The Demise (15 page)

He opened his mouth like a fish and sucked on her entire pussy, pulling her lips into his mouth. He buried his face in her with just the right amount of pressure. She was dripping wet. “You want me to stop?” he asked.

She looked down at him … at this young fool in love. She nodded yes, but her lips said, “No.” It was all the invitation he needed.

“You taste so good, ma,” he whispered while kissing her inner thighs. He licked her with long strokes, like he was trying to clean up a melting ice-cream cone. Her toes curled. “You taste so fucking sweet. Damn, this pussy good.” She could feel her womanhood swelling in lust as he stiffened his tongue, targeting her center. Miamor gripped the comforter on the plush bed.

“Oh my God, Fly,” she moaned, calling his name. It only added to the fervor. He leaned her back, hurting her gunshot wound slightly, but she took that little bit of pain in exchange for the pleasure he was delivering. He ate her like she was his last meal, licking her passionately. “I'm about to cum,” she moaned.

She reached between her legs to place her hands on his head as she melted all over his tongue. He licked her clean and then inserted two fingers as he slid down the crack of her rear. There was no part of Miamor's body that he wouldn't please and he proved it as he brought her to a second orgasm, leaving her spent.

He came up for air and wiped his mouth with a charming smile plastered on his face.

He wanted her. She could see how much by the tent in his jeans, and she wanted it, too. If he tried his hand, she would let him have it, but to her surprise, he turned and headed for the door. He walked out without saying one word and he didn't need to; his actions spoke for themselves.

 

C
HAPTER
10

There was only one place where Money would go after leaving Vegas: Miami. It was his home. It was his city. His father had fed every family in the hood at one point. The Diamond name rang bells in Miami, and he had love. It wasn't hard for him to take over when he returned. After losing Leena and Mo, something had snapped inside of Monroe. He was no longer the levelheaded twin. He was becoming more and more like Mecca as the years passed. Hotheaded, boisterous, ruthless. It was like Mecca's soul had taken over Monroe's body. Now he was all about the lifestyle. He had enough women and jewelry to prove it. Monroe was a kingpin and even the most naïve eye could see that. He didn't care, however. He knew that tomorrow wasn't promised. He had learned that lesson the hard way. He was just trying to live. The sound of his phone ringing was the only reason why he crawled out of bed. The two Dominican models he had entertained the night before were still sleeping. They had made a Money sandwich last night. He chuckled as he recalled the previous night's events. Even he had to laugh at his outlandish ways. He was a savage. He picked up his cell phone, noticing that it was the gate guard calling.

“Mr. Diamond, you have visitors. Mrs. Miamor Jones is here with three guests,” the guard informed him.

Money's blood boiled. He hadn't seen Miamor since Leena's funeral. He hadn't seen anyone since the funeral, actually, but Miamor, he resented. He blamed her for the way that things had unfolded with Baraka. “Let her in,” Monroe said. He hung up the phone and slipped on some clothes.

“Get up. Get up. It's time to bounce,” he said as he slapped one of the girls on her voluptuous behind. He grabbed the bottle of champagne they had been drinking and tipped it to his lips. He kept it in his hands.
Might as well finish this shit,
he thought.

“Aye, papi, I thought we would have more fun,” one of them cooed.

“Fun's over, bitch,” Monroe stated. He tossed them their clothes as they dragged themselves out of bed, cursing him out in Spanish.

“I speak that shit, too, bitch. Get out,” he said, ushering them to the door.

“You drove us here. How are we supposed to get home?” the other girl asked.

Monroe pulled out a stack of cash and tossed it to the girls. “For your time,” he said.

“What do we look like? Prostitutes?” the self-righteous one said, offended.

The other one flipped through the rubber-banded stack and quickly silenced her friend. “Nah, we're square, Money. Call me.” She pulled her friend out of the front door as Monroe stepped onto the porch.

He watched as a tinted SUV pulled up and Miamor stepped out of the passenger side. Moments later, Fly Boogie exited the driver's side.

“You've got a lot of nerve showing up here, Miamor,” Monroe said, slightly irritated.

Miamor didn't even speak. She simply opened the back door and Mo came running out.

“Daddy!” Mo said as he ran up the steps. The champagne bottle fell from his hands and shattered against the concrete stairs as Mo ran full speed into a stunned Monroe's arms.

C.J. exited the truck and stood in front of Miamor as she placed her hands on his shoulders.

Monroe held out his arms as if he were being hugged by a kid he didn't know. His confusion was written all over his face. He knew this was his son because he looked just like him.

How?
He thought as he looked to Miamor for the answers. He picked up his son and hugged him so tight that Mo couldn't breathe.

Miamor, Fly, and C.J. ascended the steps.

Monroe was so emotional that he had to pinch the bridge of his nose to stop himself from crying.

“We'll explain everything,” Miamor said as she walked inside. “Boys, why don't you go outside and play while we talk. If I remember right, there's a basketball court in the back,” she added.

Monroe nodded, and the boys took off, but before his son could get fully out of the door, Monroe called him: “Mo!”

He stopped and turned to his dad. Mo looked like he was okay. He was back home in one piece. Monroe walked over to him and hugged him tightly. “I love you, son,” he said.

“I love you, too,” Mo said, before racing out.

He turned to Miamor and Fly. “How are they here? We had a memorial service. Baraka said he killed them.”

“He never went through with it,” Fly Boogie started. Fly explained the entire story to Monroe, leaving out no detail. By the end of it, Monroe had nothing but respect for him. He would be forever indebted to Fly for bringing his only born back home.

“Did he hurt them? In any way?” Monroe asked, afraid of the answer but having to know anyway.

“No,” Miamor said. “They saw Leena be killed and he used that fear to stop them from running or telling anyone else who they really were. But I've asked them hundreds of times and each time they both tell the same story. He treated them well. He wanted us to suffer, not them.”

Monroe wiped his face as he took all of this in. Just the day before, he hadn't thought he had anything to live for. Now he was finding out that he had everything to live for. “We should have looked for them. We should have found Baraka. They were gone for three years. We missed three years with them because we gave up,” Monroe said, beating himself up.

“We can't dwell on the time we lost. We just have to make up for the gift that we've been given,” Miamor said. She looked at Fly. “The gift that Fly has given us.”

She rubbed the top of Fly Boogie's hand, intimately, and Monroe noticed. He was shocked at her display of affection for him. But hell, at that point, Monroe could have kissed him, so he could see how Fly Boogie had won over Miamor after the loyalty he had shown.

“I owe you. Let me pay you for that hit. Show my gratitude,” Monroe said.

“Nah. I'm good. I'm not hurting for anything. I've got my own thing going on, my G,” Fly said. The fact that he had turned down a huge payday made Monroe respect him more.

“You're a good nigga, Fly Boogie,” Monroe said as he stood and slapped hands with him. He pulled him in for an embrace and patted Fly firmly on the back. He turned to Miamor. “Can I rap with you for a second?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course,” she said.

“I'll go out and check on the boys,” Fly said, dismissing himself.

“Look, Money, I know what you're going to say … me and Fly … it just…” She searched for the right words. “Happened.”

Monroe surprised her when he replied, “I understand. Carter might kill him, but he's good with me.”

“I haven't spoken to Carter in three years. Fly came back for me. Carter didn't,” she said, her voice cracking in sadness.

Monroe noticed, but didn't say anything. He knew that this strong woman always did have a weakness for his oldest brother. “Does he know? About C.J.?”

“No,” she whispered. “I don't know how to find him.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” Monroe admitted. “I haven't spoken to Carter, either. I talk to Breeze often. She keeps me connected with Zyir, but Carter doesn't want to be found.”

“Well, I have to let him know about this,” she said. “C.J. needs him. He's been asking for him. I have to find him.”

“You was married to the nigga,” Monroe said. “You know him, inside and out. He let you get in more than any of us. You loved him once.…”

“Once?” she scoffed. “I will love your brother until the air leaves my lungs. I'm with Fly, but it's because Carter left me alone.”

“I'm saying … that bond … that love … if anybody can find Carter, it's you. You know how he thinks. You know his patterns, his habits, his wishes. You'll find him. I can tell you're guarded. You've built up a wall around that subject out of respect for your new nigga. You're going to have to tear that mu'fucka down, though, so you can feel that shit again. That's the only way you're going to locate him.”

Miamor nodded.

“And me and you…” he said, pointing between the two of them. “We're good. We're family. Thank you for taking care of my son.”

 

C
HAPTER
11

Carter stood overlooking the snow-covered woods. The land was covered in so much white that it almost sparkled. What would have normally been a pitch-black night was illuminated by the abundance of snow. It was peaceful. It was a beautiful escape from the evil ways of men, and he never planned to leave. Despite his tranquil surroundings, Carter was haunted. He was tired, emotionally drained, and so full of sadness that it poured out of his eyes. He couldn't stop his soul from revealing his anguish. Any time anyone looked him in the eyes, they could see that he was tormented by memories of the past.

He heard the footsteps behind him and he automatically tensed. He knew who it was. He knew that she meant him no harm, but still, he reacted. He would live the remainder of his life looking over his shoulder, unfortunately. “Why are you awake?” he asked, without turning around.

“I should be asking you that,” Sam said as she walked up behind him, caressing his broad, tense shoulders. “The pills aren't working?”

“A man shouldn't have to take sleeping pills to rest at night,” Carter replied.

She leaned her head against his strong back and sighed deeply as her arms wrapped around his waist. He was grateful for her. Her presence alone made the seclusion bearable.

“Come on,” she said as she walked over to the set of leather chairs that sat adjacent to the fireplace. A notepad was already in place on the small decorative table that separated them. Carter took his seat as she picked up the pen and pad. “Tell me about it.”

This was why she was invaluable to him. Sure, she kept his bed warm at night, she cooked for him and kept up the chalet as well, but it was this … the therapy sessions … that soothed him.

“When I close my eyes at night, I see my son. I see my brother Mecca. I see my father's face,” Carter stated in a low, serious tone. “The guilt…” He paused and cleared his throat to stop himself from choking up.

“Why do you feel guilty?” Sam asked as she crossed her legs, wrinkles creasing her forehead as she observed him.

“Because of the woman I chose,” he said. Sam tensed. Carter's eyes glistened with pools of emotion, but he quickly blinked them away.

“You never talk about her,” Sam said. “It's okay for you to talk to me about your son's mother.”

Carter shook his head. He gripped the armrests of the couch so tightly that his fingertips turned white. Although he tried every day, he couldn't forget Miamor. “I can't,” he said. He stood and went to the bar to pour himself a glass of cognac. He quickly downed a shot before refilling it.

“You shouldn't drink. It only worsens the depression, Carter. I pulled you from a really dark place. I don't want you to go back there,” Sam said.

“It numbs the pain,” Carter admitted.

“What did she do to you?” Sam asked, pressing him to talk about things he swore he would never mention. “Why are you so damaged? What could one woman do?”

“She was Helen of Troy,” Carter stated. He smirked at the thought of her.

“You went to war for her,” Sam replied, a bit envious. “Was she worth it?”

Carter remembered the passion that he felt when he had been with Miamor. He remembered the intensity of their love. Just the thought of their bond made his heart rate increase, but with every good memory there came a bad one. “What I lost because of her … nah, she wasn't worth that,” Carter stated, finishing his drink.

Sam put down her pen. “When a man finds and loses the love of his life, it's hard for any woman after that to measure up,” she whispered.

Carter heard the sentiment in her voice. “Come here,” he beckoned. She did as she was told. He pulled her onto his lap as they both watched the burning fire. “I don't want anything close to what I used to have,” he assured her. “I'm content here with you.”

“I don't want to make you content, Carter,” she admitted. “I just want to make you happy.” She turned around, straddling him. She was careful not to hurt him. The silk folds of her womanhood were exposed under the button-down shirt she had slept in. His hands caressed her skin as he quickly found her clit, massaging it slowly with his thumb. Her hips began to work as her eyes fluttered and her mouth fell open slightly. He enjoyed seeing her in ecstasy. His desire grew as she reached down, releasing him before she slid down on him. She sucked him in and the feeling of her, the grip she had on him, caused all the tension to leave his body. He cupped her breasts and kissed them gently as she rode him. Her rhythm was slow, his pace was intense, and together their passion filled up the room. Sam leaned back and braced her hands on his thighs while rolling her hips in pleasure. She was caught up … in a rapture with this marvelous man. She knew it, as did he. “Oh God, I love you,” she moaned.