“It was the first time that I ever experienced anything like this. I was hurt and felt like he betrayed me. I didn’t know anything else to do but get even.”
The man shakes his head, eyes wide open with suspense. “Please, tell me you didn’t kill the old man. Young lady, before you go any further, please tell me you didn’t do that.”
Storm aims the gun at his head. He stops short with his hands high in the air. “Please, no.”
Storm squeezes the handle of the gun tighter, preparing to fire. The woman with her arms filled with her clothes makes a run for the door. Storm aims the gun at her head. “Sit the fuck down, bitch. You ain’t going nowhere.” The woman stops. Storm walks toward her. “Down!” she commands as if she’s talking to a dog. The woman drops to her knees obediently.
“Mr. Antonelli, is everything o?” the housekeeper asks before seeing the gun in Storm’s hand.
Storm races over to her. “No, bitch, everything ain’t okay,” she says as she snatches the woman by the collar. “You get the fuck in here, too.” She slams the housekeeper onto the floor. She locks the door and makes her way back over to Mr. Antonelli, who is holding his chest, hyperventilating. She pushes him onto the floor. She aims the gun at his head. “So, that little bitch is the reason you haven’t called me? She’s been taking up all of your time, huh?”
“Angelica, please, just listen.”
“Fuck listening,” she replies. “I’m doing the fucking talking.” She grabs the naked woman and flings her. She lands almost on his lap. Storm then aims the gun at the housekeeper. “Get the fuck over here!” The housekeeper runs over and drops to her knees right next to them. Silence is in the air.
Storm and Mr. Antonelli lock eyes for seconds. She can picture the bullet spiraling into his head. Mr. Antonelli has that picture in his mind as well. Blood gushing from his head is the only thing that would make her feel better right now.
“What? I got too old for you?” she asks, while biting onto her bottom lip. “Had to go out and find you a new young thing, huh? Is that it? Did your attorney friend get her for you to get your mind off me?” She places the nose of the gun onto his forehead and holds it stiff. Mr. Antonelli shakes uncontrollably as he keeps his eyes on her trigger finger.
“How much you pay her a week to have sex with your old wrinkly ass? I know she not doing it for free. Oh, my bad, you can’t have sex because your lil, old-ass, dick can’t get hard. She got the fountain of youth to drink from like me?”
Storm is making herself angrier the more she talks. “How you keep her interested? Did you promise her you’d sign her into your will, too? Is that your weak ass game? Old ass think you a player, huh?” she asks before nudging his head. She palm grips his face and bangs his head against the wall.
Her facial expression transforms from fake cool and calm to satanic. Her eyes are bloodshot red from anger. She looks like the devil himself, just minus the horns. “You old limp dick slick ass bastard! You know what? I got something for your ass!” She pushes him over before snatching the house phone out of the wall. He lays there in a fetal position. Storm then checks the housekeeper and takes her phone from her apron. She digs into the girl’s pocketbook and takes her phone as well. She snatches the old man from the floor. “Come on!”
She looks to the women who are scared for their lives. “You bitches move a muscle and I will slaughter both of you.” She pushes the old man to the door. Once they get to the door, she reaches up to the ledge and grabs a key. She steps out with him in front of her. She uses the key to lock the women inside.
She forces the old man down the corridor until they get to his library. “Angelica, why are you doing this?”
“Shut the fuck up and just walk!” she says, shoving him into the room.
She drags him to the wall in the corner of the room. He watches as she grabs the Bible from the shelf. He knows exactly what she’s looking for. He feels like a fool to have exposed her to so much of his life. In a zillion years, he would’ve never thought they could ever be at odds with each other. With all that he’s done for her, no way would he believe that she could ever be his enemy or bring him any type of harm. He questions if she has had him fooled all this time or if the signs were there and he fooled himself.
She flicks through the pages until she finds what she’s looking for. She hands it to him while holding the gun to his head. “You promised me that you would write me into your will, right? Now write it motherfucker!” She grabs the twenty-four karat gold pen from the mantelpiece and shoves it in his hand.
With his hands trembling, he looks up at her. “What do you want me to write?” She shoves the gun under his cheekbone. “I don’t know motherfucker but be creative.” She reads over the wording of the rest of the will and comes up with her own clause. “I want two million dollars. That’s fair for all the years I suffered being with your old ass. Write, in case of death, I will be awarded two million dollars. Oh, and I keep my cars.”
He looks at her with a dumbfounded expression.
“You think I’m bullshitting with you? Don’t write it and you will be the seventh murder that they will be trying to charge me with. You know I don’t have no problem murdering. I will kill you just like I killed the other six motherfuckers they are trying to charge me with.”
Mr. Antonelli can’t believe his ears. As much as he wanted to believe her innocence he knew better. He’s shocked that she now has the guts to tell him the truth. “Write it, motherfucker!”
Before now he would try to picture her standing over dead bodies but he couldn’t. Right now the vision is crystal clear in his mind. His hands shake barely able to write but he does. After writing her in, he holds the pen afraid to sign. He fears if he does, she will end his life right now.
“Sign it!”
“If you kill me after signing this, you will never get away with it.” He feels giving her warning may save his life. “Angel, this is not the right thing to do,” he says in a sweet tone. He prays his tone will change her mind.
“Motherfucker, how many times have I told you not to call me that?” She places the barrel of the gun into his wide open mouth. “Do I look like a fucking angel?” She smiles devilishly. “Nah, I’m nobody’s angel, but I was a good bitch to you. You fucked that up though. Now sign it.”
He signs it with his best penmanship. “Listen I promise you if you change this will or even report any of this to anybody I will find you and murder you. You hear me?” He nods his head. “Yes, I hear you.”
She pushes him back to his bedroom, and when she opens the door, she slams him onto the floor. “Both of y’all get the fuck out!” The housekeeper jumps up and leaves with no hesitation. The young woman scrambles to get her clothes. “No, you skeezer bitch. Leave as you are before you can’t leave,” she says while aiming the gun.
The woman runs out of the room stark naked and empty handed.
Storm looks to the old man. “Your attorney friend warned you about me, but it was already too late. I been nothing but straight up with you for all these years, but you wanna play me? I showed you nothing but respect, but now you gon’ see that other side that your bootleg-ass lawyer warned you about. He called me a pretty monster, right?” she asks with a smile. “You brought her out, and if you even think about calling the cops about this, you won’t live to see your seventy-ninth birthday. And I mean that shit!”
Storm walks briskly through the corridor, with the will and testament in her hand. She left the old man in his bedroom shivering in fear.
Storm steps onto the porch and looks both ways before closing the door behind her. She slams the door shut and takes off down the steps. Midway down the flight, she catches a glimpse of a shadow to her left. She drops back and draws her gun, preparing for war. Through the darkness, she spots the young woman who is hiding her nudity behind the huge bushes. Storm aims her gun at her. “Bitch, you still here?”
The young woman raises her hands high. “My car keys are inside.”
Storm tucks her gun and runs to her car. She gets inside and peels off with no hesitation. At the other end of the block, she busts a U-turn. With a perfect view of the house she sits and watch, wondering if the girl has plans of staying.
Seconds go by and she starts to come down off her high. She notices how wet and swishy her panties are. Her panties are so soaked, she realizes she must have reached a few orgasms in the midst of the action. The way her jeans cling to her legs is indication that the magic fountain had sprouted without her knowing it. With it all happening so fast she didn’t notice. The fear that she put in Mr. Antonelli as well as the sense of submission from the woman and the housekeeper has obviously turned her on.
Once it was just her and the old man alone, she realized his fear was getting her excited. She hadn’t been this sexually aroused since the night of the robbery/triple homicide. She was getting so hot and horny that she wanted to stay and continue on with instilling fear. She also wanted to force-feed herself to him.
This time it wouldn’t have been for him or for the money. It would’ve been for her own pleasure. In all the years of them indulging, she’s never been horny for him, until tonight. The only reason she didn’t stay is because she’s not sure if the women have called the cops yet.
For once, for as far back as she can remember, her tough exterior has melted. Tears drip down her face. She cries silently before she can no longer hold it in. She’s heartbroken. She feels she’s been played. She realizes that she’s fooled herself all these years into believing that she didn’t love him. She would always jokingly say to herself that he sucks her of her youth and she sucks him of his money. Today she understands that it was more to it. Love is involved, and after tonight she can no longer deny it.
Along with the pain from the betrayal, she also feels like an idiot. All these years of protecting herself from men who she felt were only playing games she rarely caught feelings for any of them. No matter how strong their game was, she went into it with her heart guarded, never getting weak. To get played by a no game having, old man is a slap in the face to her. All her life she’s strategically dealt with men that she knew she could never fall in love with, just so this would never happen.
“The only reason I didn’t kill him that night is because I knew I wouldn’t get away with it. With all the charges I had against me, I knew the finger would be pointed at me. And that would’ve meant I wouldn’t get my two million dollars. I felt that I was more than deserving of that money and I was going to get it one way or another.
“I had been waiting patiently for over five years. Wouldn’t be long now. Just had to practice a little more patience. Either he would die of old age or I would pull some strings. One way or another, I wasn’t gonna let that money get away from me. I worked for it.”
Storm watches as the young woman, who is now fully dressed comes running out of Mr. Antonelli’s house. She gets into her car and backs out of the driveway recklessly. She shoots up the block like a speed demon. Storm is tempted to take off behind her.
Someone has to pay for this pain and heartache that she feels right now. Maybe running her off of the road will take away some of the pain. Killing her will also keep her out of the way. Through her rage she couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the girl was. He definitely has great taste.
She also can’t deny the amazing body she has. Envisioning her in that house naked in his arms has her jealous and her blood boiling. She’s really ready to chase behind her, but she refrains only because she’s in the Bentley. She doesn’t need anything to lead back to her. Had she been in a rental, she would be trailing the woman ready to get her out of the picture.
The BMW disappears into the darkness. Storm digs into her pocketbook. She stares at the driver’s license she holds in her hand. She reads the address over and over until it’s locked into her memory bank. She looks to the date of birth and sees that the girl is a couple years younger than her, not even twenty-one.
As she looks to the address again, she begins to think of a plan. At this point, she’s ready to remove anything that can get in between her and that two million dollars. She feels she has wasted five years with him. That’s in the past and she can’t change that, but she can set up the rest of her life. She will be damned if she lets anything get in the way of securing her future.
72
Two Weeks Later
Breezy hops into the tinted-out black Cherokee. Upon entrance, he greets Storm with the peace. She bought this Cherokee two days ago. Ever since the incident with Wendy, she has put both of her cars up. She refuses to bring them back out until they get to the root of their problem.
She looks to Breezy with hopes that he has good news for her. This has been a long and drawn out process with them searching for the culprits of that night’s activity. Seems as if no one knows anything about it. One thing she knows is the streets will always talk, but for some reason this has been a quiet situation.
“Finally,” Breezy says as he sinks into the seat.
Storm sits up with excitement. “What’s the deal?”
“My man from Georgia King Village put me up on the scoop,” he says as he leans his head onto the headrest. “Said his lil man was posted up right in front doing what he do, when they saw the Maxima and a Cherokee sitting there, just parked.”
Storm listens attentively, careful not to miss a word. “Uh-huh.”
“So he make the call for his lil niggas to get right thinking niggas about to move on them. Before his lil niggas could get to him, the Maxima pull off. Later on the word get back to him that the niggas tried to carjack a Benz. He found out later the Max was on some stolen shit.”
“Please tell me he know who had it?” she asks with desperation.
“Nah, he don’t know who had the Max but he got the word of who the Cherokee was.”
“Who?” she asks anxiously.
“The homie Big Face,” he says as he looks to her for the first time since speaking.
Storm’s jaw drops open. “Motherfucker,” she says with a smile. “So, that wasn’t no carjacking at all, huh?”
Breezy nods his head slowly. “Exactly. They must have spotted your car and followed her there or something, thinking it was you.”
“That’s what it is then,” she replies anxiously. “The war is on.”
“Nah, slow your role, Sis. This shit can get crazy. We gotta think this one all the way out. You know if we set it off with him we will be beefing with damn near the whole city. Nigga got hands all over. More arms than an octopus. This shit gotta be done smart.”
“Listen, Breeze, that could’ve easily been me in there. If they would’ve had it their way, I wouldn’t even be here today. This nigga pressed the button. It’s go time. No time for all your 48 Laws of Power, 33 Strategies of War shit. It’s just all-out war from here!” she sits in silence for a few seconds. “I don’t even know how this nigga look. I need to see his face.”
“Slow down. I got this. Just let me handle it. I got the perfect plan to reel him right on in. Just promise me you gon’ follow my lead and not do nothing crazy that can cost us all in the end?” he asks. He looks to her pleading for a promise.
Storm is furious. She really hates to give him her word, knowing that she is ready to retaliate the first chance she gets. She shakes her head from side with the rage building up by the second.
“Have I ever let you down before?” he asks.
“Never, but…”
“No buts. Everything after but is bullshit. Give me your word.”
“All right. You got my word, but this thing gotta happen ASAP. It’s already long and drawn out enough. I ain’t gon’ be sitting around waiting for them to bust a move to take me the fuck outta here. You gotta couple days to put together whatever plan you think you got. After that time is up,
I gotta go for what I know.”
Breezy shrugs his shoulders, palms up. “Fair enough. I got this.”
73
The Next Morning
Breezy and Storm sit in the upstairs apartment of the work house. While the Mexican women are downstairs busy at work, Breezy is working on his plan. He scrolls through his phone before he finally gets a spark in his eyes. “Got it,” he says happily.
He hands the phone over to Storm. “That’s him right there.” On the phone screen is an Instagram photo of Big Face and a few of his boys. “He the ugly motherfucker in the middle.
Storm’s eyes stretch wide open. “Yo, that’s the motherfucker from Slicks.”
“Huh?” Breezy questions.
“One night, we was over there and this nigga bumped me, was staring at me crazy as shit like he was ready to make a move. I just thought he was on some drunk shit.” She sits back for seconds, realizing how it all could’ve went down differently that night. She would’ve had no clue of what it was about. “Damn. I was slipping.”
“So, how it end though?”
“We just got in the cars and left.” It all makes sense to her now. “That’s how the fuck he knew about my car. Motherfucker,” she says with a smirk.
“I just wonder why he ain’t move on you then?” His question leads her to thinking as well. “He could’ve easily gotten it over with that night.”
“Word,” she agrees. “That’s his Myspace page?” she asks.
“Myspace?” Breezy says, laughing in her face. “Girl step into the new millennium. Nobody got Myspace no more.”
“Shit, you know I don’t know.” Storm may be the only young woman without a social media presence. She can’t imagine posting pictures of herself for people to like. For one her low self-esteem won’t allow it and of for two, she feels like gangsters on social media is taboo. Breezy taught her that many years ago and she never forgot it.
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