Hell House

Dear Reader:

Reality shows have definitely become the craze on television. Collectively, tens of millions of people gather around their flat-screens, projector sets, iPads, etc. on any given day to live their lives vicariously through the drama, heartache and comedic moments of others. In Brenda Hampton's
Hell House,
we gain much insight into the inner workings of the minds of such contestants. Why would someone even agree to be on an elimination show? Live in a house with complete strangers for several weeks or months? Give up their connection to the outside world for an extended period of time? Put up with personal attacks on their character, or engage in mind games to seduce, trick, and break down other individuals? The obvious answers are money and fame but such is not always the most prominent reason.

In
Hell House,
Hampton introduces us to six unique, variously motivated people who quickly get out of control once they meet their new roommates. From the less-than-seasoned female contestant who struggles to pronounce big words but can work her way around a kitchen like no other, to a vain young man who is already wealthy but needed a break from his hectic lifestyle, readers are drawn into their intriguing mindsets from the very beginning. But this is only the first of three books. Like real elimination shows, people will have to vacate the premises one-by-one until a winner is declared.
Hell House
is a rare and bold concept that will surely garner much acclaim.

As always, thanks for supporting the authors of Strebor Books. We always try to bring you groundbreaking, innovative stories that will entertain and enlighten. For a list of complete titles, please visit
www.zanestore.com
and I can be located at
www.facebook.com/AuthorZane
or reached via email at
[email protected]
.

Blessings,

Zane

Publisher

Strebor Books

www.simonandschuster.com

I couldn't believe that I agreed to do this bullshit. And it surprised me when I stepped inside of the so-called Hell House in St. Louis and didn't see anyone. The
Miami Vice
-style glass doors left me with a dramatic first impression that was kind of dope. I could very well be satisfied living here for the next three months; the living conditions resembled a penthouse I used to have while selling cocaine. That was then, this is now. Now, I was on lock by my fiancée, Desa Rae Jenkins, who recently suggested that we needed to explore life and try different things. In other words, she was tired of my black ass hanging around her house and wanted a break from our relationship. I also needed a break, so I jumped on this opportunity to jet away for a while.

I dropped my Nike duffle bag at the door and glanced upwards at the vaulted, sloped ceiling. The smell of newness was in the air and the glossy marble floor in the foyer was polished to perfection, displaying a glare of my chocolate fineness.
Umph
, I thought while staring at the blurred image of me. I wet my thick lips, then headed toward the kitchen to scope the rest of the amenities in this immaculate one-story crib.

“What up? Anybody here?” I called out, cautiously taking slow steps down a narrow hallway that had framed pictures of modern art on the freshly painted white walls. My new Air Jordans left
imprints in the cottony carpet that led to a spacious, sunken living room area on the right and an urban-style kitchen with stainless steel appliances to the left. Checking out my surroundings, I narrowed my eyes into the living room that was laid out with a horseshoe-shaped microfiber sofa and square pillows. A forty-two-inch flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall. Underneath the TV were bookshelves filled with many books for someone's reading pleasure—definitely not mine. Numerous multicolored beanbags were also in the living room, and I assumed they were there for chilling purposes.

The living room could be chalked up as simple, but the high-priced kitchen was kicking ass. Everything was white, navy or stainless steel. Navy pendant lights hung above a white rectangular countertop that was surrounded with wavy curved-back barstools that had a steel finish. The decorator damn sure needed a kiss, but she wouldn't get one from me since I was now a reformed man.

While thinking about Desa Rae, I eased my hands into my jean pockets and looked out a sliding glass door that viewed a backyard my hood relatives could only dream of. There was an Olympic-sized swimming pool with crystal-clear blue water, tennis and basketball courts, and rock waterfalls used for diving. The lawn was well manicured and lounge chairs were all over the patio. At 103 degrees outside, I damn sure knew where most of my time would be spent. Yeah, my skin color was already black as charcoal, so I wasn't worried about the sun baking it much more.

I was getting impatient and sighed after licking my lips again. The motherfuckers running this show told me to be here at two o'clock, but when I looked at my watch, it was already two-thirty. Deciding to see what else was up, I turned away from the kitchen to go check out where I would have to lay my head. I noticed that the carpet trail split into two directions, so I shifted to the left
first, entering a modern bathroom with unique stainless steel faucets, a pearly white toilet and a shower squared with thick glass. All the white made me nervous. I sure as hell hoped that I wouldn't be shacked up in this crib with a bunch of nasty people. I was eager to see who those people would be, especially the women—for whatever reason that might be.

I backtracked to the other hallway and that was where I found a room with three full-sized beds against one wall and three beds against the wall in front of it. The beds were covered with multicolored comforters and colorful sheets. Wasn't feeling that shit and the beds were too small. Nametags with our names on them sat near the edge of each bed. One by one I checked out the names, noticing that the brothers were on one side of the room and the sisters were on the other. That didn't work for me either, so I rearranged some things. I put my nametag on the bed that was in between Chase's and Sylvia's beds. Jada's nametag I put between Prince's and Jaylin's beds. I hoped Jada wasn't the finest one in the bunch, but then again it didn't matter either way. I was on lock. That was today, didn't account for tomorrow.

There was no window in the cramped room, but there was one sizeable walk-in closet. It was obvious that all this room was good for was sleeping and fucking. Didn't think I'd be spending much time chilling in the bedroom, so I made my exit, realizing that time was moving on and my grand tour of this crib was over.

I took another look at my watch, then reached into my pocket to grab my cell phone. Somebody needed to tell me what the fuck was up. I was getting impatient. A nigga like me was beginning to think this was some kind of setup. I'd been in these situations before. My instincts were saying run! The information guide and itinerary that I received said the meet and greet of contestants would begin at two. It was way after two, so fuck it. I felt the need
to jet, so I put my phone back into my pocket and grabbed my duffle bag. Once it was on my shoulder, I headed toward the door, but was stopped dead in my tracks when I saw a taxi pull up. I squinted as I peeked through the glass, trying to get a glimpse at the fine-ass woman whose peep-toe stilettos had touched the ground. She had long, light-skinned legs that were made for riding. I was eager to see her face, and as soon as she exited the taxi, I could feel my nature trying to rise. That ass was fat and those hips swayed with rhythm as she made her way up the long driveway. Her weaved-in ponytail swung from side to side and was tightly pulled back, making her hazel eyes slant. I sucked in a deep breath and backed away from the door. Checked myself again, while looking down at the floor and hoping that the white wife-beater I had on wasn't too laid-back. It showed my tats that so many women loved and I figured she wouldn't be able to look away from my bulging muscles. Lance Gross didn't have shit on me, but there were some who would beg to differ. This chick, however, was classy and I liked that. She wasn't
Full Figured
how I normally liked my women, but I could definitely work with her. Unfortunately, if this was Jada, I had already messed up by putting her nametag on the other side of the room. Big mistake, no doubt, but after this bullshit was over I was sure there would be plenty.

I saw his blackness through the door, but why wouldn't he come outside to help me with my bags? Some men were so lazy and he obviously wasn't the exception. I hoped that someone else was here to help me. I had about six bags in the taxi and needed some assistance. The taxi driver claimed that he had broken his leg, but my question to him was where were the crutches? He didn't have an answer for that and I didn't have an answer for my wallet somehow disappearing. That is what I planned to tell him, once I got my belongings out of his taxi.

Instead of pushing on the front door, I pursed my lips and knocked with an attitude. It was scorching hot outside, and I was dying for a glass of ice-cold water. But when the door flew open, my thirst was more than quenched by saliva that almost slipped from my wide mouth. The rule was to never let a man see me sweat, so I quickly clamped my mouth shut, trying to downplay my instant attraction to the brother on the other side of the door. With tattoos running up and down his arms, he looked to be straight out of prison. But so damn what! I loved a man who was a bit rough around the edges, and I'd had enough of the business-minded married ones with clingy wives who liked to start trouble. After seeing him, my whole attitude had changed. I almost broke a heel as I rushed inside to see if he had been invited to Hell House, too. Right now, it felt more like Heaven's House.