Sex in the Hood Saga (14 page)

Duke's deep voice vibrated through her. She wasn't even hearing his words as he scolded Beamer; it was just the macho power potency shooting out of his voice box that was making her dizzy.

Right now, her pussy reminded her of the pretty little purse she took to the prom. It was velvet, with a satin drawstring, holding her lipstick and cellphone within its folds. Now her pussy felt the same way, holding her nerve endings that were sparkling like diamonds and jewels. It was a wet, sunken treasure waiting for a pirate to dive down and crack open the chest.

Victoria poked her butt deeper into the seat.

Except Beamer looked like he was about to pee on himself.

Victoria felt dizzy. This whole scene was so unreal, it couldn't possibly be happening. She was going to simply wake up from a bad dream, look around her pretty aqua blue bedroom overlooking the Winston family's private lake, get dressed in her giant walk-in closet, then go to the University of Michigan to start college. Nightmare over.

The machismo radiating from Duke on her left made her want to climb out of the bucket seat, straddle him and suck on his lips for three days. She wanted to rub her pussy all over his bald head and spear herself on that log he couldn't possibly think he was hiding in those loose linen pants. How could she be in such mental turmoil, and still her body was more on fire than it had ever been?

It spelled only one thing: D-a-n-g-e-r, for herself and everyone around her. She remembered what Daddy used to say, quoting Eleanor Roosevelt, “Anger is only one letter away from danger.” Daddy would add, “Never let anyone see your anger.”

The danger of this new world felt deliciously rebellious against a world that had suddenly scandalized her. The media, the FBI, the white family whom she'd never met, her boyfriend, and her best friend, all turned against her when she needed help the most. Yeah, hanging with Duke and immersing into this urban black world felt seductively lawless, as if she were screaming, “Fuck you!” to all the people who let her down.

But it was terrifying too. How could Duke's business possibly be legitimate? Even if he did supply bodyguards for sports events, how could that finance this operation? It didn't feel one hundred percent legitimate. Not that army. Not this garage. Not Duke's mysterious phone call, or his domination over Beamer. No, this whole scene, especially this garage inside this nondescript building, was like something straight out of one of those
New Jack City
type movies Brian was obsessed with watching.

“I'm sorry, Massa Duke.” Beamer dropped to his knees, lacing his hands as if he were praying. “Please forgive me.”

All that for not calling? It was just a few hours ago they were together at Henry's. Beamer laid his elbows and forearms on the car, bowed his head and sobbed like a baby. It reminded her of Roots when a slave would beg not to get whipped.

“Sorry ain't gon' erase my worries 'bout jumpin' back on yo' ass. You know what happen to e'rybody who ev'a thought about schemin' on me.”

Beamer shook his head. “I serve you, Massa Duke.”

Duke reached out with his left hand, grabbed Beamer's jersey and twisted it under his chin. Beamer's eyes bugged as the fabric cut into his neck.

“Act like a punk, you get treated like you one,” Duke said. “Now, go take yo' pussy-stank ass an' think about how you s'pose to act an' what gon' happen if you fuck up again.” Duke's voice was ice, completely void of sympathy.

“Now, me and the lady got some serious bidness to han'le.”

Duke glanced at Victoria with the same tender gaze he'd had all evening, but he glared back at Beamer. “Y'all two get used to each other. Vee 'bout to plug her white business mind into the engine that drive Babylon. Fo' real.”

Victoria let his words vibrate through her head.
Drive, hmmm.
She might drive this car. She might climb on top of Duke and drive his dick-stick at every gear. But drive this mysterious, inner city empire?

“Duke,” she said with a sultry-serious tone. “We still need to talk. I haven't agreed to anything, so until you give me a tour and tell me exactly what you do here, I am not a Babylon employee. And you are not my boss.”

Beamer's mouth dropped open. He stared at her with envy glowing in his eyes.

Duke tossed his head back, flashed those beautiful white teeth, and let his deep, sexy laughter echo through the garage.

Milan threw the binoculars so hard against the exposed brick wall of her apartment, the glass and plastic shattered all over the hardwood floor. She stood by the window, where she had just seen Duke drive up with that white bitch in his Porsche.

“I told Beamer not to let her onto this property!” She trembled, seething inside, hating him. She'd done everything to please him; got the best education, took care of herself so that she was still the finest of the fine, worked her ass off for his empire.

“And he is not going to just toss me aside like a used piece of trash. Especially for that white bitch.”

Milan crossed her arms. Nausea washed through her. She hated this goddamn morning sickness that lasted all fucking day and night! Milan's mind spun. She had to figure out how to take over.

Beamer was too much of an idiot to execute a plan. Who else could she recruit to her side? Knight. He was coming home soon, and nobody scared Duke more than Knight or their momma.

Duke was always so worried about Knight coming back and trying to regain the power he and Prince had back in the day, before Prince died and Knight was wrongly convicted.

Yes, Knight was definitely the way to bring Duke down. It would probably happen anyway, but if Milan played her cards right, she could do better than Duchess all together. She could be Knight's queen. Now all she had to do was figure out how to get in touch with Knight and seduce him into seeing things her way. Then putting Duke in his place would be easy.

“We can take control of Babylon together,” Milan said out loud. “Easy.” No matter how tough Duke thought he was, he quaked in his damn boots when Knight just looked at him. Knight didn't even have to speak. He was even worse than his mother.

“Punk!” Milan screamed.

“Madame Milan.” Renee came running from the boys' room. “Sound like you kickin' somebody ass out here.”

“Are the babies okay?”

“Sleepin' like little angels,” Renee said, her thin lips breaking into a grin. “You shoulda seen how little Zeus was teachin' Hercules how to count on that computer game Duke got 'em for Christmas.”

Milan hugged herself, hoping these awful waves of nausea would stop.

“Madame Milan, I tried calling you earlier, but—”

“But what?” Milan snapped. “I told you don't bug me while I'm working unless it's an emergency.”

“Well, it wasn't an emergency, but—”

Milan sucked her teeth, rolled her eyes, and wished this nausea would stop getting even worse.

“That rash Zeus has on his leg,” Renee said. “Seem like the ointment ain't workin'.”

“Isn't working. Can you say ‘isn't working'? ‘Ain't is not a word you will ever speak around my children. And we put a ‘G' at the end of i-n-g words. Say it!”

Renee's eyes grew huge. “Isn't working,” she said, bowing her head.

“Unless you want to go back to working in that disgusting nursing home up the street, you'd better take your work as my nanny more seriously. In fact, I'm going to get you a tutor so you can speak properly around my children.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Call the pediatrician about the ointment.”

“Do you want to see it?” Renee said every letter clearly and deliberately like she should. “I can show you while Zeus sleeps.”

Milan grasped her stomach. If she took one step, she'd throw up. And looking at a nasty rash certainly wouldn't make her feel better, nor would looking at two little faces that were mirror images of Duke Johnson.

“I trust that you'll take care of it.”

“Yes, ma'am.” The nanny returned to the nursery.

Milan talked herself out of heaving up the crackers she tried to eat in the car while driving home from the meeting with that imbecile named Beamer, who didn't know his dick from a donut.

The thought of fucking Peanut and his silly ass made an acid burn surge up her throat. “Ugh.”

She should not have been down here with the other baby mommas in their apartments. Those stupid, gold digging hoes!

Those two bitches were so far beneath Milan Henderson. She was educated, knew etiquette, had a strong business mind. She had vision, like Duke.

“I'm the whole package. Brains, beauty, and companionship,” she said out loud. They were just a piece of ass for Duke, like so many he'd had, all under Milan's nose, since they grew up together.

Of course he'd been with countless girls. After all, he was a gorgeous twenty-year-old black Adonis whose business was the hottest sex in Detroit.

Milan needed to talk to Knight, now, to set this in motion. She needed to tell him something that would make him all the more eager to wrench power back from his baby brother.

What about the upcoming meeting with Moreno? What if Milan called Knight, let him know that Duke was mishandling Knight's vision to partner with Moreno to expand the Sex Squad into five major cities across America? That upcoming meeting, if it went right would be worth a fortune, but only if it were done with the kind of finesse and sophistication Milan could bring to the table. Yet despite her insistence, for months, Duke had ignored her pleas to let her represent Babylon at the meeting. After all, who knew the Sex Squad army of Babylon's affairs better than the brilliant business mind who ran it every day?

Now she just had to enlighten Knight on these points. He'd be so grateful she gave him the heads-up on baby brother's incompetence, Knight would only be too happy to hand over control of all five cities and the millions they'd make, to Milan. Then she'd be in charge of Sex Squads in six cities.

To make up for all the humiliation that would create in him, maybe Milan would be kind enough to let Duke keep his little cream puff. No, no, definitely not. Duke deserved nothing but misery. The same misery he'd inflicted on Milan all these years, ignoring her, fucking her so she'd keep sharing her brilliant business mind with Babylon to run the Sex Squad as efficiently and profitably as possible.

Maybe Milan could kidnap the white bitch Duke just brought into Babylon. Maybe she could open up her own business and sell expensive white pussy all day long until Duke's cream puff was blown out as a five-dollar trick in the Cass Corridor.

That could work.

But first she had to see for herself what Duke was doing with that Victoria Winston who was all over the newspapers, the TV, and the radio. She had to see if Duke really had the idiotic idea that it would be all right to bring that suburban rich bitch up in here.

Milan's heels pounded the hardwood floor as she headed to the door of her apartment. She'd start down in the garage. If they weren't there, she'd go up to the penthouse.

She swung open the door. Two Barriors stood in the hallway, facing her door, arms crossed. She'd seen them around, but didn't know their names.

With so many new recruits lately, 250 to be exact, on top of the 500 who lived in the area and 500 others on reserve, it was impossible to know all their names.

Besides, Milan's department was the Sex Squad, and Studs and Barriors were two different things. Studs fucked for a living. Barriors did bodyguard work, and if they fucked in the line of duty, that wasn't on Milan's watch.

Her heart pounded. Her gut cramped with nausea. No Duke wouldn't have her on lock-down in her apartment! That would mean either he knew she was scheming as he always accused, or he wanted her kept far away from whatever he was doing.

Milan wanted to scream, but she bit it down, along with the vomit burning her throat. “Excuse me,” she said, stepping into the hallway, turning to dash to the elevators.

“Go back inside,” the taller Barrior said. And he was tall, like as tall as Duke. Six-six, with huge muscles. Like the Hulk. He looked like he was going to pop right out of his black T-shirt and sweatpants.

Milan said, “I need to go downstairs to my office to do some work.”

The other Barrior nodded, making his Afro sway as he said, “You want somebody to pick it up? We can do dat.”

The Hulk grunted. “But you gotta stay here, Madame Milan.”

She flitted past them. A huge arm came down like gates at train tracks. His forearm pressed into her chest.

“Don't touch me!” she shouted. Hot, sour vomit burned up her throat. “I'm going downstairs!”

“No, you not,” Hulk said. “Go back inside befo' we follow orders to carry yo' skinny ass back into yo' crib.”

“Don't talk to me like that, you overgrown barbarian.”

They came at her. She spewed stomach acid and chewed-up crackers all over their big, bulging chests.