her. If it weren’t for my money, I’d have no beef at all with Lace. She was cool. The one time that she gave me some of that good pussy, I wanted more. More of her. Knew she wasn’t interested in me. My ego was huge and fragile, hated rejection. I’d rather not pursue a bitch than to have her ass turn me down, especially in public, and definitely not in front of Benito’s ass.
“It’s because you fucked my girl, V. None of us can hurt her. She whipped it on you, on Grant, and on me. Got all of us acting stupid.”
“You ain’t acting, nigga.”
Only punk-ass niggas chased women. Had to give those bitches Lace and Sapphire credit. I was on top of my motherfuckin’ game, earned my first notch to becoming a billionaire, and in one fuckin’ bust my ass was dead broke. Bitches.
Hadn’t realized I’d said, “I can’t stand Lace’s ass. That bitch outsmarted me,” until Benito replied, “Me too.”
“Nigga, that toe-tapping, adding, multiplying, and dividing dog Suze that was on Oprah could outsmart your dumb ass. Nigga, we need another car quick, before we get stopped by the police.”
CHAPTER 9
Honey
A woman’s strength was determined by how much she loved herself.
Could she forsake all others to live her life the way she wanted? Could she learn to embrace happiness even if it meant losing the only man she’d ever loved?
Determined to hear Grant say my name, touch my breasts, fall asleep in my arms, I had to get home. I yearned to lay my head between his legs, kiss and sniff his balls. I craved to wake up exhausted from making love. Delirious from standing more than two hours in the heat, I fantasized to forget, if only for a minute, all the gruesome things that had happened to me.
My immediate agenda was to get home, to notify my banker to freeze all account activity not originated by me, and to take a long hot bath—in that order. Onyx was the only person authorized to access my money. I knew she’d do anything to save my life, but I prayed she hadn’t given away my money. I had to check on my girls, my business, speak with Sapphire, ask her to track down Valentino and Benito. Better to have Sapphire kill Valentino and Benito than for me to do it.
Toot-toot. A handsome man in a burgundy Benz waved, kept going.
“Don’t honk at me, give me a ride! Why won’t anyone give me a ride?” I yelled, resenting the hundreds of drivers that had zoomed by me. My feet were numb, I couldn’t feel my toes, but it was too hot to take off my shoes. Too hot to sit. Too hot to walk. Too hot to stand much longer. Weary, I was on the verge of passing out. Fidgeting, I scratched my neck, pulled my hair, then massaged my left breast. What if I had a heart attack, fell to the ground? Would a stranger stop to help me?
What if Valentino or Benito had killed me in that parking lot? My millions of dollars would matter the most to those who deserved it the least. I had no will. No husband. No kids. No burial instructions. No next of kin that I’d acknowledged, including my parents. The state of Georgia would claim my assets. What had the government done for me except take, take, take? I wasn’t dying without a notarized last will and testament.
My body swayed; I stumbled. “That’s it,” I said. “Somebody is going to give me a ride.” I used my left arm to support my right arm. Holding up my thumb, I leaned against the pole. More cars zipped by. I cried. “Damn, does everybody in Atlanta have hitchhiker phobia? Where are all those church members of Reverend Dollar’s ministry?” Couldn’t blame them for not stopping. Strangers begging for a ride were usually running from something or someone. The recession made people leery of strangers. Giving up on holding my thumb in the air, I started crisscrossing, flagging, flopping, and wailing my arms at each driver like I was a kid.
Yes, there is a god. My arms collapsed to my sides. Finally, a white commercial van with two windows on the driver and passenger
“It’s because you fucked my girl, V. None of us can hurt her. She whipped it on you, on Grant, and on me. Got all of us acting stupid.”
“You ain’t acting, nigga.”
Only punk-ass niggas chased women. Had to give those bitches Lace and Sapphire credit. I was on top of my motherfuckin’ game, earned my first notch to becoming a billionaire, and in one fuckin’ bust my ass was dead broke. Bitches.
Hadn’t realized I’d said, “I can’t stand Lace’s ass. That bitch outsmarted me,” until Benito replied, “Me too.”
“Nigga, that toe-tapping, adding, multiplying, and dividing dog Suze that was on Oprah could outsmart your dumb ass. Nigga, we need another car quick, before we get stopped by the police.”
CHAPTER 9
Honey
A woman’s strength was determined by how much she loved herself.
Could she forsake all others to live her life the way she wanted? Could she learn to embrace happiness even if it meant losing the only man she’d ever loved?
Determined to hear Grant say my name, touch my breasts, fall asleep in my arms, I had to get home. I yearned to lay my head between his legs, kiss and sniff his balls. I craved to wake up exhausted from making love. Delirious from standing more than two hours in the heat, I fantasized to forget, if only for a minute, all the gruesome things that had happened to me.
My immediate agenda was to get home, to notify my banker to freeze all account activity not originated by me, and to take a long hot bath—in that order. Onyx was the only person authorized to access my money. I knew she’d do anything to save my life, but I prayed she hadn’t given away my money. I had to check on my girls, my business, speak with Sapphire, ask her to track down Valentino and Benito. Better to have Sapphire kill Valentino and Benito than for me to do it.
Toot-toot. A handsome man in a burgundy Benz waved, kept going.
“Don’t honk at me, give me a ride! Why won’t anyone give me a ride?” I yelled, resenting the hundreds of drivers that had zoomed by me. My feet were numb, I couldn’t feel my toes, but it was too hot to take off my shoes. Too hot to sit. Too hot to walk. Too hot to stand much longer. Weary, I was on the verge of passing out. Fidgeting, I scratched my neck, pulled my hair, then massaged my left breast. What if I had a heart attack, fell to the ground? Would a stranger stop to help me?
What if Valentino or Benito had killed me in that parking lot? My millions of dollars would matter the most to those who deserved it the least. I had no will. No husband. No kids. No burial instructions. No next of kin that I’d acknowledged, including my parents. The state of Georgia would claim my assets. What had the government done for me except take, take, take? I wasn’t dying without a notarized last will and testament.
My body swayed; I stumbled. “That’s it,” I said. “Somebody is going to give me a ride.” I used my left arm to support my right arm. Holding up my thumb, I leaned against the pole. More cars zipped by. I cried. “Damn, does everybody in Atlanta have hitchhiker phobia? Where are all those church members of Reverend Dollar’s ministry?” Couldn’t blame them for not stopping. Strangers begging for a ride were usually running from something or someone. The recession made people leery of strangers. Giving up on holding my thumb in the air, I started crisscrossing, flagging, flopping, and wailing my arms at each driver like I was a kid.
Yes, there is a god. My arms collapsed to my sides. Finally, a white commercial van with two windows on the driver and passenger