by Cydney Rax
Also by Cydney Rax
The Love & Revenge Series
My Married Boyfriend
If Your Wife Only Knew
My Daughter’s Boyfriend
My Husband’s Girlfriend
Scandalous Betrayal
My Sister’s Ex
Brothers & Wives
Reckless (with Niobia Bryant and Grace Octavia)
Crush (with Michele Grant and Lutishia Lovely)
Published by Dafina Books
REVENGE OF THE Mistress
CYDNEY RAX
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Part 1 - Love Is Stronger Than Revenge
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Part 2 - Revenge Is Stronger Than Love
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
A READING GROUP GUIDE - REVENGE OF THE MISTRESS
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
If Your Wife Only Knew
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2017 by Cydney Rax
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-0142-8
eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0143-5
eISBN-10: 1-4967-0143-7
First Kensington Electronic Edition: February 2017
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to everyone who supported me, including my coworker Steven Burns (you have a mastermind underneath that innocent face), and my other colleagues who willingly shared their knowledge and insight. I’m grateful to Officer James Stanley for the CSI details (for some reason he likes to sing a Motown song and put my name in the lyrics. Thanks for the laughs).
Shout-out to my humble beginnings: Cass Tech High School in Detroit, and the written communications program at Eastern Michigan University. This is where my interest in writing was initially birthed. Of course, after reading a Terry McMillan novel, the desire to write fiction grew stronger. I’m grateful for every opportunity.
Kudos to the literary team: my agent, Claudia Menza, and former editor Mercedes Fernandez, who acquired the novels in the Love & Revenge series. Mercedes, thanks for collaborating with me and being the best possible advocate of my works. You will be missed! To my new editor, Esi Sogah: Let’s do this! And to the Kensington production editor Rebecca Cremonese, and the book cover folks, Kristen Mills for the marvelous covers, and George Kerrigan for the photography: I love what you do in support of the books. Also special thanks to Lulu Martinez, publicist extraordinaire, and the marketing team. Thanks for going above and beyond. You rock!
To the faithful readers who’ve been there from the beginning, and to the new ones who’ve just discovered the novels and have reached out to me—I hope you get a huge thrill out of Revenge of the Mistress, which I found to be both a challenging and amazing experience to write!
Let me know what you think about the books. My twitter is: @neecee48204
Cheers,
Cydney Rax
When Karma comes back to punch you in the face, I wanna be there . . . just in case it needs help.
—Unknown
Prologue
Only five-feet-two, the little man suddenly appeared at the warehouse door. He pointed a semiautomatic at Rashad. With a second to spare, Rashad took off running. But the shorter man was faster. He whizzed past him, threw up his legs, and kicked Rashad in his back. He crashed into a mountain of boxes filled with heavy material. His kneecap got banged up, and he cursed and yelled while spread out on the dusty floor.
The man quickly stood over Rashad. He aimed the pistol again. Rashad stared at the weapon and struggled to lift his hands. “What did I do? What do you want?”
The man said nothing. He gaped at Rashad with no visible emotion.
“Hey, man, I’m talking to you. You want money? You can have my debit cards, my credit cards.”
“Don’t want money. But you are who I want.”
An electronic voice changer made his attacker sound peculiar. A low, evil-pitched tone that uttered frightening words. Rashad’s mouth felt dry as he shouted, “Why are you doing this? Who are you?”
“Just call me Death.”
“W-what?”
Rashad then realized this wasn’t a simple robbery. It was something much more sinister. The man was so short and slight that Rashad thought he could take him. His attacker noticed a metal folding chair nearby on the ground. He pointed the pistol at Rashad and ordered him to pick it up and sit down. Rashad started to obey him. But on a whim, he reached for the leg of the chair. He yelled with all his might and swung at the guy.
“You motherfucking asshole!” he screamed. He bashed him in his temple. His attacker was temporarily stunned and rocked on his feet. Then he fired a wild shot; a bullet pierced Rashad’s leg.
Blood poured from his left calf; his dark slacks turned red. Rashad yelled, “Fuck. Ugh!” The pain was excruciating.
The attacker set the chair upright and pointed at it. He motioned at Rashad, who immediately responded. Wincing in agony, he lowered himself onto the seat. It felt uncomfortable as hell. He moaned as he tried to stop the blood from spilling. His hands turned red and felt sticky. He removed his jacket and placed it over the wound.
The man moved to stand next to Rashad; he calmly pressed the steel tip of the barrel against his head.
“You are Rashad Quintelle Eason. And a woman asked me to send a message to you.”
“A woman?” he asked, his voice trembling. Blood oozed and drenched his shoes. This was unbelievable, and he could barely think. “W-what are you talking about?”
The man’s piercing black eyes blinked rapidly.
“She said to ask, ‘Why did you let Satan use you like you did?’”
“What woman? This is crazy. I-I don’t know what you’re—”
“She said you should know everything that she’s talking about.”
“But who is she?”
“Shut the fuck up. Right now.”
The little man skillfully duct-taped Rashad’s hands securely behind his back. Rashad was losing more blood; he slumped in the chair. It felt like he was about to keel over on the floor. His mind was foggy, his tongue thick. This was his worst nightmare.
Rashad tried to take deep breaths, but it was hard. His heart pounded like he’d just run twenty miles without stopping. He badly wanted to get the hell away, and he struggled to loosen his hands from the tape.
“Please, sir, please.”
The man ignored him. He reached in the rear pocket of Rashad’s blue jeans and removed h
is wallet.
Then he wound a wide, dark piece of cloth around Rashad’s eyes. It felt tight and unmerciful. He felt like a blind man when everything went dark. His shirt was cold and wet against his skin. Was this some type of joke? Was someone trying to scare him just to make a point?
He sat in horrid anticipation. Soon he felt his mouth being pried open with tiny, rigid fingers. A thick sock was stuffed inside his mouth. It took away his saliva; he tried to cough but couldn’t. The fibers from the cloth absorbed all the liquid from his mouth; the dryness made him want to vomit.
This was the most uncomfortable Rashad had ever felt in his life. He could not conceive what was happening. Who is this guy? Am I about to die?
As Rashad grew weaker, he recalled the man referring to a woman in his life. For a moment, he felt sorry . . . sorry for things that were too late to change.
The black steel pistol was shoved harder against Rashad’s temple.
Rashad slumped in his seat.
I wish I could . . . I wish I could get my . . . my cell phone . . . make a call . . . talk to the people that I . . . my kids . . . the family that I love.
But Rashad knew those wishes might not ever come true.
Beeva. Mama.
He knew his mom was crazy about him. And she’d be brokenhearted.
Nicky. My ride or die. Oooohhh God.
A weird animal sound escaped from his mouth as he silently sobbed in front of the man he could no longer see.
The man only laughed.
Rashad wanted to open his mouth and scream. But the darkness grew darker. He stopped crying.
Jesus. God, help me.
Seconds later a loud blast sounded in the hollowness of the room. The pain in Rashad’s head made it feel like he was going blind, it hurt so terribly. Instantly, a fountain of blood poured from his head and formed a dark red pool on the ground beneath him. He fell over in a heap with the chair still attached to his body.
Rashad lay on the floor and took his last breath. He nursed one thought as he transitioned into eternity: Why?
Part 1
Love Is Stronger Than Revenge
Chapter 1
Nicole Kelly Greene marched into the church foyer wearing a floor-length Afrocentric gown. Her sequined heels clicked across the stone surface. She abruptly stopped and adjusted her selfie stick. “Mmm, gorgeous.” She took a few shots until she was content.
Nicole had never looked more stunning in her entire life. It was Saturday, March 12, the day she was going to wed Rashad Eason, the man to whom she’d been engaged since last fall.
Nicole resumed walking and scampered into a tiny room for last-minute preparations. Shyla Perry-Fallender, Nicole’s matron of honor, raced behind her. The two women huddled in front of a wide mirror and waited for the ceremony to begin.
“By all outward appearances, you look fine.” Shyla carefully examined Nicole’s fabulous dress and makeup. “And not too long ago, girl, I remember thinking I was flawless on my wedding day. But inside I was a bundle of nerves.”
Nicole did have jitters, but she wasn’t about to totally admit it.
“So, my friend . . . how are you really feeling?”
“Booya!” Nicole shouted.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry to disappoint you, sweetie, but you won’t find a bundle of nerves inside this woman. It’s all pure, positive energy. In fact, I feel like I’m in a freaking Tyler Perry movie, or some romance novel. I want to weep with happiness, to laugh because I know I’m winning, to dance like I’m in a Chris Brown video.”
“Why are you sounding so different and weird? You don’t even talk like that.”
Nicole sashayed back and forth and swung her arms around in jubilation.
“Oh, really? All of that?”
“I’m talking different, Shyla, because I feel different. Nicole Greene getting married? This is surreal. And you want to hear something else? I’m floored at the way everything turned out at the last minute—because you know we were on some ridiculous CP time trying to pull this wedding together. And I honestly don’t give a care if you think I’m acting weird. Don’t try to catch me because I’m floating on a cloud . . . a very high cloud.”
In some ways Nicole wasn’t lying about her jubilant feelings. The fact that she was about to marry Rashad Eason was nothing short of a miracle on a biblical scale.
“Think about it, Shyla. Years ago, I came this close to marrying Ajalon.”
“Yeah, you told me all about your little drug-dealing ex-boyfriend. Good thing that situation didn’t work out.”
“I know, because even though Rashad isn’t perfect, I think he’s perfect for me,” Nicole concluded.
She opened her cell phone and reviewed the most recent photos she had taken of Rashad.
“Look at this handsome-ass piece of chocolate.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Shyla murmured. “He looks good enough to eat. Yum!”
Nicole giggled. “I dodged a motherfucking bullet, because the smartest thing I ever did was to dump Ajalon and convince Rashad to make me official.”
“If you say so.”
“Girl, when I compare those two, hell, there is no comparison. I mean, I was happy when I learned that my ex-boyfriend left Birmingham to come find me here in Houston.”
“But didn’t it feel awkward, since you were, like, living with Rashad?”
“Well, yes, but still . . . a teensy part of me was curious about Ajalon.”
“Yeah, you told me.” Shyla frowned. “You were as curious as a nosy little cat. And you allowed yourself to get caught right back up with your ex. I still can’t believe that shit.”
“Girl, I needed to be sure.” Nicole frowned, too, feeling a little ashamed of the fact that she’d briefly snuck around with Ajalon. But when he came back around and made her feel wanted again, she was so tempted. She couldn’t forget how good he used to love her before he’d messed up their lives by getting himself locked up.
And when Nicole made up her mind and found the courage to dump Ajalon one last time, she’d hoped that Rashad was still feeling her enough to marry her. And last October, when Rashad had agreed to be her husband, with Shyla’s help, the two ladies had coordinated her wedding in record time.
“And look at me now, here in the church, about to do it up,” Nicole said.
She stepped away from the mirror and calmly observed her surroundings. They were in Fifth Ward Houston, inside a stone church that had a huge cross and stained-glass windows.
“First of all, I’m glad we are getting married in a house of God and not at the justice of the peace, or worse, in Las Vegas. Doing it in this building gives me the confidence I need to believe I’m making a solid decision for my future.”
“I’m glad, too, boo. This place feels more real. Much more spiritual,” Shyla told her.
Being in church was soothing to Nicole, yet she felt a little guilty, because she’d knowingly slept with Rashad when he was still married to her boss, Kiara. And as Nicole stood there in the church, it seemed like she’d been offered another chance. And that opportunity helped to ease her conscience.
“I have no idea what the Lord even thinks about me. He has been good to me, because as bad as things have been they could always be worse. I could be a single mom for the rest of my life. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I want to raise our child with Rashad. And I want God to know I take my vows seriously,” Nicole said. “I am not playing with nobody’s pastor.”
“Nobody’s pastor? Dang, that sounds like you don’t even know the man who is marrying y’all.”
“Of course I don’t know him personally, silly woman. But does it really matter? As long as the Lord knows him, then that’s cool with me.”
“Ha! That’s completely obvious,” Shyla said jokingly. She was happy for her friend, but at the same time, she felt some kind of way about how perfectly everything had ended up for Nicole and Rashad. A frequent jokester, Shyla grew surprisingly thoughtful. “This is
truly a great day for you, Nicole. Yet, as a newly married woman myself, Nicole, I wish y’all could have at least gone to marital counseling a few times so you would truly understand what you’re getting yourself into.” She thought of her own marriage to Wesley Fallender. He was a good man, but that didn’t keep their relationship road from being bumpy. He liked his space, whereas she preferred to be up under him all the time. And when unexpected bills came their way, so did the loud arguments and slamming doors.
Shyla gasped with great emotion at the painful memories. “Counseling helps you to put everything on the table and forces you to discuss potential issues that are hard to talk about, or things that can cause you to have hurt feelings. But it looks like you ain’t got time for that . . . you found you a nice little bootleg minister who only cares about—”
“Shhh, don’t say that. This preacher man might not be Joel Osteen, who was my first choice, but it’s alright. It has to be. And forget a marriage counselor. We don’t need anyone trying to tell us how to live our lives. We got this.” Nicole shut down the subject. Shyla was giving her a weird vibe, but she concluded it didn’t really matter what the woman thought. Nicole was minutes away from getting legally yoked to Rashad, premarital counseling or not.
“Change of subject, girl . . . do I really look alright?”
Shyla could not lie. “What can I say? You’re a beautiful bride. When he sees you, you’re going to make Rashad very happy.”
Shyla smoothed back a flyaway piece of Nicole’s hair and returned it to its place. Nicole’s hair was upswept and secured by floral hairpins. Her fresh manicure consisted of a beautiful gel nail color. For once in her life, Nicole felt like a princess, and she couldn’t wait to begin her new life without any problems.
