Get Ready for War (5 page)

“Well, technically, dear, he's not your boyfriend. He's still involved with that London girl, isn't he? And if my memory serves me correctly, he is over eighteen, isn't he. And you do know how I like them young.”

I frowned. Kitty was disgusting. She was married to a man who was old enough to be her father, yet ran around chasing boys who were practically young enough to be her sons. I was convinced she was having some kind of midlife identity crisis or something. “Yes, Mother. I know exactly how much you enjoy staking out the boys' locker rooms. Tell me something I don't already know.”

“Sooooo,” she continued, seemingly unfazed by my remark, “have the two of you . . . you know, had sex yet?”

I huffed. “You wait one dang minute, you nasty snot-rag. That's none of your business. You have really crossed the line now, Mother. Bottom line, you keep your horny paws away from him or I will declaw you. Where's your little boy toy, Rico? Wait, Lennox? Or was he last month's freak of the moment for you? Don't tell me they've tired of you already.”

She waved me on. “Oh, Spencer, darling, unclench your booty cheeks. Don't be so constipated. I'm only having a little fun with you.”

I sneered. “No. You unclench yours. Better yet, keep your sticky thongs on and stay the hell away from Anderson.”

“My, my, my... awful possessive, aren't we? What does your friend London have to say about all of this? Or does she even know that you're up to your whorish ways, sneaking around with her boyfriend while smiling in her face. Oh, sweet-sweet Spencer. You. Are. Scandalous.”

I rolled my eyes, placing a hand up on my hip. “And you are disrupting my morning, being here.”

“Let me tell you something, Spencer dear. And you had better listen up good. All is fair in men, money, and war. If you want to drop down in the trenches and get dirty, then you had better strap up and be ready to fight for what you believe in. And that includes fighting for a man that isn't yours, but is good for you. But in the meantime, you had better keep a close eye on that Heather Cummings.”

I blinked. “I'm not worried about her. Heather can't hurt me any more than she already has.”

“Spencer, toughen up. There is no time to be getting all wrapped up in your hurt feelings. That little two-dollar trollop disrespected you. She called you out and declared war on you. And you need to handle her. You have twenty-eight days to prepare, since she's stuck in rehab. But by the time she's released, you had better be armed, loaded, and ready for battle.”

She leaned her head back and twisted her hair up into a diamond clip. “Well, I have to get going.” She kissed me on the cheek, then headed toward the door. She turned back to face me. “Oh, by the way, your father and I are getting divorced. And you're going to South Africa to live with him.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What? South Africa? Oh, no the hell I'm not. I'm not going any-dang-where. You go. I'm staying right here.”

“Spencer. You heard what I said. You're going to live with your father. It's time he started acting like a parent instead of running off into the wilderness. He's the one who wanted you in the first place. I've done my part. I gave birth to you. Now it's time for me to start living my life.”

Before she could get all the way out the door, I stormed over to her and yanked her by the arm. “You want to live your life? Go live it. But you must not have gotten the memo, Mother. I said. I'm. Not. Going. Any. Where.
Now mess with me if you want
. And you won't be the only one dishing the dirt around here. I will drag you through the gutters of hell and set you on fire for the world to see. I mean it. I gave you those photos of Heather and her mother and you're getting your precious interviews. Now I expect you to make good on your promise. Pay me my money. I want it transferred into my personal account by four o'clock today, or I will be giving my own exclusives.”

She blinked. “You wouldn't dare.”

I let go of her arm. “Fight for what I believe in, right? All is fair in men, money, and war. Isn't that what you said, Mother? Now try me.”

She grinned. “Now that's the no-nonsense spitfire I expect to see from here on out. Take no prisoners, Spencer, darling. Aim your barrel, shoot, and ask questions later. I'll make the call to the accountant now and have your money transferred.”

I leered at her. Kitty was useless. I was so over the days of wanting her around. I was so done with the idea of her being a mother. I was convinced some women should never, ever, have children. And Kitty was one of them. Her insides needed to be pulled out and tossed in a meat grinder to ensure she never got pregnant again. The only thing she was good for was her money. And even that I didn't need. I had millions of dollars sitting in a trust fund set up for me by my father, waiting to be collected on my eighteenth birthday. And there was nothing Kitty could do to stop it. But in the meantime, I was going to take her for everything she was worth. Oh yes . . . there was a new sheriff in town. Spencer Ellington. And I was kicking off my stilettos, taking off my diamonds, sharpening up my nails, and getting ready to claw up anyone who got up in my face. And make no mistake. I would handle Heather, Rich, and London as needed, one by one. Whoever drew their weapons first would be taken down.

E
verything in my diamond-glistening, designer-clad world seemed to be falling apart . . . no, spiraling out of control . . . right before my big, brown, dreamy eyes. And I hated it. Hated that uncontrollable feeling of not having my manicured fingertips on the beating pulse of my own life; hated not being in control of everything around me. And I despised, even more, the frightening thought of not having the ability to snap my fingers and have others around me bend to my every whim and follow my orders.

And this . . . this feeling of losing myself had me stressing the hell out.

My life was a shattered mess!

Daddy was disgusted with me and decided that giving me the silent treatment for the last three days was a much better choice than wringing my neck or beating me senseless for smacking up those snot-nosed, too-hot-in-the-box, slick-mouthed, pygmy look-alikes who thought they could bring it to me. And the end result? I'm the one who ended up with a sprained ankle and had three of the four Powerpuff rejects jumping up on my back and pulling my hair, all because I was stuck at school defending the reputation and honor of being one of the goddamn Pampered Princesses all by myself. I swear. There was no honor among catty, conniving hoes. But, whatever! It is what it is. Still... Daddy saw what I did as disgraceful. So I had become invisible to him. And that ate up my nerves!

Then my darling, domineering mother—who couldn't stay home longer than a week—was back in Paris floating on some runway or hosting some star-studded charity event while monitoring my caloric intake via our morning FaceTime chats, compliments of MAC. She was ecstatic when she witnessed the electronic scale register that I had lost six pounds. “Oh, my darling London!” she exclaimed at five thirty this morning. “Vous serez sur la piste en peu de temps.” She was excited that I'd finally be back on the runway in no time. That's all she cared about. Being runway ready! “I am so proud of you, sweetheart. I knew you could do it. ”

Then there was the issue of Rich—who up until thirty-seven seconds ago, I still hadn't heard from—being MIA. Yes,
poof!
Gone! Absent from all communication! She had literally fallen off the face of the earth and left me no forwarding address. Like, really, who the hell did that?

To add to my already miserable existence, I had a boyfriend—who I really didn't want, but needed for appearance's sake. He was good for me. Or at least that was what my parents were brainwashing me to believe. He was articulate and polished. Cultivated and educated. He was who I was expected to one day marry and have bouncing bundles of joy with—heirs to his family's multi-billion-dollar empire. Blah, blah, blah.

But I hadn't been able to reach him for the last week, despite leaving him several messages. That was soooo not like him. He was a well-trained puppy who wagged his tail and did what I wanted. Well, that's not entirely true. There was the one time when he called himself checking me and laying down ground rules a few weeks ago in his car, but that didn't last long. I quickly yanked him by his leash and got him back in line. And I had him worshipping the ground I walked on, eating out of the palm of my hand and adorning me with beautiful, expensive trinkets. Up until now...

Then there was the issue of my guiltiest pleasure—my boo, my whole entire world—who I still wasn't talking to. But that was fine as long as he kept calling me and kept sweating me, because at least I was in control. But once his “Pick-up-baby-I-miss-you” calls had stopped, I was a panicky mess! And little did my mother know.
He
was the reason I had lost those six pounds. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't think straight. I was too consumed with him calling me. Incessantly staring at the screen of my cell, checking for texts and willing it to ring just so that I could see his name and face flash across my screen. But it hadn't rung or beeped since Sunday night.

And that was driving me insane. I felt like I was on a one-way train ride to Looney-ville.

That's how this was making me feel, like I was two scoops from crazy.

He was everything my boyfriend wasn't. He was a bad boy. He was hood bred. He was rough and rugged and as gritty as the streets he came from. He was sooo dang wrong in all the right ways. And he was the love of my life. Still, I couldn't allow him to play me.

And—finally, after all of this nail-biting and torturous waiting—my man had been calling me all morning. And the only reason I hadn't answered the phone was because I had to make him pay. Problem was, I didn't know how long I could hold out. The truth was, I loved him. But my heart ached. I knew he had done me dirty. But that didn't matter. I wanted him. I needed him. And I didn't want to be alone in this world without him. Why couldn't he just love me back? I wanted love and peace. And all he wanted was drama.

How could he say that to me when I'd given him every part of me, emotionally, mentally,
and
sexually since I was thirteen?

I sighed, wiping tears from my face. I was starting to feel like he was using me.

And all I ever did was love him. And want the best for him. Yet that hadn't been good enough. I knew we had a plan. And I promised to see it through. But sometimes bad things happen and plans have to change. But that didn't change my feelings for him.

And I thought he would love me anyway, but I was wrong because he didn't.

Still, this was the twenty-seventh time he had called this morning. And yes, it had relieved a lot of my stress. It let me know that he still cared. And now that he was back sweating me, it showed me he still wanted me. That maybe he still loved me. And that I was in control. It was a shame you had to treat a man like a dog for him to come to his senses.

I smiled, slowly feeling back on top.
I knew my boo would finally get his mind right.

“What, Justice?” I abruptly answered, feigning annoyance in spite of my heart defying my tone and leaping with joy.

“Oh, so that's how you speak to ya man now?” he coolly asked. His voice was hot and husky like sweet, dark, melted chocolate. I swallowed, hard.

I blinked back the sting of that night when he stood right here in my bedroom and cursed me out. Told me he was sick of me and wanted nothing else to do with me.

“Last I checked I didn't have a man. Remember?”

“Yeah, a'ight. Whatever, yo. You know that was just my ego talkin'. You got me buggin', yo. You know I ain't lettin' you go, baby. It's me and you, like we always said it would be. I got too much love for you.” He lowered his voice. “Wit' ya sexy self. I miss you like crazy.”

I rolled my eyes and grinned at the same time. His intoxicating voice made me dizzy. He had such an overpowering effect on me. On my sanity. And I hated him . . . for that.

“Yeah, okay. If you say. Now how can I help you?”

“Yo, go 'head wit' all that. You miss me?”

You have no idea how much
. I sucked my teeth.

“No,” I lied, closing my eyes, his eyes, his lips, his chin, his muscular body, all taking shape in my mind's eye.

“Baby...I wanna make love to you. You miss how I make you feel?”

Heat shot through my body. My breath quickened.

“Give me a kiss, yo.”

I shifted the phone from one ear to the other, walking into the adjoining sitting room. I picked up my crystal butterfly and stared at it. My wishes, my hopes and dreams, were all wrapped up in this boy. And so far nothing had worked out the way I had planned.

“Justice, please. You think you can curse me out, then storm out of my house, not call me for four days, then all of a sudden call and whisper a bunch of sweet nothings and everything's supposed to be good? I can't keep doing this with you.”

“I know, baby. I was dead wrong for that. But you know how I get when you start ya BS, yo. But check it. I'm over it now.”

I frowned.
Well, good for you. I'm not!

“I wrote a song for you.”

Keep it cute, girl. Don't get gassed.
“Oh, for real?”

“Yeah. It's called ‘I Love You and I Miss You. ' ” He started humming, then sang a verse. And I couldn't help but grin. His voice was like heaven. “Yo, what you think? I was up all night writing it.”

“It's beautiful. But . . .”

“Look, London, baby. I know I said some effed-up stuff to you last week, but you hurt me, for real for real, yo.”

I stared at the phone. I had hurt him? Was he serious? Had he lost all touch with reality? I frowned. “Justice, you cursed me out. But you know what? I can't get into it right now. I gotta go.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I don't have time to play with you. Rich is supposed to be coming over. Spencer is coming over. You know, the people who care about me.”

He snorted. “Oh, the media hoes? So you gonna dis me for them?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Yeah, a'ight. That's real effed up, yo. But you know what? All y'all hoes deserve each other. So do you.”

I gasped. “Ohmygod, I can't believe you said that.”

“You started it. You and ya slick mouth. It's all about you. Eff me, right? You still on that. Oh, what y'all wanna do, huddle to get y'alls whoring together. I get the message. I ain't nothin', right? It's all about you and Rich. And Spencer. And the little crackhead.”

“She isn't a crackhead. And we happen to be friends by default. So get it right.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Exactly.”

“Yo, you know what, London? You sound stupid. I see you still a little girl. Here I am tryna love you, tryna tell you how I feel about you. I'm sittin' up all night, cryin' over you, writin' love songs to yo' ungrateful behind, wonderin' if you still gonna be my wife, but you ain't ready for me. Eff Rich, Spencer, and
you
. All four of you snakes can suck a big one.”

My knees buckled.

My heart started sinking.

I was on the verge of tears. I wanted to collapse right in the middle of the floor and have a full-fledged tantrum with lots of spit, drool, and tears. But before I could, my housekeeper Genevieve's voice cut through on the intercom. “Miss London. Miss Rich is here.”

“Miss London?”

I sniffed, wiping my face. “Yeah? I'm here.”

“Should I send her up?”

I stood and stared at myself in the mirror as I grabbed a tissue and dabbed at the corners of my eyes.
I don't know why I keep letting him do this to me. Hurting me.

This is not about me and Justice. Justice doesn't care about me. So I'm done with caring about him. He's right. I am so stupid. I have to get my life back together and focus on what's important. No scheming, no planning. No stress, no worries, and no Justice. It was time to get back to something I could control, like getting the It Clique back on top where we belonged.

I wiped my eyes dry. “Yeah, send her up.”

I placed a hand up on my hip, eyeing Rich as she walked through the door. “Oh, so you just gonna show up after I've been texting and calling you for the last five days. You done took me waaaay out of my comfort zone. Because I don't do that. I call you once—if you don't call me back, you're written off. So you had better have a good reason as to why I haven't heard from you, in like forever. Have me worried sick about you. And I don't do worry. So was silent treatment a result of morning sickness, 'cause I don't appreciate not hearing from you.”

She waved me on, smacking her lips. “London, please. What's the crisis? I didn't come all the way over here to be lectured to. I coulda stayed home for that.” She patted her chest. “Rich needs attention. She needs attending to. So I didn't come over here for you to be sweating me.” She flopped down on my chaise and lay back on it, placing a hand up over her forehead. “I have one last cry left for the morning and I didn't get a chance to use it because I was interrupted by you and your ranting and raving.” She let out a disgusted sigh. “Ah, you are soooo selfish, London. You don't give a damn about anyone but yourself.”

I stared at her in disbelief as she stretched out on my chaise as if she were in a doctor's office waiting for therapy. And here I was in pain. Yet she had the audacity to call me selfish. “Selfish? Are you kidding me?”