“Taste her,” Khalil hissed.
With tears running down her face, Bethany used her hands to part Lyric’s labia.
“Get the hell off of me. I said I don’t get down like this. She’s my friend, not my bitch,” Lyric warbled, struggling to sit up.
“Do it now or else you’ll both be sorry. I have much in store for you two. This is just the icing on the cake . . . so lick it,” Khalil ordered, laughing at his own joke.
Lyric covered her face with her hands as she felt Bethany’s lips on her inner thighs at first. The drugs made her entire body sensitive to touch. She quivered at the contact.
“Yes. Just like that,” Khalil urged. “Open wider. Let her taste you.”
Lyric reluctantly let her legs fall open. Khalil slapped Bethany on the ass again. She whimpered and buried her face between Lyric’s legs.
Lyric closed her eyes. At first, she was tense, but once Bethany drove her warm, wet tongue deep into her middle, Lyric slowly opened her legs wider, closed her eyes tighter, and began grinding her hips toward her friend’s mouth.
“Yes . . . that’s it. Exactly what I wanted. More. Go deeper now,” Khalil hissed, growing harder as his sick fantasy was being fulfilled. “Act like you love it. Say you love it,” he demanded, yanking Lyric’s hair in his fist.
“I . . . I . . . love it,” Lyric said weakly. Bethany licked between her legs, hardly able to breathe.
Khalil stood up and got behind Bethany, who was lapping away at Lyric’s clit.
“American girls have no honor. This is what all of you like to do, huh? Fuck like dogs,” he said, his accent thick as he forced his pulsing manhood deep into Bethany’s dry center. She screamed in agony at the forced intrusion. That seemed to make Khalil more excited. He pounded into her unmercifully, like a dog in heat.
The sound of sweaty skin slapping together filled the room, and the musky scent of body fluids wafted through the air. Lyric’s chest heaved with a mixture of forced pleasure, embarrassment, and fear. She felt sick to her stomach, but would never dare voice her complaints.
“Act like you want it,” Khalil said to Lyric. “Make this bitch work for it.”
Lyric began thrusting her hips harder and faster now as Bethany sucked and put pressure on her clitoris. The drugs in Lyric’s system intensified the sensations pulsing through her body, and she could feel herself nearing climax. This was not supposed to feel good. She was not a lesbian. She didn’t even like girls . . . or so she thought.
Lyric groaned and panted, her body tingling everywhere. She couldn’t fight the feelings anymore. The more noises she made, the harder Khalil slammed into Bethany. Lyric turned her face sideways and opened her eyes. Even Khalil’s servants were turned on and touching themselves. It was one big orgy and freak show. Lyric’s thighs began to tremble.
“Stop,” Lyric slurred, her body so hot with lust she felt like she would explode at any moment.
“You better not stop,” Khalil said cruelly yanking on Bethany’s beautiful blond hair. “You. Come show her what we like,” Khalil said, pointing to one of his men.
The man approached and pulled the chain connected to Bethany’s neck.
“Please! Just kill me! I can’t take this anymore!” she screamed.
Khalil roared with laughter. “You will take whatever I give you, habibi.” He slapped his servant on the ass, prompting him forward. “Take her. Now.”
The man used his foot to push Bethany down on her stomach. She screamed until her throat was raw. The man got behind her and began thrusting himself into her with no mercy.
Tears ran down Lyric’s face at her friend’s humiliation. These men were animals. She was starting to doubt if she would make it out of here alive.
“Stop. Please. Take me. Let her go,” Lyric begged as the man moved in and out of Bethany like a jackhammer, all the while keeping his eyes on the prince.
“You want to take her place? What a stupid girl you are. When we took her away from you, she gave you up. She told us you would do almost anything for free drugs,” Khalil said.
Then, Khalil signaled for another man to come join in on the fun with Bethany. Lyric closed her eyes. She didn’t think she could watch her friend get raped again.
“Please,” she whimpered. “Please let her go.”
“Open your eyes and watch,” Khalil growled.
Lyric refused to open her eyes.
“Open your eyes, you slut! Now!” Khalil demanded. This time he yanked Lyric off the bed by the chain. She crumpled to the floor and pretended to be hurt.
“You want to be difficult? Well, we will just fuck her until you stop being so stubborn and open your eyes,” he said.
Bethany screamed out in pain. Begrudgingly, Lyric complied with the order.
Lyric couldn’t take it any longer. She got up on her knees and forcefully pushed the men away from Bethany. Khalil busted out laughing.
“Leave her alone!” Lyric demanded. “Kill me, but let her go. I can handle it—all of it. You have to let her go!” she sobbed.
“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Khalil said, grabbing Lyric up from the floor and forcing his tongue into her mouth. Lyric groaned as she fought the urge to vomit. At least, the focus was off of Bethany for a while.
Khalil had his servants prepare another speedball for Lyric. This time, she didn’t bother to put up a fight. She welcomed the escape. As soon as the drugs hit her central nervous system, Lyric fell back on the bed, and her eyes snapped shut involuntarily. In that moment, all of the pain she felt bubbled to the surface. She saw the faces of her mother, her sisters, and Andrew Harvey. Lyric couldn’t process the noise in the room anymore; everything seemed to die down to a low roar—like a beach shore at high tide. She felt damn good. Her body and spirit seemed to detach from each other. She was drifting into a space that felt welcoming and pleasant.
“You ready for more?” Khalil’s voice intruded. She felt her left butt cheek roughly slapped. She was so close to nirvana.
“More . . . I want more,” Lyric groaned, longing for the peace the drugs had given her.
Chapter 15
Harmony
Harmony took a quick glance over her shoulder at her backside, and then switched angles so that she could look at her stomach. She groaned at the tiny bump that was still there after giving birth to Aubrey.
“There’s no way I can go out. I look a mess,” she murmured as she leaned closer to the mirror, second guessing her choice of dress.
Harmony looked over at the clock. “Shit. He’s going to be here soon.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back for a few seconds. She hadn’t been this nervous about a date in years.
After confronting her sister over the affair with her husband, Harmony had finally accepted Blake’s dinner invitation. She told herself it was just an innocent dinner between friends—a gesture of gratitude given all he had done for her and the dance school. Harmony wasn’t a two-timer like her husband and sister. She was just going to dinner—the only thing she expected was a decent meal and perhaps good adult conversation. She had been feeling the effects of being a single parent to Aubrey, running the dance school alone, and being without Ron altogether. She was lonely.
“Oh my God. I need to have on two pairs of Spanx,” she complained, turning around and reexamining her hips in the mirror. Dressing up was also something she hadn’t done in a while. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Ron went on a date that required a girdle. She’d been wearing mom jeans and oversized shirts so long that now she felt like she looked crazy. Worry creased her brow as she pulled and tugged at her outfit. She blew out an exasperated breath, and her shoulders drooped. She felt completely out of her element.
With only fifteen minutes to spare, she rushed into the bathroom and applied a coat of deep burgundy NYX lip cream. She hoped the look was not too seductive. Blake was a nice man, and she didn’t want to give mixed signals. She smacked her lips together and gave herself a once-over. “Makeup, a form
-fitting dress, and uncomfortable heels? Harmony, what has gotten into you?” she jokingly scolded herself in the mirror.
She looked over at the clock again. She had about ten minutes before Blake would arrive. She delved into her closet, grabbed her favorite red suede, fringed pocketbook and a pair of black, patent leather heels, and headed toward the baby’s room.
“Sonia,” Harmony called out. Sonia emerged from Aubrey’s bedroom with her finger over her lips.
“Sorry,” Harmony lowered her voice. “Just letting you know that I’m leaving. If there are any emergencies you can reach me on my cell phone,” she whispered.
Sonia nodded. “I have it all under control. You look beautiful, my dear. Go and have a good time,” she said, shooing her toward the front door.
Harmony smiled and rushed for the stairs just as the front doorbell rang. Her heart skipped a beat in her chest. She couldn’t remember being this nervous, even during performances with her sisters.
Harmony stopped in front of the door, exhaled, and pulled the door open, a wide smile lighting her face.
Her smile was quickly replaced with a frown.
“Oh . . . Detective Simpson. I . . . didn’t expect you,” Harmony stumbled over her words, genuinely surprised at his arrival on her doorstep. His timing couldn’t have been worse.
“Was kind of a last-minute visit,” he said sheepishly. His eyes roved over her body, taking in her appearance. “Going out?” he asked, nodding at her outfit.
Harmony’s cheeks flamed over.
“No . . . I mean . . . yes, but my friend has not arrived yet,” she replied, sweat beads forming at her hairline. She hoped Blake was running a little late. She did not want him to show up here while the detective lingered in her doorway.
“What can I do for you? I’m really in a hurry,” Harmony said, looking past the detective to make sure she didn’t miss Blake’s arrival.
“Can I come in for a minute?”
Harmony looked at her watch and sighed heavily. “Yes, but please make it quick,” she countered.
“Okay. I’ll get to the point of my visit. Your husband, Ronald . . . What was his relationship to your mother?”
Harmony frowned. “My husband didn’t have a relationship with my mother, Detective. He only met her once, when he accompanied me to court when I was suing my mother and the record label.”
“The things you told me about her, her cruelty toward you and your sister as a child . . . Did you ever tell Ronald about that?” he pressed.
“Look, get to the point,” Harmony shot back. “Don’t play hide-the-ball here. Do you think Ron had something to do with my mother’s death? Have you run out of all possible suspects?” she said sardonically.
Detective Simpson sighed. “There was a 911 call a few days before your mother was found dead. She called and said that her daughter’s husband had attacked her. When we checked, you’re the only one of the Love sisters that is married.”
Harmony shook her head. “Impossible. She had to be speaking about someone else. Sly and Melody were damn near married as well. And Lyric had been with Rebel for a long time. If I were you, I’d check on those two characters before I’d even consider Ron a suspect in a murder,” Harmony offered. The detective was grasping at straws. She couldn’t believe he came all the way to her house to throw around crazy theories about her husband.
“Well, the information I have may point to your husband,” Detective Simpson said flatly.
Harmony waved her hand dismissively. “There would be no reason for Ron to attack my mother, Detective. I would bet my life on that.”
“Even if he found out that your mother was the reason his parents got divorced twenty years ago?”
Harmony stumbled. Her pocketbook slid off of her shoulder, and she didn’t bother to grab it. “What?” she asked breathlessly.
“Your mother, who we now know had a history of being a mistress to many men, including Arnold Bridges—your husband’s father. After your in-laws went through their messy divorce, your husband, Ronald Bridges, started on his path to booze and drugs, which eventually ruined his acting career. Oh, I can assure you that your husband hated Ava Love. In fact, he paid her several visits, I suspect, to let her know just how much.”
Harmony flopped backward onto the couch. She was utterly flabbergasted.
“That’s impossible. Ron hardly went into the city. If he wasn’t at the dance school, he was at his NA meetings. . . .” Harmony trailed off. How stupid she had been to believe him.
“So you really couldn’t account for all of his time, then? Is it possible that he told you he was at meetings, but he really snuck off into the city to take care of the woman he hated with a passion?”
Harmony shook her head slowly. She felt like a bucket of cold water had just been dumped over her head. Why hadn’t Ron ever mentioned that Ava had been his father’s old mistress? How had the detective even figured that out?
“You’re wrong. That story . . . it . . . It just doesn’t make sense.”
“When you took him with you to court and he saw your mother for the first time . . . maybe he didn’t know until then,” Detective Simpson opined.
“He would’ve said something. We are . . . um . . . were best friends. He would’ve told me,” Harmony said confidently. She looked down at her hands and sighed.
* * *
“Ron? Let’s go. The court hearing is over.” Harmony shook Ron’s shoulders and snapped him out of a trance.
“What is it?” she asked, noticing that his jaw rocked as he stared at Ava and Murray with fire flashing in his eyes.
“I just hate what she’s putting you through,” Ron gritted, his eyes hooded.
“Oh, baby, don’t worry about that. She’ll get what’s coming to her. Don’t let her get to you. I learned a long time ago not to let my mother get into my head too deep. It’ll consume you.”
“It’s a little too late for that,” he grumbled. “She’s all up in my head, and I’ll never forget her now that I know exactly who she is.”
* * *
“I think we need to speak to Ron. Is he home?” Detective Simpson asked, looking around. Harmony blinked a few times, snapping out of her trance.
Before she could open her mouth to answer the detective’s question, the doorbell rang. Her stomach immediately cramped up. She had forgotten about her date with Blake just that quickly. Harmony felt as if her feet had grown roots.
“Would you like me to open the door?” Detective Simpson asked, puzzled.
Harmony closed her eyes and wished that she was anywhere but here. No matter how hard she tried to be happy, Ava had a way of ruining everything. Even from beyond the grave.
Chapter 16
Melody
Melody held the headphones that covered her ears and let the music move through her. She had spent hours writing a new song on the loose sheets of paper scattered on the table; the lyrics poured onto the pages as if divinely inspired. She had finally returned to the studio after her three-month sabbatical. Music was the only thing she had left. It was her constant, most reliable companion.
Melody kept her eyes closed and swayed to the tune. The music soothed the aching spots in her heart. She remembered her mother saying to her once, “When you can’t find your voice, be quiet and listen to your heart.” Melody wanted to listen to her heart at the moment.
When she arrived at the studio, it was brimming with activity. Sound technicians and personal producers were are all abuzz at her arrival. But she dismissed them all. She was the boss, and she needed complete control of her environment when she was in her creative moment. It was a good thing that she owned the entire building and could empty it with a snap of her manicured fingers.
Melody threw her head back and swayed slightly. She hummed lightly, waiting for her heartbeat to fall in line with the music.
Melody knew that the song she had just scribbled down, just like all the rest, would miraculously turn her feelings into a beautiful, soul-stirrin
g, chart-topping hit.
Today, she woke up feeling all alone and missing her sisters. She was so depressed she briefly contemplated ending her life. But, then, as if it were fate, Melody heard Sista Love’s first hit play on the radio. She remembered the day she sat down with Harmony and Lyric to write the words to the song. She remembered how so many times their hit, “Liar Liar,” had brought them back together after arguments. Melody remembered that it was always the music that had saved her when all else failed.
Suddenly, an abrupt banging sound startled her. Her eyes popped open, and the music faded. The heat from her anger rose from her feet to her face. Her nostrils flared at the disruption—she felt like someone had dragged the record player needle across her favorite old-school LP.
She snatched the headphones from her ears and glared through the glass. Gary waved at her. She sighed heavily, the vein at the right side of her temple pulsing fiercely.
Melody hung the headphones on the hook next to her and stormed out of the booth.
“Gar—” she started.
“Listen, Mel, we ain’t got no time to talk. I need you to see something,” Gary huffed, grabbing her arm and yanking her behind him.
“What the hell is going on?” she said, swatting at his hands. Her legs moved faster than her brain could register the information.
“Just be quiet and wait,” Gary said, his voice a bit more frantic than Melody was comfortable with.
They approached the door that led to her office conference room. He punched in the passcode, which only he and Melody knew, and pulled her inside.
“Sit,” he demanded. He walked around the long, mahogany table and retrieved the remote control for the large, flat-screen television mounted on the wall.
“Gary, this better be good,” Melody said, exasperated.
“Yes, yes, I know. You haven’t been in the mood to sing or dance or perform, and you don’t want anyone bothering you and interrupting your flow. And you have a lot of shit on your mind and blah blah blah. I heard it all before. Listen, if this shit wasn’t important, I wouldn’t be bothering you,” he insisted. “Now, sit back and watch.”
2 Timers Page 14
