He laughed and looked at the cigarette. Now, he knows I only smoke Cubans after sex. Stupid fool.
Armand got out of bed and went to his bag to get a Cuban cigar. His cell started to ring. He looked at it, seeing that it was a 911 call from Sandino, who had been warned not to call him. Since it was a 911 call, Armand knew it was urgent. Maybe something had gone wrong with one of his suppliers. He wasn’t sure, so he pushed the talk button and put the phone up to his ear.
“Yeah, what? You know I’m on vacation!”
“Boss, this is important. Turn on the TV to CNN now!”
“What, Sandino? What the hell is going on?”
“Just do it!”
Armand grabbed the remote, turning the 60-inch flat plasma TV on. When he turned the channel to CNN, it showed multiple buildings up in flames. Then he saw a news anchor, who came on the air and said, “This evening, a tragedy struck Rio De Janeiro, Brazil. Yesterday, a bloody massacre took the lives of thirty-four people in a Rio bakery called Diamond’s Bakery Boutique, before it was blown away this evening, along with the Castro apartment building in downtown Rio. The blast killed all of the tenants and guests. Also, there was an explosion that destroyed a beloved South American fashion magazine house called Brazilian Kouture, killing all of its employees, except its CEO and publisher, the former supermodel Taylor Monroe. Its editor-in-chief, Ramon Lopez, is away on vacation. Monroe’s attorney will have a statement ready in a few hours.”
Film footage showed all the explosions from different angles. Armand dropped his phone. “What the fuck!”
He immediately picked up his phone, pissed off at what had just happened. What he had built was all gone. His most prized possessions were now dust. He’d lost Diamond and his money—all his money. He didn’t believe in banks, so he would put all of his money in each building so it wouldn’t get taxed by the government. He stood there for a moment, attempting to process that he was now broke and was going to be in some deep shit with the law and with his suppliers.
Armand had to come up with a plan fast. He put his cell phone up to his ear. “Sandino, what are we going to do?” All he heard was dead air. “Sandino! Sandino! Hello? Shit!” He tried to call Sandino, but all he got was a recording, telling him that the number he was trying to reach had been disconnected.
He redialed Sandino’s number, but he still got the same message. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
Armand was going crazy, and he was in disbelief that all his money and drugs were gone. He turned his attention back to the TV.
The CNN news anchor went on. “Authorities have recovered new evidence that suggests all of the buildings were stash houses for money and drugs. One of the forensics team’s analysts found many ounces of cocaine in the apartment of Armand Castro, the owner and operator of the businesses.”
Suddenly, his picture flashed across this screen.
“He has not been found yet, but is wanted for questioning. No one knows if the bombing and massacres were due to terrorist attacks, or perhaps a drug war. Keep watching, and we’ll bring you more on this story in a moment.”
Pissed off, Armand turned off the TV. “Shiiiiit!” he shouted.
His phone rang again, and he answered without looking at the screen. He just hoped the caller was Sandino. “What the hell happened to you?” he yelled into the phone.
“So, how is your little sex session with Ramon going, you piece of shit?” a seductive female voice said.
Armand’s eyes widened because he knew that it was Taylor. “Bitch, what the fuck do you want?”
“Oh, nothing. Just enjoying the fireworks of the city. Merry Christmas!” She sounded jolly. “My early Christmas gift to you. Do you love it?”
Armand was in so much disbelief. My wife, he thought. When did she become Ma Barker mixed with Griselda Blanco? Who the hell did I marry?
“Bitch, what in the fuck were you thinking? Do you know what you have done? You know what kind of shit you’re going to cause?”
“Just enough to get rid of your fudge-packer ass and be with a real man, not some wannabe Godfather.”
Those words angered Armand even more. “Bitc—”
“Oh, and don’t have none of your henchmen come after me. I already took care of that.”
“What?”
There was silence, and he soon heard the dial tone.
“Hello? Hello? Hello? That bitch!” Before he threw his phone on the bed, it chimed, alerting him that messages were arriving. He picked it up and went through all of his messages. There were pictures of all of his workers and henchmen, killed or being tortured to death. They were coming from an anonymous source.
“Daaaamn.” He shook his head. Then the clicking sound came back. This time, he saw pictures of him and Ramon in New York, kissing, shopping, and in their bedroom, making love, with a message that read: SAY GOODBYE.
Right then, Armand knew that the source was Taylor. Then more messages came to his phone. This time, it was messages from his suppliers and the distributors, stating that they could no longer do business with him. They couldn’t handle doing business with a gay man. Armand’s wonderful vacation was now shot to hell, so he threw his cell phone across the room.
“Fuck!” He threw a chair at the wall and tore the room apart. He was going crazy like a wild beast, knowing that world he had worked so hard to build was now crumbling.
A butt naked Ramon came running in with a bottle of Moët in his hand. When he saw that Armand had totally lost his damn mind, he eased the bottle down on a table then went over to Armand and tried to calm him.
“Stop it, baby! Stop it!” While wrapping his arms around Armand, Ramon sat him on the bed. “Calm down, okay? Tell me what’s the matter. Whatever it is, the two of us can work it out.”
Armand slowly started to calm down, but all he did was stare at Ramon.
“Armand, baby, please tell me what’s wrong.”
Armand laughed. “Nothing. I’m just having a moment.” He smiled at Ramon. “Ramon, do you really want to be with me?”
“Of course. Nothing more will make me happy.”
“Good. We’ll be together sooner than what you think. Listen, why don’t you get the Jacuzzi going, and I’ll join you in a few, okay?”
“Cool.” Ramon kissed Armand on his cheek then went into the luxurious bathroom. When he heard water flowing into the tub, Armand used the suite’s telephone to call his pilot to get back home to Rio.
When his pilot finally answered, he was tired as hell.
Armand yelled in his ear, “Get your ass to my jet in White Plains in an hour. I need to be back in Rio as soon as possible.”
The pilot tried to speak, but Armand cut him off, warning, “Don’t ask any questions. Just be there.” He finished by saying, “I’ll be in a special suit,” knowing that the pilot would understand what that meant.
After hanging up, Armand lay down on the bed. Taylor, you better have your running shoes on, because I’m going to cut, slice, dice, and mutilate that entire pretty face and body of yours.
The whole thought of how he was going to kill Taylor was making him so hot that his dick got hard, but passion could wait. He had to get the hell out of New York and back on Brazilian soil. He got up, going over to his suitcase to get out his special accessories.
“I’m ready for my close up.” He smiled, wanting to taste the blood of Taylor.
* * *
Taylor and Sandino enjoyed a candlelit dinner on the balcony at the penthouse at the Belmond Copacabana Palace overlooking the beach and enjoying the fireworks in downtown Rio. While laughing their heads off, they toasted to their new futures.
“I can’t believe this shit worked out,” Sandino said.
“I know. Me either, but you and my parents mapped it out. Before long, this will be all Luis’s area, with you as head commander.”
“Selena, you are one bad-ass chick,” Sandino said, using Taylor’s real name.
“And don’t you forget. Before long, I will be in Ameri
ca with my true love, Desmond. I will be known as Taylor Monroe-Diaz.” She laughed, thinking about her genius plan that would have Desmond holding her in his arms again and forever.
As they toasted, her cell phone rang. She picked it up.
“Hello.”
“Taylor, hi. This is Elroy. I just wanted to let you know that we have your arrangements set up for tomorrow. Everything is prepared and ready to go. Instructions are in the living room, so give us a call if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Elroy. The check will be in soon.”
“Anytime, Taylor,” said Elroy.
Taylor hung up the phone.
“Who was that?” Sandino asked.
“You’ll see very soon. Let’s finish dinner. Then you’ll see why I love movies about ancient Rome.”
“My little niece,” said Sandino, taking a sip of his drink. “I wonder how Armand will get out of New York and back to Rio.”
Taylor laughed. “Uncle, if it’s one thing I know, it’s that Armand is the master—or should I say the queen—of deceit and masquerade.”
* * *
In New York, Armand was leaving the hotel in his best disguise. He had on a realistic face mask, making him look like a 70-year-old man. He wore a tan khaki suit with matching shoes.
When he got down to the lobby, he put his acting skills to use and even walked like an old man. He noticed three big, muscular dudes in black suits walking his way.
Oh, shit. I hope this ain’t FBI, thought Armand, hoping the men didn’t realize it was him.
The men ended up passing him, heading up to the elevator. Armand took a deep breath and rushed outside. He waved for a taxi, and luckily, one stopped. Armand got in, quickly ordering the driver to go. It was a good thing he did, because within seconds, police surrounded the hotel.
“Suckers,” Armand said softly.
“Where to, boss?” asked the taxi driver in a thick Jamaican accent.
Armand cleared his throat, ready for another great performance. “To White Plains, and step on it!” he said in his old man voice.
The driver nodded as he turned on his radio.
The radio news announcer was talking about the whereabouts of Armand and about the Rio massacres.
“Boss, this is a crazy world we live in,” said the taxi driver.
“Yeah,” said Armand dryly.
If only he knew he was talking to the king of Brazil.
Chapter 33
Blood, Love, and Fashion
It had been a long day of explosions, blood, massacres, and the fall of Armand Castro. The next was an even busier day for Taylor. She had Brad and Diamond out in hiding, but she had to get them out of Brazil that day for sure, and she needed to prepare for the destruction of Armand.
For now, Taylor was feeling horny.
Pulling up to Desmond’s place, she stepped out of her limosine, feeling like the glam goddess she was. She stood there for a moment in her long fur coat that covered her sexy lingerie. Her face was beat to the gods. She smelled the fresh morning air. To her, the sun looked so beautiful and bright. Sex was heavily on her mind as she strutted up to the front door, getting the spare key from under the mat. She unlocked the door, entering the house like she was the queen of the castle. After closing the door, she looked around for a few moments, thinking, I’m home.
Desmond’s home felt so welcoming and peaceful, more than Taylor had ever felt at her former home or at her husband’s magazine house. “Dez! Dez! Your Pinky is home.”
No answer.
She smiled, thinking he was upstairs in bed, sleeping. Taylor wanted to feel her man inside of her. Her pussy was going to put him to sleep, where he was going to be calling her DayQuil. She took off her heels, leaving them in the middle of the entryway. She tiptoed upstairs, slowly taking off her fur coat, revealing her two-piece Victoria’s Secret lingerie.
Upstairs, she slowly walked up to Desmond’s room. As she got closer to his bedroom, Taylor heard weird noises coming from behind the closed door.
She put her ear up close. The noise she heard was two people having hot sex. Then she heard Desmond groaning like some random chick was really turning his ass out. More moaning and groaning came from behind the closed door, like they were really getting it in.
Taylor stepped away from the door with tears falling down her face. She couldn’t believe it. Thoughts of Kitana were fresh in her mind—Kitana’s good punany going up and down on Desmond’s dick.
That bitch!
Thoughts of Desmond’s father came into play. That old bastard wanted them to be together, and he probably was the one who’d set the whole thing up. The tears kept flowing as she stepped back, thinking of all the hard work she had just done so they could be together.
I sacrificed my business, I’m about to save two lovesick lovers, and I’m finally going to destroy Armand. She felt all her hard work was done for nothing. How could I have been so stupid?
She started to walk downstairs, but then she stopped.
Hold up! I ain’t a weak bitch. I’m way past that. I’m an ultimate bad bitch. No. I’m an ultimate bad-ass boss bitch in charge. Desmond was the only man I gave all my heart and soul to, and he does me like this? I don’t think so, honey. To the world I’m Taylor Monroe, but I’m also the blood lust princess, Selena Luis, the heiress to the Colombian Mob.
Taylor wiped her tears as she headed downstairs to look at herself in the mirror. She was perfect, as always. She wouldn’t allow this to set her back, so she went into Desmond’s study to take a deep breath. She turned around and saw Desmond’s collection of ninja swords. An evil thought came to Taylor’s mind. She walked up to the swords, removing one from the wall and carefully taking it out of the holder. The sword was real. It was beautifully made out of silver, but soon it was going to be covered with Desmond and Kitana’s blood. Cutting, slicing, and chopping up their bodies played in her mind.
She left the study, quietly going back up the stairs with so much rage and anger inside of her. When she got up to the bedroom door, she could still hear Desmond groaning. Also, to her, it sounded like him crying, as if Kitana’s pussy was that good. That angered her more, because she felt as if she were the only woman with good pussy that could make a grown man cry. She held up the sword, ready to make her presence known. After taking another deep breath, Taylor whispered, “Good-bye, Dez.”
The groaning and moaning got louder, as if they were about to climax. She finally kicked open the door, holding the sword high and ready to charge.
Desmond looked up at her. He stopped jacking off and quickly jumped off the bed before Taylor almost sliced off his foot. Desmond looked at her with both shock and fear, but he managed to stand up and play the macho, tough guy.
“Taylor!” He breathed heavily. “Damn, woman, what the hell is wrong with you?”
Taylor still had a little rage in her eyes while looking at his sexy naked body. She turned around to see a Brazilian woman on his 46-inch plasma TV, getting fucked by a well-endowed white guy in a porno.
Taylor dropped the sword on the ground, feeling relieved and downright embarrassed. She should’ve known that Desmond, her Dez, would never, ever cheat on her—and not with some B-list model like Kitana, at that. He was a good man. She felt so ashamed for her actions.
“Taylor, bae, what the hell is the meaning of this? You damn near cut off my foot. What’s gotten into you?”
Taylor was at a loss for words, which was a first for her. “I . . . I—”
Desmond laughed at her. “I guess it’s some of that Luis blood in you, huh?”
This really caught Taylor off guard. What? How did he know about my family? “What did you say?” She trembled.
“You heard me, Taylor—or should I say Ms. Selena Luis, princess of the Colombian Mob?” He smiled at Taylor, loving the amazement on her face after she’d tried to kill him.
“How do you know about me and my family?” Taylor asked, panicking. “Please, don’t tell the media. I couldn’t bear
for the public, who worshipped me as a supermodel, to think of me as heiress to the Colombian Mob. I worked hard to create a name and identity for myself. Please don’t take that from me. I’ll pay anything, if you just keep this quiet. Please.” Taylor was so nervous. She began to feel lightheaded and fainted, landing on the bed.
“Baby, baby,” Desmond said, grabbing a pillow to prop up her head. He then put on his boxer briefs. He went into the bathroom and wet a washcloth. He went back to Taylor, patting her face lightly with the cloth. “There, there, Pinky. Come on, baby. Come on, Pinky.”
Taylor started to wake up, still a little lightheaded. “Desmond, darling. I’m sorry about what happened. That wasn’t me at all. I just had visions of you and Kitana. The way she was all over you at the photo shoot and release party, I just—”
“Really, Pinky?” Desmond cut her off. “You really think I would go with a self-absorbed, stuck-up chick like that? My dad tried to hook us up, but all she talks about is how she looks, what magazines she’s on the cover of, if she needs any plastic surgery done, or what celebrities she knows. Plus, that chick is a straight-up cokehead. I don’t have time for that.” He kissed Taylor’s forehead. “Pinky, I only have eyes for you, no matter what our age difference is. I haven’t touched another woman since I asked you to choose between me and Armand. That’s why I’m watching a porno, jacking off and thinking of you.”
Taylor blushed and lifted herself up. “I should’ve known better, Dez. I’m so sorry. I hope you know how much I love you.”
She leaned in to kiss him. They shared a romantic kiss as she rested her hand on his sculpted chest. “But one more thing I wanna know. How did you know who I really am and about my family?”
“Do you really have to ask? My father has been snooping around. He has been close friends with your father for years. I would sometimes come along to Miami to visit your family, and when I was a little boy, I would look at photo albums of you when you were young, up until your modeling covers. I recently asked for your father’s blessing to marry you. He said yes, but only if I got rid of Armand.”
Beating the Odds Page 20
