Stud Princess, Notorious Vendettas

by N'Tyse

  that a drop was made last night while I had her car. Knowing

  her, she already looking for the shit.”

  “What makes you think she ain’t looking for me too? You

  forgot who was with you last night?” Ty said. “It’s not just you;

  it’s both of our heads.”

  Deja rolled her eyes at Ty. She didn’t know when to quit. She

  stared up at Sand with saddened eyes. “All right. I guess we can stick with our original plan. Sandrene’s, tonight at eleven.” She searched for assurance in Sand’s face, but it wasn’t there. Deja sensed there were no guarantees but Sand had given her her word and that’s exactly what she was going to hold on to. Her showing up was going to be the only way that she would know that Sand

  was okay.

  As Sand turned to leave, Ty stormed right behind her. “You

  can’t just leave me out here, in the middle of nowhere.” She

  looked around her.

  “Humph, watch me.” Sand rounded the Lexus, opened the

  trunk, then hid the pillowcase full of Chyna’s money, under the

  trunk board where the spare tire used to be. She pushed the

  duffel bag back in the center, closed the trunk and got in the car. “Sand!”

  Sand started the engine, ignoring Ty. She backed out of the

  driveway.

  “Sand! I said I was sorry,” Ty yelled, chasing after her. She

  did indeed try to apologize, but when she saw how quick Sand’s

  fist was coming toward her face once Deja opened that door, the

  words never quite left her lips.

  Sand was halfway down the street before she slammed on the

  brakes. She had to think with some sense. Ty knew all Chyna’s

  spots, at least those she frequented on a regular basis. Sand knew

  Ty had information that could help her out of this. “Get in the

  damn car!” she shouted.

  Ty ran for the car and hopped in.

  “You see this?” Sand flashed her nine millimeter. “I ain’t

  playin’ games with you no more.”

  Ty was petrified and if she never took anybody serious, in

  that moment she knew to take Sand very seriously.

  Sand’s entire demeanor had changed. She felt like a different

  person now and that raging adrenaline that pumped through her

  veins and knotted her stomach, said no different. She punched

  her foot to the floor and swallowed that reminder. She was doing

  all of this to protect a woman, a woman she vowed to hate for the

  rest of her life. And when it was all over and done, Rene would

  be nothing more than a hateful memory.

  14

  Illusion and Trent sat in a smoke-filled room at the opposite end of Applebee’s entrance. Illusion was busy trying to digest the steak and potatoes, right along with everything else Trent had just told her. She could hardly believe she was having lunch with a real man of service, a man that was in the military. She didn’t know one black person who could say they even thought about fighting for our country, let alone dying for it. But this man, wow, she just couldn’t stop smiling. He was brave. And maybe that’s exactly what she needed in her corner, a man like him who was fearless. A man who wasn’t scared of the world.

  Illusion tried not to stare Trent down and instead diverted her eyes toward the men who propositioned her right from their seats. Some of them with their woman nearby. On any other day, she would have walked right on over and introduced herself because no man was off limits in her book. But before allowing her money-hungry intuition to intervene, she pulled out a cigarette, fondled the tip with her lips, and put her light to it. She sucked out the nicotine as if it would be the last thing she’d ever do.

  “So, soldier boy, why don’t you like being in Dallas? I mean, this is where your family is,” she questioned, feeling Trent out.

  Trent studied Illusion closely. There was an undeniable mystique about her. “It’s not that I don’t like Dallas. There’s just nothing else here for me.”

  “And there is in Florida?” she asked, pursing her lips to the side for the smoke to seep out.

  “Humph,” Trent shook his head. Some things women just didn’t understand. Or maybe didn’t want to understand. “I moved away because I needed a change. I was so caught up in the street life when I was here that it wasn’t even funny,” he admitted. “Every choice I had to make was a bad one.” He referred to the days he posted up in the cut, competing for business. Doing whatever he had to do to take care of his mother and baby sister since their pops walked out on them. “So I moved to get away from things that would have landed me either in jail or in the grave.” He watched Illusion’s expression change slightly.

  “But you walked out on the only family you had—” As soon as Illusion said it, she wanted to take it back. Isn’t that what she had done to her baby? She shook her head, stared upward, and then sighed. “You know what? Forget I said that just now.” A burning sensation moved through her nose. She looked away from him and the ash developing around her cigarette dropped in her lap.

  “You a’ight?” Trent asked, watching her eyes water.

  Illusion placed her cigarette into the ashtray. “I need to go to the ladies’ room.” She quickly slid out of the booth, grabbing her purse.

  The moment Illusion stepped inside the stall, she broke down in tears. She leaned her head back against the door and a fury of silent miseries swept across her face. She missed her baby so much and there wasn’t a second that went by that she didn’t think about her. Even the nervous and paranoid flutters in her belly felt like tiny kicks of life. She rubbed at them, only to be reminded that she’d given that life away.

  Illusion rushed over to the sink and turned on the faucet. She dipped her fingers under the stream. She couldn’t even stand to look at herself as she bent over and scooped cold water into her mouth, only to spit it back out.

  Walking back to the booth where Trent was no longer sitting, Illusion began looking around, almost hysterical. The waitress that waited on their table was passing her by, carrying a full tray of food and drinks. Illusion stopped her. “Hey, did you see where that guy went that I was sitting with?”

  The young woman nodded then pointed to the front of the restaurant where people were both leaving and entering. Illusion excused herself as she passed those coming toward her. She spotted Trent and walked straight over to where he stood.

  “Mama, calm down. I’ll find her. I promise you. She gon’ be all right.” Trent’s mother was still pouring out her soul over the phone.

  Illusion stepped back, giving Trent his privacy.

  When Trent finally looked up, Illusion was standing there, watching him. He walked over to her. “That was my mother.” He took a deep breath. “Ty called,” he continued. He was visibly worried and more upset that he hadn’t made much progress. “She sounded like she might be in some kind of trouble.” He looked Illusion in the eye and placed his hands over hers. “Look, I gotta find my sister. And I gotta find her tonight.” Trent had to be sure Illusion knew how important this was. At that moment, nothing else mattered to him.

  “And we’re going to find her,” Illusion promised him. “But you have to know what you’re about to get yourself involved in.”

  Trent stared at Illusion incredulously. Hadn’t she figured it out? He wasn’t scared of shit out here in these streets. The streets are what made him who he was today. A hard-ass nigga with nothing to lose. If anything, it would be a family reunion. “I don’t care. Ain’t nothin’ gettin’ in my way.”

  “We’ll find her.” But with the update they just got, even Illusion was starting to have doubts. Because the more time passed, the slimmer their chances were of finding Ty at all. Dead or alive.

  15

  C hyna rolled up and down the strip in her midnight Jaguar five times. She didn’t see any of her hos
and that could only mean one thing—they were all at work. It was Saturday so the girls had their regular customers. Even if they didn’t, Chyna wasn’t worried at all about them coming up short at the end of the night. The holidays were approaching and she had goldmines working for her compared to all the rest of the stragglers strutting their merchandise up and down the stroll. It was highly unlikely that any of her girls would get passed over by a trick out looking for a fine fish to fry. He’d see they were all top-of-the-line and any choice was the right choice if it had Chyna’s price tag.

  Though only a handful had their pimp’s name tattooed on their breasts, lower back, or pussy face, it was evident with the clothes they wore, the shoes they rocked, and the cost to have it all, that they were Chyna’s livestock. She charged her clients accordingly. In many cases it just depended on the brand of the ho and the equipment she was packing, the services involved, and the usage of her time. Each had her own individual net worth and that was how Chyna auctioned them off to the bidders. She provided for the rich and the poor, the ugly and the pretty. Whatever you needed, she had, for the right price.

  Chyna’s girls even operated out of upscale gentlemen’s clubs, massage parlors, and well-paying cigar rooms. Everything she did was organized to the tee and the slightest slip-up could throw everything off balance. That was why she had recruited street interns to hold down the strip circuit. They were her coverups for the real shit that went down. They were put in place to protect the higher risk clients like the mayors, city councilmen, governors, and judges that would regularly partake in her business offerings. She also had seventy-five percent of the city’s police force on her payroll, including the chief of police who she gave a pussy pass once a month. “It takes money to make money,” her uncle would always say to her. He lived by the cliché and based his enterprise on that number one principle. D’Troy’s operation couldn’t have survived for as long as it did if he wasn’t paying his taxes weekly, sometimes daily. So Chyna knew firsthand that if she took care of her people, they would take care of her.

  While she calculated the money she would make off her strollers and the private parties tonight, she was still out five hundred large. Just that single thought made her choke on her own breath. With rage silently coursing through her veins she prophesied that whoever had her money may as well slit their own throat because they were as good as dead.

  That very conviction took her thoughts back to Albery Johnson. She knew where the man rested his head, who cooked his meals, the soap he used when he showered, and the flavor of his toothpaste. She knew Albery like the back of her hand. And the very thing that Chyna took pleasure in happened to be his weakness—beautiful women. It was why he and his wife were now separated. It was why he chose to retire from his own company. It was why he quickly and quietly moved out of the city to the country. It was also why he would rather pay thousands of dollars to keep his whoring ways private. Chyna used those who were close to him, and those who knew him, to get what she needed to bring him down, because killing him flat out was too easy. She wanted Albery to die a slow and painful death. And one that wouldn’t be missed.

  So when Chyna earned Albery’s business, she knew it was only a matter of time before she took back every penny her uncle ever put in his broke pockets, plus interest. And she would never forget the betrayal factor. Her uncle was serving three concurrent life sentences in federal prison because his lawyer failed to deliver. So as the months went by, Chyna counted down the last days of Albery’s life in exchange for D’Troy’s. Then her uncle could carry out his sentence knowing that the motherfucka who helped put him there was dead.

  Chyna picked up her phone and dialed Fletch to see if he got word on anything. Waiting for him to answer, she continued surfing the strip, daring to see one of her girls off the clock.

  “Dis dat nigga,” Fletch answered lively.

  “What you find out?”

  Fletch let out a long exasperated sigh. “Chyna man, I’ve been

  calling niggas and shit, trying to find out if anybody talking and everybody playing dumb right now. Don’t nobody know nothin’.” Chyna meshed her lips together, tightening her jaws. That was the last thing she wanted to hear. “Well, if nobody’s talking, then you must not be giving them a reason to. Somebody knows where the fuck my money is! And I’m paying your ass to find that out!” Chyna was fuming inside. “This shit is making me look bad. Somebody rolling around this motherfucka laughing at me and you!” She wanted Fletch to understand that by him being her right hand man, he was getting played too. She told him all kinds of things, psyching him up and playing him like one of her bitches. She needed him to have beef with whoever was behind this, as if it was his own money he got ran down for.

  “I’m gon’ find them niggas, Chyna. You ain’t gotta worry about that shit. ’Cause ain’t no motherfucka gon’ make Fletch look bad. I don’t give a fuck who that nigga is, how he roll, or what he roll!” he boasted, getting crunk off his own hype. He kissed the lips of his wife’s pussy—a .45 caliber semi automatic with a polished black finish. “I’ll pump seven in the nigga’s chest and make him feel blessed like a movie star. ’Cause he playing mighty nigga hero right now,” he said, laughing at his own weak rhyme. But when you were as high as he was, everything was funny. Even life in itself was a joke.

  Fletch was rolling heavy tonight. The lady in his lap wasn’t the only company he had tagging along. His boy Nike, who he often called on when it was time to put in work, was on his right, getting gassed up off the same shit he was on.

  Nike bobbed his head to the lyrics of Foxx A Million as the twelves Fletch had shaking in the back, brought out his thug persona. He dished out the gutter rap flow as fluent as a Sunday school Bible verse. Nike couldn’t contain himself. He was ready to get his feet wet again and he didn’t give a damn about going back to jail because with the lick he was about to hit, his girl and his baby mama were going to be set. “Yeah, we gon’ merk one of these nigga’s tonight,” Nike said, massaging his glock.

  Fletch relaxed in his seat, circling the steering wheel with the heel of his palm. “I’ll get back with you in like an hour,” he told Chyna, taking another pull off his Philly.

  Chyna checked her phone. It was a few minutes past the hour. “You do that,” she said before hanging up.

  Rene sat waiting in the exact spot Chyna asked her to be in. She had gotten there by cab. This time, thank goodness, Chyna didn’t ask her to meet her on a railroad track like before. She waited just outside the Starbucks on Northwest Highway, reserving a small, round, brass table while watching the partygoers make their rounds through the crowded parking lot and over to the nightclub next door. The fellas that strolled past her like a car show clique, short-cutting through the coffee shop’s lot, tooted their horns as their spinning wheels competed for her attention. A few opted to stop, hoping to score a few pointers by spitting their pre-school game as they showed off shining grilles and bulky neck chains. Their twenty-inch tires were sitting as big as their egos.

  Chyna lowered her passenger window halfway, just enough so she could see Rene and Rene could see her. She sucked up every last bit of the image before pressing firmly on her horn.

  Rene looked up the second the horn blew, straining her eyes to be sure it was Chyna. She stood from her seat, slid her purse over her shoulder and walked over to the black Jaguar. She got right in without having to be told.

  Chyna greeted her with a smile. “So, are we ready to have a little fun and make some more money?” she asked with a devilish grin.

  Rene pulled the seatbelt around her and avoided looking Chyna in the face. “I’m ready to do whatever I need to do so that Sand and I can move on from this,” she answered truthfully, bracing herself for the worst that could happen tonight.

  Chyna’s smile vanished. She had hoped for a much different response. Maybe one where Rene admitted that she liked the kind of money she was making and that she’d do whatever she needed to keep it coming, even if it meant can
celling out her ex.

  Chyna sped out the parking lot and in the direction of the Radisson Hotel. Almost an hour later, she and Rene were entering one of the beautiful suites she had reserved. Rene followed only a few steps behind Chyna who had immediately made her way over to the mahogany table. Chyna placed the guitar case on the floor, right side up, and the other briefcase she carried she laid on the table. She unsnapped it right away.

  Rene’s eyes didn’t miss a beat as she watched Chyna pull out a beautiful black negligee. “This is what you’re wearing tonight,” Chyna informed her.

  Rene could only imagine why. She eyed Chyna peculiarly, wondering so many things about the woman.

  “My client is very particular of what he wants to happen.” Chyna directed her eyes to Rene. “I’m sure you understand what I mean by that.” She smiled and pulled out a robe, slippers, oil, and condoms. “He likes to eat pussy more than he likes to fuck. So you’ll get a break from time to time,” Chyna continued. “Before his climax, he likes for you to shove two fingers in his ass.” She watched Rene’s face turn sour. “Last, but not least, he will finish off in your mouth.”

  Rene couldn’t stomach what she was hearing. She knew that Chyna had to be insane.

  Chyna strutted her long legs in Rene’s direction. “You’re in good hands,” she said, sounding like a protective guardian. “As long as I’m here, nothing will happen to you.” Chyna slid her finger gently down the left side of Rene’s face. She pulled back as Rene turned her head sideways, resisting her touch. Chyna’s hand then fell to her side. She handed Rene the suitcase. “The bathroom’s on the left,” she said, walking back over to the table. With her back turned to Rene, “You’re on my clock now.” She slowly turned back around to face her. “So quit babysitting time, and go make me some money.”

  Rene quickly and silently retreated to the bathroom. She slammed the door, locking it. For that brief moment, she was alone. As she eased her clothes off her quivering body and allowed them to tumble to the floor, the unbearable guilt soaring through her almost made her lose her balance. She balled her fists tightly as she stared at her naked silhouette. She hated Chyna for what she was making her do, but in the same sense, she had agreed to it. All she wanted now was for it to all be over. As she eased the negligee on, Rene tried not to think about how violated she felt and how low she was stooping but she couldn’t help but to think about it. She felt dirty, used, and once again, like a victim.