Her bigger question was, was this a case worth taking to trial? After the judge was seated, Jordan requested to approach the bench. Surprised the judge had approved, Jordan asked that the case be thrown out due to the fact that her client had the right to inquire about his father.
Motioning for the solicitor, the judge heard his side of the case. She looked at Jordan’s client, who was dressed in a navy long-sleeved, button-up shirt that neatly hung outside of his slacks, then said, “Case dismissed.”
Speechless, Jordan quickly escorted her client out of the courthouse. Repeatedly he thanked her, as she’d done the same to God. Whatever had altered Judge Goodwin’s attitude, Jordan hoped the old judge that she knew was back.
She texted Langston, I finished early. Can meet you at 5pm.
Cool. Can you bring a bottle of Rémy Martin XO cognac, baby?
Since this was his first time asking her to bring something, she stopped at the liquor store, purchased the alcohol and a bottle of wine for herself. With traffic the ETA to her residence was thirty minutes.
Showering, Jordan slipped into a spaghetti-strapped outfit that granted easy access to her vagina. She skipped the underwear, then texted Langston, omw!
Running a few minutes behind. Let yourself in, he replied, including the gate and door codes.
Jordan instructed Siri, “Call Victoria Fox.”
“I’m picking out an urn, let me call you back,” she answered.
“No, you will not hang up this phone. Didn’t you just identify Willy’s body?” Jordan turned off of the highway and onto a side street.
“I have to have Willy cremated before the vultures start circling, demanding an autopsy that I’d have to pay for. By the time his next-of-kin is notified, one, he’s deceased, and two, they’re not getting shit, the services will be over and I’ll be away on vacation.” Victoria never would’ve been a lawyer. Her skills and schedule were more suitable for real estate. Jordan seldom had time to get away.
“I’m on my way to meet Langston for a date. I’ll pin-drop you my location when I arrive. Bye.” Jordan ended the conversation, laughing at Victoria.
Jordan drove onto a private road that led to a gated home surrounded by trees. Granted access, she parked in the driveway, pranced up the stairs with the bottles in hand. Pressing the code on the keypad, she shoved open the door, using her hip.
Tracking through the foyer, she entered the living area, then froze. Wine and cognac slipped from her fingers. A broken lamp lay on the floor. On the coffee table was one plate of food covered with flies that buzzed around a framed photo of Kingston with a man. That man was Levi. Dark, spotted trails stained the carpet leading toward the garage exit.
As she walked backward, the room resembled what Jordan was all too familiar with . . . a crime scene. There was no need to text Langston or Levi.
Jordan left the door open, and she was certain that her fingerprints, footprints, tire tracks along the road, would link her to whatever had happened.
CHAPTER 46
Kingston
Creeeak.
Here we go, he thought.
As a man, he felt being raped was emasculating. Having been a standout athlete that children and adults looked up to, he wasn’t going to seek sympathy for what was happening to him. Nor ask his wife to forgive him. There was only one person he had to make things right with. Going from the top to the bottom, for the first time in his life, Kingston prayed, “God, please let me die.”
Wumpth! The sound of the door closing meant it was that time again. A time when Kingston knew he was going to be violated. Again.
Click. He hoped he never heard the sound of a door opening, closing, or locking for as long as he lived, but that would be unrealistic, unless he’d become deaf. As life-threatening as his situation was, he didn’t wish evil on anyone, including his predators.
Fuck that lie! He wanted to castrate every last one of his rapists, starting with Langston. Kingston was conscious enough to feel Langston penetrating him, but whatever drug he’d put in his drink made him too weak to fight back.
“I saw the ad online. How much for today’s special?” Kingston heard a man eagerly ask.
He wasn’t the first to make such an inquiry. Kingston had lost count days ago, around 101. Nothing Theodore claimed he’d gone through compared to what Kingston was enduring. Maybe being set up by Langston was God’s way of punishing him for lying to Monet about his sexuality.
Gagged, lying facedown on a mattress with no sheet, Kingston constantly heard car engines starting and stopping. The swish sound of fast-moving cars and frequent, extended horn blowing in the distance (at certain times) meant he was possibly close to a freeway.
His arms ached from being stretched wide, and his legs, too. The assaults had occurred so many times, yet each situation was psychologically detrimental and physically traumatic as the previous one.
If he could kill himself right this second, he wouldn’t hesitate. The humiliation had already squashed his pride.
“Five hundred for fifteen minutes,” someone stated with the same male’s voice he’d listened to for what might be a week, but felt like an eternity. “He’s famous. And newly broken in. Definitely worth the price.”
“Newly broken in,” my ass, Kingston thought, having heard dude tell that lie each time. Whatever they were power-washing his rectum with caused him to tighten up after each offense.
Blindfolded, Kingston couldn’t confirm if it was day or night. The sound of cars was his greatest indicator. He’d never felt sun on his back. The room was always cold. Colder when the predator’s sweat slushed against his body. What Kingston could calculate was feeding time. Soon he’d eat the same meal.
“How much to do him raw?” the man questioned.
You don’t have enough money to run up in me with no protection, Kingston thought. Men are fucking dogs.
How would Kingston explain to his daughters that he was a liar and a cheat? How could he protect them when he couldn’t trust his own judgment about loving Theodore Ramsey or hating Langston Derby?
Theodore was mad at him, but Kingston prayed he’d never set him up like this. Or had he? They’d met on a dating app. Suddenly, he wished he’d asked Jordan to do a background check on Theodore.
Kingston believed whether he’d gone to the shop to meet Theodore’s partner or stayed at his house that was currently in Lilly’s, he’d still be facedown about to be fucked again. Certain that Langston had slipped something into his drink, never again would Kingston’s lips savor the taste of alcohol.
“An additional hundred,” the familiar voice enthusiastically quoted.
Kingston could’ve answered that question.
Not sure of what the customer had paid for, Kingston knew not to protest this time. He’d find out momentarily. Shaking his head, moving his body, any of those things could result in his being tortured after hearing, creak, wumpth, click, signaling the customer was gone.
Movement along the sinking mattress crept slowly from his ankles, to his legs, to his knees, then to his inner thighs. No cool, slippery solution slithered between his butt cheeks, which meant dude was going in raw. Next there was the sensation of a stiff poke that glided inside him until he felt balls pushing against his.
Men are fucking dogs! He now understood that to be factual. Before his abduction into human trafficking, Kingston would readily say “some men, not all.” The number of predators, including the one on top of him, made Kingston realize he was a different type of abuser—not a rapist—but he was definitely a serial cheater, if only to his wife. For that, he prayed he’d live long enough to apologize to Monet.
Kingston began counting the seconds. One thousand one. One thousand two. One thousand three.
The man began to grunt. “You’re right. This is good shit.”
If no one was watching, guys would do anything to cum.
One thousand five hundred sixty-two. The man oinked like a pig. Stroked harder. Thrust faster. Kingston’s al
ready soaked blindfold became wetter as he wept. Enduring the pain, he didn’t feel worthy of asking God for mercy. If he could bite his lips, he would. But the ball secured inside his mouth made motion impossible.
His tongue. His teeth. His face. Every part of his body was in excruciating pain.
One thousand eight hundred forty-nine. Fifty-one seconds remained.
“Oh, shit!” the man yelped. “I’m cumming,” then added, “Shit, I’m fucking cumming inside a famous dude.”
Praying this man would pull out, Kingston’s countdown was five, four, three, two, one. Done!
“Your time’s up,” the familiar voice stated. “Pull out now.”
“That was fucking awesome, man! Blasted that one off in the nick of time. If you’re running the same special tomorrow, I’ll be back,” he said, sounding like a regular.
Click. Creak. Wumpth.
“Time is money. Clean him up. Feed him. The next customer is booked in ten minutes.”
The ball gag was removed from his mouth. Someone shoved lumpy mashed potatoes into his mouth. It was the same meal each time, followed with a few ounces of water. A tube slid into his rectum. Pressure. Suction. More pressure. More suction to vacuum out his feces and the last guy’s cum. Next came the urinal, then the wet bed pad was replaced with a dry one.
“Okay, that’s good enough. Let the next guy in,” the familiar voice directed.
“Wait,” a woman’s voice interjected. “Look. He’s on television. Reportedly missing. We have to release him.”
“Bitch, you crazy? When he dies, if we don’t kill him first, we’ll change his name, ship his body to our mortuary, cremate his ass, then scatter his ashes in the forest like all the rest. Or sell him. But we never release them. Like I said, let the next guy in,” the guy with the familiar voice commanded.
Levi might’ve been in on Kingston’s abduction. He was probably upset when Kingston refused to loan him $10,000. The only person Kingston needed to believe was not involved was Theodore. He had to look into his eyes and ask if he knew what was going to happen. Langston was definitely a culprit. Then there was Lilly sitting on the deed to his home that was paid in full.
None of this would’ve happened to him if he’d stayed in Columbia.
“Hey,” a man way too jovial for Kingston’s fragile state of mind said, “how many more runs can we get on this asshole?”
Wait! No click, creak, or wumpth. That meant bruh was in the room the entire time.
That’s him! His voice was familiar and he was hearing it for the first time. Kingston was positive it was Langston Derby. It sounded exactly like him.
“ ’Bout one-fifty, two hundred tops, if we speed up the pace,” the guy who was giving orders from day one casually stated. “The media might pose a problem.”
“The police aren’t out there looking for missing black dudes. That’s why I don’t kidnap bitches, especially the white ones with blond hair and blue eyes. And I’m keeping his lawyer friend preoccupied.”
Kingston felt lips against his ear. “Outside of her cases all Jordan Jackson can think about is my dick.”
The other man stated, “Don’t get sloppy or comfortable, man. That’s how niggas get busted.”
Langston bragged, “I’ve been selling ass for ten years. Never been caught. Just in case, double up. Run him ’til he’s done. Don’t let his daily drop below thirty grand,” he said with that arrogant Langston tone when he demanded being served food that night at his house.
“Gotta go check on my other moneymakers,” that bastard said.
Kingston felt a finger slide in his rectum. “Great job on the cleansing and tightening. I’ll be on-site making rounds for a few hours, if you need me. I’ll send in the next customer.”
Click. Creak. Wumpth.
Kingston heard, “Yeah, man. I responded to an online ad.”
Now Kingston prayed he’d live long enough to kill the little boy that violated him in the janitor’s closet.
CHAPTER 47
Monet
“Ah . . . yes.” Monet inhaled slowly.
Cairo’s middle finger had been inside of her the entire time they’d watched the morning show. She relaxed as he massaged her G-spot. Using his other hand, he teased her clit.
“Right there. Yes. Yes. Don’t stop. Right there. Right there.” Monet inhaled, then exhaled a long “Yasssss.”
Perhaps it was better not to have known what she was missing. Cairo was better in bed than Kingston. Sex with her husband was amazing—not lately—but being with Cairo was next-level mind-blowing orgasmic.
Cairo replaced his finger with his mouth. Softly sucking her clitoris nonstop, he continued stroking her G-spot. He stopped performing oral copulation. Started. Stopped. Started. Stopped. Each time he switched it up, Monet’s excitement grew stronger. She stared at the television, trying not to cum.
The pressure inside of her vagina was ready to explode. But she didn’t have to tell him that. There was something different about Cairo. He understood her body more than her husband did. Monet wasn’t sure if that was a learned or natural ability he shared with all of his women, or it was just her. The answer didn’t matter.
Sucking her clit firm, while fast fingering her with the same motion, he didn’t stop this time.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” Inhaling, Monet completely relaxed. Exhaling, she firmly bore down, using her vaginal muscles to push.
Juices squirted and gushed in Cairo’s face, drenching his mattress pad at the same time. Cairo massaged his face with her fluids. Circled his tongue around his lips. Picked up the wet pad, folded it, left the room, and returned without the pad.
Lying on top of the flat sheet, Monet cuddled in his arms, then said, “I need some dick to go with this squirt,” as if she were ordering breakfast from a menu.
Getting on her hands and knees beside him, Monet faced the foot of the bed, then tilted her ass up, looking at him over her shoulder.
“You know it’s about to go down, right?” Cairo ease behind her, rubbed his engorged head from her vaginal opening to her clitoris and back. “You ready for this hokey pokey?”
Monet laughed, smiled, then nodded.
Slowly he put the head in, then pulled it out. He put it back in two inches this time instead of one. And pulled back an inch. Massaging the small of her back, he went deeper three inches and pulled back one
Monet scooted toward his balls.
“Whoa!” Cairo shifted his hand from her back to her ass. “The kitchen. The living room. All that’s yours. You know you don’t control anything in this damn bedroom. Let me do my job, woman.”
“Well, c’mon, man. I’m ready,” Monet said. “Give it to me or I’ma hafta take it. And you know what—”
“A Columbia, Maryland, man is reported missing. He was last seen on surveillance camera at a liquor store in the Buckhead area of Atlanta, Georgia. You may be shocked to learn who this person is. If anyone has seen or knows the whereabouts of Kingston Royale”—Monet fell flat onto Cairo’s bed. She stared up at her husband’s photo on the screen as she listened to the newscaster continue—“contact the police department immediately. Again, Kingston Royale, the retired star basketball player, is reported missing.”
Monet scurried atop the eggplant-colored Egyptian sheet. Cairo was still on his knees. Stunned, Monet sat on the edge of the mattress, motionless.
Was this a stunt for Kingston to live two separate lives? Report himself missing, then disappear from her life? Her husband had been voluntarily missing since he’d left his family, but it wasn’t official if enforcement hadn’t contacted her. Regretting not trying harder to effectively communicating with Kingston, she stood.
Cairo spread his arms, then hunched his shoulders. His hard dick pointed toward the ceiling.
Walking away from him, Monet entered the closet, then slid her dress over her head.
She stepped back into the bedroom. “I’ve got to go,” she quietly told Cairo.
A hot shower to rid hers
elf of his bodily fluids would’ve been appropriate, but time didn’t permit. Sitting on the foot of the bed, she put on her stilettos.
“Why are you going, baby?” Cairo questioned.
“Because I have to!” Why couldn’t he respect that? Monet lowered her voice. “Sorry. It’s my fault. You don’t deserve this.”
“I don’t understand what Kingston Royale going missing has to do with us? Why are you leaving me?” Cairo stated.
Shaking her head, Monet wished he’d stop talking. She looked at him. Monet didn’t have any answers. Not good ones. She hadn’t lied to Cairo, but she hadn’t told him to whom she was married. She’d assumed he’d Googled her.
Just as Monet picked up her cell and took it off of silence, a call registered from Trinity. “Please give me a moment,” she told Cairo, then answered, “Hey, Mama, I just saw the news. I have no idea where Kingston is.”
Cairo’s eyes narrowed. Lips tightened. He stared at her mouth as though he was reading her every word.
“Monet, where are you?” her mother firmly inquired.
“I’m leaving dance class right now,” she lied. There was no way she’d confirm the affair her mother had alleged. “I’m heading to the school to pick up the girls early.”
Leaning against the headboard, Cairo folded his arms high over his chest, then crossed his ankles.
“The acting school called you twice, and then they contacted me as your emergency person. The girls are upstairs at home. I got then. Why didn’t you answer my or their calls? Where are you?” her mother questioned again.
Cairo got out of bed, entered his bathroom. Good, Monet said to herself.
“Get your story straight. It was acting classes you were taking. Stop lying to me. You dress up in the morning like you’re going out at night. The second you started switching your ass, talking breathy, and being extra happy, it was obvious. The only thing that can make all of that happen overnight is good sex with a man. You’re cheating on my son-in-law.”
Everything her mother did was to protect the lifestyle Kingston had provided for each of them. Cairo entered the bedroom, hugged Monet from behind, rocked her from side to side, kissed her on the nape of her neck.
Careful What You Click For Page 21
