by Linda Verji
WICKED INTENTIONS
Linda Verji
Copyright © 2014 by Linda Verji
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the author, excepting brief quotes in reviews.
This is an original work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Contains Explicit Sex, Language & Violence suitable for a Mature Audience 18+
To Joyce and Joyce, who inadvertently caused the writing of this book
CHAPTER 1
I’m going to be a horrible lesbian. Please don’t send me to jail.
If the presiding judge wasn’t peering at her so intently from his perch in front of the court Shakira Dalton would’ve gone on her knees and made the plea. Instead she focused on sending the message subliminally to the twelve men and women walking into the jury box.
One of the jurors, a homely woman with thinning white hair slicked back in a tight ponytail, sent Shakira a pitying look before turning her eyes away as she sat. Any hope Shakira had withered and died with that pitying look.
I’m going to jail.
Tears jumped to her eyes and before she could stop it, one solitary drop slid down her cheek. She brushed it away on the sleeve of her green blouse. Immediately another tear slithered to take its place.
“Be courageous. Be courageous,” her lawyer, Wayne Perkins soothed. Usually his shock of red hair and odd way of squinting would’ve drawn at least a smile from Shakira, but not today. Like her, he didn’t believe that she’d get out of this one. He’d told her so several times when trying to get her to take the guilty plea and the DA’s offer of fifteen years. In fact he didn’t even believe that she was innocent.
No one did.
No matter what Shakira said, everyone thought she was guilty. It didn’t help that the whole world knew that Charlie had been cheating on her for the entire duration of their relationship while she was blindly playing house with him. The raging thought was that she’d killed him in a jealous fit.
Rochelle McPherson, Shakira’s boss and Charlie’s side-ho, who was seated right behind the prosecutor, had come in full mourning uniform. Apart from the snug, black dress, she’d hidden her face behind black netting attached to a hat larger than the Queen’s. Every time she reached beneath the netting to wipe away tears faker than her lips, she shot Shakira a venomous look.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” Judge Becker turned his gaze to the now seated jury.
“Yes, Your Honor.” The foreman handed the sheet of the paper to the Bailiff who walked it to the judge’s bench. The court was deathly silent and pregnant with anticipation as everyone watched Judge Becker read the paper.
Like an experienced gambler, the judge’s expression indicated neither approval nor approval of the jury’s verdict. Once done reading, he lifted his eyes to stare at Shakira. “Will the defendant please rise.”
The audience shuffled in anticipation as Shakira and Wayne stood. Though her gaze was focused at the front of the court, Shakira could hardly see anything because of the tears now running down her face unabated. The judge turned back to the jury. “What say you?”
The court held its collective breath and Shakira lowered her head.
“On the charge of murder in the second degree, we the jury find the defendant, Shakira Dalton, innocent of all charges.”
The court erupted into shocked motion while Shakira stood rooted to the spot, too stunned to react. Everything around her seemed to be happening in slow motion. The crowd of people who’d come to cheer her on yelling in excited happiness; Wayne turning to her with a look as shocked as hers; her mother, and her best-friend London rushing around the barrier to hug her; Rochelle’s shrill screams that Shakira was guilty; and the judge banging on the gavel for order in the court.
It all seemed unreal. But it wasn’t. This was really happening!
She was free.
Five hours later, Eve Dalton suggested, “Let’s stop at Dairyland and get a chocolate sundae,” as they exited Vechio’s, a quaint Italian restaurant.
“No, you’re doing too much,” Shakira complained throwing her mother an irritated look. “I wanna go home.”
Eve started, “Baby, we need to celebrate your release and-“
“No.” Shakira shook her head. She wasn’t spending any more hours outside her house ‘celebrating’. Brunch, the movie and dinner were enough for her.
Compared to Eve she looked like a disaster. She still had the cornrows her cellmate had forced her wild hair into two weeks ago, the green blouse and black pants they’d arrested her in were wrinkled as hell and after three months of not wearing heels, her stilettos were killing her feet.
She. Wanted. To. Go. Home.
“Come on, baby!” Eve wheedled as she tucked her arm in the crook of Shakira’s.
“Eve, no!”For as long as she could remember, Shakira had always called her mother by her given name. At first it was because her grandmother didn’t want anyone knowing that her fourteen year old daughter was a mother. Later it was because Eve didn’t want video producers to know that Motorboat Eve was someone’s mother. Shakira had been introduced to so many people as Eve’s younger sister that eventually it’d stuck. Eve behaved like her sister anyway – a very needy sister.
Sticking out her lower lip, Eve whined, “Pleeease.”
Softening her voice, Shakira said, “Look, we can do something else tomorrow. It’s already dark.”
“Please!”There was an air of panic in her voice as Eve pleaded. “Have an ice-cream with your mother?”
Shakira sighed. What would an ice-cream hurt?
Taking her daughter’s sigh as a sign of triumph, Eve’s lips stretched out into a wide smile. “Yay, we’re going to have so much fun.”
One hour later when Eve suggested that they spend the night at a motel instead of the apartment, Shakira turned to her with narrowed eyes. “What have you done to my house?”
There was a look of guilt in Eve’s eye before, in the blink of an eye, she squelched it. Sitting straighter on her seat, she propped her fist on her waist and rolled her neck. “Why would you ask me something like that?
Shakira wasn’t fooled. “Did you burn it down?”
“No. Of course not!”
“Then what?”
“li’l lady, I’m your mother.”
That did it. Eve only pulled the mother card when she’d done something wrong. Shakira stood up and marched her mother out of the ice-cream parlor. “Come on we’re going home.”
Afraid that Eve would turn the car around if given a chance, Shakira confiscated the keys. The older woman maintained her silence all the way home, only throwing Shakira nervous looks once in a while. What had she done?
The last time Eve was in town, she’d thrown a ‘passion’ party for her friends. Shakira had come home to find vibrators littered everywhere and oily male-strippers shaking what their daddies gave them for the bevy of women. The bathroom sink was still traumatized from the things Eve had done against it with some stripper young enough to be her son. If history was anything to go by, Shakira expected to find her couch hanging from the chandelier.
Eve only spoke up once they pulled up next to the white-stone three-storey building that housed Shakira’s apartment. “Honey, I really think we should sleep in a motel.”
“Why?” Shakira asked as she parked the car. Eve didn’t answer nor did she exit the car. From the outside, the apartment looked okay. Beyond the balcony, the glass double-door and windows were still intact and had no soot marks around them.
Small mercies? Shakira w
asn’t holding her breath. She exited the car with the intention of opening the door for her mother and dragging her into the house if she had to.
She never had the chance.
The moment she exited the car, Eve scrambled to the driver’s seat. Shakira watched in stunned amazement as her mother threw her bag out the window as she yelled an, “I’m sorry, Honey” before driving off with a screech of wheels.
Oh! It’s bad!
Shakira had always been a ‘rip-the-band-aid-out-quickly’ kind of girl. She climbed the steps to her second floor apartment in quick succession, already reaching into her purse for her keys. The moment she got to her door, she pressed her key into the lock and tried to turn it. It didn’t budge. She tried again. Again – no turn.
“Ugh!” Shakira rattled the doorknob thinking maybe there was a problem with the lock. Her rattling didn’t do anything. Thinking that maybe she had the wrong key, she sifted through the several keys on the same ring. Her concentration was broken when she heard a click and then the door knob turned on its own.
The door swung open to reveal one of the sexiest men she’d ever seen. He stood at over six feet with midnight black hair, blue eyes and a strong jaw-line. But it was his body that held Shakira’s full attention. He was all rippling muscles, raw masculinity and warm, tanned skin. If this man was Mark Anthony, no doubt Cleopatra would’ve been the one at his feet and not the other way around.
And the tattoo….the face of a woman lay inked on his right pec. Beneath her was the word love with the ‘o’ chocked with a chain. The chain licked its way down his body to disappear beneath the white towel tightly knotted at his waist. Shakira’s fingers twitched as in her imagination she traced the tattoo and pulled away the towel so she could see more.
The man cleared his throat drawing Shakira’s attention back to his face. Everything in his expression said he knew she was ogling him and found it amusing. His eyes twinkled while his mouth lifted slightly at the corner. “Can I help you?”
“Uh…uh. What?” Shakira stumbled over her words. She sounded like a fool, Shakira thought as she desperately tried to gather her wits.
“Can I help you?” the man repeated.
She swallowed, cleared her throat then somehow managing to keep her tone even, she asked, “What…what are you doing in my apartment?”
His brow furrowed in confusion, he said, “I’m sorry. You must have the wrong apartment. This one’s mine!”
CHAPTER 2
Nathan Hollis stared helplessly at the woman sitting on his couch with her head wedged in between her thighs. He had no idea what was going on here. One minute the woman was ogling him, the next her knees had buckled and it was only his quick reflexes that had stopped her from kissing the ground.
“Do you want me to get you something to cool you down, a glass of water maybe?” he asked as he rubbed her back.
“Mmph,” the woman mumbled something.
“Do you want me to call someone?” A doctor?
“Nooo.” This time the words were audible but they sounded choked.
“Are you crying?” he asked concern in his voice.
She lifted her head, the braided ends of her hair whipping with the motion, and threw him a disgusted look. “Of course not.” Then she tucked her head back between her thighs.
Nathan didn’t see what was so ridiculous in his question. She’d practically swooned in his arms. Crying wasn’t a stretch of the imagination. Curiosity peeked he asked, “What are you doing?”
“Planning to kill her,” she mumbled.
“Planning to kill who.”
“My mother.” The woman lifted her head again, looking directly at him. “She sold you my house, didn’t she?”
Her eyes were beautiful. It was the first thing he’d noticed about her; big doe eyes that stood out against her rich chocolate skin; eyes any man would gladly drown in. Ignoring the ‘my’ in her comment, Nathan asked, “Are you talking about the woman who leased me this apartment?”
“Leased?” She perked up and a brilliant smile lit up her face. “Oh, thank God.”
“For one year.” He regretted the words immediately he said them. It felt like taking a child’s candy away.
“Oh God!” she moaned before flopping back on the couch with her eyes closed. The sudden motion had the effect of lifting her tits and drawing attention to the buttons that had come unloose and the purple lacy bra that peeked out from underneath her silver blouse. She wasn’t quite a cupful, but what was there had Nathan’s cock stirring a bit underneath his towel. “I can’t believe she would do this to me.”
Feeling like a lecher, Nathan jerked his eyes away. “You and your mother shared this apartment?”
That was the only explanation that made sense. Anything else was just unthinkable. He’d been planning to buy a house, but a chance meeting with Eve Dalton, a cougar one of his buddies was hooking up with, had convinced him that a pre-furnished apartment was a much better investment for a single man who already had a house in Miami. Besides the rate she was offering on the two-bedroom Carnegie Hill apartment was just too good to pass up.
“No.” The woman shook her head. “She was house-sitting for me.”
It can’t be. Dread began simmering in Nathan’s belly as he tried to deny what was right in front of him. “Look Miss Dalton-”
She cut him off “Miss Dalton is my mother.”
“Look…” he waited for her to give him her name.
She stared at him silently prolonging the moment before saying, “Shakira,” then asked, “What’s your name?”
“Nathan Hollis,” he introduced before his brow furrowed in confusion. “Shakira? I thought that was Eve’s middle name.”At least that’d been the name she’d signed on their lease agreement.
“It’s not!” Shakira watched him with wide eyes.
Shit. This was not happening. Running his hand over his head, Nathan stood up and began to pace the distance between the two grey couches that faced each other. He paused in his steps, took a deep calming breath and then turned to face Shakira. “The lease your mother and I signed is up and legal. I paid a four thousand dollar deposit up front and two months rent. Both your mother and I signed the paperwork and it was notarized by both her lawyer and mine. It’s legal.”
“It can’t be legal,” Shakira’s voice softened as did her gaze. Almost as if she felt sorry for him. “I’m the owner of the apartment and I didn’t sign anything.”
“This has got to be a mistake.” Nathan muttered as he reached for his phone that sat on the coffee table. Shakira watched him quietly as he dialed his lawyer’s number.
Given that it was nine p.m., it was no surprise that the lawyer didn’t pick up even after ten rings, but Nathan was too on edge to wait. He scrolled through his phone for the number Eve had given him. No one picked that number either. As a last resort, he dialed Eve’s lawyer’s number. It was immediately answered by a man. “Yun Ji Korean Delicacies, how may we serve you today?”
“Excuse me?”
“Yun Ji Ko-”
“No, I heard that,” Nathan interrupted though he could already feel the cold sweat gather on his forehead. “I’m looking for Danita Melson.”
“We no have Danica here,” said the man on the other end of the line. “This Yun Ji Korean Delicacies, how may we serve you today?”
He didn’t even bother asking anymore questions. He knew the deal. Without taking his gaze off Shakira, he cut the call and dropped his phone back on the table. Now that he was able to look at her he could see the resemblance between her and Eve. While Eve was high society and high-maintenance, Shakira was a younger, subtler and softer version of her.
“Who the hell is Danita Melson?” Nathan was shocked that his voice sounded so calm and even considering the anger that was quickly pulsing into veins and taking over his body.
She didn’t answer his question. Instead she said in a low voice, “My mother scammed you.”
He’d already figured that out, but h
er saying it was like hammering the last nail to a coffin. He’d been swindled. Though only anger and embarrassment danced on his nerves, Nathan found himself laughing; deep bellyful chuckles that filled the large room. His laughter rose to his throat but sounded more pained than amused.
I’ve been ripped off.
Even Shakira was startled by his chuckles and anxiety clouded over her eyes. When his mirth died down, she asked, “Are you okay?”
“What the fuck do you think?” His tone was deliberate but the thick thread of tension lacing it was obvious even to his own ears. ”You ripped me off!”
“No, don’t drag me into this,” Shakira quickly defended as she stood. “This is all Eve. I’m just as much a victim as you. While I was stuck in prison, my mother sold my house under me.”
“You’re an ex-con?” The accusation in his tone sliced through the air. No wonder. Evidently he wasn’t their first victim.
“Uh…uh…not exactly!” Shakira stuttered and threw him a wide-eyed nervous look which only raised Nathan’s hackles further. He didn’t believe for a second that she wasn’t part of her mother’s con and wasn’t fooled by those doe eyes – beautiful women made the best criminals.
He wasn’t born yesterday.
He knew how these things worked. Her mother had probably pegged him for an easy fleece and he’d fallen for it like a fool. He hadn’t seen it coming. He’d always thought that stupid and greedy people were the only ones who got scammed yet here he was, ripped-off by a woman old enough to be his mother. Embarrassment clouded his anger at the thought.
Eve was probably crowing with triumph and rubbing her hands together in anticipation of her ex-con daughter shaking him down even further. But now that he knew what the game he was on his toes. Twelve grand was nothing in the grand scheme of his bank account but he’d worked too damn hard for each and every one of his pennies.
This mother/daughter team had picked the wrong man to mess with.
