Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless
Page 21
I was renting a cabin and was down to my last two hundred dollars when I met the mayor at a restaurant downtown. I knew it was only a matter of time before he would be taking care of me, but I had no idea he would be the one to bring back my killer instincts.
“You’re so much prettier than that other bitch I deal with,” he said, stroking my hair. “And your body is to die for!”
I looked at his small gray Afro and smiled. I knew he was referring to my perky 36C cups and big, round ass. “Is she white?” I asked.
He seemed surprised by my question. “Why would you ask me that? Besides, what difference does it make?”
“Actually, I couldn’t care less, but I’m just curious. For some reason, you look like the type of black man who would have a white girl on the side. Shit, I’m probably the closest thing to black pussy you’ve ever had. You’re probably tired of being with a woman with an ironing board for an ass.”
“Well, if you must know, yes, she’s white.”
I wasn’t surprised by his comment, but I hated that I had to kill someone who sounded like a woman after my own heart. I started feeling kind of bad that I had to betray one of my fellow blackmailers. Women in this business had to stick together, but I was sure she would do the same thing if she were in my shoes. It was always business before pleasure.
My thoughts were distracted by what looked like a large, deforming burn that was shaped like the boot of Italy, sitting on the right side of his face. The miniature country, which had melted away on his brown skin, was too gross to ignore. I tried my best to avoid that side of his face when we got together, but it was hard not to look at. Something about this monstrous feature scared me.
Reminded me of the boogeyman.
Reminded me of my past.
My childhood always had a way of doing that. I tried not to let it bother me too much, because he was filthy ... filthy rich!
I’d done my research, so I knew mayors normally didn’t make tons of money, but this one did. With his sleazy political connections he netted millions in various crooked investment deals, and his ties to the mob didn’t hurt his rapidly growing pockets, either.
“How much?” I whispered while rubbing his huge potbelly. After recalling all of the wealth I was surrounded by, I was ready to seal this deal, but I needed him to be as comfortable as possible with his decision.
He sat up, took another swig of his whiskey, and said, “A hundred thousand.”
I paused and thought about accepting the offer, but my mind quickly wandered away again and got the best of me. I couldn’t believe a hundred grand was all his mistress was worth. She was also carrying his unborn child, and he wanted them both to disappear. I immediately saw myself in her.
It was only a year ago that Oshyn had stolen my baby’s life, and now I had agreed to do it to someone else. A little bit of emotion started to rise in my chest, but I quickly suppressed it. Emotion wasn’t part of my résumé. If this was what he wanted, the bitch would simply have to go.
Not only did I need the money, but this would also make what I planned on doing to Oshyn a total walk in the park. I was sure that no one knew whether I was dead or alive, even after everyone died at Oshyn’s house, except me and her. I’d left her home that night bullet ridden and broke. All the money I’d stacked up went right down the drain, and Brooklyn was the reason for most of it. I’d given Brooklyn the million dollars I’d blackmailed from Mr. Bourdeaux, and he took it all, leaving me with nothing.
Since then, my more generous clients had offered me permanent housing in their mansions and penthouses, but I reluctantly declined their offers. From the bullet hole Oshyn had put in my stomach to the one Brooklyn had put in my shoulder, along with the broken nose I sported, all those things were just too much to explain. With all these gunshot wounds, I was starting to feel like a female version of 50 Cent. As it turned out, I definitely had more than nine lives, minus the budding music career.
“Is a hundred thousand enough?” the mayor asked, probably uncomfortable with my long pause.
“Nah, you’re gonna have to come larger than that. I’ll do the bitch for a hundred, but the baby is gonna cost you another two, making it three hundred even.”
“Two hundred thousand for a fucking kid that’s not even born? You’re out of your damn mind, Chloe. Abortions don’t even cost a tenth of that!” He became enraged, and the alcohol didn’t help.
“Three hundred. Take it or leave it, but it’s my final offer.” Even though I could’ve really used the hundred grand, my offer was set in stone, and I wouldn’t take anything less. I just couldn’t bring myself to kill the baby for anything less, born or not. Maybe with me being twenty-six now, I was beginning to gain a conscience, but this was something that truly bothered me. “Take it or leave it,” I said again.
“All right. Three hundred, but not a dime more than that. After everything is done, I need you to skip town for a few weeks. You know, just until everything cools down. I’ve already arranged for your trip to Jamaica.”
“Jamaica? That wasn’t in my plans. I have things to do,” I whined.
“Baby, just trust me,” he begged with a sinister smile that screamed just the opposite.
That was the problem.... I didn’t trust anybody.
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Copyright © 2011 by Kensington Publishing Corp.
“Shamelessly Rich” copyright © 2011 by Kiki Swinson
“Puttin’ Shame in the Game” copyright © 2011 by Noire
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