Paris was heated as well as devastated. She went inside of one of the stalls and shut the door. When the tears started to flow she didn’t want any of the women in the salon to see her at one of her weakest moments. After ten minutes of having an emotional fit, she splashed cold water on her face and went to fill Kenya in on the latest.
“What took you so long in there?” Kenya inquired. “I was about to send in a search party!”
“I was on the phone.”
“Talking to who? And why are your eyes all red and shit? Have you been crying?”
Paris pulled her baseball cap down over her face in an attempt to shield any nosy bitches from noticing the same thing that Kenya had. “I called Jordan back. She left me an urgent message.”
“Jordan from the club? What kind of message? Is everything going all right down at Alley Cats?” Kenya hoped that shit was in order. She didn’t have the time or strength to go to the club and straighten out a damn thang.
Paris was agitated, trying her best whisper. “It ain’t the club. It’s O.T.’s no-good ass. Jordan just seen him at the fucking mall.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“He was there with Chocolate Bunny.” Paris felt like she had just been socked in the stomach as soon as the words passed her lips. “All up on that bitch—caking!”
Kenya was almost speechless. “Is she sure? You know how females like to start rumors—hatin’.”
“Naw girl, she knew exactly what that cheating Negro was wearing from foot to fro.” Paris sniffed, fighting back the tears. “The worst part is his ass is serving that black bitch up like a queen. Jordan said he gave Chocolate Bunny some dough like she was wifey or something.”
“That trifling nigga must be smoking crack!” Kenya said with her hand on Paris’s shoulder. “Something ain’t right! O.T. and her?”
Less than ten minutes had passed in between the time that the best friends tried to figure out what was wrong with O.T.’s simple behind for doing that dumb shit to Paris and the five seconds it took Chocolate Bunny to prance her slap-happy-ass through the front door of the salon. She was dressed just the way that Jordan described over the phone—all the way down to her purse she was sporting, which, by the way, was definitely without doubt bootleg.
She proudly marched up to the reception desk like she owned stock in the bitch. “Yeah, I need Charday to tighten up my weave real quick!”
“I’m sorry, Nicole, but she’s all booked up for the rest of today.” Sable chewed her bubble gum and gave her a funny look. “What about tomorrow? She has a ten o’clock open.”
Chocolate Bunny reached in her handbag and started flashing money. “Well, I’ll pay a hundred dollars to any of y’all customers that wanna give up y’all spot with Charday!”
While she was showboating, Kenya was trying everything in her power to keep Paris in her seat.
“No, that bird ain’t up in here spending my money. I outta go over there and knock her ass out!” Paris was fuming. “I hate the fuck out of her!”
“Listen, Paris, it is what it is! Don’t let that girl or any other of these females up in here catch you off your square! Boss up—do you hear me?” Kenya was in Paris’s ear, being the voice of reason. “Now come on and let’s just jet before you embarrass yourself. We can deal with her later. Besides, you should at least give O.T. a chance to explain before you mess around and hurt somebody. Go out to the car and call him!”
Gathering her composure, Paris finally agreed. When the pair was almost out of the door, Chocolate Bunny spotted them and decided to do what she did best, make a scene and overplay her position.
“Oh, hey ladies! I didn’t see y’all sitting over there. You two could have spoken or something.” She was being bogus as a three-dollar bill. She knew that it wasn’t no love shared between them. The only thing that they had up to this point in common was Alley Cats.
“Hey girl,” Kenya said, nodding. “We kinda in a rush, so . . .”
“Okay, then damn, don’t let me stop you,” Chocolate Bunny giggled, rolling her neck. “Or you either, Miss Paris!”
Paris couldn’t take it any longer. Her temper was on boiling status. “Listen up, bitch, don’t even speak to my fine-ass! A ho like you ain’t even in my damn league, okay! Now carry your messy behind the fuck on, before I give your family some arrangements to make for you!”
“Hold tight, Paris! Who you calling bitch, bitch! Is you insane or something?” Chocolate Bunny sucked her teeth, looking Paris up and down like it could and would be whatever. “And don’t be threatening me either, Paris, I don’t like that kinda shit! Me or my man!”
“Your man?” Paris flared up even more.
“You heard me! I said my man, ho—mine!” she repeated with certainty.
“Yeah, right! You got me all fucked up! I don’t make threats, I make promises!” Paris pointed her finger in her face. “Fuck you and him! Believe that!”
Kenya stepped in the middle before either one got a chance to swing. The entire salon was staring at the group, waiting for a show. Charday, being the peacemaker, came over and asked them to calm down or leave. They were all good clients, but business was business and they were all tripping. The last thing she wanted or needed in her salon was a knock-down, drag-out.
Before Paris and Kenya could oblige to Charday’s wishes and get out the salon door good, they heard the song “Gold Digger” playing. It was the ring tone that was on Chocolate Bunny’s cell phone. Hearing that tune, Paris zoned out, having an instantaneous flashback to the other night when O.T.’s phone dialed her back and recklessly sucker punched the female in her jaw, causing her to fall to the floor smack down on her ass and at the feet of waiting clients.
“She was past due on that one!” Paris snickered as her and Kenya finally got in the car and pulled off.
Damn! Kenya thought as she drove away. Alley Cats is gonna be on the nut tonight when Nicole gets there. I really gotsa go to the club now!
14
How, What, Why
O.T.
Driving down the interstate with the warm air blowing on his face, O.T. let the music take control of his mind. He was once again lost in thoughts of London’s perfectly shaped ass. He secretly always wanted to fuck the shit out of Kenya, but considering the fact that she was Storm’s woman, that made her off limits. Seeing how London was her identical twin, she was the next best thing to actually sticking the dick to his brother’s girl. In his twisted mindset it would be like hittin’ them both off at the same time.
As O.T. felt his hard pipe pulsate through his jeans, he smiled seeing his exit and quickly made the turn. It was now only a couple of short blocks to get to his brother’s crib for his daily visit. His dick was stiff as a board. If he played his cards right, O.T. hoped he might get a few minutes alone with London, at least to feel on her titties or grab a handful of her ass. No matter what he did, she was with it.
Kenya always did her best to cock-block him when it came to her sister, letting him know that it was no way that she was being a part of any backstabbing conspiracy plotted against Paris. If London was in a room with O.T., you betta best believe that Kenya was in that bitch too. Day after day Kenya informed him that there wasn’t a damn thing going down on her watch. Little did Kenya or O.T. have any idea that today would be his lucky day.
LONDON
No sooner than Kenya and Paris bent the corner, London ran back in the house and straight up the stairs. She tiptoed into her sister’s room, past a sleeping Storm, and went into the closet. It was now time to select an outfit that would make O.T. lose his mind when he saw her. For days, she had taken notes from the videos and knew that with Kenya out of the house, she might finally have the chance to put her plan in effect. After snatching a short blue jean miniskirt off the hanger and a powder-blue T-shirt that was sure to fit tight, London headed for the shower.
She used some of her sister’s favorite cucumber melon body wash as she felt the warm water hit her nude body. London the
n rubbed in plenty of the matching lotion after drying off. Slipping on Kenya’s new shell-covered sandals, she pranced downstairs. She then admired her work in the mirror. London now looked exactly just like Kenya. Her once dull appearance was gone and the bait was now set for O.T. to get trapped.
I know that he’s gonna want me now! If this doesn’t entice him, I don’t know what will, she thought as she hugged herself. I just hope that he gets here at the usual time and Kenya stays gone. I don’t need any obstacles getting in my way! London went into the kitchen, getting one of Kenya’s peach-flavored wine coolers out of the refrigerator. She hated the way that they tasted, but holding the bottle in her hand made her feel more mature and sexy. Plus, most of the females in the nasty uncut videos all had glasses in their hands as they danced around.
Where is he at? she wondered, watching the clock. Sitting down on the couch, crossing her legs, London held the remote in her right hand, clicking channels while tapping the cooler bottle with the left.
O.T. pulled into the driveway and turned off his car. He sat back in the custom leather bucket seats, leaning his neck on the headrest. O.T. had to collect his thoughts and closed his eyes briefly. Seeing his brother still suffering after all this time was causing him to have constant migraine headaches. As much as he tried being the strong person that all the people involved depended on, he was starting to crack from the heavy, stressed-filled pressure. When he sat up, opening up his eyes, O.T. saw Kenya standing in the doorway waving to him.
“Damn, I guess I should go ahead and go in,” he mumbled as he unlocked the car door. Getting closer up toward the door, he busted out laughing. “Oh shit, tell me I’m seeing thangs!” O.T. stopped in his tracks, folding his arms and started shaking his head. The jersey he was wearing showed off every muscle, his jeans sagged perfectly, and his Tims had the tongue stuck out with the laces loose.
“What’s so funny?” London asked with her hands firmly on her hips. She had done her best to imitate Kenya and now O.T. was standing there laughing in her face. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” London stood still as she waited for him to speak.
“Ain’t shit funny, ma. Ain’t shit funny at all.” He rubbed his chin, licking his lips. “I just thought that you was Kenya and shit. My mistake, don’t trip!”
“I’m not tripping, but I don’t want you making fun of me,” London whined.
“Dig this here,” he cut her off. “Where is Kenya at anyway? Is she up there with Storm?”
London stopped pouting and refocused back on her plan. “Naw, she’s not home. She went somewhere with Paris. Don’t you and your girl communicate?”
“Don’t worry about my girl, okay? That ain’t none of your business.” O.T. got closer, kissing her on the lips.
“Well, what is my business?” she replied with a sarcastic, sassy tone.
“This right here should be your main concern right about now!”
O.T. put her hand on his dick and backed her into the living room. It was just like Christmas and his birthday all wrapped into one as his dick got harder and harder. He had his hands roaming her entire body. London’s skirt was pushed up, exposing the fact that she didn’t have any panties on. Her naked ass looked just as he had imagined; perfect, plump, and round. After feeling on, across, and in every part of her body, O.T. was ready to get to the real deal. When he pulled his dick out of his jeans, London was amazed. His shit was long and thick. The head was lighter than the rest of it and was dripping.
“Come get this, ma, he wants to meet you.” He motioned to her with one hand while slowly stroking his manhood with the other.
“Do you have any protection?” London wisely asked.
“Naw, I’m good. I ain’t got no diseases!”
“I didn’t say that you did, but I would feel a lot better if we used something.” London spoke up as she broke free from his arms and ran upstairs to try to find a rubber in some of Kenya’s belongings.
Five long minutes passed and London hadn’t returned yet with the condom. An anxious O.T. sprinted up the staircase and bumped into London, who was coming out of Storm and Kenya’s room. He held her tightly and began kissing her once again. She was breathing hard from searching the dresser drawers and was like a rag doll when he took his mouth off of hers. O.T.’s pants were still unzipped, making it easy for him to pull his semi-hard dick back out. He propped his body inside the doorway for support and pushed London down on her knees. Using both of his hands, he took her head in between them and guided her mouth onto the dome of his dripping stick.
“Give him a wet kiss,” he urged.
“I haven’t ever . . .” Her earring fell off from the force.
“Ever what?” He halted her words by rubbing his dick across her lips, making her taste his pre-cum.
The gloss that she had applied earlier was now on the head of his shaft. London tried to keep protesting, but was only met by O.T. placing his hand firmly behind her neck and the raw feeling of hard meat practically pounding her tonsils crooked. London was starting to make gagging sounds that only fired O.T. up more. The more that London fought to breathe, the harder he pushed in and out.
In all the erotic chaos that was taking place, the two of them failed to realize that for a few brief seconds, Storm had regained consciousness and reached out his hand toward them.
O.T. was at the point of no return and yelled out Paris’s name, not London’s, as he shot the mother lode down her throat, making sure that she swallowed every single drop. When he released her out of his strong-armed grip, London fell onto the plush, new-smelling carpet, gasping for air. Before she could regain her composure, O.T.’s phone chirped. It was Paris, saying that it was an emergency and to meet her at their house ASAP.
“I gotta go! Something’s up and my baby needs me!” He stepped over London’s body with his Tims still on to get a wet rag. O.T. then zipped up his pants on the way down the stairs, leaving a confused and emotionally drained and wounded London on the floor alone, whimpering.
“Please don’t go,” she quietly begged from the floor. “Please.”
O.T. hadn’t paid a second thought to anything that was being said. From the moment he got the call from Paris saying 911, nothing else mattered. “I’ll be back to see Storm! And thanks for that head shot!”
London heard him slam the front door shut and the sound of the music from his car stereo fade out of ear range. After a short while she went to the bathroom.
London washed her face and brushed her teeth twice, trying to get the smell of O.T.’s thick, hot sperm out of her mouth. Every time she swallowed, it seemed like there was a strange aftertaste lingering. She couldn’t believe that O.T. had the nerve to shout out another woman’s name while they were doing something—well, at least while she was. London was totally pissed off, but not at him for that cold, callous display, but at Paris for interrupting them with her false problems.
London knew that Kenya would soon be on her way home, so she rushed to Storm’s bedside to give him his medication and change out of her sister’s clothes. She didn’t want to hear Kenya’s long, dragged-out arguing about anything tonight. She wasn’t in the mood; besides, her throat was still hurting. The syringe was only one third of the way filled as London walked over to the IV bag that was hanging. She laid the needle down on the nightstand for a quick second to get one of the moist wipes out of the drawer and wet Storm’s dry lips. Glancing over at the clock, she realized time was ticking and she still had to change back to her own clothes. As she reached over and started to touch Storm’s face with the wipe, he suddenly raised his arm up, tightly grabbing her wrist.
“Kenya, how could you?” he managed to say through his dry lips.
“Stop—you’re hurting me!” A stunned London tried pulling back. “Let me go! Let me go!”
“Why, Kenya—why did you lie to me?” Storm was now applying pressure to London’s tiny wrist with every passing second.
“I’m not Kenya, I’m London!” she argued to no ava
il.
“Right, first you were Tasty, then Kenya, and now you’re London!” Storm had tears swelling in his eyes. “I thought that you loved me? You said you did! You a liar!”
“I’m not Kenya I keep telling you! Now please let me loose.” London tried prying his fingers off her. “You’re hurting my arm, you monster!”
“You’re not Kenya, but you’re wearing the outfit that I picked out for her in Vegas. You smell just like cucumber melon, her favorite scent, and if you haven’t looked in the mirror lately, you look just like Kenya!” Storm was heated as he confronted who he truly believed was Kenya. “Stop denying it. Your lies won’t work anymore. Just tell me why?”
“Please, Storm, you’re hurting me!” London continued to plead, trying to break loose.
“You hurt me too!” Storm argued. “And I see the shit ain’t stopped. I woke up and called out to you and what the fuck do I see, but my supposed-to-be fiancée and the love of my life on her knees deep-throating my baby brother.” Storm snatched London by her neck. He was furious and wouldn’t listen to a word that was coming out of her mouth. “I outta snap this motherfucker in two. You ain’t shit!”
London found the inner strength somehow and yanked away from him, stumbling to the floor. “You’re crazy!” she screamed, running out the room. “You’re crazy!”
Storm tried his best to get out of the bed and chase after her, but he couldn’t. His busted leg wouldn’t let him. “Kenya! Kenya! Kenya!” he kept calling out in vain. “Come back here! Kenya, come back!”
The echoing sound of his voice and the thought of what he had witnessed between her and O.T. was too much for London to bear. She ran out onto the front porch to escape his verbal wrath. Ten minutes later Paris pulled up, letting Kenya out of the car and drove off in a rush. Kenya casually strolled up the walkway and found London perched on the stairs.
Ruthless and Rotten Page 11
