The Dirty Divorce

THE DIRTY DIVORCE

Life Changing Books in conjunction with Power Play Media

Published by Life Changing Books

P.O. Box 423 Brandywine, MD 20613

This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, establishments, or locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Other names, characters, and incidents occurring in the work are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, as are those fictionalized events and incidents that involve real persons. Any character that happens to share the name of a person who is an acquaintance of the author, past or present, is purely coincidental and is in no way intended to be an actual account involving that person.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data;

www.lifechangingbooks.net

13 Digit: 978-1934230749

10 Digit: 1-93423074X

Copyright © 2010

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

CHAPTER ONE

Lisa

Love is a powerful thing
, I thought, climbing the stairs from the basement to the first floor living room. I took another swig from the bottle of Dasani, hoping to cool off before fainting in the middle of the floor. I’d just finished another two hour work-out in our custom designed gym that my husband built especially for me. Yet somehow, I didn’t feel like myself. It was that woman’s intuition that old people always talked about. Something just wasn’t right.

Even though I knew Rich was out celebrating with our daughter, Denie, my mind couldn’t stop wondering what he was doing, or who he was with whenever we were a part from each other. Over the past few years, he’d become so shady. Nothing he said was believable anymore. Countless lies and alibis were the only thing that ever came out his mouth, and I was immune to it.

When I entered the foyer and glared at the imported crystal chandelier, my heart questioned where things had gone wrong. The twenty thousand dollar chandelier was ordered when we first moved in, from my favorite furniture store in Georgetown; that’s when things were great. Whether it was a new fur, a new outfit, or diamonds, Rich always made it happen for me. Anyone could say I was a bit spoiled, but I deserved it. Besides, by me carrying the title, Mrs. Juan “Rich” Sanchez, I was entitled to the finer things in life.

Breaking from my daze, I started up the stairs to the bedroom taking two steps at a time in a hurry to get ready. It was my daughter’s seventeenth birthday, so I needed to freshen up quickly, and head downtown to pick up her Chris Brown tickets and backstage passes.

As I entered our master bathroom, I couldn’t wait to soak in our circular Jacuzzi tub. My daily baths had become routine and fairly therapeutic; the ultimate anti-stress treatment that allowed me to drift away from all my problems. Preparing my vanilla almond bubble bath, I was determined to make today drama free. Many years ago, my Aunt Lita told me vanilla was the scent men were mostly attracted to, so of course that stayed in my smell good collection. With a man like my husband, it was important to keep it tight and smelling right.

Lighting my vanilla candles, I took a look at the woman in the mirror. I was raised in a Christian home. My dad was a pastor, and my mother, brothers and sisters were all still active in the church, and yet I was the one who strayed and married a ruthless drug dealer. Being raised with high standards and morals, I tried hard to hold on to that by making my marriage work with whatever it took. Nowadays, I wasn’t so sure if I could hold on any longer. In a daze, I began to ask myself, what type of woman had I become? I’d been doing all the good wifely duties over the years just to keep my man, but it was clear to me now that shit hadn’t made a difference; crystal clear. Just like any other no good ass man, Rich was gonna do what he wanted, regardless of who he hurt in the process.

My husband was the finest thing in the city. His father was Columbian and his mother was Black, but with more of his father’s features, he was just the right mix. His tall stature and his lean but muscular build gave him power when he entered any room. His warm, brown complexion and thick, curly hair had many people mistaking him for a Dominican, and women were definitely weak for his dimples. He was definitely the type of man that you had to keep interested. Rich was “The Man” in D.C., with plenty of money and clout in the eighties and nineties. An entrepreneur at heart, Rich owned t-shirt stores, Laundromats, a few small car lots, but where most of his legal money came from was his bar, Bottom’s Up. Rich had old money, but his swagger still gave the young dudes a run for their money. We were definitely financially stable. He was the most wanted man in the streets by both the Feds and the chicks. That was just how it had always been. Many had tried, but none had succeeded.

After finally getting out of the tub, I wrapped myself in a towel, then waltzed to my dresser and pulled out my red lace La Perla bra and thong set. Our wedding photo on the dresser always made me smile anytime I started to feel insecure. With naughty thoughts on my mind, I figured I would give Rich a night cap after the birthday festivities. That’s if he didn’t reject me. He was known for doing that from time to time. His excuse, which sounded like a broken record, was that he was tired or had a stressful day. I wasn’t sure why he thought I believed that shit. Every woman knows that men never turned down pussy, not unless they were gay of course. Rich definitely wasn’t gay, but he was a cheater. Someone who’d been caught a countless number of times; so many times that I’d lost count.

Feeling refreshed, I put on my white terrycloth Juicy Couture robe and went back in the bathroom to do my hair. I’d been debating on cutting my hair forever because it was so long, falling past my breasts. However, the thought of how Rich would feel about me with a bob or a short pixie cut made me erase that thought immediately. He’d told me on countless occasions how women with short hair weren’t attractive. The last thing I needed right now was for him to think I wasn’t sexy. Pulling my hair up into a sleek ponytail with my custom-made, Tiffany diamond barrette Rich bought me years ago, I played with a few loose strands before I was finally satisfied.

Looking at myself in the mirror, my hazel eyes stared back at me. My high cheek bones and honey brown skin used to give me confidence, but now my self esteem was low. I thought my beauty and innocence was enough that Rich would never cheat on me. Boy, did I have myself fooled.

I leaned over the sink then began washing my face with my Dr. Perricone facial cleanser when suddenly I heard a strange noise. I quickly stood up even though I couldn’t see anything, trying to figure out what it was. Maybe Denie and Rich came back, I thought.

“Rich!” I yelled out. When he didn’t respond, I called out his name again. “Rich!” There was complete silence. “Maybe I’m tripping,” I told myself.

Bending back down, I began rinsing my face with water then stood back up to grab a hand towel off the rack. After patting my face in several different areas, I finally looked in the mirror, and gasped at what I saw. My heart thumped. Chest pounded. Immediately, my brain told me it was really an extra set of eyes staring back at me. A shock of terror shot through my body. Who was this man with these big eyes filled with lust and what was he doing in my home? I didn’t even have time to scream before he put his left hand over my mouth and shoved a knife toward my throat.

“I always wondered how it would feel to fuck Rich’s girl. Ummm, you smell so damn good,” he whispered in my ear in a seductive yet powerful tone. He smelled like a pack of Newports mixed with Armani cologne.

“What do you want from me?” I muffled through his black glove.

“Bitch, I want to destroy your husband’s life like he destroyed mine, and you’re gonna help me do it,” the intruder replied in a forceful, yet calm tone. “Now, cooperate with me and I’ll make this as easy for you as possible.”

Tears immediately streamed from my face. I was paralyzed with fear and couldn’t move. He pressed his body against me, squeezing my stomach against the porcelain sink. It felt as if he wanted to cut off my circulation. I began squirming, trying to get loose when he flung my body around to face him and then…he struck me...hard. So hard, I instantly fell to the floor. Hitting my head on the black and white ceramic tile was all I remembered, until I woke up in a warehouse full of goons. It was obvious that hours had gone by. The darkness seeping in from the skylight above told me so, but I couldn’t remember a thing. My naked body shivered uncontrollably from the cold air, and I felt beyond sore in my vaginal area. My ribs even felt like they were broken. As my teeth chattered, I couldn’t stop shaking from a combination of fear and the cool brisk air. I wondered how long I’d been unconscious.

Oh, my God they raped me
, I thought to myself.

I tried to yell for help, but felt so lethargic and weak that I couldn’t even raise my voice. My head ached and my vision was blurry. When I tried to move, I discovered I was handcuffed by my wrists and ankles to a rusty iron bed. The warehouse smelled like a combination of weed and funk. The room I was in had old computers on the floor and different sized file cabinets stacked against the wall. As I tried to figure out where I was, I noticed old poster advertisements of a variety of go-go bands taped on the walls. At that moment, it dawned on me that I was probably in an office of an old abandoned club. As my eyes began to focus, I saw the attacker walking up to me playing with himself. He was completely naked. At that moment, a lump formed in my throat, and before I knew it, I started to vomit all over myself.

“Damn, bitch. You gonna make my dick soft throwin’ up and shit! Man-Man get in here and clean this bitch up, I’m ready to fuck her again!” the attacker yelled with authority.

“Please no, please let me go. I’m sorry for whatever my husband did. Please just let me go, I have kids,” I pleaded.

“I know you sorry baby, but see, your man Rich isn’t, so fuck yo kids. That nigga rides around town like he the man, fuckin’ everybody’s girl and shit. So, that’s why I snatched you. Your man fucked up my fam. Shit was good and he fucked it up. Now, shut up!” he demanded.

I cried as Man-Man did as he was told and the attacker spread my legs apart and rammed his dick inside of me. The harder he pumped, the more nauseous I became. From the pain of my broken ribs, I could barely breathe or cry out for help.

Feeling defeated, I laid there as he ejaculated all over my face a few minutes later. Since I was handcuffed, I couldn’t even stop his cum from dripping on my bottom lip. Humiliation was an understatement for how I felt as the other guys started to file into the room. They just stared at me with lust. The tallest one kept looking at me, licking his lips at the same time. He scared me even more than the attacker, because he had that look; like a child molester.

The attacker began to put his clothes on, then took his cell phone of out the holster on his waist. For some reason, I knew he was about to call Rich. As he placed the call on speakerphone, he started singing a few lines from Chuck Brown’s song, I Need Some Money. It was almost as if he was rehearsing for what he was about to say. Knowing Rich didn’t answer calls from unknown numbers, especially if they were blocked, I prayed that he would answer. Seconds later, my prayers were answered.

“Who’s this?” Rich asked.

“Is this Rich?” the attacker asked trying to disguise his voice. “It’s about time you answered.”

“What the fuck you think? Didn’t you call my phone nigga? Who is this?” Rich sounded irritated already.

The attacker began to pace the floor. “If I were you, I wouldn’t come so slick out the mouth, muthafucka.”

“Oh, yeah, why?” Rich questioned.

“Because I got yo’ bitch that’s why. Now, if you want to see her again, you might want to stop asking so many fucking questions and start listening!”

“Who the fuck is this?” Rich demanded with authority.

“Now Richie, you don’t mind me calling you Richie do you? I need you to meet me at the old warehouses on Ritchie Road.”

“Look, you punk-ass nigga. I’m not in the mood for games!”

The veins in the attacker’s neck began to pop out. “Oh, it’s not a game. You think I’m fucking playing? I’ve been beating up your wife’s pussy all day, thanks to you dodging my calls. This is my third call to your ass.”

“Man, what the…” Rich began to say.

“Shut the fuck up! I’m in control and you’re gonna do what I say. Come alone. Don’t call anyone or she dies.”

“I need to speak to my wife!” Rich yelled.

“Fuck no,” the attacker said with authority. “This beautiful, tender wife of yours will die right now, if you try and fuck with me. You have one hour to bring me $500,000 in cash. If you don’t, I can’t imagine what I’ll do to this beautiful bitch here.” The attacker began to laugh before finally hanging up. He then walked over to me and started playing with my hair. “I sure hope yo’ husband knows how to follow instructions.”