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  “Good, then chill!”

  When Storm released her, Kenya opted for the time being to do just that, chill. Moving her matted hair out her tear-filled face, attempting to catch her breath, the exhausted female folded her arms furious, still full of questions with no answers seemingly in sight.

  New Roommates . . .

  O.T. took London to a hotel that was all too familiar to her. It was the same place Kenya and she stayed when she first arrived in Dallas. After the incompatible, quiet couple checked in getting the plastic credit card–like room key from the front desk, they headed to the elevator. O.T. carried London’s bags as he looked down toward her stomach wondering if his niece or nephew was actually growing inside of her.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing,” he replied stepping onto the elevator pushing the eighth-floor button. “Just thinking.”

  “Oh, yeah.” London smirked with a sarcastic attitude. “I bet you were.”

  When they reached the room, O.T. put the bags on the floor and slid the key in the sensor. No sooner than the light flashed green London reached over pushing the door open. Coming all the way in the navy blue and ivory white decorated suite, the pair stood silently staring at one another.

  “Well.” O.T. was the first to speak. “Is it true or not?”

  “Is what true?”

  “Is you gonna have Storm’s kid?”

  “I’m pregnant. So yeah, it is true.”

  “So y’all was fucking behind ya sister’s back huh? You’s straight-up grimy for that one, baby girl! But then again, a guy knows firsthand ya got that freaky bone in ya!”

  “Naw, it wasn’t like that!” London vehemently protested walking to the window turning her back shamefully on O.T. “Storm raped me! How many times do I have to say it?”

  “Come on now, girl! My brother ain’t never ever had to take the pussy from no bitch! Chicks be throwing the cat on him left and right, day after day!” he viciously argued raising his voice. “So why would he strong-arm ya silly, hot-ass?”

  “You should be asking him why he did what he did, not giving me the third degree! And don’t call me a hot-ass!” she yelled shoving him out her way running to the bathroom to throw up. “Go say that to your beloved Paris.”

  “Whatever, tramp! Getting some of my brother’s dick must’ve given you back your little confidence!” He flashed back to the afternoon she deep throated his manhood as he posted up in the doorway watching her down on her knees at the white porcelain toilet. “Don’t forget, a nigga like me know better!”

  “Fuck all you dirty, immoral crooks!” London directed as she wiped the corners of her mouth. “I’m going back home to Detroit!”

  “Like I really give a shit! I was just giving your stank-ass a piece of conversation!” Busting out laughing, O.T. took his cell off his hip making a call to check on one of his dope spots. “I’m just glad I had the fucking sense to make you swallow my seed!” He choked up on his dick and nuts. “’Cause you on the ziggy nut boom around these parts!”

  “How can you continue to be so mean and heartless day after day?” London got on her feet. “Didn’t your parents teach you or your brother any manners?”

  “Sorry me and him weren’t like y’all. We wasn’t born with no silver spoons in our mouth, so fuck you!”

  Chapter 4

  It’s On Now!

  Done Is Done

  “Shit! It’s too late!” Storm hit the headlights so they could be incognito. “These dudes already here!”

  A huge flatbed with flashing lights and several cars that Storm immediately recognized as some of Royce’s soldiers surrounded Chocolate Bunny’s car. With their cell phones in hand, Storm and Kenya could only assume the guys were conversing with their boss, informing him that his woman was nowhere to be found. As the couple hid near the dark edge of Alley Cats’ parking lot where Kenya sat nervously regretting her earlier actions now realizing that she was in a world of trouble, her eye involuntary twitched.

  “You think they know?”

  “Hell naw!” Storm turned to face his woman. “You best believe if they found ol’ girl it would’ve been more motherfuckers out here including the goddamn police!”

  “I guess you right.”

  “I know I am!” Storm confidently replied. Watching the group circle Chocolate Bunny’s automobile as the tow truck driver attached the chains to hook up, Storm grew annoyed trying to figure out his next move. “What in the hell did you do to her whip?”

  “I ain’t do nothing.” Kenya spoke softly like someone other than her and Storm was inside the car. “That shit was on flat when the bitch finished her shift. Her and the rest of the girls came out and they was like that.”

  “Somebody had to do something. Ain’t nobody just gonna catch four flats at one time.”

  “I said I didn’t, so stop blaming me for the crap!” Kenya fumed getting louder when it dawned on her that not only had Paris involved her in murder; she’d obviously set the whole thing up by letting the air out the tires or slicing them.

  Beep, beep, beep. The truck backed up, lights flaring and roared out the front of the lot, with Royce’s boys following close behind on alert as if they were serving as personal body guards or pallbearers to Chocolate Bunny’s fallen car.

  “Okay, it’s all good. I think they gone.” Storm threw the car in drive and cautiously crept to the rear entrance of the club near the Dumpsters where Kenya directed him to park. Glancing down at the car’s digital clock before getting out, and looking up to the moon, which was rapidly disappearing, he schemed, realizing the time factor was crucial. “We should be able to fix this bullshit before the sun comes all the way up.”

  “I hope so.” A tormented Kenya looked around for any signs of movement, putting one sneaker on the ground keeping the other in the car.

  “Damn! Come on!” Storm motioned searching deep behind the second to the left black and gray huge metal containers that were serving as somewhat of a makeshift tomb. “I’m gonna need your help.”

  Forgetting that less than thirty or so minutes ago they were at each other’s throats, Kenya and Storm were now once again functioning as a team. Several strong yanks and a few tugs on the extra thick body, he soon thankfully unwedged the stiffening corpse. He couldn’t help but feel a little bit of sympathy for Royce who not only was gonna suffer the loss of his girl, but his unborn child.

  Furious that he was forced to dispose of a chick whose only true crime was shaking her ass to get that loot he shouted out orders in the empty parking lot to Kenya. “Do you at least got the alarm off and the door open yet?”

  “Yeah,” Kenya did a quick search “I spy” peeking around the deserted building. “It’s open.”

  “Well come get her feet!” he demanded as he tried unsuccessfully to drag his suddenly deceased employee without ripping a gaping hole in the back of her head causing anymore incriminating evidence to spill into the concrete pavement. “This bitch heavy as shit! I can see stumping Nicole out, but damn ya had to kill her?”

  “I told you I ain’t have no choice. She had Paris’s gun about to pull the trigger!” Kenya shut her eyes walking backward with her victim’s ankles clutched in her hands.

  After winning the battle of getting the body into the club, Storm tossed her onto the middle of the kitchen floor along with her scuffed sandals that had fallen off. Bam! The murdered dancer landed face first probably breaking a few bones that she didn’t feel anyway. Storm then reached over hitting the light switch for the kitchen. Pushing her over on her back revealing the true ghastly sight of Chocolate Bunny live and in motherfucking color, he shook his head with disgust.

  Her T-shirt and miniskirt were ripped from all the dragging to and from the dumpster and more than a couple of tracks from her $400 weave were hanging loose. With the apparent bloody wounds from the gunshots soaking her grimy clothes and the foul-smelling thick caked burgundy dried remains of her miscarried fetus in between her legs splattered on both thigh
s, she was center stage on display at Alley Cats one last time.

  The usual hard core drug dealer closed his eyes briefly for a moment of silence out of respect for a female he’d stuck his dick in once or twice back in the day, then grabbed Chef Terry’s always sharpened meat cleaver that was hanging on the kitchen’s overhead rack and went to work. Keeping his mind preoccupied with the haunting memory of abuse he suffered at the hands of his stepfather he murdered as a youth, Storm’s heart went numb.

  Kenya’s empty stomach bubbled in pain as she instinctively turned her face away trying to focus on the stainless steel walk-in refrigerator and the industrial-sized oven, hoping when she turned back in the other direction her victim would’ve somehow magically disappeared. But hell naw! No dice! Unfortunately no matter how hard the ex-stripper and drug mule turned business woman now murderer concentrated and prayed, she couldn’t block out the haunting sounds of her man Storm who’d initiated his plan of disposing of “the problem” by hacking, cutting, slashing, and mangling skin, followed by twisting, ripping, and breaking bones that were on the very verge of rigor mortis.

  With every limb that he mutilated the fatal gunshot sound seemed to echo repeatedly in Kenya’s mind. Consumed with culpability for her drastic now regrettable actions she covered her ears with both hands, yet still couldn’t drown out her guilt. The wrist, one leg, then the next, a snap severing the elbow and a clean crack of the neck all seemed not to bother Storm, who had it embedded in his brain that he was running interference, saving Kenya from a definite prison bid.

  In about a solid hour the heinous deed was done and the body parts including Chocolate Bunny’s undisturbed upper torso was stuffed into a huge oversized duffle bag and thrown into the trunk. Disinfecting the small work area he used for his ghetto version autopsy he then washed his hands with hot scalding water. After the weary couple snatched the security surveillance tapes out the recorder and reset the alarm system they drove off, merging in with the early morning rush-hour traffic.

  “Instead of driving all the way out to the crib, I’m gonna drop you off at Paris’s then get rid of that situation.” He signaled to the rear of the car. “You can clue that ho in and make sure she keeps her damn mouth shut.”

  “Okay,” Kenya eagerly agreed not overly anxious to ride with a chopped-up dead body. “I got some stuff to tell her anyhow.” She raised her eyebrow letting Storm know that she wasn’t done with the whole London and him thing.

  Royce

  “I wonder where in the hell she’s at.” Royce’s long fingers slowly combed through his salt-and-pepper coarse beard as his seasoned voice tried hard to show no signs of worry and downplay his concern. “She must’ve caught a ride with one of her little dancer friends or something.”

  “Yeah, boss, ya probably right.” With his thick sandy-colored dreads swinging in the brisk night air, Marco chirped back pacifying his boss’s words as he and the fellas stood around in disgust aggravated by being ordered away from a high-stakes dice game on a dry run chasing a ho. “It’s deserted in the lot and the club is dark as a motherfucker! Ya girl probably got tired of waiting and just dipped.”

  “Well, you cats just go ahead and have the car towed to the mechanic’s shop and I’ll get new tires thrown on it in the morning,” Royce grumbled rushing to get off the line so he could once again for the hundredth time try to call his baby-momma-to-be. “Later.”

  “All right, peace!” Marco, Royce’s young headstrong lieutenant, placed his cell back on the side of his rhinestone-studded belt laughing with the guys about their “past his prime” boss tripping on Chocolate Bunny going A.W.O.L. If they knew her like half the niggas in the city knew her, Nicole Daniels’s black nasty behind was most likely somewhere across town, laid up with the next dude’s dick stuffed in her mouth.

  Hell, less than two weeks before Royce made the asshole decision to make the off-the-hook sack chaser his official wifey; she did a private party for Marco and a crew of motherfuckers out the projects. Needless to say, the go-getter bitch had no worldly limits to what she did to get her hustle on that hot summer night. Now, just like that, Royce expected an ambitious power-seeking Marco and the rest of the team to respect that good tricking stank whore as their crew’s first lady, just because she was pregnant with his old seed. Shitttttt! They all questioned his leadership.

  Enough Already . . .

  Dang, what’s taking her ass so long to come to the door? Kenya grew inpatient reaching in her pocket for her keys that also had Paris’s spare set on the ring. She probably asleep! Where I should be, if it weren’t for her!

  An eerie feeling came over her as she crossed the threshold of the silent apartment, but she passed it off as jitters after what she’d just witnessed Storm do. Paris’s favorite scent of jasmine filled the air and everything seemed completely normal until Kenya looked into the living room, which was unusually cluttered with magazines, half-eaten bags of chips, balled-up candy wrappers, and old love novels. The pillows on the sofa weren’t perfect as Paris would always keep them and a substantial layer of dust was easily viewable on the end tables.

  What the fuck? Kenya was bewildered as she passed the kitchen noticing the sink was overflowing with dirty dishes. As she neared the bedroom she called out to Paris once, then twice, getting no answer either time. Going over to her friend’s closet, Kenya took one of Paris’s track suits off the hanger and changed her clothes. Messy from the night’s events, she looked in the mirror and shuddered at the dark bags that were forming under her eyes. Where this crazy girl at now? I thought I told her to stay in the house! Her unpredictable-ass probably out ruining the next chick’s life! Making her look as bad as I do!

  Knowing that Storm left her stranded for the time being as he shot a move, she decided to make herself useful and at least bust the suds until Paris came home. Maybe it would calm her nerves; plus, she knew as exhausted as she was, if she even sat down on the couch, she’d be out for the count, more than likely missing Storm’s call to pick her back up.

  Heading into the kitchen she started sorting out the dishes and turned on the hot water. After a few seconds of searching for the dish soap, Kenya walked back down the hallway pushing the bathroom door, which was cracked with the light out, all the way open.

  “Oh shit! Naw, Paris! Naw!” Wide-eyed with shock Kenya discovered her best friend sprawled out on the marble floor with a busted lip and several bottles of opened pills nearby. “What in the fuck did you do? What did you do? Damn!” Bending down grabbing both hands shaking Paris’s arms in an attempt to get her up, a hysterical Kenya screamed. “Wake up! Wake up!”

  Getting no results, she scrambled to her feet bolting to the front room frantically searching the unkempt apartment for the phone. Dialing 911 while rushing back to the bathroom, Kenya wet a washcloth with cold water, wiping Paris’s face, which confusingly had a black and blue swollen bottom lip.

  “Nine-one-one, what’s the emergency?”

  “Yes, I think my friend has overdosed!”

  “Is your friend conscious or alert?”

  “No!”

  “What type of chemical is involved?”

  “I don’t know! Just some pills! Please send help!” Kenya pleaded.

  “Miss, the computer shows that you’re at 19348 North Street? Is that correct?”

  “Yes! Shady Tree Estates, apartment fifty-eight on the north side!”

  “Okay, stay on the line. Paramedics are being dispatched.”

  “Please hurry!”

  The operator listened to Kenya scream and cry. “Miss, calm down. A rig has responded and is already en route to your location. Is your friend a male or a female?”

  “A female.”

  “Does she have a pulse?”

  “Yes, but hurry up! Please!”

  “Can you read what the bottle says on the label?”

  “What difference does it make? Just send help!”

  Tossing the cordless phone down Kenya rocked an unresponsive Paris in her arms
talking to her until she heard the piercing high-pitched sirens of the ambulance. Twenty long, grueling minutes later, Kenya found herself in a crowded hospital waiting room placing a call to O.T., Storm, and Paris’s older cousin, Tangy, who had just gotten out of jail. Thirty short minutes after that, all-out hell broke loose.

  “What happened to my cuz?” The questions came one after another as soon as Tangy bolted through the doors.

  “Tangy, girl, I came over to the apartment and found her in the bathroom passed out cold!”

  “From what? Why?”

  Kenya anticipated when she informed her, the real deal, she would trip, but at this point there wasn’t any reason for keeping secrets. The doctor would come from the back sooner or later and say what Paris had done anyhow: tried to commit suicide.

  “She had taken a lot of pills.”

  “What!” Tangy snatched her baseball cap off showing her freshly braided, thick, perfectly lined cornrows. With saggy, oversized blue jeans dragging the hospital floor, barely allowing her small Tims to be seen, the flat-chested dyke pounded her fist inside her hand. “Why would she do some dumb shit like that?”

  “I don’t know, girl,” Kenya lied opting not to throw O.T. under the train, considering he was innocent of what she and Paris had been accusing him of for months. “She was under a lot of stress I guess.”

  Tangy’s wifey, Vanessa, who used to dance at Alley Cats, was by her side rubbing her back in hopes of calming her down. She was a former headliner act, Cash-N-Go, a true freak about her business who went both ways. Kenya never trusted her around Storm and Storm never trusted her around Kenya. Vanessa was a temptress. Now she was Tangy’s main chick and was known by reputation to cut any ho’s throat who came near her. She didn’t care if Kenya was once her boss or not, Tangy was hers! Period!

  “Where in the hell was O.T.? And matter of fact where in the fuck is he at now?”