HOOK’D
A NOVEL
By: Taisha Ryan
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without author’s permission.
Cover Artwork by: Aija M. Butler
Copyright © by Taisha S. Ryan
All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
November 14, 2013
"Aye, ya'll give it up for the heavy weight champion, Cameron Lewisssss!!!!"
Roars filled the air as Cameron made his grand entrance in the night club. Camera lights flashed as everyone snapped pictures. Excited fans reached out to touch him, only to be blocked by the heavyset bodyguards following his every move. Cam strolled with his usual edge of confidence, basking in glory.
The fame.
The fortune.
He loved it all.
Dressed in his navy blue button up top, dark denim jeans, designer shoes, with his glistening canary diamond studded chain adorning his neck, he made sure to look his best. His low cut fade was tapered to perfection and the trimmed hairs of his beard sharpened his clean, yet rugged look.
He felt like a king.
Fuck it, he was a king.
Five championship belts, ten wins and zero losses, he was unstoppable. And after winning the close fight with his arch nemesis, Rafael Chavez, he was celebrating his victory at a Vegas nightclub. With nothing but music, expensive liquor, drugs and women, life couldn't have gotten any better.
"The muthafuckin' champ, baby!" His manager, Slick cheered, draping his arm over his shoulder with his bottle of Champagne raised in the air. "This is your night! You the king, you hear me?!!"
Cam grinned at his drunken stupor. Slick could barely hold himself up as he leaned against him for balance.
Early 40's, and a well-respected manager in the business, Slick had been with him since the beginning. He first met Slick when he was just 15 years old. Back then, Cam thought he was the smoothest cat ever. With his sleek designer suits, fedora hats, gold medallion chains, looking like a don of his own empire, his whole aura embodied power and success.
After one of his amateur fights, the lean built, dark toned man, approached him. With a hand on his shoulder, he said, 'You got a killer inside of you, son...don't lose that.'
Since then, Slick had gone to all of his fights. Watching from the shadows as the young fighter traveled up the ranks. Eventually, Slick had approached him again and handed him his business card, claiming that he should give him a call. And he did.
The rest was history.
Over the years, Slick had become his mentor, a father figure, and friend. Before he had even gotten to the position he was at now, back when he was just a broke young kid from the projects, Slick had been the one to open his eyes and show him life outside of poverty. He showed him around, gave him money, showered him with expensive things, gave him a taste of the good life. A life he had always wished to have. He showed him the ropes, the ins and outs of the shady business.
Had it not been for Slick, his career wouldn't have gotten to this point. With major endorsement deals, movie deals, campaigns, and prominent fights that renovated millions, he was on top of the world. And now 10 years in the professional league, there was nobody else he would rather have by his side.
Cam sat in VIP, a private area sectioned away from the main crowd with only people of his echelon were awarded access in, from his closest friends, entourage, his business team to A list celebrities. Everyone deemed important came out to celebrate his special night and he couldn't be happier.
"You know you gettin' some victory pussy tonight, right?" Slick yelled in his ear.
Cam laughed, nodding in agreement. He was definitely taking something home after this.
Bobbing his head to Rich Homie Quan’s song, Some Type of Way, Cam lifted his own bottle of Champagne and chugged it down. He planned to get wasted tonight. No doubt about it.
*
Cam grasped his crotch as he staggered down the hallway of the hotel, following after the young, long haired, Latina beauty he had brought back from the club. He stared hungrily at her plump ass through the red, skin tight dress snugging her curvaceous frame. She was thick in all the right places. Just like he liked it.
She had approached him in VIP. Bold. Determined. Like a seductive serpent yearning to wrap its body around his. With those green eyes firing with lust, she demanded to get him alone. He was used to women fawning over him. But she was different. The way she did it, had him lost in her aura. He didn't know who she was. Or how she managed to force her way into VIP. But he didn't care. He wanted her. In the worst way.
He slapped her butt and she jumped, giggling. "Sexy ass..."
When they arrived at his door, he slid the card key in the slot and opened it. Before she entered, he stopped her.
"No phones."
"What?" She lifted a brow.
"No phones. Give it to Polo," he ordered, referring to his hefty bodyguard standing behind them. With hesitance, she handed him her phone.
He had to be cautious. He had seen too many dumb ass men get caught with groupies snapping pictures during their most intimate moments, causing nothing but humiliation. Not him. He would be damned if he got caught slipping.
They then entered the room, as Big Polo guarded the door.
"Wow," she whispered, gazing around in awe.
The presidential suite was nothing less than luxurious, with a spacious living room, dining area, master bedroom and bathroom. The large glass windows encompassing the suite, displayed the beautiful view of the brightly lit city of Vegas from above. This was nothing new to him. He was used to staying in many prestigious hotels around the world. But he could never get enough of the looks on women's faces whenever they got a glimpse of his life. It stroked the hell out of his ego.
"This is really nice..." She roamed around, the heels of her red stilettos clicking the wooden floor.
"Want something to drink?"
"What do you have?"
He led her to the bar across the room, filled with the myriad brands of liquor and wine.
"Pick your choice."
She approached the bar. "I'll take a glass of Dom Pérignon."
He handed her a fresh glass and poured her some. She thanked him and took a sip.
"So, what’s it like to be Mr. Cameron Lewis?" She sat on the stool.
"Whatchu think?" His gaze trailed her olive toned legs.
"I think it's...everything."
"It is."
"Must be a lucky man."
"I am."
He placed the bottle down and stepped closer. He didn't have time for the chit chat. They both knew what she came here for. Biting her lip, she slowly opened her legs, inviting him in. He nestled himself between her, running his hands up her smooth thighs.
"Hold on for a sec," she whispered. She dug in her purse and pulled out a compact case. She opened it and showed him the colorful pills. "You want?”
He glanced at it. "Nah."
He liked to indulge, himself. But one thing he learned in this business: Never take anything from a groupie. No matter what it was. He had heard too many stories of athletes waking up with their stuff missing, or their memory gone. He didn't trust these hoes as far as he could throw them.
She popped the pill in her mouth. When she finished the last of her drink, she placed the glass down.
"You good now?" He licked his lips.
She nodded. "Mhmm, very good."
He placed kisses across her neck, and a soft moan escaped her lips. She unbuckled his pants, allowing them to fall to the
floor. Before he could even blink, she got on her knees and pulled out his erect manhood. She made a pleased sound as she caressed the hardened muscle with her soft hands. Weakening from her hypnotic touch, he bit his lip with arousal. She took him in her mouth, and he melted in pleasure. He clenched her soft hair and delved himself deeper into her warm mouth, reveling in the stroke of her hot tongue on his flesh. He shut his eyes in bliss.
The life.
Chapter 2
Cam jumped out of his sleep at the loud bang.
"Open up, police!"
He frowned, confused.
Police?
He slowly sat up, only to be blinded by the sun's piercing glare. He winced at the sudden sharp pain in his skull and rubbed his eyes. The heavy feeling of nausea arose in his stomach and he groaned, turning over in the king sized bed. Fuck. He shouldn't have drunk so much last night.
"For the last time, Mr. Lewis open up! Or we’ll be forced to open it ourselves."
"Holdup! Shit," he replied groggily, forcing himself out of bed. He placed on his sweatpants and staggered to the door. He opened it to find 3 police officers dressed in uniform.
"The hell ya'll want?"
"You are being arrested for the rape of Sonya Valdez. Please turn around and place your hands behind your back."
"Rape?!?"
He stepped back as they approached him.
"Aye yo, holdup! The hell are ya'll talking about? I didn't rape anyone!"
"Mr. Lewis—"
"Don't touch me!" He pushed them away and they grabbed him by the neck, slamming him to the floor. He shrieked in pain.
"Fuck! Polo...Polo—ah, shit!" He winced as they tightened the handcuffs on his wrists. They grabbed him up and forced him out of the room.
Crowds of people bombarded them when they stepped outside. From news reporters, journalists, to screaming fans, surrounding him like a plague. His eyes pained from the flashing lights, the loud uproar only deepening his headache. He lowered his head, trudging through the crowd as the officers escorted him.
"Mr. Lewis, is it true that you raped a young woman by the name of Sonya Valdez?" A reporter asked, shoving the mic in his face. He ignored him.
Countless questions darted his way. Police shoved people out of their path, demanding everyone to step back. They quickly led him into the patrol car and sped away.
*
He was charged with first degree rape and sexual assault. He was then booked and taken into police custody, where he had obtained bail the same night. Since then, the news had spread worldwide. His story plastered all over the media with his PR team scuffling desperately to salvage his tainted image. Within a matter of moments, his entire life had ruptured. To be on top of the world, to now his rep tainted with rape allegations, the devastation was insurmountable. Distraught, he immediately contacted his most trusted lawyer, William, to discuss the situation.
"I'm going to be frank with you, Cameron. This is not looking too good," the white haired, middle aged lawyer spoke, seated across the table within his office. "I mean, look at these..."
William opened the manila folder. "These are copies of the pictures obtained from the police report."
Cam lifted up the pictures, staring in disbelief. The photos showed the battered woman's face with her eyes black and blue, her nose bloodied, and lips bruised, as though she had been beaten senseless. He couldn't believe it. This bitch actually framed him.
"Listen, I just need you to be honest with me. Did you do this?"
"No! For the last time, I didn't touch that bitch!" He pounded his fist on the table. "We just went to the hotel room and had sex. That's it."
"So, explain these bruises. Where did they come from?"
"I don't fucking know. She probably did it herself. But I didn't touch her. You think I would do something stupid like that? With all the pussy in the world, you think I would have to rape a bitch? You really believe that?"
William sighed. "No, I don't."
He leaned back, fuming.
"Listen, these are some serious charges. Rape cases hardly work in the favor of men. And if convicted, there's a big chance of you facing some serious time. And as much as I want you to fight this, I can't guarantee that this will fare well in court."
He rubbed his aching scalp. He couldn't believe this was actually happening.
"So, what do you think I should do?"
"Well, the D.A is offering to reduce this to a misdemeanor. If you accept the deal, you'd get a year of community service and 5 months of anger management classes."
He scowled. "So, whatchu saying? Plead guilty?"
"Well, with the way things are looking, it won't hurt to consider it."
"And have everyone thinking I'm a rapist? Fuck that."
"It's either that, or face the possibility of jail time."
"Then so be it."
There was no way he could have the world thinking he was a rapist. He would die before he let that happen.
Chapter 3
"Why is my boy on every headline with everyone saying he's a rapist? I thought you was supposed to be on your job, Yasmine," Slick scolded as he paced around his office.
Slouched in the plush seat, Cam glared at the sunny New York City view through the glass window, too enraged to speak. His foot tapping the carpeted floor, he clenched his broad jaw out of habit. He listened as Slick chewed up his publicist, like the raw dog he was. Since the allegations had come out, his manager had made calls to everyone in Cam's camp, from his PR team, marketing team, financial advisors, down to his legal team, making sure they were all shaping up. This was what Slick did. Lit fire under people's asses. Which was what made him the cut throat manager he was. Exactly what Cam needed at a time like this.
"You took a look at TMZ right?"
"Yes, I took a look at TMZ," Yasmine's voice rang from the phone’s speaker.
"No, I don't think you did, because you wouldn't be telling me this bullshit right now. They got my man out here looking crazy and as his publicist, you should be handling that."
"I'm doing the best I can."
"Well it ain't good enough."
"Well, I'll have Cam decide on that. You're not my client, he is, in case you forgot."
"And I'm his manager, in case you forgot."
"Well, when you start cutting me a check, we can have this discussion. Until then, I'll direct my information to him."
"Let me tell you something," he growled, glaring at the phone on his desk. "The one thing I don't play with is my money. Period. And right now, this shit that's going on, is messing with my paper. So, you better get on ya fuckin' job and reach out to all the press, I'm talking TMZ, Newsday, CNN, all the TV execs, and spin this shit around. You're his gotdamn publicist, so act like it." He slammed the phone on the hook.
Cam huffed out a sigh without a word.
Slick plopped himself on the leather chair, rocking back and forth.
"I say we just pay the bitch off."
"What?" Cam fleeted his eyes to him. "Hell no, I ain't giving that bitch none of my money."
"So, what else you got in mind?"
"Fight her ass in court."
"Look at this shit, Cam!" He slammed the newspaper on the oak desk. Cam cringed at the sight. On the cover of the New York Times, was a picture of the woman's battered face, with the bold title, 'Battered Victim Tells Her Side of the Story.'
"In case you haven't noticed...things aren't looking too good for you right now."
Cam tossed the papers away, fuming. It made him sick.
"Look, I know a lot of powerful people in this business. Trust me. I could shut this bitch up if you want. Permanently." A sinister glint blackened his eyes. "Just say the word."
Cam knew exactly what he meant. And as tempting as that plan sounded, he couldn't risk it.
"Nah." He shook his head. "I'm a just fight this. I gotta clear my name."
His phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket. He glanced at the screen to see Yasmine's n
ame.
He answered, "Yeah."
"Alright, so I just scheduled a press conference for you later this week. All the major media outlets are going to be there, so you'll get the chance to share your side to the world. It'll be important for your image. The quicker we address this, the better."
"Alright cool," He nodded, more at ease. "What day will it be?"
"This Thursday. That's only 3 days away, so we have to hop on this pronto. Me and the team are already working on the speech as we speak. What time will be good for us to meet up?"
"Hold on, let me check." He removed the phone from his ear, and sifted through his schedule for the week. Surprisingly, he had no other arrangements today, other than the meeting with his lawyer this afternoon. He put the phone to his ear. "I could do 3:00 today.”
"Okay, sounds good. See you then."
"Alright." He hung up.
"What did she say?" Slick asked.
"Got a press conference this Thursday."
He nodded. "Good."
*
"Just take a deep breath, relax...you'll do fine," Yasmine advised, as his stylists brushed the lint off his blazer, while adjusting his suit, backstage.
It was the day of his press conference and he was nervous beyond belief. Today he would have to get on stage and give his statement in front of the entire world. This would be the first time he ever spoke on the allegations since the incident last week. And with his brand now tarnished, he was forced to say his piece.
"Remember what we rehearsed. Be brief. Don't disclose any more information than needed, just your feelings and concerns. And don't answer any questions."
He nodded.
Yasmine had been his publicist for 5 years now. A seasoned veteran in the business, she helped to build his brand, connecting him with the most prominent people in the industry. She knew how to spin a story so damn good, it even amazed him. He couldn't count the many times he had gotten caught up, whether it be cheating scandals, pictures and videos of him drunk or fighting, and other nonsense that landed him in the tabloids, only for her to revamp his image for the better. She was great at what she did. And with her help, his brand managed to remain intact. He just hoped this time would be the same outcome.
Hook'd Page 1
