Double Dippin'

ALLISON HOBBS

Strebor Books
New York London Toronto Sydney Singapore

Dear Reader:

All I can say is fasten your seatbelt because you are about to go on a breathtaking ride. Allison Hobbs is an author whose time has come. It is time for her to garner the attention that she deserves with this, her fourth novel. If you have not read
Pandora’s Box, Insatiable
or
Dangerously in Love,
you have been sleeping on one of the best novelists on the scene. It amazes me when so many authors or their publishers put them out there to be “hotter than Zane” or “in the tradition of Zane” and they write nothing like me, nor do they understand my market. I can honestly say that if there is any author in existence today who writes similar to me, but yet has her own controversial and erotic style, it would be Allison Hobbs.

I met Allison at the Baltimore Book Festival several years ago. She had self-published
Pandora’s Box
and I approached her and asked her a ton of questions; all of which she answered with much enthusiasm and excitement. I purchased her book and was convinced it was going to be awesome before I cracked it open. Why? Because Allison was an author writing for all the right reasons. She was bubbling with creativity and believed in her product; much like myself from the onset of my writing career. I was right because the book was off the chain. I did not believe she could top
Pandora’s Box
because it was so realistic, so sexy, and so engaging that I was ready to go hang out in a brothel. I was wrong because
Insatiable
and
Dangerously in Love
were equally amazing. Now with
Double Dippin’
Allison has yet again outdone herself as she journeys into the psyche of twin brothers who leave disparate lives.

I want to thank you in advance for reading this book. I guarantee you will love it. I guarantee you will love all of Allison’s novels. If you have enjoyed my books, then you will go crazy over hers. The characters are conversation pieces all by themselves. The amazing storyline is the icing on the cake. This is an ideal book club selection because it can be discussed for hours among members. Some books are good for fifteen minutes of discussion and then it is time to eat and mingle. With Allison’s books, you could talk and debate into the wee hours of the night. She keeps it real and serious readers cannot help but appreciate her dedication to her craft.

I want to thank those of you who have been gracious enough to support the dozens of authors I publish under Strebor Books International, a division of ATRIA/Simon and Schuster. While writing serves as a catalyst for me to release my personal creativity, publishing allows me the opportunity to share the talent of so many others. If you are interested in being an independent sales representative for Strebor Books International, please send a blank email to [email protected]

Peace and Blessings,

Publisher
Strebor Books International
www.streborbooks.com

ALSO BY ALLISON HOBBS

Dangerously in Love

Insatiable

Pandora’s Box

ZANE PRESENTS

DOUBLE DIPPIN’

A NOVEL

A
LLISON
H
OBBS

Strebor Books
P.O. Box 6505
Largo, MD 20792
http://www.streborbooks.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or
locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

© 2006 by Allison Hobbs

Cover design: www.mariondesigns.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means
whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.

LCCN 2006923550

First Strebor Books trade paperback edition July 2006

10  9  8  7  6  5  4  3  2  1

Manufactured in the United States of America

For information regarding special discounts for bulk purchases,
please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-800-456-6798
or [email protected]

eISBN-13: 978-1-439-10806-2

ISBN-13: 978-1-593-09065-4

www.SimonandSchuster.com

For Shari Reason
My Second Daughter

My dearest friend Karen Dempsey Hammond and her daughter, Dolly. You are both truly angels and a blessing in my life; I can’t thank you enough for coming to my rescue while I was desperately trying to put together my first book launch party.

I’ve made many new friends and I’m so pleased that I can sprinkle some love in print. A heartfelt thank you goes out to: Venetta Larry and the Philly Unplugged crew, Timmy Wayne Gethers, Rashedah Lewis, and my Sagittarius Sister, Yvonne Marie Bay/aka Vonnie B, The Philly Diva!

A special thanks to Rosa Hamlet and Sharon Garrett, co-founders of Minds in Motion Book Club of Baltimore, Maryland; Michele Claybrook-Lucas and the members of the Beautiful Bodacious Bibliophiles Book Club of Philadelphia, PA; LisaMarie Heyward and the Philly African American Book Club.

Charmaine Parker, I appreciate and admire your intellect, elegance, tact, and of course, your editing skills!

Thank you, Zane, for this wondrous journey and for making my literary dreams come true.

1990

M
arguerite Batista burst into her twin sons’ bedroom. She crouched down beside the lower bunk bed, and her slender but strong hand yanked the blanket off the younger twin.

“Wake up!” Her fear-filled voice broke into the peaceful slumber of four-year-old Tariq Batista.

Drowsily, cherub-faced Tariq blinked at his mother and then massaged his eyelids with his knuckles until he had rubbed away the sleepy haze that clouded his vision. One clear look at his mother’s contorted features and fear-filled eyes caused Tariq to bolt upright.

“They’re back,” she whispered in anguish.

Tariq started to cry. “Shh!” Marguerite pressed a finger to her lips and shook her head. Danger lurked down the hall in her bedroom. They had to get out of the house—they had to escape.

Now obediently quiet but trembling, Tariq groped desperately for his blue teddy bear that had rolled out of the crook of his arm at some point during the night.

With a brisk tug, Marguerite pulled Tariq out of bed and then looked up toward the upper bunk. No longer concerned about fleeing quietly, she called the older twin. In a tone tinged with impatience, she shouted, “Shane! Wake up.” Unlike his twin brother, Shane came to awareness slowly. Lazily, he uncurled his wiry body, stretched, and yawned but kept his eyes tightly closed.

She ripped the teddy bear from Tariq’s arms and hurled it upward. There was a clunking sound as the plastic nose of the stuffed animal made contact with Shane’s head.

“Get the hell up, Shane. The demons are back,” she yelled in terror.

The ladder that came with the bed set had been broken in half during a bout of horseplay between the brothers and now stood uselessly in a corner of the room. Though the nose of the stuffed bear didn’t injure him, Shane reflexively rubbed his head before he shimmied down the side of the bunk bed as far as he could and then jumped the rest of the way to the floor.

Marguerite pushed back coils of unruly hair that fell into her face. She wiped nervous perspiration from her forehead and looked warily over her shoulder in the direction of the darkened hallway that led to her bedroom. She sighed, momentarily relieved that her bedroom door was still closed; she and her children were safe for the moment.

Propped against the bed railing, the groggy twins stood in their underwear, waiting for the verdict—could they get back into their beds or did they all have to run out into the night?

With her eyes wide and fearful, Marguerite stared at the boys. “What’s wrong with you two? Didn’t you hear me? The demons are coming,” she shrieked. “Hurry up! Get dressed—right now!” She clapped her hands to speed her sons along.

Shane jumped into action. Quickly sticking a skinny leg into a pair of jeans, he lost his balance and toppled over. While on the floor he stuck in the other leg and wiggled into the pants.

Tariq stood in stunned stillness. “Get dressed, Tariq!” Marguerite hissed through clenched teeth.

“I need Teddy,” Tariq whined and pointed upward where his teddy bear lay abandoned.

“Fuck Teddy; get dressed. Let’s go!”

Marguerite did not have the same concern for her own appearance. Partially dressed, she wore a white T-shirt, white panties, and black sneakers, which were covered by a blue flannel robe. The boys could not keep up with their mother’s pace and though she held Tariq’s hand, her stride was so quick that she practically dragged the young child through the streets of North Philly.

Frightened that the demons that tormented his mother would sneak up behind him and snatch him away from his family, Shane trotted behind his
mother, trying to match her pace. After ten exhausting blocks, his legs gave out. He fell to the concrete and scraped both knees.

“Damn demons,” his mother mumbled as she darted through traffic, ignoring traffic lights. She paid no attention to the sounds of screeching tires and honking horns coming from the cars that had come to an abrupt halt as she crossed Cecil B. Moore Avenue.

Her concern was not with living beings. The fear of being followed by demons had Marguerite looking nervously over her shoulder every few seconds. Thinking she spotted one, she quickly swooped up Tariq in her arms and picked up speed. “We’re never going back to that house,” she told Tariq. “Never!” She continued a brisk and agitated pace, never bothering to check to see if Shane was keeping up.

Although he was only five minutes older than Tariq, Shane was the big brother and was expected to behave as such. Marguerite didn’t have time to coddle two boys. Besides, there was something about Shane that irked her. He reminded her of one of the guards at Byberry. Or was it a fellow patient? Marguerite couldn’t remember. At any rate, Shane reminded her of someone she’d had a violent encounter with inside that horrific mental hospital. Shane was not round and cuddly like Tariq. He was wiry; his angular face reminded her of the nameless man with the dimple in his chin who’d covered her mouth with a large calloused hand and left her pregnant with twins. Like the violent stranger, her son Shane had the same indentation on the tip of his chin. Thus, on more occasions than she could count, Marguerite had left angry hand-prints on Shane’s face, buttocks, thighs…wherever.

While Shane was a beautiful child, the color of red clay with an abundance of jet-black, tightly curled hair, Tariq looked more like her. He was fair-skinned, with sandy-colored soft, bouncy curls and, had no dimpled chin.

From the ground, Shane watched with growing horror as the distance between himself and his mother widened. Forgetting the stinging pain in his knees and swallowing his fear, the little boy jumped up and ran as fast as he could. Tires squealed, horns blared as the small child frantically chased after his family.