toy with, the nigga who's been hiding behind the screen name MydickneedsUrtongue2.