Ruthless and Rotten (8 page)

“What exactly does that mean, dude? Cut all the cloak-and-dagger out!” O.T. was confused and wanted some answers in plain English, straight to the point. “What you mean,
settled up
?”

“What it means is Javier has given me his word as a gentleman that in less than forty-eight hours, your brother Storm will be released and returned home.”

“Are you for real? Don't be fucking around with my emotions!” O.T. blurted into the phone, causing Kenya to shake off her self-induced pity-party trance and run toward O.T., pushing London aside.

“Yes, Javier reassured me. And he knows that we as a whole don't take pleasure in being lied to,” Brother Rasul snarled. “I know that you are overjoyed, O.T., but slow down, there's been some discomfort and pain that your brother has been made to suffer, so please prepare yourself, as well as Kenya.”

“I know. That old, crazy dude sliced part of my brother's earlobe off.”

“I was made aware of that. However, I'm afraid that it's a little bit worse than what you think.”

“How much more worse?” O.T. hesitated asking, fearing the answer.

“Listen, the damage had already been inflicted before we got involved. It was nothing that I could have done or said to have prevented it. Just tell Kenya to remain strong and to call me if need be. Peace.”

O.T. flipped closed the cell and led the girls into the living room, sitting them both down on the couch.

“Well, O.T., what did he say? Is Storm coming home soon? Has Javier changed his mind or something?” Kenya, acting extra, held onto his hand, squeezing it extra-tightly, jumping back up. “What did he say?”

“Sit back down, Kenya and pay attention. This shit here is deep.”

“Yeah Kenya, damn, sit down!” London added, watching O.T. like a hawk. “Let him finish speaking, for God's sake!”

A bitter, yet thankful O.T. tried to the best of his ability to prepare Kenya for the unknown circumstances of Storm's arrival, even though he wasn't truly sure himself of what condition they'd get his beloved brother back. All he knew was he was still alive and that was good enough for him.

“It's six hours short of the deadline that Brother Rasul said.” Kenya anxiously paced the floor. “I wonder, should I call him back and see what the problem is?”

“Naw, Kenya, don't call him yet. He said Javier gave him his word, so let's just ride it out and see. We done waited this long, we can go another six.”

“Okay, O.T, but one second after six hours and I'm calling, flat out.” Kenya's palms were sweaty as she wore a path in the carpet from the door to the window and the window to the couch.

London, Paris, Kenya, and O.T. were all posted, congregated in the front room watching the wall clock move slowly. It was like sheer torture for the group, waiting and wondering what Storm's physical and mental condition was going to be. As the clock ticked, their fears increased, awaiting the unexpected to occur.

Kenya, having the most to lose, was on edge more than anyone else in the house. Storm was her life. She felt without him she was nothing. As the clock slowly dragged by, the tension could be cut with a knife. You could almost hear a tiny pin drop if you listened carefully. It seemed as if every fifteen minutes the silence was broken by O.T.'s cell phone constantly ringing. Even after turning it to vibrate it could still be heard in the midst of the quiet that surrounded the room. Each time he would look down at the screen and see the caller ID, he got more visibly agitated.

Paris and his arguing had increased a lot over the last few weeks, because she knew deep down in her heart, despite his denials, that he was up to no good. “I wish that disrespectful bitch of yours would stop blowing up the damn phone for once!” Paris blurted out with jealous malice. “Don't she ever sleep? All day and all fucking night!” she went on a long-winded rant. “Tell that cheap ho to get herself a life and go find her own man!”

“Look, girl, I already done told your silly, insecure-ass that I ain't fucking around with nobody else, so stop all that bugging.” O.T. kissed Paris on her forehead as she pulled away. “So just chill the hell out, crazy. Ain't nobody getting Daddy's dick but you!”

“Whatever liar! Go on with all that game!”

Paris didn't believe him one bit, just as London, who felt jealous and somehow betrayed. It was bad enough in her eyes that he was claiming Paris as number one, but now she had some other uneducated loser as competition for his rotten affections.

Why is he doing this? He knows I like him.
London's mind went over and over the reason in her head a million times as she watched, envious of the couple's twisted yet loving interactions. It was making her downright sick to her stomach.

“Can y'all all just shut the fuck up for a minute and put that stuff on the back burner? Y'all making me even more nervous, shit!” Kenya halted the heated argument between the two, with rage in her voice. “I can't think!”

“Yeah, can you two please be quiet?” London was quick to jump to her sister's defense, although she had her own secret, ulterior motives. “As much as I hate to interrupt your exchange, this isn't the time or the place to discuss your intimate personal problems.”

Everyone agreed as London turned the radio onto a jazz station she'd found, coaxing them to try to relax. She then disappeared into the kitchen to fix some coffee for the group that was all on edge.
Maybe everyone will calm down
, London thought as she ran some water.

She put the kettle on the stove, turning the fire on high. After getting some mugs out of the cabinets and rinsing them all out, London felt chills rush throughout her body as a pair of big, strong hands firmly gripped her waist. She could feel the warmth of O.T.'s breath in her ear as he whispered.

“Hey now, sexy. What you in here doing all by yourself?” O.T. devilishly smiled.

London's legs were growing weak as she tried to speak, but couldn't. Turning her body around with ease, O.T. pressed his tongue deep into London's mouth. His dick was hard as a rock as he shoved her up against the sink and started to slow grind. London was, for the first time, feeling raw-dog nasty-ass passion. Even though, thanks to the brutal rape she suffered at the hands of her devious college professor—meaning she was no longer a virgin—she still was unaware of what she was feeling.

Her pussy seemed to have a voice of its own and was calling out to O.T. to answer. London was feeling a true out-of-body experience and felt bigger than life itself. The fact that Paris and Kenya were merely yards away in the next room only added to the thrill and sheer excitement that the two were creating. The kettle was getting hotter and coming to a boil just as both of them were.

 

 

“I'm sorry about all that, girl, but I know that nigga is back fooling around with Chocolate Bunny's behind. They always be exchanging funny looks and notes and shit almost every night. My homegirl Jordan, from down at the club, said that black bitch has been going around bragging about some new buster that she done hooked up with.” Paris seized the opportunity to gossip and fill Kenya in about her recent dilemma as soon as O.T. excused himself to go to the bathroom. “Jordan even told me that brain-dead cum-drunk Chocolate Bunny has been flashing a big-ass motherfucking ring somebody put on that bird's finger—I mean claw!”

“Shut the fuck up, Paris! Don't play with me, girl! I know that nigga ain't barebacking down with that wilded-out tramp again!” Kenya momentarily forgot about her own problems for a hot second and joined her friend in talking about O.T.'s known cheating ways. “That fool ain't lost his mind! He knows that ya ass will kill them both and then bounce!”

“Girl, he better not let me find out for sure they screwing, because if I do I swear I'm done! That's my word!” Paris's troubled relationship was in limbo and on the verge of ruin. Folding her arms in disgust, she sat back quietly, puzzling where she went wrong with O.T.

Kenya regretted the fact that her twin sister was attracted to O.T. and knew, given the right amount of time or the right circumstance, the two would probably act on that emotion. She was shocked that Paris, usually perceptive about these types of things when it came to her man, couldn't pick up on it. Her woman's-intuition radar must've been broken. Even Ray Charles on a bad day could see the way her sister and he carried on at all times. It was definitely a thin line between love and hate going on.

Oh, shit!
Noticing O.T. was taking a long time returning from the bathroom, Kenya jumped to her feet and ran into the kitchen. Her intuition was working just fine!

The kettle started to whistle a long, piercing sound as Kenya abruptly entered the kitchen. “What the fuck are y'all doing?” She jerked her sister and her best friend's man apart. “Have y'all two lost y'all's mind or something? I know you are both aware that Paris is right in there.” Kenya pointed toward the living room, trying her best to whisper. “O.T.! Why would you jeopardize getting caught and risk losing your woman? Is all this creeping shit you always doing worth it?”

Kenya, directing all her questions toward him, gave London a chance to remove the loud-sounding kettle from the stove.

“Dang, Kenya, why don't you chill with all that talk? You must want us to get caught up and shit!” O.T. laughed, placing his index finger up to his lips. Without any remorse, he headed back out to the living room. “I'll be in there with my baby, Paris.”

Kenya was infuriated with London. That was the final straw. “Have you lost your damn mind? What the hell has gotten into your sneaky-ass lately? This kinda crap don't make any freaking sense! Do I have to remind you that Paris is my damn friend—my best friend at that?”

“No, Kenya, no you don't!” London was up in Kenya's face, fist balled on the verge of swinging. “That's all the hell I've been hearing ever since I got here in Dallas. Paris this and Paris that. Well, I'm sick of it! So there! Fuck Paris and you! Y'all can have each other—I'm good!”

Kenya was thrown off by the fact that her sister was cursing and all up in her face as if she was ready to attack a bitch. “Oh, it's like that now?” Kenya grinned, braced to swing back on her sister if need be. “I guess you's a big girl, huh? You wanna do big-girl shit—is that right?”

“Yeah, it's just like that!” London refused to back down this time as the twins stood toe-to-toe. “So now what are you going to do, Miss Drama Queen? I'm not scared or ashamed, so go ahead and do what you gotta do!”

Paris, as if on cue, walked in the kitchen just in time to stop the girls from coming to blows. “Hey, what's wrong in here? Y'all act like y'all about to throw down.”

“Nothing,” the twins answered at the same time.

Collectively, they put their family argument on hold as all three of the girls rejoined a smug-faced O.T. in the living room, waiting for Storm's arrival.

Kenya, tired of watching her sister and O.T. give each other the side eye on the sly, grew fed up and was about to explode and spill the beans, letting the chips fall where they may. “You know what?” she asked, looking at Paris with her eyes bucked and lips pouted out.

Before Paris got a chance to reply, there was a soft knock at the front door, causing everyone to pause and fortunately stopping an overly frustrated Kenya from busting on O.T. and her sister. Getting up, pulling his pistol out of his waistband, he put one up top. O.T. signaled over to his soon-to-be sister-in-law to get ready.

“All right, Kenya. Go ahead—open up the door!”

Kenya turned the knob on the door and cautiously pulled it open. She peeked out, barely getting a glimpse of the tail end of a black Yukon driving off as quietly as it apparently had driven up. Kenya looked down, receiving a happy, but sad, sight. Her man was home. It was Storm laid out on the front porch. His back was turned away from her, but Kenya could tell that it was without a doubt him. It was her Storm and he was home. Now things could possibly go back to normal and all would be well.

“O.T., hurry up! It's Storm! He needs help!”

Paris and O.T. ran out onto the stairs, leaving a hesitant London standing alone, waiting to come face-to-face with the all-so famous Storm. Even though she helped out in giving up her money for his safe return, she didn't know him, so it was hard for her to show genuine concern.

O.T. placed his hand on his brother's shoulder and took his time carefully turning him over on his back. “That motherfucker! That old motherfucker!” O.T. mumbled with Javier on his mind. He was pissed to see his brother looking like he did. Paris, distraught, covered her mouth in total disbelief, while Kenya's already fragile heart skipped a beat and crumbled at the sight of her once strong, handsome, devoted fiancé all the girls wanted to be with and who all the guys wanted to be.

“How could they?” Kenya buried her face, sobbing into her hands. “Why would they—why?”

Storm's face had been somewhat mutilated and disfigured. Not only was his earlobe sliced, his entire right side of his jaw was bigger than both Kenya's hands put together. His once-perfect, kissable lips were cracked and dry as if he hadn't had water or any other fluids in days on end. Storm's overall body weight was decreased by at least twenty pounds since Kenya and O.T. last saw him. His left leg had a makeshift kind of medical bandage attached to a flimsy basement-made splint. And lastly, Storm was delirious and beyond dazed.

“Come on, y'all, and help me get him inside before the nosy-ass neighbors around here come outside,” O.T. loudly ordered. “We have to get him on the couch and off this hard, cold concrete.”

Paris let her anger with O.T. go as she bent down, positioning herself to help lift an almost motionless Storm up. “Kenya, we need you to get on his other side so we won't bump his leg. Hurry up, because I'm losing my grip.”

Standing frozen momentarily, Kenya swiftly snapped back to reality and took Storm's twisted leg in her arms. London could see that the trio was struggling, so she rushed over, swinging the door open wide as she could, praying to score points with O.T. for helping. When they got a semiconscious Storm on the couch, turning all the lights on brightly, they got a chance to fully take in the true harshness of the way that Storm was treated wherever he was being held captive at.

Storm's eyes were puffy, red, and watery. Almost swollen shut in the corners, they kept rolling in the back of his head while he was mumbling words that made absolutely no sense whatsoever to any of them. It was as if he was what the old people down south called “speaking in tongues” or “talking out the side of his neck,” like he was insane. It was obvious he was half out of his mind.

Oh, my God! This is bad!
London thought.