Sex in the Hood Saga (51 page)

Knight perched on the bed, inhaling deeply. But every breath made those needle sensations in his heart pierce harder. And an aching, burning band of pain extended from the right side of his chest, under his arm, and around his back.

“My body is relaxed,” he whispered, yanking at the black bow tie that felt like a noose. His watch said five-forty. So did his cell phone, sitting beside him on the bed, which was supposed to alert him of any security breaches.

five forty-one.

He unbuttoned his shirt. With one hand, he massaged his chest.

Nineteen more minutes.

“I am strong,” he gasped. “My heart is strong.” But his heart was hammering against his ribs. His lungs were squeezing, barely taking in air. And his head was spinning.

Little white dots of light danced before his eyes. He tried to focus on himself in the mirror facing the bed.
Knight! Knight, baby, help!

Knight's heart pounded harder. Sweat prickled under his starched white shirt.

How long had she been calling for help? His panicky state of mind had been blocking his radar.

“Pong!” Knight called weakly.

The Barrior and his twin, Ping, were waiting in the living room. Jamal, his best man, was dressing in another suite. The plan was for him to come here, then they would all go up to the wedding together.

“Pong!” Knight wheezed. He grabbed his phone. If The Queen was in danger, then it meant that all of Babylon was already in the midst of a serious security breakdown. Knight poised his finger over the single button that would spark Ping and Pong into immediate action, and set off an alarm in the security booth for Gerard to take care of whatever was going down.

Those white lights dancing before his eyes became a blinding flash. Static rang in his ears. And everything went black.

“Muthafuck me!” Gerard shouted. His fingers raced over buttons and knobs on the console in the security room, where six other men and women concentrated on dozens of video monitors covering three walls.

Gerard blocked out the mental pictures of all the pussy he'd been getting, taking, and buying lately. He had to concentrate on the conversation inside The Queen's suite through the sound chip in her necklace. For some reason, the audio monitors that were hooked up to the cameras in that suite had suddenly gone dead. Good thing Knight was so slick he'd had a sound chip installed in The Queen's diamond necklace, so he could keep an ear on his bitch at all times. Gerard had just replaced the chip with an even more powerful one to prepare for today. And The Queen never knew that it was just inside the clasp.

If she and CoCo weren't talking so freaky, Gerard would have had an easier time focusing on the screens in front of him. And if they hadn't been flashing each other's pussy at each other as Gerard watched live, thanks to the security camera that showed the bedroom of the bridal suite, then he would have looked away long enough to study the other monitors. Then he wouldn't be in this panic. He'd just now noticed that the monitors for the hidden security cameras outside The Queen's suite room 515, were actually showing room 415.

“Knight gon' kill me.” He tried once more to activate the cameras that would, identify the live video as Room 515.

“Whew!” Gerard said, when he read the words on the monitor, Room 515. “She safe.” The monitor showed four Barriors standing in the hallway. And the numbers on the door said Room 415. “How the fuck did somebody—”

“That's just a short circuit, man.” Paul reached over to adjust the knobs in front of Gerard, “Look.”

The image of four Barriors in front of Room 515 appeared on the video.

“Dang, I just saw my life flash before my eyes. Knight woulda killed me his damn self if I'da let somethin' happen to The Queen.”

“Everybody too doggone tense around here today,” Paul said calmly. “I just saw your girl Reba. She so nervous, you'd think it was her weddin'.”

Gerard went numb. He knew she was up to something. Not for taking the money after their little fun in the Jacuzzi. Or the several other times that she'd sucked his dick like “wifey” never had, even when they was young newlyweds and the bitch was still givin' head.

No, something in Reba's eyes had snitched that she wanted something much more valuable than money. And he didn't like the way she kept blowing her nose, mumbling something about having a head cold that lingered for almost two weeks. But he had let her sexiness blind him to overlooking at why she caused that bad feeling in his gut.

It was the hottest pussy he'd ever had. The way she could sit on top of him and grind her ass down on his stomach while she fucked him. Just thinking about that shit made his whole body feel hot. Those magic moves had the power to make a nigga lose his mind.

Gerard stared at the monitor to make sure it still showed Barriors outside Room 515.

* * *

In his mind's eye, though, he could see Reba last night, in this security room where Knight prohibited all visitors, whether they were a Slut, a Stud, or a low-ranking Barrior or B'Amazons.

But Gerard and his dumb ass had been thinking with the head between his legs. And he let Reba in. What man wouldn't, when he saw her wearing a miniskirt and tank top. Right here in this chair, she had rubbed his dick between her titties till he called out for his momma. Shit, he'd never blown that much cum at once.

“Hummer One to Cairo,” a Barrior said over the two-way radio. “Hummer One to Cairo.”

Gerard pushed a red button on the black two-way box on the console. “Ramses. Over.”

Static crackled on the line. “Delivery route clear. Over.”

“Roger that.”

“How it look?” Gerard asked Paul, who was surveying at least a dozen screens that showed about 250 wedding guests at varying stages of arrival. A few still arrived at valet behind the building.

Even though The Playhouse was situated in an old warehouse district, a lot of new construction was going on around it as the city revitalized its waterfront. So Knight had arranged for the guests to arrive in back, pull up near a white tent between the marina and terrace, and walk a red carpet into the building.

“Damn, emcee Sweet got a sexy lady!” Gerard exclaimed as the famous rapper strutted up the red carpet from his white Bentley and into the building.

The woman wore a wispy purple dress with a sequined, lowcut V-neck so low, you could see the tattoo between her bellybutton and her crotch. The sheer fabric clung to the points of her nipples as if they were hooks.

“Tell me that dress ain't glued to her titties!” Gerard said. “Oooh, an' look at them chicks wit' Rip Masta an' his crew. Damn, he got clearance for all that entourage? Got a whole harem wit' his gangsta ass. They sexy as hell.”

“Negro, you betta pay attention,” Paul said sternly. “Distracting a knucklehead wit' pretty pussy the oldest trick in the book if somebody 'bout to pull a scheme out they stank ass.”

Gerard stiffened. The smile curling up his lips flattened, and he focused on three elevators full of guests. When the elevators opened onto the rooftop terrace, Barriors and B'Amazons searched the guests' bags and waved metal detector wands over them.

Guns were checked at a special, high-security room.

“All these folks stayin' for The Games,” Paul said, “but in a minute, we gon' get a shit load o' new folks tryin' to get a good seat in the auditorium. An' we'll have to get all the guests from the roof down to The Games. This shit betta go smoov.”

Gerard punched some buttons to zoom in on the area where the wedding would be in about fifteen minutes. He realized his fingers were trembling. He was nervous. Because he felt something was wrong.

But that had never happened before. And as many times as they'd done video system checks to prepare for this day, never once had a short circuit or camera mix-up occurred.

Gerard cast a quick glance at Paul, whose profile was serious and focused on the screens.

Gerard dialed Knight. But it rang and rang.

Knight always answered the phone on one ring, if that. Sometimes it was like he had ESP and he'd just flip open his phone like he knew Gerard was about to call.

Otherwise, if he were busy, Pong would answer to say Knight was occupied. But now, a recording came on to say, “I'm sorry, the customer you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please . . .”

Gerard punched the END button. “Damn!”

“Now what?” Paul asked impatiently.

“You talk to Knight lately?”

“Naw, but let the man get ready for his weddin'. He 'bout to marry the finest chick in Babylon, so let him be. You know he like to meditate before he do somethin' important anyway.”

Duke's insides felt like fire as he stared down his bride. Her perfect China doll face was much darker now. And her eyes were harder.

Her blow-torch blue eyes burned into him with the kind of power that he used to flex with one glance. A sucking sensation in his chest made him feel like she'd stolen his power, with Knight's help. She was living the glamorous life here at Babylon, eating like a queen, partying like the boss that she was, and fucking her brains out with his big bro'.

Duke felt frozen in place, even though his insides were melting under her stare. He was paralyzed by the shock of finally seeing her for the first time in a year. He was just a Motor City minute away from usurping the power and the pussy back under his control.

“Duchess, I'm back,” he said as he climbed out of the armoire. “Your Duke is back. We can finally be together. Knight's gone, so you can marry me today, the way it's s'posed to be.” He grinned, remembering way back a year and a month ago, when he had prophesized their wedding day by saying, “And so it is written, and so it is done.”

Now, he felt drunk with excitement that his plan was going so smoothly. They had gotten up here undetected. Took out the guards. Antoine was standing with a rifle by the doors, and Reba had gone to make sure CoCo didn't make it out of the bathroom.

Now all he had to do was make Duchess remember that she loved him. In a Motor City minute those big moon beam gray blue eyes would stop flashing with defiance and hatred. They'd soften into that sexy glow that she used to cast on his while they were making love up in their Penthouse.

But right now she looked like a scared cat. Tryin' to look tough and calm, but she couldn't hide the fear in her eyes. Her mind was spinning a scheme to escape, the way she kept glancing back and forth between him and Antoine's gun at the door.

That pretty pushed-up chest was rising and falling fast as she panted for breath. “Isis! Osiris!” she screamed. “Isis! Osiris!” Her ear-splitting cries set off hot sparks that clawed up Duke's skinny spine and gripped his brain.

“Shut the fuck up!” he shouted. For a split second, he realized how insane he must've looked. Even though he'd gained weight and his skin was clearing up, he still wasn't anything like the radiant god he'd been a year ago. And there was no telling what lies Knight had told her to make her hate her first love.

Antoine dashed into the bedroom. “Yo, boss—”

“Get back to the muthafuckin' door,” Duke commanded. “I can han'le this bullshit.”

“Isis! Osiris!” Duchess screeched even louder. And she dove for a beaded purse on the vanity.

“I let you live, bitch!” Duke dove toward her as she grabbed the purse. “You woulda been dog meat if I hadn't saved you from ghetto hell. Helped you hide from the feds. Gave you love—”

Her pretty manicured fingers grabbed the purse. The beaded fabric showed the outline of a gun.

Duke's giant fingers pried her hands off of it. He snapped open the purse and pulled out the pearl handheld gun. He waved it close to her face, but she did not flinch. “This the thanks I get?” he said with such a deep voice that his throat hurt. “I give you everything and you think you gon' shoot my ass?”

She inched back toward the triple mirrors.

Now he got a 360-degree view of her fine ass; bareback, ass all round and juicy in sparkly pink fabric. Duke stepped closer. He said in a sweet tone, “You think you gon' shoot The Duke on our weddin' day?”

He wanted to kiss her right now. Them pretty pucker lips were all pouty and red, her cheeks were pink, and her titties looked like they were about to pop out of all that tight, sparkly lace.

“Look at you,” he whispered, mesmerized by her beauty. With her hair in chopsticks up on her head, he could see the length of her pretty neck that he used to kiss and suck on.

But that necklace.
“Take that shit off yo' neck,” he ordered.

The blinding bling of QUEEN made him close his eyes. “That muthafucka got you wearin' a calla like you his dog, bitch. Take the shit off!”

“Isis! Osiris!” she screamed. She bent slightly at the waist as she screamed. And Duke saw in her reflection that something black flashed on her back.

THE QUEEN OF KNIGHT.

“Oh, muthafuckin' hell naw!” He grabbed her bare arm. Yanked her like a rag doll. Turned her around. “Get me a knife!” he shouted. “Get me a muthafuckin' knife! I gotta cut that shit off my baby before we can go up to the roof an' get married today.”

The image of his bigger, badder brother fucking The Duchess cast a red hue of rage over everything in Duke's sight. A whistly sound rang in his ears. And his heart pounded like a drum beat that was ticking down one infuriating realization after another.

“We gon' rewind back to when we met an' start ova,” Duke groaned close to her pretty face. “You gon' keep doin' jus' what you doin' by runnin' Babylon. Only you gon' report to The Duke. In HQ. And in bed. Startin' now.”

Her face snarled up. “You ain't even a shadow of the Duke I used to love. You look like the muthafuckin' night of the living dead.”

She glared so hard into his eyes, Duke felt paralyzed.

His eyes burned with tears as he whispered, “Duchess, baby, I'm sorry.” He pulled the Glock from the waist of his jeans. He held it to her head, just below the big twist of black hair held in place by those pretty chopsticks. “Say anotha word,” he said, “an' Knight can take both our bodies to the cemetery on his wedding day.”

With his left hand, Duke yanked her arm; his rough fingernails digging into her baby soft skin. Oooh, skin so soft it didn't feel human. All smooth and creamy, no scars or dark spots like too many chicks had all over their arms, backs, legs, and bellies from hard life in the hood; she was fresh, clean meat.

Timbo was so big and hard, he made a tent in the front of Duke's baggy jeans.

Duke released her arm and shoved her at the same time. She kept her balance, though, on those pretty spike-heeled pumps.

Even though he wore a black leather belt with a BABYLON belt buckle, he easily pulled his pants down with a quick yank by his left hand. Wearin' no drawers in anticipation of this occasion, Timbo swayed free like a sideways telephone pole. Duke stepped back to get a good look at his bride. He thrust his hips forward and whispered, “Baby Girl, come get some Timbo.”

The gun in his right hand just didn't feel right.

“Now how I'm gon' make love to my Duchess at gunpoint?” he asked softly, looking into her eyes. “Tell me I can put it down.”

She smiled. “Duke, you know I missed you. And you know how things shook down; I didn't have a choice when he took over.”

“You didn't have to stay. You coulda found me.”

“Nobody knew where you were,” she said softly. “All that matters now is that you're back. So, yeah, put the gun down and come get some Duchess.”

He looked at the gun in his hand then back at her eyes.

Full
o'
scheme! Take that pussy now!

Like a football player hunching down for a tackle, he bent at the waist, gun in hand, and grabbed the bottom of her dress. He wrapped an arm around her ankles and pulled forward.

She fell on her ass, and her back hit the floor. So did her head. And her legs spread wide open. That bald, wet pussy smiled back at him. Ooh, it was so pretty.

“I'm back in muthafuckin' heaven where I belong.” Timbo was like a giant steel arrow pointing at the best pussy he'd ever had. Duke fell to his knees. He just had to crawl closer so he could slam inside her. He grinned, staring into her eyes as she laid there looking at him, over her chest.

“Put the gun down, Duke, baby,” she whispered, “an' I'll give you the wedding day pussy that you been dreamin' about for a year. Duke an' Duchess.”

Her lips looked so delicious and the sound of his name floating up off her tongue made him melt inside.

He set down the gun on the carpet.

But a bad-ass bitch look glinted in her eyes.

Whack!
Her stiletto heel smashed into his face, piercing a hole in his cheek all the way into his mouth. Hot blood squirted over his tongue and down his throat.

Wham!
The other spiked heel slammed into Timbo.

Duke froze. The pain; it was like a red-hot electric knife had just stabbed him in the dick. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't see nothin', hear nothin'. His head rang like a siren.

“Biiiittttccchhhh,” he groaned.

“I'd shut the fuck up if I were you,” Duchess said softly. “It's not nice to call names. Especially on my wedding day.”

All his other folks were under strict orders not to do anything to carry out their plan until they heard from Duke. No word, no action. But how could he lead a coup while laying here with a wounded dick, with the female version of his ruthless-ass brother standing over him?

She was a blur of white, pink, bronze, and black.

Wham! Wham!
She kicked the side of his leg.

He let out a high-pitched whimper like the pit bulls used to do if they lost a fight.

“That's for havin' my sister killed.”

Duke wanted to say that that bitch Melanie Winston was about to waste away in a convent anyway. He'd done the Duchess' look-alike sister a favor by sparing her a miserable life without dick. Duchess should've been grateful that his trick had duped those FBI muthafuckas for so long.

His lips moved to let some words out, but he coughed on the blood oozing down his throat. He thought he would faint from the pain. But he had to see if she'd kicked a hole in his dick. He had to look down or feel down, but didn't know up from sideways or backward.

Duke did know one thing, however, the cold metal pressing into his sweaty forehead was his own gun, and his Duchess was holding it there.