by Naomi Chase
Maybe if she threw a bucket of water on the bitch, she’d melt away like the Wicked Witch of the West.
Chapter 48
Tamia
One month later
The envelope was waiting for Tamia when she checked her mail at One Park Place. She no longer lived there, but since Brandon had already paid the lease up through a year, the apartment still belonged to her. So she’d had the paternity test results sent there so that Brandon wouldn’t see them.
She stood in the foyer, her heart pounding violently as she opened the envelope and slowly unfolded the one-page report.
She read the results.
And burst into tears.
Her hands trembled as she picked up her phone and called Dominic.
The moment he answered, she crowed, “Your boys may be strong swimmers, but they’re not stronger than Brandon’s.”
Dominic was silent for a moment. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m looking at the results from the paternity test I ordered. The report shows a probability percentage of zero for your DNA, which excludes you from being the father of my baby.”
“That’s impossible,” Dominic growled. “I didn’t give you a blood sample.”
“Actually, you did. Or rather, Brandon took one from you the night he kicked your punk ass at the fundraiser banquet. They were able to get your DNA from my dress that you bled all over.”
“What is this fuckery?” Dominic raged. “You expect me to be satisfied with the results from some bullshit CSI test? I want a real test!”
“That was a real test, done by a federally certified testing company.”
“So you say,” Dominic jeered. “I wonder if Brandon would be so willing to take these results at face value. Maybe I should give him a call and see what he thinks.”
The malicious threat sent a wave of fury blazing through Tamia.
“You listen to me, muthafucka,” she snarled into the phone. “I’m not carrying your demon spawn. Got it? I’m having a baby with the man I love. If you ever come anywhere near me or Brandon again, I will personally call up Brandon’s contacts at the Justice Department and tell them about your embezzlement problem. I may not know the specific details, but one phone call is all it would take to get them sniffing up your ass, and we both know your shit stinks. You shoulda learned your lesson the first time you fucked around with Brandon and he almost bankrupted you. If he becomes a U.S. senator, how much more damage do you think he can do to you? Do you really wanna find out? Keep playing with me and your black ass will beg to be deported back to St. Croix. I’m warning you for the last time, Dominic. Leave me and my man the fuck alone!”
With that Tamia hung up, then slowly exhaled the breath she’d been holding for weeks.
Free at last . . .
Her phone rang.
When she saw that Brandon was calling, her heart soared.
“Hey, baby,” he said warmly.
She beamed. “Hey, yourself.”
“What’re you up to?”
“Oh, just taking out the trash.”
“Why? I coulda done that when I got back from D.C.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind taking out the trash—especially when it’s really foul.”
Brandon chuckled.
“So how’d everything go with the Congressional Black Caucus?” Tamia asked.
“It went well. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.”
“Okay. Where are you?”
“On my way to the airport.” Brandon sighed heavily. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do this after all, sweetheart. I hate being away from you and the baby.”
“And we hate being away from you too, boo. But you’re running for the Senate, so we understand that sacrifices have to be made.”
“I know.” His voice grew husky with emotion. “I love you, you know that?”
“I do. And I love you, too.” Tamia leaned against the wall—the very same wall where their child had been conceived. “I’m missing you, and my hormones got me so wet and horny.”
“Damn,” Brandon groaned. “Why’d you have to tell me that? Now you gon’ have me sitting on the plane with my dick all hard.”
Tamia laughed wickedly. “Just get home soon.”
“I will,” he promised. “I’m on my way back to you.”
“I’ll be waiting. . . .”
Two hours later, Tamia pulled up to Brandon’s building in the silver Mercedes-Benz he’d bought her for an early Valentine’s Day gift.
On her way home, she’d passed a Babies “R” Us and couldn’t resist sneaking inside to buy a few things to add to her growing collection of baby stuff. Shanell kept complaining that she’d have everything she needed by the time her baby shower rolled around.
Tamia chuckled at that as she let herself into the condo and closed the door.
It was the smell that alerted her to danger.
The pungent, coppery scent of blood that reminded her of the night she’d found Isabel Archer’s dead body.
Turning from the door, she gasped sharply at the sight of Coretta Yarbrough lying motionless on the floor, blood pooling around her head.
As Tamia’s fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, she spun around and lunged for the door.
“Don’t take another step or I’ll shoot.”
Tamia froze, then slowly turned around and peered toward the shadowy living room.
Cynthia sat in Brandon’s favorite armchair with a silenced pistol pointed at her.
Tamia’s blood ran cold. “Wh-what’re you doing here?”
“What do you think?” Cynthia jeered. “I came to settle the fucking score.”
Swallowing hard, Tamia considered making a run for it.
“I wouldn’t try it, bitch,” Cynthia warned. “I used to go hunting with my father and brothers. Trust me, there’s nothing wrong with my aim.”
Tamia took her word for it.
Cynthia switched on the tableside lamp.
She should have looked deranged—wild hair, bloodshot eyes, foaming at the mouth. Instead, she looked as poised and polished as ever. Perfectly flat-ironed hair, designer pantsuit, kitten-heel pumps.
Just another day at the office.
“What happened to your mother, Cynthia?” Tamia asked nervously. “Did you shoot her?”
Cynthia smirked. “Well, let’s see. There were only two of us in the apartment. She’s over there lying in a puddle of blood while I’m sitting over here. So, yeah, it would appear that I did, in fact, shoot her. Congratulations. Your powers of deductive reasoning are amazing.” She snorted. “Stupid bitch. And Brandon says you’re so smart.”
Tamia ignored the nasty sarcasm. “Why did you kill your own mother, Cynthia?”
“I didn’t.” A sinister smile curved her mouth. “You did.”
Tamia stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
Cynthia sighed. “Mom’s the one who sent you that threatening note.”
“What?”
“When my parents came up with the idea for Dominic to blackmail you, Dad considered having you permanently removed from the picture—”
Tamia gasped.
“—but my dear mother talked him out of it.” Cynthia’s lips twisted. “She didn’t have the balls to commit murder.”
I saved your life echoed through Tamia’s mind. It made sense now.
“Mom knew about Dad and that trashy escort all along. But after she caught him masturbating to your porn video one day, she started to suspect that he was screwing you, too. It made her furious, so she left you that note to scare you.”
Tamia was shocked. Coretta Yarbrough was the last person she’d suspected, though in hindsight, she probably should have been among the first.
“Anyway,” Cynthia continued, “Mom was feeling sorry for herself the other day, so she confessed everything to me. She says she and Dad kept me in the dark for my own good. You know, plausible deniability in case Brandon ever found out about their sc
heme.”
Cynthia glared at Tamia, her eyes gleaming with malice. “We know you’re the spiteful bitch who outed Dad to the media. After I told Mom that Brandon was out of town this week, she decided to come over here to confront you. I tagged along. Your new car wasn’t here, so I told Mom we should wait inside for you. I still have a spare key to the condo, so I told the front desk that I needed to get something that I’d forgotten before, and Brandon had given me permission to drop by. The clerk was new, and since I had my mother with me, he figured I was on the level. Once we were inside, Mom started getting cold feet, saying we shouldn’t be here when no one was home. When she saw that I’d brought one of Dad’s guns, she freaked out and tried to leave.” Cynthia sneered. “Once again, she wasn’t willing to do what needed to be done. So I’m handling it for her.”
Fear pulsed through Tamia’s veins. If this bitch was crazy enough to kill her own mother, what chance did Tamia have?
“Look at you,” Cynthia snarled contemptuously. “Who the hell do you think you are living in this condo, sleeping in Brandon’s bed, fucking him every night, showering with him every morning? You don’t belong here, Tamia. I’m the one who belongs in his life. Even though we were just friends, he was mine first.”
Tamia shook her head slowly. “He made his choice, Cynthia. You need to live with it.”
“Fuck you! I don’t have to live with shit!” Suddenly Cynthia froze, her gaze locking onto the bag Tamia was carrying. “Wait a minute.... You went to Babies ‘R’ Us?”
Oh, shit. Tamia gulped nervously.
Cynthia raised her eyes from the bag to stare at Tamia. “Are you pregnant?” she whispered.
Tamia just looked at her.
“Answer me!” Cynthia screeched.
“Y-yes,” Tamia stammered. “I’m pregnant.”
For a moment, the gun wavered as Cynthia seemed to deflate against the armchair, nostrils flaring, eyes blinking back tears.
Tamia watched her tensely. Homegirl looked so devastated she almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
Cynthia swiped furiously at her tears. “I bet he screwed you that night he came home late. The night he went on a rampage and destroyed the damn TV just because I asked him where he’d been.” She glared accusingly at Tamia. “You fucked him that night, didn’t you? That’s when you got pregnant, isn’t it?”
Tamia hesitated, then reluctantly nodded.
“Fucking whore!” Cynthia spat viciously, her grip tightening on the pistol.
Tamia panicked. “I’m the one who should be jealous of you, Cynthia! You have everything I never had! You have doting parents who love and adore you while my parents are dead, and I barely even knew my father. You grew up never wanting for anything while I grew up on food stamps. You didn’t have to do porn to put yourself through college—”
“ENOUGH!” Cynthia exploded. “I didn’t come here to hear your fucking sob story, Tamia! At the end of the day, you’re getting the one and only thing I’ve ever wanted. As if that weren’t bad enough, you’re having his baby.” As her face contorted with hatred, she lowered the gun to Tamia’s stomach and shrieked, “That was supposed to be MY baby! Mine and Brandon’s! Not yours, you fucking cunt!”
Tamia swallowed audibly.
“You’re the one who repeatedly lied to him,” Cynthia ranted bitterly. “You’re the one who cheated on him. You’re the one who broke his heart. Yet I’m the one he sent packing because nice girls always finish last. But not today, motherfuckers! NOT TODAY!”
Tamia’s heart was racing, sweat pooling in her armpits. “How do you really expect to get away with this, Cynthia? You broke into Brandon’s condo. The front desk knows you’re here.”
A cold, calculating gleam filled Cynthia’s eyes. “I’m a defense attorney, remember? I’ve been called to clients’ homes after they committed murder, so I know how to manipulate crime scenes to help get them acquitted. Trust me, bitch, I won’t have a problem staging this scene to match my version of events.”
Tamia felt chilled to the bone.
“It’s a simple scenario,” Cynthia said as casually as if she were explaining why the sky was blue. “I stopped by to pick up something I mistakenly thought I’d left behind. The reason I lied to the front desk is because I didn’t want them to make me come back another time when Brandon was home. I didn’t want to see him, nor did I want him to stop me from getting back my property. My mother offered to come with me for moral support. Unbeknownst to me, she was planning to kill you for destroying her husband’s reputation. When you came home and found us here, you were understandably alarmed. While I was in the bedroom searching for what I’d come for, you snuck to the study and grabbed Brandon’s gun for protection.”
Cynthia held up the Glock in question, then carefully set it down on the coffee table. It was wrapped in the cloth she’d used to wipe off her fingerprints after she killed her mother. The gun would undoubtedly be placed in Tamia’s hand, or near her body, once she’d been shot.
“After you came back from the study,” Cynthia calmly continued, “you and my mother started arguing. It escalated to the point where you both drew your guns. As I came running out of the bedroom to see what was going on, you shot each other. I screamed and called the police. End of story.”
Tamia’s heart pounded with fear as Cynthia rose from the armchair and came toward her with the silenced pistol. “Enough talking, bitch. I need to put a bullet into you so that your time of death coincides with my mother’s.”
Tamia took a small step backward. “Don’t do this, Cynthia. It’s not worth ruining your life over.”
Cynthia snorted harshly. “Are you fucking kidding me? What life? I lost my fiancé to a filthy slut who’s having his baby. At the office he looks right through me like I’m a stranger, then I learned today that I won’t be making partner this year. As if that weren’t bad enough, my father has been publicly disgraced and shunned from the church he built, my brothers are ashamed of me for pretending to be pregnant, and now my mother is dead. So tell me, Tamia,” she jeered, coming closer, “what do I possibly have to lose by ending your miserable life?”
Hearing voices out in the hall, Cynthia looked over Tamia’s shoulder.
Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, Tamia swung the bag and knocked the gun out of Cynthia’s hand.
She gasped in surprise, watching as the pistol clattered across the floor.
She and Tamia dove for it at the same time, landing near Coretta’s lifeless body. When Tamia found herself staring into the dead woman’s glassy eyes, there was no time for her to scream—she had her hands full with a psychotic killer.
Cynthia was skinny, but she was fueled by a maniacal hatred and fury that made her stronger than Tamia had expected. She fought like a wildcat, clawing and swinging her fists as she screamed invectives at Tamia. When Tamia wrestled her way to the top, Cynthia viciously drove her knee into her stomach.
Tamia gasped sharply, staggered by the searing pain that radiated through her.
“Bitch!” Cynthia yelled. “I’ll see you in hell before I let you have that fucking baby!”
As she went for Tamia’s stomach again, a blinding rage overtook her—the rage of a mother lioness protecting her young—and she roared into Cynthia’s face, “I’MA SEND YOU THERE MYSELF, YOU CRAZY ASS BITCH!”
She furiously punched Cynthia in the face, then seized two fistfuls of her hair and banged her head against the wood floor as Cynthia howled in pain.
Suddenly the front door burst open, the sound of loud male voices and heavy footsteps erupting into the apartment.
“Tamia!” Brandon shouted, his voice hoarse with panicked alarm as he pulled her off Cynthia.
As Cynthia rolled to her stomach and tried to crawl after the fallen gun, she was apprehended by one of the cops who’d arrived with Brandon.
“You’re under arrest!” the officer barked, planting his knee firmly in her back.
Brandon swept Tamia into his arms
, carried her over to the sofa, and settled her across his lap as he ran trembling hands over her hair and face. “Oh, baby,” he groaned as if he were in agony. “Jesus God. What the hell did she do to you? Are you okay?”
Tamia nodded weakly, gritting her teeth against spasms of pain spearing through her stomach.
After checking Coretta for a pulse, the second cop frowned and radioed for an ambulance.
“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO, CYNTHIA?” Brandon yelled as she was handcuffed and led out of the condo sobbing hysterically.
Returning his attention to Tamia, Brandon kissed her forehead and rubbed his cheek back and forth against her hair. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said raggedly. “I didn’t know she’d come after you. I didn’t know.”
“Neither did I.” Tamia shuddered against him. “How did you get home so quickly?”
“I caught an earlier flight. I wanted to surprise you. When I got here, the cops had just arrived. The front desk told me the neighbors heard shouting coming from the apartment, so they called the police.” Brandon frantically looked her over, checking for injuries. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I think so.” Tamia closed her eyes, her hand pressed to her stomach. “Just get me to the hospital so we can make sure our baby’s all right. . . .”
Chapter 49
Fiona
“Well, well, well,” Fiona drawled. “Look what we have here, ladies. A new arrival.”
Cynthia sat down and glanced nervously toward the end of the lunch table where Fiona sat holding court with a group of her fellow inmates.
Fiona smirked, slowly looking Cynthia up and down. No more designer threads for this bougie heffa. Orange jumpsuits all the way.
“Hello, Miss Thang,” Fiona taunted. “Bet you never thought you’d end up in a place like this with the unwashed masses.”
The other women cackled and smacked their lips as Cynthia ducked her head over her meal tray.
“How’s your ex-preacher daddy doing?” Fiona jeered. “I heard the feds charged him with running a Ponzi scheme and swindling millions out of his dumbass parishioners. Heard they got enough evidence to lock his ass up for life, too.” Fiona tsk-tsked. “Looks like fucking prostitutes was the least of your daddy’s sins. But, hey, considering how ugly your mama was, I can’t even blame the poor man for getting pussy elsewhere.”
