Not this time.
This time wouldn’t be that goddamn easy.
Not until he proved—to Brooklyn and Lorenz—and maybe even his daddy—that this go-round he wasn’t to be fucked with, or over.
So, there Monty sat, parked in front of Brooklyn’s front door. Eyes raged. The lines of coke he’d just snorted started taking effect. A half-empty bottle of scotch pressed to his lips. And liquid fire filled his chest.
Moonlight glinted off his black Phantom’s windshield, as sweat drenched the sides of his face and smothered his neck and back. The leather seat crinkled as he leaned forward and pounded his fist against the dashboard. “Fuck!”
He took a swig.
Took another one.
He dropped his head into the steering wheel.
His thoughts raced.
“Fuck you, Monty!” Elle’s voice rang in his head. “You’re a worthless piece of shit! Here I’ve been by your side, supported everything you’ve ever done. Been there for you, been your goddamn cheerleader, had your babies, and this is what you reduce me to? Where I gotta practically beg you to see me. To love me? Me, Monty? Bitch, fuck you!” She’d hocked spit into his face, and he slapped her across the room; her head banging into the wall.
He placed the scotch to his mouth, went in for another swig, and came up empty. “Shit!” He sighed, tossing the bottle over to the passenger’s seat. It bounced and hit against the glove compartment, then dropped to the floor.
He looked to Brooklyn’s front door again. Remembering he had a spare key, he gripped his key ring and squeezed it. “Evidently, this whore is confused,” he slurred into the air. “And done forgot it’s ’cause of me she and that bastard of hers are no longer on the street. If it wasn’t for me, they’d still be those same struggling-ass pieces of nothin’ they were when I met their asses. Only reason she’s able to hold her head up now is because I cleaned her dirty whore ass up. And she’s going to do this to me? To me? Monty? And be with that bitch-ass motherfucker, of all motherfuckers? That vulture-ass reporter tryna make a name offa me! Tryna bring me down! I can’t believe this shit. I gave this ho the world. I shoulda let that bitch rot!” He paused.
Then he continued, “How the fuck does she know him anyway? Ain’t no way they just met tonight. She’s been fuckin’ him all along. Had to be.
“Playing me for a fool, using my money, riding his dick, and selling me out like I’m some sort of weak-ass game to be played with! Nah, bitch. You got me fucked up. You gotta be dealt with for that!”
Monty reached for the door handle and stepped out of his car. His palms were clammy and his hands trembled as he unlocked Brooklyn’s front door and softly twisted the knob, letting himself inside.
Once he was in the living room, his chest tightened, and his heart pounded in his ears.
He staggered up the stairs, giving no thought to how much noise he made, what he would find, what he would do once he found it—or it found him.
He reached the second story and noticed the bedroom door was a tiny crack open. He leaned in. The lamp was on. Clothes were strewn about. A lace thong dangled along the edge of the nightstand, next to a man’s watch and a torn condom wrapper.
There they were.
Naked.
Sleeping.
In the bed Monty had paid for.
In Monty’s favorite position: Her wide and soft ass pressed into his shaft. His long and defined arm stretched along her hip.
An iron fist settled in Monty’s throat, then dropped into his chest.
Maybe Elle was right.
Did he love this bitch?
No. Hell, no.
This wasn’t about love; this was about respect.
This bitch owed him.
He took them in again. He couldn’t believe it. Just this morning, he had her under his control. She did whatever the fuck he told her to, when he told her to. She’d been his stress reliever. His pussy on call. She laughed at his jokes, even the ones he knew were corny. He always considered her advice. He’d raised her from the gutter, and had even trusted her with a few of his secrets.
She was soothing.
Easy.
Maybe that’s why this shit burned, scorched his throat, and knocked the wind out of his chest.
What now?
Now that she’d worked her way into his heart and had taken a shit inside.
Monty warred with his drunken impulse to snatch them both from the bed and beat their asses. He knew he could do it, and he also knew it would help ease his pain, at least for the moment.
What if it made things worse? This motherfucker was on the front line of the media, and Monty didn’t need any more bad press. This bitch had betrayed him. So, there was no telling how this would go.
Brooklyn and Lorenz rustled in the sheets.
Monty took a step back from the door. A few moments later he leaned back into the crack. They now lay in a different position. Lorenz’s leg was tossed over Brooklyn’s thigh and his hand cupped her deep chocolate nipple.
The scotch clouded Monty’s thoughts. Though he knew he needed to leave, he wasn’t ready to go. He pushed the door wide open, took his phone from his pocket, placed it on silent, and snapped their picture. Then he turned from the door, eased down the stairs, and left.
An hour later, as he pulled into his driveway, the morning sun had lit up the sky.
He walked up the stairs to his bedroom. Clothes were everywhere, the dresser knocked to the floor, and glass shards were sprinkled around like sharp dust. Elle sat on the black leather chaise. The pale-yellow glow of the morning reflected off her disheveled hair. Dark bags puffed beneath her keen dark eyes. A burning cigarette dangled between her cracked lips while her iPad sat in her lap.
Monty staggered into the room. It occurred to him to tell Elle something, anything, to make them both feel better.
He didn’t.
Instead, he fell to the edge of the bed, just missing the floor. He took his cell phone from his pocket and examined the picture he’d taken of Brooklyn and Lorenz, and texted it to Brooklyn, along with the message, THIS IS NOT A GAME, BITCH. AND HE CAN’T HAVE YOU. He placed his phone on the nightstand and looked over to Elle.
She took a long toke off her cigarette, as her iPad silently vibrated in her lap. She said evenly, “When I married you, I thought for sure you would make all my dreams come true. It never occurred to me that nightmares were dreams too. I should have killed you,” Elle’s words hung in the air like a noose.
Monty coughed.
Elle continued, “Last night. I should’ve gone into the kitchen, grabbed the butcher knife, and hurled it into your windpipe.”
Monty swallowed. Hard.
“Be careful,” Elle said.
He stood up, hooked into her piercing gaze, and walked backward out of their bedroom.
Chapter 26
Brooklyn
The early morning sun spiked through the slats of Brooklyn’s electronic blinds and lay golden stripes across her king-sized bed, where she and Lorenz lay entangled beneath her Egyptian sheets. He pulled her deeper into his chest while she looked into his face and studied it, debating whether or not she should tell him that Monty had broken in here, stood over them while they were sleeping, and had texted her a picture of them, along with a threat.
She needed to share her fear and confusion with someone, and though she’d tried both her sister and Joy several times this morning, neither of them had picked up.
She desperately needed to bend someone’s ear, so they could help her sort this out and decide if she should find Monty and confront him, go to the office of Each One Reach One and lay his sick bullshit on Elle—or call the police.
Brooklyn soaked in Lorenz’s face deeper than she had before, and decided to not tell him a thing. Instead, she would cast him to the side and label him: Hit It and Quit It.
Now it was time to tuck his big dick back into his pants and send him on his way.
She couldn’t spoon with him a moment l
onger. There was shit to do. Things to figure out. Plus, she’d already lied and told him she didn’t know Monty. And she wasn’t interested in explaining her way out of that. So, this pretty-ass stranger needed to go. Now.
“What are you thinking about?” Lorenz asked, interrupting her thoughts. He brushed her cheek with his fingertip. Before she could answer, he said, “Are you thinking about how you renamed me Harder Daddy? Or if you’re ready to cook a brotha some breakfast? If so, I like my eggs scrambled, soft. And bacon, crispy.”
Brooklyn laughed. She took her hands, gently cupped his beard, and as she pressed her lips against his, she said, “Though you earned breakfast, I was thinking—”
“How much you enjoyed my company last night.” He kissed her neck, running his tongue around the base and down between her breasts.
She battled with closing her eyes and giving in to the chills he sent through her skin. “You know I more than enjoyed your company and—”
“I enjoyed yours too.” He pushed her breasts together and slipped both of her nipples between his lips. He licked. Softly bit down and nibbled a bit. Then he sucked, long, hard. She opened her legs; he slid one finger into her wetness and caressed her clit with another.
“Umm . . .” she moaned.
He kissed her belly button, snaked his tongue between her thighs, and sucked her clit.
“Umm, baby, wait, damn, Daddy,” she squealed. A few minutes into his tongue tricks she slicked his mouth, then kissed it away.
Just as he reached over to the nightstand for a condom, Brooklyn said, “Before you put that on, I hope you don’t think I’m about to be your ever-ready fuck buddy, because I’m not.”
Lorenz tore the condom packet open, then paused. He looked into Brooklyn’s face and said, “Come again? What did just you say?” He frowned. “Where the hell did that come from? I thought we were having a good time.”
“We were. We are. But I just needed to put that out there, that I’m not going to be your fuck on call. And, yeah, I know I gave you some pussy. And I know it was a quick turnaround on your ‘Make a Move’ investment. It was my birthday, though. I had a little too much to drink, and I was stressed.”
“Really?” He arched a brow. “I was a drunk fuck, that’s what you’re saying?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then say what you mean.”
“It’s just that this is not something I typically do. I don’t usually bring random men home and call ’em daddy.”
“First, I was a drunk fuck, now I’m a random one?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Then be clear.”
“I’m simply telling you that I’m a mother, and I take pride in that. I have a daughter, and I don’t bring men around her. The sitter will be bringing her home soon, soooo . . . you gotta go. Another thing, although the dick was everything and more, this is just not my style. So, don’t expect me to be your penciled-in whore.”
“Penciled-in whore?” He chuckled in disbelief. “Yo, you are doing way too much.” He shook his head. “I don’t do whores. If I thought you were a whore, I’d would’ve left you on the bar stool with the chick sitting next to you. I dug you then, and I’m digging you now because I think you’re beautiful. I like your conversation. We vibe. And, yes, we came here. We had sex a few times. Because we’re grown and that’s what we wanted to do. Simple.
“That had nothing to do with being drunk, random, or a whore. That had to do with enjoying the moment, which I thought we were about to enjoy again, until you laid this on me.” He placed the condom back on the nightstand.
Brooklyn gripped a fistful of the sheet and draped it over her breasts. “I was just putting it out there.”
“Well, you could’ve kept that, unless, of course, that’s how you see me.”
“I don’t know how I see you. I mean, we just met not even twenty-four hours ago.”
“You know if your mission was for me to hit it and you to quit it. Seriously, tell me, are we just fuckin’ for the moment or am I going to see you again? Whatever you decide is cool. Just let me know what time it is and I’ll play my position.”
“I just don’t want you thinking—”
“Why don’t you try asking me what I’m thinking and stop assuming.”
Brooklyn hesitated. “What are your thoughts?”
He lightly flicked her chin. “That I’m not into making you feel uncomfortable.”
“I appreciate that.”
He gave her a soft wink as he eased out of the bed and began to dress.
Brooklyn slipped on her robe.
A few minutes later, she walked him to the front door.
“I don’t, you know . . . want you thinking that I don’t like you,” she said.
“You’re reading my thoughts again.” He reached for her hands, then stepped into her space, causing her to take a step back, and him to take a step forward until her head hit the wall. She fought off a smile and resisted wrapping her arms around his neck.
He looked down into her eyes. “I know you like me, and I’ve made it no secret that I’m feeling the hell out of you. But I’m willing give you the time you need to sort this out. We did a lot last night, and perhaps you need a moment to breathe. I get that. So, beautiful, the next move is up to you.” He kissed her on the forehead. “You have my number, and hopefully, I’ll hear from you.”
Brooklyn closed her eyes and soaked in the feel of his lips.
“Hopefully,” she whispered.
Chapter 27
Monty
Brgggg!
Monty sat in the back seat of his chauffeured Escalade with his security officer, Van, sitting next to him, ready to force their way into Brooklyn’s front door, when his cell phone rang.
Brgggg!
He looked at the caller ID and considered letting the call go to voice mail, then changed his mind. “Montgomery Fields,” he answered.
“Why haven’t you returned any of my calls?” A deep male voice came through the receiver.
“Mr. Himes, pleasure as always,” Monty said, watching Lorenz get into his car, take one last glance at Brooklyn—who stood in the doorway—then pull off. Monty’s driver turned the ignition off. “I’m a little busy right now.” He looked over to Brooklyn’s door, and she was gone.
“Are you playing games with me, Montgomery?”
“Of course not, I’ve just—”
“You have one hour to meet me at the skybox.”
“Look, umm, I’m going to need a little more time than that. I’m in the middle of something and—”
“An hour. Don’t be fuckin’ late.”
* * *
“Touchdown Green Bay!” The commentator’s voice boomed through the speakers of Oakland Coliseum’s luxury suite, as Stephen Himes, the CEO of ICC, Jeffery Daniels, the VP, and a few other higher-ups from the company all jumped out of their seats.
Stephen rested his large hands atop the partitioned Plexiglas wall and leaned into the Raiders versus Green Bay game below. “What the hell kind of call was that?”
“That was pass interference!” Jeffery yelled.
“He pushed off!” made its way from the back of the room.
Stephen tossed a look over his shoulder. “This is bullshit! Utter bullshit! Who the hell hires these fucking idiots?”
“My sentiments exactly,” Monty said as he and Dominic walked into the suite, taking note of Stephen, a chestnut-colored black man, who stood six feet tall and was dressed in a pair of beige tailored Armani dress pants and a matching sports jacket. They greeted Stephen, as well as the other men, with handshakes.
“Nice.” Monty nodded in approval at the suite’s gleaming marble floor and plush leather sectional that faced the game. He took in a hand-carved mahogany bar lined with top-shelf liquor and aged wine. A table in the center of the room was filled with lamb burgers, hamburgers, hot wings, a vegetable platter, and caviar. There were sixty-inch flat-screen TVs on each wall, showcasing the gam
e, and surround-sound speakers in the ceiling.
“Montgomery.” Stephen smiled. “Have a glass of Isabella.” He pointed to the bar, and the bartender held up a gold- and diamond-encrusted bottle of whiskey.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll pass.”
“Montgomery, when a man offers you a glass of million-dollar whiskey, you always say yes.” Stephen turned to the bartender. “Make Governor Fields a drink.”
“Field goal!” The commentator’s voice unexpectedly boomed through the suite, snatching Stephen’s attention away.
He returned to the glass wall and leaned back into the game. “Raiders, take your pussy-clot skirts off! Did you come to play or what?” He looked over at Monty. “You have no idea how much money I have riding on this game—shit!” He shook his head and walked over to a secluded area of the suite where there were two black armchairs, and sat down. He looked over at Monty. “Montgomery, come have a seat.” He patted the empty chair next to him.
The bartender handed Monty his glass, before he walked over to where Stephen sat and took a seat himself.
Stephen said to Monty, “Let’s cut to the chase. What the fuck is going on with you? I called you yesterday and you didn’t answer or return my call. Then I find out you’re high and drunk out of your mind, creeping out of some bitch’s house last night. The same bitch’s house you were parked in front of this morning.”
Monty paused and looked at Stephen suspiciously. “Why are you following me?”
“Because the millions of dollars in cash and gifts say that I can. Because the twenty million dollars I gave you to clean gives me permission to do just that. Therefore, me calling you and you not responding concerns me. I had to figure out if I would allow you to walk in here on your own, or if you needed help.” He paused, giving Monty a few minutes to take his words in.
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