by Carl Weber
“What do you want me to say, Captain?”
“I wanna know who the fuck you are.” Stevens slammed the file shut as he shouted, “I wanna know why a guy three years into a twenty-year sentence for murdering twelve men is going home and taking a thousand dollars a week out of my fucking pocket!”
“What?” Vegas thought he’d misunderstood. “Did you just say I was going home?”
“That’s right, Mr. Regular Guy from Queens.” Stevens shoved a piece of paper in his direction. “You’re going home. You’ve been pardoned by the governor.”
Vegas unfolded the paper and read it, a gigantic smile spreading across his face.
“Damn, I guess I am going home.” Everything about him lightened in that moment, as if a heavy weight had been lifted off of him.
“Save the goddamn celebration! You’re not going anywhere until I find out who you are and how the fuck you got pardoned.”
“To tell you the truth, Captain, I’m not sure how I got pardoned. I’m just glad to be going home. But if I was a betting man, which I am, I’d put my money on my mother writing a lot of letters to her congressman.” Vegas turned toward the door. “A mother’s love knows no bounds.” He headed for the door, then turned around to deliver one final jab. “Oh, and as far as who I am? If you haven’t realized it by now, the answer to that question is way above your pay grade.”
Discussion questions
1. What do you think of HEAT?
2. Which side were you on when it came to HEAT, LC’s or Chippy’s?
3. Who do you really think Paris’ baby daddy is?
4. Do you like the idea of Junior finding love?
5. What were your thoughts when you found out Orlando was dead?
6. What other book of Carl Weber’s was Trent Duncan in?
7. Your thoughts on Ruby, and her feelings for Orlando and Vinnie?
8. When did you realize who Sasha was and what do you think of her?
9. Did you see mention of Daryl Graham? And from where do you know that name?
10. Did you like Ruby’s Brother Randy and did he deserve what he got in the end?
11. Who was your favorite character in this book?
12. Would you like to see a Paris/Sasha book?
13. Would you have made the same choice as Orlando?
14. Any idea which way Vegas vote might have gone?
15. Are you looking forward to reading about Vegas?
16. Are the Duncan’s gangsters, businessman or thugs?
Look for . . .
The Family Business 3:
The Return of Vegas 2014
If you enjoyed The Family Business 2,
Please read the teaser for Carl Weber’s Next Family Business adventure:
Prologue
Now
After almost nine hours in the air the pilot announced that we would be descending into Nice Cote d’Azur Airport. One of the benefits of first class international air travel is that I had slept the entire plane ride in comfort. My seat unfolding into a bed where I stretched out and dozed like a baby. Coming to Europe to celebrate my girl’s wedding meant spending all my time partying. The next time I expected a full nights sleep was the day I boarding on the flight back to New York. Hell, being off Daddy’s radar for the first time in over a year meant I could finally go back to being me, Paris “The Rich Bitch” Duncan. I loved my son Jordan more than anything in the world but damn if I don’t feel like I was freed from a Turkish prison. The little rug rat barely gave me any breathing space. I couldn’t begin to tell you how good it was to be free from him and his shitty diapers for two weeks. I intended to use every single minute. I pulled out my compact and reapplied eyeliner and lip gloss. Damn, I looked fine if I did say so myself. Of course all I had to do was glance to my left where the chubby older man was staring at my lip gloss as if he wished it were a part of his anatomy. I gave him a little extra show when I stood up, my dress clinging to my upper thigh and headed out of the airplane before smoothing it down. As soon as I enter the airport baggage area a voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Bitch!” She screamed at me all blonde hair, Louie accessories and bad ass Lanvin dress.
“Who you callin’ a bitch!” I hollered back flaunting in my Chloe top, J-Brand Jeans, Balenciaga shoes and Celine bag. I dropped my bags as we raced into each other’s arms screaming and shouting, hugging on each other for dear life. Irene Sokolov was my girl from back at Chi’s Finishing school. She came from one of the richest Russian families and the fact that she looked like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model didn’t hurt her popularity. But she was down and we had each other’s back from day one. I really wasn’t one to hang with woman but she was as close to a girlfriend as I had after my brother Rio.
“Girl I missed you,” Irena shouted.
“All day long,” I answered her.
A fully attired chauffer stepped up waiting for our love fest to break.
“Ma’am your luggage,” he addressed me. I picked up the burgundy carryon I’d had on the plane.
“My luggage looks like this.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he answered before heading to the baggage carousel.
“Don’t tell me that’s the Bottega Veneta Alligator?” Irena didn’t bother to hide her envy.
“Yes,” I smiled happy she knew that I still knew how to hold it down.
“It was so limited that by the time I tried to buy a set it was sold out.”
“Girl we gonna have to get our shop on.” We high fived each other laughing like two devilish children. Suddenly I felt my entire body tense up and my jaw dropped open in complete shock as I spotted the one person I never expected to see again. “Oh shit.”
“What?” Irene put a hand on my arm following my line of vision until she too locked on the beautiful Persian woman. “Who is that?”
“That my Russian friend is the bitch who stole my life.” I spat the words out anxious to remove the vile taste they left in my mouth.
“What are you talking about?” Irene’s accent became heavier. “Who is she?”
“Her name is Nadja and she’s the one who made Paris Duncan into the cold hearted bitch I am today,” I seethed as I watched her head into the ladies room. Nadja had cost me everything and the fact that she was able to walk around breathing seemed like the ultimate betrayal.
“She’s beautiful I know that.”
“Don’t let her good looks and sunny her disposition fool you. That chick is as cold hearted as a Siberian winter.”
“What do you mean by that?” I could hear Irena on edge waiting for the real story.
“If it wasn’t for her my life would be completely different right now. It’s because of her that I may never ever be capable of loving again,” I sighed, the harsh reality of what had gone down between Nadja and I exhausted me and if I were being honest, it still hurt. My girl must have seen it in my eyes. She led me over to a set of chairs.
“Your bags aren’t even on the conveyor belt yet. So you got to tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Alright but you betta promise to keep my secret.”
“I am Russian I was born to keep secrets.” Irena answered as she waited for my story to begin.
Paris
Then-Neuchâtel, Switzerland
My first two years at school taught me more about life then I could ever begin to learn in the outside world. I had sopped up those lessons like a hungry bitch goin in on a plate of biscuits and gravy. And come graduation I would be the student awarded the grand prize for most accomplished. That’s if I got to graduate because bitches like this one kept challenging my last nerves.
I tightened my grip around her neck, pulling her into a headlock. She whipped around and flipped me over her head onto the ground. In seconds I was up on my feet crouching like a caged animal ready to strike again. Her hand shot out coming down on my shoulder. The pain shot through me but there was no way I’d let her be the first one to finally take me down. I had an uncontested tr
ack record of wins. I kicked her in the solar plexus and kneed her in the jaw causing three of her teeth to fall to the ground. I grabbed her in a bear hold bending her arm behind her back until her short gasping breaths grew almost inaudible making her drop the weapon at my feet. Still holding onto her I slid my hand to the floor and retrieved the glock-9.
“Ggamdungi,” she spat the words at me.
“Shang nyun, Sheba-nom!” I responded then jerked her arm harder causing her to squirm in pain.
“Fuck you too bitch!” she spat the words at me.
“Oh, so now you speak English? Cause I prefer to be called a Beeyotch in English and not your slanty-eyed language!” I schooled her. Although my orders were not to cause physical pain I wasn’t feeling particularly generous. Last fool to use the N-word on me couldn’t walk for a week and will probably never be able to impregnate a woman. I swiftly clocked her on the side of the head.
“PARIS!” Yosef, my instructor, a former Israeli rebel fighter grabbed me tightly from behind, his fingertips boring into my shoulder blades. The pain forced me to let go of Jae Kim who fell in a heap on the ground and passed out. She probably fainted at the sight of her missing teeth.
A group of students gathered nearby ecstatic to watch the spectacle.
“Knocked her the fuck out!” I heard two palms slap together in a high-five.
“Bam! Just like that.”
“Damn! I told her not to mess with Paris,” I heard one girl say as Jae Kim stirred near her bloody teeth.
“I wouldn’t. Chick is fuckin lethal,” another added then received a rousing round of agreement from the other girls.
It occurred to me that this would be a good time to practice passivity and restraint but my head and my badass attitude were out of alignment with my reality. Fuck him, her and the rest of these motherfuckers. I won this exercise fair and square.
“I won!” I yelled out. There was no way they were going to mess up my record.
“Why do you do these things?” Yosef the gorgeous 6’4, two hundred forty pound Israeli instructor admonished me. He smacked me hard on the neck. “How many times do I have to speak to you about your inability to follow orders? Have you fucking lost your mind? Look what you’ve done.” I could hear the sound of my own heavy breathing as I tried to contain myself so that I could respond appropriately instead of what I really wanted to do which was curse a motherfucker out.
Yosef, was the one person in this school who made me afraid. Not only was he built like a mack truck but he was also capable of killing you with his bare hands in one move. I knew better than to tempt him because he could make that shit look like an accident. It would me take years to know all of his secrets but during our ‘private’ lessons I made sure to get extra instruction. He wasn’t the first white man I’d slept with but he was by far the best at everything, especially eating my pussy. Just thinking about his plump lips down between my legs was getting me horny. I wondered if my little stunt would cost me sexual privileges. I’d never seen him this upset.
He was the only man I’d met here who knew how to control me and as much as I pretended to hate it I found it sexy as hell. Most men who acted all tough got the pussy and promptly turned into pussy’s but not him, he kept sex and work separate and right this moment he was all business and I was fucked.
“You need to gather your things and get to the Headmistress office.” He said as he led me through the tunnel that connected to the catacombs and back into the main building. It was the perfect place to flip this shit in my favor. I darted ahead of him stopping and blocking his path.
“Yusef, she started it,” I whinned flirting with him. He held up one finger silencing me. Damn, even deep in the shit he made me get all moist and turned on. I leaned closer to him, brushing my lips against his neck.
“Please.”
“Paris, you are such a hellion!” he snapped at me.
“Isn’t that what you like about me?” I slid my hand over the outline of his penis. It quickly hardened under my touch. “Instead of sending me to the office wouldn’t you prefer me putting my lips on this?” I rubbed his growing dick motivating him to cave.
Three hours later I found myself sitting in front of the headmistress Madame Joan Marie as she gave me her version of a come-to-Jesus talking to. Yosef got the goods and still sold me out.
“Do you realize what you have done? Ms. Kim is from one of our most important families in South Korea. Imagine the conversation I will be having when her father arrives today. You want to explain to him why his daughter needs extensive oral surgery?”
“No Madame,” I answered submissively.
“Young lady, you are among the best and brightest students to ever cross the threshold of our establishment,” she continued in her thick French accent. “Rarely have I gleamed such raw potential in a person your age but you are also your own worst enemy. You act as if rules only apply to others. And no matter how many times I’ve talked you continue to disobey orders and protocol and now you have proven to be a danger to others.”
“Madame, I am so sorry for my behavior. It really was an accident,” I lied, trying to sound as apologetic as possible so I could be on my way. I was ready for my vacation to begin.
“Mademoiselle Duncan, I believe that you believe that your apology is genuine. Then again you always sound sincere after you’ve crossed a line. Unfortunately that very next moment you rush headfirst into more conflict. I cannot allow you to continue to remain a hazard to the other students and to yourself.” She stood back studying me. I tried to appear as vulnerable and defenseless as possible. If only this had been a man I’d have talked my way out of it already but women didn’t always get my charm. Finally she shook her head resigned. “I must contact your father.” My bad attitude deflated and her words set off loud scary bells in my head. Danger! Danger!
“Nooooo!” the panic rang out in my voice. Anything but that. My father would have my head and that would only be the beginning of my demise. “I promise I will change. Please give me another chance to make you proud. To make my father proud? Please Madame,” I begged and pleaded. This time I meant every word because I had never been more desperate. If my dad knew that I was over here in Switzerland showing my ass and messing with his name it would be bad.
“You will have to change both your behavior and your attitude,” she continued.
“I will. I promise.”
“I sincerely hope that my decision to give you one more chance will not be wasted.”
“No, Madame,” I leaned up and gave her a quick squeeze something you just didn’t do with these Nordic types. She looked shocked. Shit I would have dropped to my knees and had my first try at cunnilingus if it would have prevented her from calling my father.
“Good! Now we are done with this unpleasant conversation.” She opened the door and led me into her outer office where a group of students were gathered in front of the fire.
I joined her partaking in the roaring flames, tapping my foot on the wooden floorboards beside my matching Louis Vuitton luggage. I threw back on my designer sunglasses and quarter length fur despite the heat being put out by the fireplace. Felt good to be out of my school uniform, so I bit my tongue and kept my impatience to myself while the jealous hoes who were my classmates looked on. They’d never be as fly as me and they knew it. Nor would they know how close I came to being a former student.
Psh . . . finishing school.
Luckily, my electives- while not my raison d’être, but my reason for being here-were da bomb dot com.
“Mademoiselle Duncan, you will be sure to enjoy yourself back home in the U.S., no?” Madame Joan Marie asked as she kissed me on both cheeks. Right before removing my sunglasses and placing them back in my hand. Of course, she meant the opposite of what she and her big ass smile said. You had to look beyond that and into those tiny, cold eyes of hers. She wanted me to behave myself back home. Rein a bitch in ‘n shit.
“Oh, I will most definitely enjoy myself,” I
replied, meaning exactly what I mother fuckin’ said. Couldn’t wait to get out of here and back in the NYC; specifically Jamaica Queens where my family lived and ran things like mother fuckin’ bosses. Yeah. To sleep in my own bed, eat some less bougie food, and see my fam would be all to the good.
Oh yeah. And some good American dick too. Don’t get me wrong. These Euros could eat some pussy like nobody’s business, but I missed the rhythm real niggas had back home when they were layin’ it down.
But that could come later. For now, I really missed my family. And that was most important in this fucked up world.
Family.
There was my daddy Lavernius Duncan who everybody called LC, head of Duncan Motors, the largest African American-owned car dealership chain in the tri-state area. My beloved moms Chippy had his back and was the rock of the family. Held it down for me and my four brothers- Junior-the big cock diesel one who was loveable as fuck, Vegas-the heart of the family whom I would die for, Orlando-the calculating one whom I would have to think about dying for, and Rio-my wild and crazy twin who I lived for. Oh, and my older sister London was part of the family too, but the less said about her the better. She and her lawyer husband Harris already thought their shit didn’t stink, but now that she was pregnant? Fawk. Would never hear the end of it. Was almost enough to make me want to remain in Europe over break.
Almost.
Once I touched down back home, I’d just have to be civil. Steer clear of her, Harris, and the demon spawn in her gut.
Besides, it was only a monyth after all. Then back here to complete my schooling.
“Is your family sending a car for you, Mademoiselle Duncan? Or will you need transportation arranged?” Madame Joan Marie asked before she turned her attention to the next departing student, this Croatian bitch with bad skin. Madame Joan Marie liked everything to run with Swiss precision. And when it didn’t, heads rolled.
