Whos Loving You (27 page)

Honey

S
ometimes a woman had to kill herself to survive.

I came from nothing. 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 hands. The one man who truly loved me for me, I’d pushed him away. I hadn’t lived through countless trials and tribulations to exhale my last breath without dignity.

No way in hell was I going to die; not like this, in the back of an SUV staring down the barrel of his .22 caliber pistol. My ex-man Benito pointed the gun at the one place I was sure he would like to blast all 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.

Women living in fear died at the hands of men who were never worthy of their love. Too many women emotionally buried alive, suffered in silence. Compromising their children, bartering their bodies, sacrificing their souls, their sanity in exchange for having a man. And in many cases, a man who didn’t love, appreciate, respect, or deserve them.

I prayed,
Dear God, please don’t let me become a statistic. Don’t let me die without fulfilling my purpose to help save the women who’d given up on get-ting out of unhealthy relationships. Women who are living the way I used to. You gave me a brain, courage, and a heart. Now tell me which one to use first before I kill these fools.

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.

A month ago, I saw Benito—my ex—again when I’d arrived at my current lover’s parents’ place in Washington, D.C. Benito 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. Benito seldom talked about his family when we were together. Blamed his adopted mother for screwing up his life. Gave me no indication he had a half brother named Grant Hill. Now Benito was in my new hometown of Atlanta with my ex-boss, Valentino James, holding me hostage for ransom.

How much did Benito want from me? For me? Hadn’t I given him enough? “Take this,” I said, not knowing, not giving a fuck whose head I’d put a bullet in first. I fired my semi-automatic handgun at Benito and Valentino.

Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow!

My body pounded like a jackhammer. Stars danced in front of my eyes. I prayed I’d make it out of this situation alive. The sound of engines humming in the distance, too far away from us for drivers to distinguish gunfire from a car back-firing, gave little hope of my being rescued. Glancing at my wristwatch, both hands aligned directly on twelve. Too early for this nonsense. The sun, bright, blinding. I squinted at the sky, 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. Still loved his brother Grant. 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 come back to me.

“Ah!” Benito screamed soprano, ducked, covered his face, peeped at me between hs fingers. His small gun fell, clacked three times on the pavement.

Pressing my lips togther, I swallowed my chuckle. I’d done right getting rid of him. Former pro-quarterback champion punking out in a shoot out. Why was I still protecting Benito? Kill Benito before he kills my chances of getting back with Grant.

Knees to chin. Heels cushioned into my butt cheeks. Lying in the trunk, messing up my red designer pantsuit, inhaling fumes of the new car, I aimed my gun at my target. Valentino’s head.

Wiggling my fingers, I demanded, “What the fuck is your problem, Valentino? Hand me your goddamn phone.” I kept my gun and eyes fixed on him. My phone was underneath my side. The only person I’d phone was Sapphire Bleu, the one woman who could track down any man in America and wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. Left her a message not to call me back. I’d call her again. “Benito, if you bend over to pick up that gun, I’ll slap you upside your head, then shoot you in your ass.”

Benito squinted 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. Fuck her. Pick up the gun and shoot her ass,” Valentino commanded.

The last time I’d seen Valentino was the day he was arrested at his mansion in Las Vegas. Pimping and pandering was his vice. I got out of the business by choice. Circumstances beyond his control forced Valentino out. I had what he desperately needed. If he killed me, he’d never get what he’d come for.

Why did these lowdown dirty bastards agitate me to the point of wanting to blow their brains out? I could kill him. Kill them. Splatter the cells God intended as a masterpiece against the hot asphalt beneath their soles. No one would care but me. Didn’t want to go to jail or go insane without having Grant in my life.

Curled in 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. Moved in the right direction both times.

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

“Shoot her ass, nigga. Don’t just stand there,” Valentino yelled at Benito. “You want her to kill me?” he asked, tossing his cellular inside the SUV.

I wanted to laugh. One toy gun between the two of them, and it was on the ground.

“Bitch, you gon’ give me back my fifty mil, then I’m gon’ personally kill you,” Valentino said, curling his fingers into fists.

This time I had to do it. “Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,” I belted, keeping my gun aimed at Valentino. “Benito, get the gun. Give it to me,” I said. Pressing the speaker on Valentino’s phone, I kept my gun aimed at him.

Money was the root of evil for the person who didn’t have any. The fifty million was mine. A gift. Sapphire had given me half of Valentino’s money. He hadn’t. I didn’t owe Valentino shit. Neither did she. I’d given half of my half back to the women who’d earned it fucking Valentino’s clients.

My assistant Onyx shouted through the phone, “Honey, where are you?”

Benito eased toward me, kicked the gun closer to Valentino. I shifted my aim to Benito, then 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 dared him, “Try me.”

“Let’s go, nigga!” Valentino yelled. “That bitch is crazy.”

No, I wasn’t crazy.

I was a woman who didn’t take shit off of abusive men. Not anymore. Two life-threatening marriages and these two fools here, I should be crazy, but I wasn’t. The only person I was crazy about was Grant and my dead sister, Honey. I killed myself on paper, buried my birth name Lace St. Thomas, then resurrected my sister’s name, Honey Thomas. Maybe if I were more like Honey, my past life of prostitution, being a madam, and killing Reynolds would perish, never return to haunt me.

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

Valentino fell to the ground, crawled along side the car, yelling, “Lock that bitch in the trunk and let’s go! I’ma personally kill her ass execution style!”

Always smarter than Valentino’s wannabe pimp ass, I’d organized and operated his escort service. Managed his thirteen girls for a year. Now they were my girls, all millionaires, no longer prostituting. Valentino had more than enough time to run like a bitch. All talk, no action. Valentino wasn’t a coward. He was out gunned. 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,” Benito pleaded. His eyes softened. “Just give Valentino back his money. He’ll give me half and 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 he ever will.”

Valentino yelled, “Nigga, this ain’t
Deal or No Deal.
Lock that bitch in and let’s go.”

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

With no gun, he was right. Aim. Click. Turn. Fire. Four bullets shattered the front windshield.

Benito reached for my legs. Pulled me out of the car. Scrambled into the passenger’s seat as Valentino sped off with the SUV trunk door in mid-air.

Damn, their gun was on the ground and Valentino’s cell phone and mine were in the trunk of their SUV. “Huh.”

No money. No phone. No transportation. Two guns. I stood in the middle of a deserted parking lot, placed my gun back in the holder. Tucked their gun behind my back, inside my pants.

“It’s too hot for this shit.”

Stilettos clicking against the black sweltering asphalt, sweat dripping from my head, rolling behind my ears, down my neck, I walked a mile through the Atlanta ninety-degree heat wave to the I-75 on-ramp and held up my thumb.

O
n my knees, I cried, “Noooo,” holding on to Onyx’s leg. Crawling up her body, I held Onyx’s toned biceps, her jet-black skin flawless, nerves raveled. I screamed in her face, “Where is she? Tell me right now.”

Gasping, Onyx whispered, “Velvet, I’m so scared. Right before you walked in here I heard gunshots.” Fueled with anger, Onyx’s large eyes swept hard corner-to-corner. “Valentino demanded his money back. Wants me to get it. I don’t know what to do…she might be…”

I let go of Onyx, matched the intensity of her hatred for a man I hadn’t met, then asked, “Gunshots? Who the fuck is Valentino? Where is he? I’ma kick his ass.”

Helpless. Standing in Honey’s office of Sweeter Than Honey, I had to rescue her. I owed her so much. I was grateful for Honey. I was her first client. She’d tracked down my son’s father, gotten me seventy-two grand in back child support from Alphonso, the sleazebag who’d raped and impregnated me, then demanded I not call him ever again cause he didn’t want his wife to know he’d fathered our son Ronnie. Honey believed in my dreams of starring in the movie
Something on the Side,
went with me to Los Angeles to confront Ronnie’s father. I’d come to Honey’s office to share my joy. I’d gotten the part. I had to thank her for all she’d done for me.

Onyx’s eyes closed. Tears streamed over her cheeks, staining her sleeveless mint-green silk blouse. Her mouth opened. Blackberry lips parted, exposing chocolate gums and white teeth. Circling her long black ponytail in her palm, she jammed the phone to her ear. She was taking too long to say something. I snatched the cordless phone from her hand.

Frantically, Onyx waved her hands at me. “I was listening. Waiting. Don’t hang up. Honey said, ‘Don’t hang up.’ I think she’s still on the other end. Oh, God help us please.” Onyx paced the floor, circled her desk. Rubbed her palms on her skirt.

I pressed the phone to my ear. Heard a lot of static like someone was hissing, fumbling, or shuffling.

Onyx cried, “He’s going to kill Honey if he doesn’t get his money back.”

“I’ma call Grant. Grant is a real man and he’ll kick Valentino’s ass,” I said, scrolling through my cell phone contact list.

Onyx shook her head. “I just talked to him before you got here. He’s on his way.”

“That’s what’s up. I’ll call Sapphire then,” I said, pressing the letter S.

“She’s on her way too,” Onyx said.

I yelled into the cordless, “Hey! Valentino! Answer this damn phone. This is Velvet, motherfucker.”

The slamming stopped. Silence crept into my ear. Chills crawled up my spine tensing my neck. Then I heard a man’s voice. “Who in the hell is this?”

“This is Red Velvet and I’m going to personally beat your ass if you harm Honey,” I told him. “Punk.”

Calmly, he said, “Put Onyx on the phone, Red Velvet.”

“I’m running this show. You talk to me.”

“Okay, Velvet. Is red your favorite color?” he asked.

“Yours?” I countered. “Stop wasting my time. Where in the hell is Honey?”

“You mean Lace. If we don’t get our money, she’s either dead or going to jail,” he said. “I’ll personally drop her ass off on the sidewalk in front of a mortuary and trust me, you won’t be able to identify her body. Or I’ll take her to a police station after I cut off her arms and legs. You decide since you’re in charge. Or you can give me my money in exchange for your precious Lace St. Thomas or I’ma put your ass on a stroll until you earn my money.”

I had to think this out fast. I gestured at Onyx. She took the phone.

“Valentino, give me forty-eight hours. You’ll have your money wired to whatever account you give me. I can do a wire. I can’t get cash out of Honey’s account.”

“What? Are you crazy?” I said, snatching the phone from Onyx. “We ain’t giving your ass one dime, you hear me? No Honey. No money. You wanna talk? Meet us tonight at Stilettos Strip Club at eight o’clock and don’t be late. I want to meet your retarded ass in person.”

“You’re a hot head. Liable to get yourself killed tonight. I’ll be there. Eight o’clock but your forty-eight hours start right now,” Valentino said, then hung up.

Onyx stopped crying, started sniffling.

“We need Sapphire Bleu,” I said. “She’ll take care of Valentino.”

We had the law to protect us. Sapphire was a cop and she was Honey’s friend.

Onyx sat on her desk. Held my hand, then said, “I owe Honey my life. We all do. The other eleven girls too.”

“Where they at? The other girls. They could help us.”

“Out working. Trying to convince prostitutes to stop selling their bodies. We were all escorts in Vegas. High paid escorts. And Honey was our madam. Honey started this business in Atlanta to help women get off their backs. Now she’s the one who needs our help.”

I exhaled trying to devise a plan to Honey. What if Valentino didn’t bring her to Stilettos? What if he didn’t show up?

Hoping to reassure Onyx, I said, “We’ll find Honey. Believe that.” I was fascinated, curious about Onyx. “What was that like? Being an escort. You know lots of females have sex for free, let men use them. Must be better getting paid. How much did you get paid?”

Onyx stared at me, cold, hard. “A woman would be better off auctioning her soul to the devil than letting a different man stick his dick in her mouth…pussy…asshole every night. Sometimes two, three, four men a night. Back-to-back-to-back. Two thousand a night isn’t worth it when you end up shot in the head like my best friend Sunny. One day before her twenty-first birthday, Valentino killed her because she wanted out.” Onyx broke down in tears.

Oh, damn. What if Valentino was serious about killing Honey?

I hugged Onyx. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Onyx trembled in my arms, spoke as though she hadn’t heard me. “Honey could’ve left us in Vegas, came to Atlanta by herself, took her millions, started a new life without us. But she didn’t. Gave all of us airline tickets. We all came right away, except Girl 6.” Onyx eyes widened. She picked up the cordless, dialed a number, then said, “Girl 6, get your ass back to the office. Now.”

Eyes shifting. Bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

“You think Girl 6 set Honey up?” I asked.

“Don’t know. But I’m definitely going to find out.”