by Noire
“I want what I’ve always wanted. I want you, Superior Dominion. I want us. I want us to go back to being the way we used to be. To doing all the things we used to do.”
Suge’s whole mouth went dry at the sight of the naked lust in her eyes. He remembered their sheet-soaking marathon fuck-outs and how Miyoko could do that squeeze-pump motion with the back of her throat that used to make him wanna suck his thumb and pass out.
“C’mon, now,” he tried to front her off one last time. “You don’t wanna fuck with me, baby. Ain’t nothing changed over here. I’m still that same old doggish piece of shit who broke your heart ten years ago. You’re way outta my league, Miyoko. A beautiful woman like you ain’t gotta make no backward moves, baby. Let’s just get down on this business together and—”
A cold look flashed across her face and she jammed her toes deeply into his crotch and curled them into his nuts. “Zeke Washington sent me a hundred long-stemmed roses yesterday,” she said quietly. “He asked me to meet him for dinner this evening so we could discuss how to—”
“Whoa-whoa-whoooa!” Suge reached into his crotch and gripped her foot in his hand and got ready to backpedal like a mutha. This chick wasn’t about to roll over without making him pay her price. Deep inside he had known what it was gonna be like when he walked through her door, but he’d also known what was at stake. This was about to be some real give-and-take shit, and hate it or love it, Miyoko was standing on top. Fuck the dumb shit, they were playing her game now and she was the Big Mama in charge.
Their eyes locked and they came to a silent agreement. This wasn’t gonna be no simple business transaction. This chick wanted to be wined and dined and romanced to the max. He loosened his grip on her foot and gently massaged her toes. Miyoko closed her eyes and a soft sigh escaped her lips. Suge kept on rubbing, massaging her right where he knew she liked it. He was well aware that he was selling his soul to the devil but there was no way around it. If he wanted to keep his brother out of jail and keep the Dominion fortune in the family stash, then it was looking more and more like he was gonna have to roll with Miyoko’s program and take one for the team.
The Texas county jail was hot and crowded in the female section of the unit. General population housed every type of criminal from petty thieves to accused murderers. Tempers could flare up at any moment over the smallest of issues. Emotions ran high and patience was short. A small percentage of the girls were sociable and they did their time with positive attitudes, while some of the butch bitches moved like predators trying to extort, rob, and assault anyone they thought might be weak. The correction officers didn’t give a fuck either way. They collected a check and stayed the fuck out of the politics of the jail. It was common knowledge that a pretty young chick with curves like Dy-Nasty’s was a prime target for dykes, ugly jealous chicks, and corrupt-ass male and female officers.
It was almost lunchtime and the inmates were preparing to go down to the chow hall. Dy-Nasty had just woken up and quietly made her bed. She hated jail. She kept to herself and she didn’t play Spades or gossip like the rest of the chicks on her wing. Her time was usually spent sitting in her cell and mulling over how the hell her plan had backfired. She had been calling her mother, Pat, over and over again trying to get some advice, but all she got was her voice mail. There was nothing she could do except sit chilling on county ice and spend every waking minute of the day plotting on how in the fuck she was gonna get the hell up outta there.
“Ayo hoe,” a cute but ghetto bully named Stanka said as she walked up on Dy-Nasty with two gutter-looking inmates. “What you in here for? You stole something?”
“Excuse me, do I know you?” Dy-Nasty curled her lip and shot back. “And who the fuck is you calling a hoe? I suggest you and these dyke-ass broads you with back the hell away from me.”
“Bitch don’t play like you crazy,” Stanka said as she rolled her eyes and grilled Dy-Nasty even harder. “I know who the hell you are, Stink Mink, and you know exactly who I be too.” She giggled. “I be the champion chick who kicked your ass in that 7-Eleven parking lot, baby, and if you keep talking tough I’ma kick it for you again, Mink.”
“Mink?” Dy-Nasty twisted her neck sideways with a disgusted look on her face. “Um, you better get it right, Miss Stanka! My name is Dy-Nasty and I don’t look shit like that ugly trick Mink! Don’t you ever get me confused with that low-level hooker again. Mink’s just an amateur and I’m really about this life.”
Stanka couldn’t help the puzzled look that appeared on her face. The venom in which this “Dy-Nasty” chick just spit made her second-guess herself for a few moments. She sounded real convincing but she looked just like Mink.
Is this lil thot playing mind games with me?
“Yeah, a’ight, bitch,” Stanka responded with a smirk. “Who you trying to run game on? Your scary ass just tryna flake out so I don’t stomp a puddle in ya tail again.”
“Look, ma,” Dy-Nasty said, swelling up and ready to fight. She didn’t give a damn if she was outnumbered or not ’cause there wasn’t no fear in her. The rules of the street applied even more so in jail. You met aggression with aggression. Yeah, she mighta been a lil shook when they first tossed her in the back of the car and brought her up in here, but once the bars clanged over the jail doors the Philly in her took over and all that fear shit had flown out the window. Sheeiit, she was just as mad and bad as everybody else up in there, and just like Stanka, she was ready for whatever.
“I’ma say this shit for the last time. My name is Dy-Nasty, I’m from Philadelphia, Pistol-Vania, baby, and it ain’t a bitch breathing Texas air that puts a drop of fear in my heart. Matter of fact,” she said, throwing up her hands, “forget all this talking ’cause I ain’t with it. Ga’head, bitch! Pop the fuck off!”
Dy-Nasty squared up and was aiming her fist dead at Stanka’s face when a voice boomed out on the wing.
“Stop all that fucking yelling and line ya’ll dirty asses up for chow,” a big black correctional officer ordered.
Stanka and her crew backed off and grilled Dy-Nasty as they walked away.
“You lucky the CO came, but I got something for that slick mouth of yours, bitch. Just wait and see,” Stanka said, balling up her fists as she moved on down the wing.
After lunch when all the inmates’ stomachs were full, some of the girls went to watch TV and others went to their cells to catch a quick nap. Dy-Nasty rushed over to the wall to hit the phones up. She needed to find a way to break out of there as soon as possible. Her hood senses were up and she understood the politics of her environment. She had fronted real hard on Stanka, and by jailhouse rules the girl absolutely had to react or she would look like a pussy. Not only that, the predators would try to get at Stanka and her crew and cause them problems that they didn’t want or need.
Dy-Nasty was totally without a clique in this hot country jail, and if she wanted to get outta there without getting her face sliced up, then she had to bite the bullet on this one and call the one person who could help her, but would probably tell her to go straight to hell. She was also gonna try to reach her mother Pat again, but she was running out of options and although she hated to do it she was gonna have to cash in her last bargaining chip and be something that damn sure didn’t come natural to her: humble.
CHAPTER 17
Viceroy was getting fitted for a fly-ass business suit in the most expensive men’s clothing store in Austin. He was there for a preliminary meeting with representatives from the state election, a few industry men, and of course the other candidates on the ballot. Usually he would have had his personal tailor come to his crib and whip him up something fresh to wear, but he had decided to go to an exclusive store in Austin so the people in the capital city could see one of the richest men in Texas in the flesh. Viceroy had risen up from the bottom of barrel and statistically he wasn’t supposed to make it out of the Houston ghetto. Most of the cats he’d run the streets with in the hood were either dead or in jail. Those who had surviv
ed had ended up being nothing. Just a bunch of barefoot, pork-rind-eatin’, baby-making, weed-smoking country boys who were happy to shovel dog shit for a living.
That probably would have been his fate too if Viceroy hadn’t been so damn devious and ambitious. Fuck playing the cards he was dealt, he had switched out the entire deck and plucked from the bottom of that shit. He’d always kept his eye on some real cold cash. That cycle of living and dying piss-poor and scrounging for pennies had never appealed to the barracuda in him.
“Mr. Dominion,” Jonas, one of Viceroy’s advisers, said as he walked over to him. “Your meeting starts in forty-five minutes, sir. I’m just keeping you aware of the time constraints, sir.”
“Now, Jonas.” Viceroy smiled as he looked in the mirror. He was freshly swagged up and checking himself out. “You know you can’t rush perfection. Them muthafuckas gonna wait for a winner like me. The party don’t start until I walk in the door anyway.”
“Yes sir, you’re correct,” Jonas said as he waited patiently for his boss.
Viceroy was feeling himself and he wanted to step into the meeting with supreme confidence. It was very important for him to stay on top of his game. This business he was in was cutthroat as hell. Your closest friends would scheme and plot on you backwards and forwards if they thought it would help them rise an inch higher in the ranks of the rich and influential. And who knew that shit better than him, because that’s exactly the way that he had done it!
Forty minutes later Viceroy walked through the doors of a large extravagant office. He walked up in the spot with much pep in his step like he owned the joint.
“Hey fellas,” Viceroy’s voice boomed as he entered the room feeling like a don. “How’s everybody doing today? Let’s get down to business, gentlemen, shall we?”
A long table was in the middle of the room where state officials, business competitors, campaign managers, and political figures sat waiting. It was a serious meeting of the minds and everybody in that bitch was hiding a pointy shank up under the table. Viceroy was skilled in how to move in a room full of blood-hungry wolves, but when he saw Rodney Ruddman sitting in the mix he almost blew a fuse.
Muthafucka! Wife-fuckin’ muthafucka!
That little bastard sat there in his high chair looking like a fuckin’ tree stump. He was wearing an expensive shit-brown suit and had a cold smirk on his froggish face.
Viceroy was fuming on the inside, but on the outside his shit looked like it was perfectly together. Regardless of their personal war, the two men made respectful introductory comments and proceeded with the matters at hand.
After an official read a few required statements from the eligibility packet, some fat white boy stood up and started briefing them on the campaigning process. He might as well have been speaking Greek because Viceroy didn’t hear a damn thing he said. He was too busy grilling Rodney Ruddman. The very existence of that fat fuck made Viceroy burn on the inside and his mind was totally focused on vengeance. Suddenly Ruddman’s phone flashed on the table and he got up to excuse himself.
“Excuse me fellas, this is a very important call that I have to take,” Rodney said and then he leaned on the table and looked directly at Viceroy and grinned. “There’s a sweet little lady with an itch on my line, and I’m the only one who has the kind of tool that can scratch it.”
Viceroy blacked the hell out.
“You little sawed-off muthafucka, you! I’ma kill yo runt ass!” Viceroy roared as he jumped over the table faster than anybody had expected him to move. He lunged straight for Ruddman’s pork-round neck and started going to work on his ass.
Quick punches and kicks were being exchanged with Ruddman taking the brunt of the most brutal hits.
“Get this crazy fool off me!” Ruddman yelled as Viceroy wailed off on his ass. He was getting fucked up from one end of the table to the other, and he threw a few haymakers in there too while trying to ball up and cover his fat head.
“Stay the fuck away from her!” Viceroy hollered as he got in one last kick to Ruddman’s gut before they were able to pull him off his ass. “I swear to God you better stay the fuck away from her!”
The room was wrecked. Paperwork had been scattered everywhere and chairs were overturned. A state official stood up and announced that the meeting was cancelled, and Viceroy and Ruddman were escorted out of doors at opposite ends of the hall.
Everyone was stunned speechless, but Viceroy and Ruddman were still raging strong.
“That’s right you son of a bitch!” Viceroy growled with spit flying from his mouth as they pulled at him and led him away. “There’s a lot more ass-whipping where that came from, you fat fucker! Next time you so much as speak her name I’ma knock your coward-ass clean the fuck out!”
“Are you okay, Rodney?” an older white man asked Ruddman on the way out the door. ”What was that about? For some reason I thought you two were close friends.”
“Just because we’re both black doesn’t mean we’re friends!” Ruddman snapped as he tried to fix his disheveled suit and recover from that good-old-fashioned beat-down. “One of these days I’m gonna fuck Viceroy Dominion up if it’s the last thing I do! If it’s the last goddamn thing I do!”
The doorbell rang at the Dominion Estate and before the butler could get to it, a blur flew past his eyes and Bunni damn near crashed and burned trying to answer it.
“Well, hellooo there, you must be GiGi!” Bunni snatched the door open and posted up with a hand on her hip looking fabulous in all her ghetto glory. “I’m Bunni Baines! Ya’ll just come right on in!”
In a flash Bunni’s eyes scanned the gorgeous chick from her thick mane of wavy red hair down to her fly Zanotti shoes, and they exchanged pleasantries as she led them toward the Dominion’s huge den area where Mink and Peaches were all dressed up and waiting. P was feeling himself because outta nowhere Viceroy had changed his mind about him. He had forgiven them for jumping in the fight when he went after Selah, and he even said Peaches could stay at the mansion for as long as he wanted.
“Mink and Peaches, this is GiGi Moldiness and”—she cocked her hand behind her ear and batted her eyes at the hairy white man carrying a huge camera and dragging in behind them—“what’s your name, caveman?”
“Frank,” he said, grinning good-naturedly. “My name is Francois but you can call me Frank.”
“Frank and GiGi,” Bunni said, turning to beam at Mink and Peaches, “this is my best friend Mink Domino and my big brother, Peaches.”
Mink took one look into GiGi’s emerald green eyes and turned toward Peaches and fake sneezed. “Ha-ratchet!” flew outta the side of her mouth and she covered it up with a big ol’ sniff and a real quick cough.
Peaches caught her drift, and dressed in a tight, powder-blue sleeveless shift dress that accented every last one of his bulging muscles, he jumped to his feet and held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he said to GiGi, grinning real wide and showing his dimples. “My sister was so happy to get your call.”
Bunni took over. “Please, sit down, sit down!” She flitted about like a nervous butterfly. “That’s what we got all this furniture for. Have a seat right over here.” Bunni directed her visitors to a thick black leather couch on the other side of a large coffee table. “Y’all thirsty? You want something to eat? I have some cabbage soup and cucumber sandwiches in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”
“What a lovely home you have,” GiGi complimented Mink as she sank her curvy hips into the plush leather sofa and crossed her shapely legs. “It must be wonderful to reside in such a beautiful place.”
“The house ain’t mine, but thank you.” Mink smirked, her bullshit alarm sounding off like a siren as she stuck her nose in the air and sniffed around like she was smelling a rat. She was definitely not feeling this chick but she had to give it to her. Mami was decked out. Hair laid, titties puffed, hips spread, dress clinging, and fine jewels sparkling everywhere.
“Well, it’s beautiful,” GiGi gushed. She reached
up and tossed her flaming hair with her fingers and the monster rock she was sporting damn near poked Mink in the eye. “Simply lovely.”
“Yeah, it’s a’ight,” Mink said and then leaned forward with her elbow on her knee and cupped her chin in her hand. “So how was your flight from LA?” she probed, vowing that if she caught this trick in one damn lie it was gonna be out the door for her! “Not everybody gots what it takes to handle this Texas heat.”
“Actually,” GiGi responded, “My company is in L.A. but for the past few weeks I’ve been based right here in Dallas. I’m a regional manager and I travel around the country scouting for new talent.” She laughed softly. “And to answer your question, I’m just fine with the heat. Believe me, if I couldn’t handle it then I wouldn’t be in the kitchen.”
Mink cut her eyes at the slick little side snipe. Strike one!
Bunni came back with a servant who was pushing a silver cart bearing a tray of cucumber sandwiches on crustless wheat bread and several bowls of piping hot cabbage soup.
“Lunch is served!” she sang out brightly, then winked at Mink and Peaches and side-muttered, “This is for the clear folks, y’all. I got us some chicken wangs in the kitchen!”
GiGi accepted a sandwich and took two nibbles off the tip and then set it back down on her plate. She dotted her the corner of her mouth with a lace napkin and took a sip of lemon water and smiled.
“Well, now that lunch is over let’s get down to business, shall we?”
“Oh, fa’sho, baby!” Bunni slapped herself on her round hip. “That’s what I’m talking about! Business is the name of this game!”
GiGi reached into her tote bag and pulled out a small voice recorder. She nodded at Frank and he stood up and began adjusting his camera.
