“Blu. My man. What do you have for the fellas other than dick rings?” Chancelor inquired.
“That joint that you just put down. Believe it or not, dudes come in here and buy that and other female sex toys for themselves. Toys are damn near becoming unisex, you feel me?”
Shaking his head real slowly, Chancelor replied, “No. Not for me.”
“Cool that. What do you like? Our next most popular are the masturbation sleeves and pussy pockets. A lot of them feel the same on the inside. The more expensive, the better the sensation and quality. The one-and-dones get you off, too. Just depends on whether you want to stick your dick in a pussy or an egg.”
Chancelor laughed.
“Seriously,” Blu told him. “We also have gloves. Feels better than jacking off in your palm. Then there’s nutcrackers, ball busters, super cock rings, vibrating dick pumps to make your shit fat and long. Personally, I love real pussy that’s attached to a female. Ain’t nothing like it . . . except our twenty-thousand-dollar sexbot. Wanna fuck her?”
This could be the answer to his prayers. “Hell yeah,” Chancelor replied. His dick had already begun rising.
Following Blu into a back room, Chancelor stared in disbelief at the brown-skinned mannequin that stood at least five feet, five inches.
“Fuck her anywhere,” Blu said, handing him a condom. “Come out when you’re done.”
Chancelor poked her in the mouth, shoved his fingers deep as he could. “Wow.” The roof of her mouth had ridges. Her tongue had buds. Good, her teeth were smooth.
Unfastening his belt, he shoved his pants to his knees, then covered his dick with the condom. Pussy? Mouth? When he stuck his finger inside the vagina, it contracted.
Definitely pussy.
When he stood close to the sexbot, her nipples vibrated against his. While he penetrated her, she said, “Your dick feels good, Daddy.”
“Oh, shit!” Chancelor didn’t know she could communicate. “Squeeze my dick harder.”
She did.
“Vibrate faster,” he commanded.
She did that.
“Make me cum,” he told her, then screamed, “Fuck!” before pulling and damn near passing out.
Chancelor cleaned himself up. Found Blu in the lube section.
“How’d you like the experience?” Blu asked, laughing.
Chancelor handed Blu his black Titanium Card. “I need my own one of those, man. Ring my new baby up. I’m taking her home.”
Rolling the box on a dolly, Blu and Chancelor couldn’t get the sexbot into his car. She felt heavier than the one in the store.
“Let’s take her out of the cardboard.” Chancelor was eager to get her in bed.
“Tell you what. It’s damn near a hundred degrees. Why don’t I have her delivered, in the box, within the hour?” Blu suggested. “You don’t want to damage her. The warranty doesn’t cover meltdowns.”
“Here’s my address. I’m heading straight home. If she’s not home in an hour, I’ll be back.” Chancelor drove directly to his house.
* * *
Opening the refrigerator, he removed the marinated steak from the refrigerator, poured a glass of cognac. The liquor made him think about Kingston. He retrieved his cell, clicked on messages.
A call from the number he’d been waiting for was registering. Chancelor tapped his forehead, chest, left, then right shoulder. Clearing his throat, he answered, “Chancelor Leonard here.”
“Congratulations, Mr. Leonard, our company is accepting your proposal for two-point-six million dollars,” the owner said.
Dancing around his kitchen, Chancelor felt highly favored. Victoria’s spiritual energy was rubbing off on him. He could respond by saying, “you definitely made the right choice,” but he didn’t want to come across as being arrogant.
“Thank you, sir. You won’t be disappointed. Have a great weekend,” Chancelor excitedly said.
“You as well, Mr. Leonard. We’ll e-mail you the next steps. Good-bye,” the CEO said, then ended their call.
Dashing to his office, he picked up the framed photo of his mother, hugged it to his chest. Everything he’d accomplished he owed to the woman that birthed him, Kelly Leonard.
Based on the proposal, he knew he had one week before starting his deliverables. It was time to celebrate, but with whom? Not Tracy. Definitely not Elite. Shanita came to mind. Maybe he could give her a chance. But none of them were his first choice. And Tuesday was four days away.
Checking the time, he calculated his new companion should arrive in less than thirty minutes. Chancelor set an alarm on his phone. He needed to come up with a name for her. She was primarily for sex, but he’d still respect her.
Seeing how worn-out Jordan looked after being questioned by the cops, she probably needed to get out. Chancelor texted her, How are you doing? Any word on Kingston?
I’m not a suspect. YET. No word. Hopefully, they’ll find him soon and clear me.
Scratch Jordan off the celebration list. Seemed like the group was falling apart. That wasn’t fair. Chancelor messaged Jordan: Just landed a $2.6 million deal. Want to celebrate with me?
It’s easy to be a team player when there’s no opponent. We have to stick together. Rain check. Working late on the Donovan case. #stayfocused was her response.
Damn. Okay. She didn’t have to piss on his deal. That should’ve read: #stayingfocused.
Perhaps he’d have better luck with Victoria. I Just landed a $2.6 million deal. Want to celebrate with me?
Huge congrats! I’m out of town on vacation with Heavenly. Hit you up when we get back. Rain check. She ended with a champagne bottle emoji.
Dude’s ashes weren’t even in the urn for a week and she was already frolicking with the new guy. Women really were bitches. Some were bosses and whores like Victoria. Others were nasty for no reason.
Why bother getting married? he thought.
Returning to the kitchen for his drink, he debated on whether or not to text Kingston. Maybe he was out of town like Victoria, with a chick, lost his phone, and hadn’t seen the news. Chancelor went for it. Just landed a $2.6 million deal. Celebrate with me.
Running out of options, he messaged Shanita: Just landed a $2.6 million deal. Want to celebrate with me? I know it’s not Tuesday.
An incoming call registered with her name.
“What’s up?” Chancelor asked.
“Oh, my gosh! I’m so excited for you! You are the man! When? Where are we toasting you?” she wanted to know. “Can’t wait to meet your mom and your friends.”
Shanita’s enthusiasm boosted his ego. With all of his accomplishments, he felt women typically wanted to use him. That would be all right if they were spreading.
“It’ll be just us,” he clarified.
“Oh,” she said. “Okay.”
Entering the foyer, he opened, then shut the front door. Damn! He could hardly breathe in the hot and humid air.
“How about I pick you up so you don’t have to drive. Or I can send a car for you. Whichever you prefer,” he said, trying his best to respect Shanita.
“Are you kidding me! Pick me up.” She went from cheery to concerned. “How should I dress?”
Neither Tracy nor Elite would have asked that question. They were always tempting for any man’s appetite. “Appropriate for a Michelin star restaurant.”
“Where is that?” she inquired, making him reconsider his offer.
Education—or the lack thereof—could create degrees of separation. He didn’t want to stay home hugged up with his sexbot. “No worries. Put on your sexiest dress and highest stilettos. That’ll be fine. Text me your address. I’ll see you in an hour.”
Back to sounding cheerful, Shanita said, “Okay. I’ve got to go. I’ve got to find someone to cover my shift and get ready. Bye.”
Ding. Dong. He put the steak back in the refrigerator. Hurried to the door.
“Bring her in, gentlemen,” Chancelor happily said.
The lady of the house
had finally arrived.
CHAPTER 50
Jordan
Gold open-toe spiked heels greeted the sweltering black asphalt. Shimmering bare legs dazzled in the sunlight. A statuesque woman wearing a tight white halter dress that stopped above her knees emerged from the rear passenger side of a luxury SUV.
Her hair, slicked to her scalp, gathered in a neatly intertwined bun, was positioned more to the left side of the back of her head. Red lipstick. Glittered, pointed nails. Hoop earrings nearly touched her shoulders. After she removed her sunglasses, her dramatic eyelashes batted once.
Jordan had represented her type a thousand times over. Youthful and sexy, Monet Royale definitely resembled a baller’s spouse and trophy wife.
As she greeted Monet with an “I’m Jordan Jackson,” she thought, Why would any man want to abandon such a beautiful goddess? She must be more ratchet underneath than refined on the exterior. Or she’s the type that secretly wants more attention than her husband.
“Thanks for meeting me here,” Monet expressed. “Where is Lilly Ortiz?” was her first question. “I thought the two of you were coming together.”
Humph. Monet was the unrealistic, assuming kind. Interesting. Would’ve been appropriate, but she never promised Lilly would show up.
Unless the police deemed her to be a “person of interest,” Lilly was adamant about not voluntarily getting involved in Kingston’s disappearance. After Jordan had questioned Lilly about the house being in her name, Lilly agreed to transfer the property out of her name and into Kingston’s. Not Monet’s.
Jordan had conducted a background check on Lilly. Nothing derogatory was revealed. Zero complaints were filed against her with the Georgia Real Estate Commission Board. Lilly was an upstanding Realtor with a multimillion-dollar portfolio of her own. Jordan deduced that Lilly legitimately accommodated Kingston’s request.
“She gave me the code, but she’s not coming,” Jordan stated, showing Monet her cell. “Here it is.”
“I have it, too,” Monet stated. “What’s the point of being here if she wasn’t turning over the keys to me?”
Hmm. “It’s supposed to be a SmartHouse.” No keys. Only codes. There was reportedly an app to control everything. Jordan stepped aside wondering who else had the series of numbrrs.
Monet batted her lashes several times. “Oh, you mean like the house I own in Columbia. The one with thumbprint recognition.” Pressing a series of numbers on the keypad, Monet opened the front door.
Jordan warned Monet, “Brace yourself for what you’re about to see. If your schedule permits, I’d like, when we leave here, for us to go to my office and discuss the next steps in finding your husband.”
Monet heaved, covering her mouth as she entered the living room. “Is that what I think?” she questioned, moving closer. “Is that my husband’s blood all over the carpet? Was he hit in the head? Stabbed? Where are the damn cameras?”
“There are no cameras. According to Lilly, that was your husband’s request.” Staring at the floor, Jordan noticed a new stain pattern, or so she thought. Maybe she simply hadn’t noticed it when she was set up by Langston.
“Well, how does she call herself a professional if she didn’t make sure a celebrity like my husband had surveillance?”
Jordan hadn’t come to engage in a debate with a disgruntled wife. “Obviously, there was a struggle.” Jordan believed the stains were Kingston’s, but she wasn’t saying to Monet they could’ve been Langston’s.
Jordan was equally concerned that she hadn’t heard from Langston since the date that never happened/disappearance incident. Langston could be the one missing and Kingston could be in hiding.
Consumed with her own forensics, Jordan hadn’t noticed that Monet had left, until she reentered the room, holding a framed photograph. Tears flowed down Monet’s cheeks, then plopped onto her cleavage. “I didn’t want to believe it, but my girlfriend told me . . . This other guy is so handsome.”
“And he’s a fantastic lover and liar.” Jordan added, “I know, because Langston Derby told me to meet him here. When I arrived, this is the scene I walked in on.” Well, almost. Where is the photo of Levi and Kingston? She wasn’t hallucinating having seen it on the end table.
Monet’s tears stopped flowing. Her eyes widened. Her brows raised. “You’re involved?”
“Hell no!” Jordan was convinced that men were not worth investing in emotionally or otherwise.
“Then why were you at my house for a date with a man that’s not my husband?” Monet questioned.
Bitch! “Back all the way up off of me,” Jordan demanded.
Jordan once believed Donovan would marry her. She trusted Langston was an honest person. With her level of education and the background checks she’d performed, she realized the one thing she wasn’t was clairvoyant.
“I have to go. If you have time to come to my office, I’ll explain everything I know to you as best as I can, the same as I did with the police officers. You deserve to know what I know. I don’t need to see anything else here. You can leave whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m not ready,” Monet said.
Monet headed toward the master bedroom. Jordan, not wanting to leave her there alone, followed Monet.
The room was tidy. She opened several drawers. Packages of sexy men’s underwear were in one. Lubrication and condoms were in another. The third drawer she reached in and then pulled out a framed photo.
Jordan gasped. “Oh, my Lord!”
“I’m the one who should be saying that. That’s my husband hugged up with a different man.”
“That man is Theodore Ramsey.” Jordan hadn’t met him in person, but she’d seen his pictures online when she ran a check on his name and business. “That man with Kingston is Langston’s partner at the men’s clothing store.”
Monet’s discovery may have uncovered another layer into the investigation. Jordan took a screenshot of the photo, then texted it to the police officer, along with the name and address of the men’s clothing store.
Returning the frame to the drawer, Monet stated, “I’m done with this. My husband isn’t missing. He’s living a secret life.”
“Don’t give up. I know it’s complicated,” Jordan stated. “Let’s go to my office and discuss everything. After hearing me out, if you feel you’re done, I’ll respect that.”
Monet frowned, questioned, “Who reported my husband missing?” Then she added, “You?”
There was no simple answer. That was why she wanted Monet to come to her office. Levi had initiated her involvement with a text to Jordan, asking if she’d spoken with Kingston. After several failed attempts to contact Kingston, Jordan informed the police he was missing. Langston hadn’t answered any of her texts or calls.
Jordan responded, “Yes. I did,” then walked toward the front door.
“Humph.” Monet exited the house behind Jordan, closed the door, then asked, “Do you have children, Ms. Jackson?”
Jordan stopped, faced Monet, and answered, “No, I don’t.” As she followed Monet to the SUV, a gentleman quickly got out of the driver’s seat, then opened the rear passenger door.
Monet said, “My children need me. I’m taking the next flight home. There’s nothing I can do to further assist you.”
Further assist her? “How about you assist in finding him. Kingston is your husband. Please come to my office and hear me out,” Jordan pleaded.
Sliding on her sunglasses, Monet firmly stated, “I don’t think he’s missing, but call me if you find him.”
Jordan watched the SUV drive along the private road . . . until it was no longer in sight.
CHAPTER 51
Kingston
“I told you I’d be back. I wish I could take him home. What’s his name?” the guy asked. “I promise not to tell anyone.”
Bet he wouldn’t be so chipper if he were in Kingston’s position.
The all-too-familiar voice that was constantly resounding in his ear replied, “If I told
you, seriously, I would kill you.”
“Oh, well. No need to be an extremist,” the man said. “Here’s my six hundred.”
One thousand one . . . Kingston wanted to say that he couldn’t breathe. But maybe this was the blessing he’d requested of God. He wasn’t sure how long or why he endured this level of assault and degradation, but he was ready to let go. He couldn’t confess his sins with his mouth, but he did believe in his heart that he meant to harm no one, especially Monet.
One thousand sixty-two. Eight hundred thirty-eight seconds remained.
Boom!
“Everyone down! Get down! Now! Everybody! Facedown on the floor, hands where I can see them! You! Get your fucking dick out of him and get the fuck off of him!”
“Ah!” The man inside of Kingston pulled out, yelling, “Let me go! Please don’t shoot! I have a wife and three kids. I’m a Christian. Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned.”
“Get your bitch ass on the floor facedown or you can tell your Jesus face-to-face,” Kingston heard as someone removed the blindfold from his face.
Opening his eyes, he was blinded by light. They removed the ball from his mouth. Felt as though all of his teeth fell onto the mattress.
“Aw, shit! Are you fucking kidding me! Do you know who this is? I should ice every last one of you sorry motherfuckers. Call an ambulance now!” a man commanded. “Christian, my ass,” he mumbled. “I’d put a bullet in your head right now if I wouldn’t have to trade places with you for doing it.”
Kingston’s right arm was freed from bondage. Then his left. Then both of his ankles were released, but Kingston couldn’t move. His body felt like a two-hundred-pound weight was on his back. He’d probably lost more than twenty pounds.
Kingston wanted to cry, but couldn’t.
God, why? he questioned. Why, in what appeared to be my last few breaths, did You save me?
“Don’t turn him over. Wait until the paramedics arrive,” the guy who appeared to be in command ordered.
Kingston heard what sounded like handcuffs clicking.
“Please don’t arrest me. My wife will kill me if she finds out I was here. I’m not gay!” The man who was just inside of Kingston cried like a bitch.
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