Ruthless (29 page)

I've ached for revenge. I've thirst for retribution. And vengeance is finally mine. They say Lady Justice is blind. Maybe she is. Maybe she isn't. All I know is, in my case, the bitch isn't blinded by shit. She sees it all. She remembers it all. And she's not dishing out fairness. She's inflicting pain. She's wreaking havoc. And the bitch isn't going to stop until…

I run my fingers through my hair. “I want Jasper alive.”

Lamar sighs. “Damn. I'm not even gonna front, though. I'd love to pop a bullet in his biscuit. Dead that nigga on the spot.”

“And Stax is not to be touched, either.” They both give me a confused look. I narrow my eyes, sweeping my gaze from Lamar to Mel.
“Nothing
happens to him. Nothing.”

Lamar leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. “C'mon, Pasha. We can't guarantee he won't catch it wit' the rest of them niggas. If he's poppin' off rounds, he's gonna have'ta get put down. It goes wit' the territory.”

“Do you have the location already secured?” I inquire, referring to the site where Jasper is to be taken once he's gotten. Lamar nods. Tells me it's been read. I take a deep breath.

“My peoples are all ready ‘n' set to move on this,” Lamar says, glancing at his watch, “like now. Give the word. And it's a go.” He pulls out his cell, then answers. “Yo, what's good? You got that shit for me? Oh, aiight aiight…that's wassup. Good lookin', fam…oh, no doubt. That's what it is… One.” He ends the call, looking over at me. “That was my peoples. We found two more of that nigga's stash spots.”

My eyes light up.
Ohmygod! I can't believe this shit!
“Get out. Where?” He tells me Jasper has a spot in East Orange, up the street from Elmwood Park, and another stash house in Irvington. Shutting these two spots down would officially cripple his flow. Last week, while I was in L.A., three were burned down. And the week before that, three others were shut down. I didn't need to know the specifics of how Lamar's connects handled the situations. I still don't. All I care about is the cash found. The drugs and whatever weapons they find go to Lamar to do whatever with.

He stands, holds his arms up over his head and stretches. “Let's shut the rest of that pussy-muhfucka's shit down tonight.”

I nod. “Fine by me.” I glance over at Mel. He spreads his legs, sinking back into his seat.

“Bet.” Lamar looks over at Mel. “Yo, you rollin', son?”

“Nah, I'm good.”

I toss my bang from over my eye. “Good. Because I need for you to handle something with me tonight.” I let him know of my plan to try to set up a time to finally meet MydickneedsUrtongue2 tonight.

“Oh, word? Aiight. Bet.”

I look over at Lamar. “We might need to bring him to the warehouse, too.”

“Cool. So what 'bout that nigga, Jasper? When you want my peoples to get at him?”

I mull the question around in my head. Consider the implications, the possible outcomes. Fucking Jasper! He started this. There's no way of getting around it. No matter what, there are going to be casualties. Still, I have to figure out a way to keep Stax out of the crossfire.

I sigh. “Do it all tomorrow tonight; the later, the better.”

I tell him this, hoping like hell I can lure Stax away from Jasper long enough for them to snatch his ass up the same way he had me snatched. With a fucking gun to his head! Then I want him blindfolded and duct taped, and tossed in the back of a van.

But, for later this evening, I have something in mind for someone else.

My nemesis.

MydickneedsUrtongue2.

• • •

“Yo, whaddup, pussy-ass nigga?” I say into the phone the moment Vernon picks up. My voice comes out souding deep and raspy. It's
three o'clock in the afternoon. Mel looks up from the magazine he's reading, shaking his head. “When you suckin' dis hard-ass dick, yo?”

I smirk, pulling out my laptop. I wait for it to boot up, then log into
AOL.
I am immediately alerted that I have mail. Two emails from this nigga.
YO WAT'S GOOD
? W
HEN WE LINKIN' UP
? U
READY 2 EAT DA NUT OUTTA DIS DICK OR WAT
? O
R U STILL ON YA BS
?
CUM SUCK DIS DICK, YO.
D
IS HARD DICK READY 4 U

“Muhfucka, what the fuck?! Why is you still comin' at me, nigga? You must really want me to put a bullet in ya shit, yo. Word on my seeds, muhfucka, the minute I find out who da fuck you are, it's on, nigga. I'ma handle ya punk-ass.”

I laugh. “Blah, blah, blah. All I want muhfucka is my dick sucked.”

I hit
REPLY
and type:
IM SO READY FOR YOU.
E
VERY TIME
I
GET EMAILS FROM YOU MY THROAT GETS SOOOOOOOOO, SOOOOOOOO WET.
C
AN WE MEET TONIGHT
? T
HIS NECK NEEDS YOU TO FUCK IT DEEP.
L
ET ME KNOW.

“Nigga, is your muhfuckin'
crazy?!”
he shrieks in my ear as I open the next email from him. “I ain't suckin' ya muthafuckin' dick, yo. I ain't no dick sucka, muhfucka!”

I…
TILL PLAY'N DEM PUSSY ASS GAMES
!!! U
SUCKIN' DICK OR WAT
?
HOLLA BACK
!

“Then let me suck yours,” I say, lowering my voice. “I've been checkin' for you on the low for a minute, yo.”

“Say what, muhfucka?”

H
I.
I
KNOW YOU THINK
I'
M PLAYING GAMES.
I'
M REALLY NOT.
I'
M READY TONIGHT.
I'
M SO HORNY FOR YOUR HARD DICK.
I
WATCH YOUR VIDEO OVER AND OVER WHILE
I
PLAY IN MY PUSSY. I NEED THAT HARD DICK IN MY LIFE.

I grin. “I wanna suck ya dick, nigga. You got that big-ass dick, yo. I want some'a dat. What I gotta do to get some'a dat thick chocolate?”

“Muhfucka, you wildin', yo. You comin' at me real reckless, for real for real, yo. What's really good wit' you, nigga.” He lowers his voice. “How you know I gotta big dick, anyway, muhfucka, huh?”

“I peeped it in da county, when you was comin' outta da shower one time ‘n' another time when you was in da weight room. I used to beat my shit, thinkin' 'bout havin' ya shit in my mouth, boo.”

“Nigga, I ain't ya muthafuckin',
boo
, yo. I ain't wit' dat gay shit.”

I purse my lips.
Yeah, whatever, nigga. But your motherfucking ass is still on the line. So what does that say?

“Ain't nobody sayin' you gay, big daddy. I know you think you
straight,
muhfucka…”

“Think?
Nigga, you outta ya rabbit-ass mind; ain't no
thinkin'
shit! I'm a hunnid wit' mine, muhfucka! I ain't suckin' dick ‘n' I ain't gettin' fucked, muhfucka.”

I chuckle to myself. “Uh-huh, if you say so, pa. Shit. I'm mostly straight, myself. When I'm in da mood to beat da pussy up, I go in, yo.” I bite into my lower lip to keep from laughing. “I'm sittin' here now, playin' wit' my shit, now. I wanna suck dat dick, muhfucka.”

Mel gets up from his seat; his arousal evident by the long, thick lump hanging along the inside of his left thigh. I swallow, eyeing him as he heads to the bathroom.

“So you gay?”

I roll my eyes. “Nah. I'ma real-live freak-type nigga. I love pussy. But I dig suckin' dick on the low, too.”

“I ever suck ya shit, nigga?”

“Nah, yo.”

“Then why da fuck you call my girl wit' all dat crazy shit, tryna disrupt my shit, huh, muhfucka?”

I laugh inside.
Good motherfucker!
“My bad. I was on some foul shit. I'm sayin', though. Let me get on dat dick, yo. My dick stay hard thinkin' 'bout you, nigga. I can't get dat shit outta my head. I wanna watch you fuck ya bitch's pussy, then let me suck her
pussy juice off ya dick. Then I wanna stick my tongue in ya asshole. I wanna taste dat man-booty, nigga.”

I bite down on my fist to keep from laughing. Mel shifts in his seat, chuckling to himself.

“Oh, word? You want dis dick in ya ass, too?”

Ohhhhhhmymotherfuckinggod! Oooooooh, you dirty motherfucker!

I click open the video he'd sent of him jerking off. His dick is big. It's thick. Dark. Delicious. His balls hang like chocolate clackers, waiting to be clicked, clacked, and sucked into a mouth.

I take a deep breath. “Yeah, I wanna feel you in my ass, too. This asshole mad tight, muhfucka. I'm horny for dat dick, though. So wat's good? You lettin' me suck da nut outta dat shit or wat?”

“Muhfucka, you ain't gettin' shit 'til I know who da fuck you are. Comin' at me on some fag shit, like we mad familiar.”

I have a new email. MydickneedsUrtongue2. I click it open. I
MA BUST DAT THROAT OPEN.
M
Y SHIT HARD AS BRICK
! W
AT X YOU TRYNA LINK UP
? W
HERE
?
IF U SERIOUS, HIT ME UP
@ 973-444-5555
SO I KNOW U AIN'T FRONTIN'.
I
M HORNY
AF!
GET AT ME ASAP
!

I smirk.
Yeah, I bet you are. Down-low motherfucker!

I quickly type back. M
MMMMM.
I
LOVE A HARD DICK
! I'
M VERY SERIOUS. WAIT UNTIL YOU SEE HOW I HANDLE YOU
!

“Muhfucka, fuuuuck you,” I say, flipping the script on him.

“Yo, what da fuck you say?”

“Don't drop da soap, nigga. I'm da muhfucka that's 'bout to take yo' shit, punk-ass bitch!” I end the call, shutting off the phone and removing the voice-changer device.

I lick my lips as Mel walks back into the room. “All that talk about sucking dick has me ready to slurp down on something hard.”

He grins. “Oh, yeah? What you have in mind?”

I stand, sauntering over to him, pussy wet, mouth even wetter. I reach for his belt buckle, then run my hand along the inner part of his thigh. “Drop your pants and I'll show you.”

Seducing the enemy is like sucking a nigga with a small dick; just pretend you love it…

“Yo, who da fuck is dis?”

Down-low motherfucker!

Hearing this nigga's voice again really makes my skin crawl, yanking me back to the dreadful day my world started to unravel. My dick sucking had finally caught up to me. Thanks to him.

Vernon Lewis.

“Those sexy-ass lips of yours were all I thought about when I was in the county. I beat my dick every night, thinking 'bout you suckin' my joint, again…”

“Who is this?”

“The nigga you dissed a few days ago. I bet you didn't think I was gonna figure out who you were, did you, you dick-suckin' bitch?”

He'd found me. A photo of me plastered in the local news section of
The Star-Ledger,
recognizing me for donating time and staff to the needy and homeless, offering a day of spa pampering at Nana's church's community day event is what led him to me. With the press of three digits…
4-1-1
…this nigga immediately had a direct link to
me
—the real me.

The bitch that gobbled his dick in the front seat of his Lexus, stroking his balls, then milking him to the edge of an orgasm; teasing him, toying with him, until he begged me to swoop my mouth all the way down on his cock and suck the nut out of it.

Yes, me. The dick-sucking master; the bitch that sucked the nigga nuttier than he already was.

“You got me wanting to bust a few rounds of nut down in that nasty-ass throat of yours…'ma 'bout to be your worst fuckin' nightmare. Check ya mail, baby. And if you don't do what I want, there'll be more where that came from.”

Among the stack of mail on my desk, there—with my name typed on it—was a manila envelope with no return address. Inside, there was a sheet of paper with a color copy of the photo of me from the newspaper on it.

I unfold the sheet of paper I've kept hidden. The one sent to me by this nigga to torment me. Its caption: B
USINESS OWNER,
P
ASHA
A
LLEN, STYLIST AND OWNER OF
N
APPY
N
O
M
ORE HAIR SALON IN
O
RANGE,
N
EW
J
ERSEY, GIVES BACK TO THE COMMUNITY.
Underneath, in cutout lettering, glued to the white copier paper, reads: P
ASHA
A
LLEN
(
AKA
D
EEP
T
HROAT
D
IVA
)
IS THE COMMUNITY DICK WASHER.
D
ICK SUCKING BITCH
!

I narrow my eyes, swallowing back rising anger as I glare at the paper in my hand. I take a deep breath. Slowly blow it out. Then go into script.

It's showtime.

“Hi. It's Deep Throat Diva.”

“Oh, word. Dat's wat it is. So wat's good? 'Bout time ya freaky ass hit me up. We linkin' up or wat? You got my dick harder than a mutha; real shit, baby. Wit' ya slut-nasty ass.”

I cringe. “That's why I'm calling. I'm real hungry for some of that big, black Mandingo dick.”

“Cool, cool. Dat's what a nigga tryna hear. I want you ta suck da nut outta dis snake ‘n' swallow dat shit. You got me, yo?”

I get up from the bed, half-limping, half-walking, into the bathroom. I flip on the light, taking in my reflection in the mirror. I
wince at the sight of my bruised face. Cold, angry eyes are staring back at me. “Oh, I got you, big daddy.” I reach for my brush from off the vanity, run some water over it, brush my bang, blending it in with the rest of my hair, then slicking it back with gel.