Also by Niobia Bryant
Mistress No More
Message from a Mistress
Show and Tell
Live and Learn
The Hot Spot
Give Me Fever
Make You Mine
Hot Like Fire
Heated
Heat Wave (with Donna Hill and Zuri Day)
Reckless (with Cydney Rax and Grace Octavia)
Mistress, Inc.
NIOBIA BRYANT
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by Niobia Bryant
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Discussion Questions
About the Author
Connect With Niobia:
Chapter 1 - Tamia
Copyright Page
For those who love the power of books to
entertain and enlighten
Prologue
“I am standing outside the gated community of Richmond Hills, which has been shocked by tonight’s fatal shooting inside one of the community’s affluent homes. The police and the medical coroner are on the scene investigating the apparent self-inflicted shooting. The name of the deceased is being withheld at this time, but it’s being reported that the shooting occurred in the home of his alleged mistress—just a block down from the home he once shared with his estranged wife. It seems the violence tonight was the culmination of the deceased stalking his mistress after she tried to end the affair. After being distraught by strangling her, the victim delivered one fatal shot to his head by a 9mm gun registered in his name. A next-door neighbor happened to be walking by when the gun was shot and rushed inside to discover the bodies. And that was an act of sheer luck for Jessa Bell, as her neighbor, who is definitely a hero, was able to perform CPR and revive her until the paramedics arrived on the scene. She is now in stable condition at Fairmount Hospital. I will continue to report on this scandalous crime as details continue to unfold. This is Maria Vargas reporting for WCBL. Now back to you—”
Click.
The television set quickly faded to black. I didn’t really need to watch the news report to know what happened. It was my life—or nearly the end of my life—that they speculated upon and spread like the clap in a whorehouse. As if almost dying wasn’t enough, now my reputation would get skewered as my sins were put on Front Street. They might as well slap the scarlet letter on my chest and push me back into the mid-1600s.
Sighing, I turned my head on the lifeless pillow to look out through the slats of the blinds of the hospital room’s window. Nothing but the moon or some light reflecting on a huge silver mechanical device on the rooftop of the shorter building next door filled my vision. Not a blessed thing to distract me from my thoughts, my reflections. My sins. My death.
I shivered and pressed my fingertips to the bruises on my throat as a vision of Eric’s face filled with anger and murder flashed before me. I shook my head a bit trying to free myself of the vision, only to have it replaced by the brief memory of Eric’s blood and brains seeping from his head as they rolled my weak body past him on the stretcher.
Tilting my head up on the pillow, I bit my bottom lip as tears filled my eyes. I closed my lids, but the tears still raced down my cheeks.
I almost died tonight.
That was a chilling fact ... and I felt it to my bones.
Karma is and always will be a bitch.
I betrayed a friend to have Eric—her husband—in my life.
And I learned the hard way you have to be careful what you ask for. The man I fought to win at any cost became my enemy instead of the love of my life. He tried to kill me because I turned my back on his half-lies and part-time love.
Again, I see his face above mine as he tried his hardest to kill me.
I knew that the three friends I turned into enemies would probably gloat or toast with cocktails how the tables had turned on me. How being the mistress of someone’s husband had almost killed me. Tonight I was just a few seconds short of being able to spill all my sins directly to God—or the devil—and that scared the shit out of me.
You have to change, Jessa Bell, I told myself, forcing my hand away from the bruises on my neck and ignoring the tenderness of my throat as I swallowed.
Releasing a heavy breath, I reached out to the side rail and pressed the button to call for the nurse.
“Yes?” someone said over the intercom after a few moments.
“Is there a chaplain on duty?” I asked, my voice slightly hoarse.
“Yes. Would you like for me to call him for you?”
I paused. The end of your life was all about heaven or hell.
“Yes,” I whispered, trying to ease the use of my tender vocal cords. “Tell him there is a sinner who needs his help getting saved.”
Chapter 1
Funerals were all about saying good-bye.
Most times it was a necessary part of seeking and receiving closure. Of course, the ending of a life for the deceased, but also the closing of a chapter—or, in some cases, a book—for those grieving. Closure.
And although she knew that it was quite scandalous and bold for her to be there, Jessa Bell felt like she needed to see Eric’s body in that casket. Because of him, that day could have also been the day people came to either wish her well into heaven or curse her straight to hell. She needed the closure.
And no one was going to stop her from getting it. No one.
Eric was dead.
No one but God or Satan could have him now. Not her and not Jaime.
Jessa released a shaky breath. When she thought about their friendship, she missed him. When she thought about their lovemaking, she could almost forgive him. When she thought about him choking the life from her body with his eyes filled with rage, she wanted to see him slam-dunked straight into hell.
She still couldn’t believe she never saw the craziness inside of him. He had always been the steady one. The reliable one. Even when she couldn’t depend on her husband, Marc, because he traveled frequently for business, she knew she could call on Eric.
And after Marc’s sudden death from a motorcycle accident, her friend had been her rock. And that had nothing to do with sex and love. All of that came later—unexpectedly, but satisfyingly. As if it was meant to be from the very beginning and they just didn’t know it.
If I knew it all would end like this, I never would have crossed that line. Jessa squinted her eyes as she looked at the crowded parking lot of the church and then turned her head to take in the small group of news reporters standing outside the fence with cameras rolling.
The murder-suicide attempt had rocked the small affluent town and dominated the news for the last week. Every detail. Every flawed facet. All of it. Even down to the message she sent to her three friends taunting them all about running away with one of their husbands.
There was nothing the news media hadn’t dug up from her Richmond Hills neighbors—and her ex-friends—and then spread like manure. Her name and image had been splattered all over the newspapers, Internet, and television.
Thank God they have a good picture of me.
With one last breath, Jessa slid on her oversized designe
r shades before opening the door to her cherry red Jaguar to climb out, smoothing the severe cut of the pencil skirt she wore with a sheer black blouse with long balloon sleeves and a mandarin collar. It was the end of summer, but the temperature was still in the mid-eighties. She suffered the heat with the collar of her blouse to cover the bruises that had darkened to an ugly purplish color.
Pushing her jet-black hair behind her ear, Jessa made her way toward the church on her five-inch heels, tucking her clutch under her arm. She felt some fear and anxiety as she neared the small crowd of people slowly entering the church.
This was a bold and brazen move. She knew that. But there was no turning back. There was no need for shame. Everyone knew. Everyone judged. But still she had to live. There was no need to hide.
I am a victim in all this.
Still, she was thankful that everyone was focused forward and didn’t even notice her coming up on them.
“Excuse me, Ms. Bell. Ms. Bell!”
Jessa stiffened as the news reporter began calling out her name.
“That’s her. I know it’s her,” another reporter said.
A few of the churchgoers turned and spotted her coming up the steps of the church. She notched her chin higher as their faces filled with disgust, confusion, anger, or pure curiosity.
As she neared them standing in the open double doors of the church, the men and women moved back from her, opening a gap between them as if she were Moses and they made up the Red Sea. There wasn’t an available seat in the entire church, just standing room only. A murmur rose through the church that was distinguishable even above the solemn organ music playing.
Jessa’s steps faltered a bit as every head in the church turned to eye her. She was glad for the dark shades she still wore as her eyes shifted about the church until they landed on the sight of Jaime jumping up from her seat on the front pew.
Here we go, Jessa sighed inwardly as Jaime made a step but was stopped by her father reaching up to grab her arm and then whispering something to her.
Jaime waved him off, pointing her finger at Jessa like it was a gun. “Are you kidding me, Jessa? Are you really this stupid or uncaring or unaware that you would show your face?”
A collective gasp went through the church at Jaime’s angry words.
Jessa felt her own anger rise. The scene was uncalled for.
“The last thing I am is stupid, and these bruises on my neck keep me very aware of what happened to me!” she snapped, her eyes glittering like glass as she reached up to jerk the collar of her blouse down.
The mumblings around the church increased in sound and fervor.
“You deserve that and more!” Jaime roared. Renee and Aria came forward to wrap their arms around her.
“Ohhh, look at the besties consoling the grieving wife,” Jessa taunted, wanting to hurt her. “If only she was truly grieving. Right, Jaime?”
Jaime lurched for her.
Jessa smirked.
Suddenly, a strong male hand grabbed her arm and began dragging her out of the church. Bold, defiant, and feeling crucified, Jessa kept her eyes locked on the faces of her ex-friends even as she was escorted from the church and she felt the sweltering heat surround her like a wool blanket.
“Jessa, you knew better than to come here.”
She looked up as the church doors were securely closed in her face. She was surprised to see Eric’s father, Eric Sr., was the one to lead her out.
Jessa knew his parents well. They had even attended social functions at her house or she saw them at parties at Jaime and Eric’s. She even imagined the days she would be their daughter-in-law.
Jessa nodded as she corrected her clothing. “I’m sorry that this whole ordeal ended in Eric’s death. I just wanted to say good-bye to him, Mr. Hall. I honestly had no plans to say anything to anyone.”
“Call me Eric,” he said.
Jessa looked up in surprise at the warmth in his voice. She was a woman used to the ways and subtleties of a man and she recognized that tone. His desire and appreciation of her was evident. It both surprised and disturbed her.
As if I would really do a tag team on a father and son.
She arched a brow when the tall and silver-haired version of Eric tilted his head to the side to eye her legs.
What the hell? He’s just as crazy as his son!
“Mr. Hall,” Jessa said sharply.
He shifted his eyes up to meet hers.
“I’m sorry for the loss of your son and I apologize for the scene. Good-bye,” she said, her voice stiff with indignation. She turned and walked away quickly on her heels.
Once Jessa reached her car and slid behind the wheel, she was glad to see that Eric Sr. had reentered the church. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply as she fought to calm her nerves, sooth her anger, and overcome her embarrassment.
“Oh Lord, help me to forgive Jaime,” she prayed, squeezing her eyes shut as she raised her hands palms forward. “Help me to forgive her, and please forgive me for letting her push me to react to her, Lord. Amen, amen, amen, amen.”
The chaplain at the hospital told her to turn to God and call on Him when she faced trials and tribulations. She definitely had felt the tribulations of being placed on trial as Jaime judged her.
“Ignorant ass,” Jessa muttered.
“They trying me, Lord, they trying me,” she said, pounding her fist on the steering wheel before she started her Jag and smoothly pulled out of her parking spot.
She saw the small press corps perk up as she neared the open gate. At first Jessa wished for any other way to get out and avoid them, but Jaime’s accusations rung in her ears.
“You deserve that and more!”
More? Any more beyond being strangled into unconsciousness was death. Did Jaime, or even Renee and Aria, truly believe she deserved to die? Who else felt that way?
Jessa shook her head and tightened her grasp on the steering wheel until the brown skin over her knuckles stretched thin. She slowed her vehicle to a stop just outside the gate and opened her door. A microphone was immediately stuck in her face as she exited the car.
Jessa looked into the face of Maria Vargas, the local news reporter who was building her career on the back of Jessa’s shame and near death. She reached up and pushed the microphone from being so close to her glossy mouth.
“Ms. Bell, I am Maria Vargas with WCBL—”
Jessa smoothly held up her hand to stop her. “Yes, Ms. Vargas, I’m very aware of who you are. I just want to make a brief statement because I believe the press—including you, Ms. Vargas—has played out the brutal attempt on my life as if it is fiction. As if my life and my feelings are not real,” she said, reaching up to use one red-tipped finger to pull down the collar of her blouse. “These bruises are real. That night was real. I almost died. I made many mistakes. I am not a perfect woman, but I did nothing that was worthy of my death, and for people to say ‘She brought this on herself’ or ‘You deserve that and more’ is harsh and it’s cruel. I was a mistress ... not a murderer.”
Jessa turned and faced the camera. “I am a victim in this whole crazy story you all are salivating over like a silly soap opera. For all of you out there wishing death on another person—on me—I’ll pray for you. God has already forgiven me.”
Jessa’s heart was pounding as she turned and opened her car door.
“Has Mrs. Hall forgiven you, Ms. Bell?”
“Ms. Bell, were you hoping to attend the funeral of your ex-lover?”
“Were you turned away from the funeral, Ms. Bell?”
“Ms. Bell ... Ms. Bell?”
Jessa ignored the rush of questions from the reporter and slammed her door shut, not caring if she took off a limb of one of the crew surrounding her car. She accelerated forward and pulled away, hating that her nerves and emotions still stirred inside her until she felt unsettled and unsure.
She hated that.
Jessa was a woman used to knowing—and getting—what she wanted. But her life ha
d spiraled out of her control ever since she made the choice to have Eric as her man by any means necessary.
She thought of one of the Bible verses the hospital’s chaplain gave her to read once she revealed all of her sins to him: “If there be a controversy between men, and they come unto judgment, that the judges may judge them; then they shall justify the righteous, and condemn the wicked.”
Jessa had never been closely tied to church or religion, but she knew the basics, and that verse had scared her. She hadn’t thought about pissing off God when she was fighting for her heart. She hadn’t thought about anything but believing Eric, loving Eric, and above all, having Eric.
Be careful what you ask for.
Biting her bottom lip, Jessa released a heavy breath and steered her Jaguar toward the on-ramp for the Garden State Parkway. She used one hand to unbutton the collar of her blouse as she steered with the other.
She felt her face and chest heat in anger. That bitch threw me out the church! That. Bitch. Threw. Me. Out. The. Church.
Jessa pounded her tightly balled fist against the steering wheel. Her stomach clenched in anger as she thought of the press adding that footnote to the already sordid details of her story.
I shoulda stormed the church and slapped her fake ass so hard that she spun into that casket with her crazy ass husband.
But Jessa had other plans for the bougie bitch. She wanted to—no, she was going to—remind her ex-friend that Jessa Bell was one bitch not to play so closely.
As she slowed to a stop at a red light, she reached into her bag and pulled out her cell phone. Using a bright red-painted thumbnail, she scrolled through her saved text messages. She entered a message quickly and hit Send. Before she could count to five, her phone vibrated in her hand with a response. A smile spread across her face like butter melting in the summer sun.
She would teach Jaime a lesson and have a little no strings attached sex. Killing two birds with one stone suddenly made her very happy. Jessa pressed her back against the soft leather of the driver’s seat before she eased her knees wider apart. The move caused the hem of her skirt to inch up her thighs. She eased her hand up her thigh and raised her hips just enough to shift the lacy edge of her bikinis to the side to lightly stroke her clit as she laughed softly.
Mistress, Inc. Page 1
