Lipstick Hustla

by Allison Hobbs

  “Fuck you!”

  “You not tryna hear this, but I really love you, Misty.”

  “Hell no, she ain’t tryna hear that. Man, shut the fuck up!” Nitro exploded.

  “You got two seconds to tell me where you hid Smash’s shit.” Misty hissed.

  “In my room.” Troy finally caved. “Under the bed. His chain is inside the box my Polo boots came in.”

  With his gun pointed, Nitro kept Troy in his field of vision, while Tank stalked off to search Troy’s bedroom.

  Five minutes later, Tank handed Misty the famous, iced-out medallion that was an integral part of the Smash Hitz brand.

  CHAPTER 2

  Gliding down the desolate road, Misty concentrated on what ploy she would use to get out of kissing Smash Hitz’ ass. The thought of it made her nauseous.

  Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to meet with the dick-sucking freak in person. It might make better sense to FedEx his gaudy neckpiece.

  Over the phone, and at a safe distance, she could placate him with the offer of a couple of freebies. Maybe she could get Smash to agree to experimenting with a new erotic pleasure…a big burly mofo wearing lipstick and leaving his lip prints on Smash’s ass, his dick…or even on his muthafuckin’ big, bald head! Wherever the fuck.

  Unfortunately, Smash Hitz wasn’t a reasonable man. He had it in his mind that Misty had orchestrated the robbery. He was making her take responsibility for setting him up with a thief.

  Misty was laced up with fly gear. Both wrists, her neck, and her ears were frozen with pink ice. Rocking a new pair of Giuseppe Zanotis on her pretty feet, Misty looked like a five-star chick.

  She hoped her divalicious image would give Smash a change of heart. He should take advantage of her beauty and use her for arm candy on his next walk down the red carpet. She was a stunner when they’d attended the Grammys together. Why would he want to force his gorgeous decoy down on her knees like a dirty hoe? Why would he insist that she kiss his stank ass? Smash was the craziest mofo Misty had ever met. If he didn’t have bank, she would have cussed him out a long time ago.

  But Smash was tight-fisted. Everybody recognized that. Being on the safe side, she’d brought lots of cash. Just in case she had to reimburse Smash, she had his money stacked inside of her Louis Vuitton bag.

  What would be worse, she wondered…putting her lips on his butt cheeks or giving back his cake?

  Both options made her want to throw up, but given a chance, she’d return the money before putting her gorgeous face anywhere near Smash’s faggoty ass.

  She thought about Troy and sucked her teeth. In some countries, they cut people’s hands off for stealing. But Troy deserved far worse. Only death was good enough for a kleptomaniac, who had put her livelihood at risk.

  She checked the time. Damn, she had to hurry up. If Smash left the mansion before she returned his medallion, there would be hell to pay.

  Misty didn’t even want to imagine losing her current lifestyle and the dynasty she’d fought to build. But if Smash Hitz decided to put her on his shit list, she’d be blackballed for the rest of her life.

  First, he’d replace her with another fake girlfriend…use another hot chick to play his decoy. There’d be no more Grammys or any other award shows for Misty. She’d be barred from the lavish annual White Party, disinvited to exclusive listening parties, banned from popular hot spots, and unwelcome at all big-baller events.

  One word from Smash and Misty’s treasured black book wouldn’t be worth shit.

  Time was of the essence. She’d wasted too much time fucking around, getting the truth out of Troy. That skinny-ass, ashy-behind, long-dick mofo was definitely going to be dealt with.

  Picking up speed, she hurtled down the dark highway, rushing to catch Smash Hitz, and wondering if she could make peace with the idea of kissing his ass cheeks. She had to do what she had to do. Damn!

  Taking her mind off of her troubles, she concentrated on the music that poured from the speakers.

  Ugh. Alicia Keys was singing one of her heart-wrenching love songs, reminding Misty of the two men she’d truly loved and lost. She didn’t want to go there. This was not the time to entertain thoughts of love, weakness, or failure. She had to totally disengage from her feminine side if she intended to win this toe-to-toe with Smash Hitz.

  As Alicia Keys wailed, Misty changed to another CD.

  Smash Hitz’ coarse voice filled the interior of Misty’s whip. Ew! She didn’t wanna hear that nigga spittin’ until they had worked out their differences.

  Kanye came on next. Nah! Misty wasn’t feeling him right now, either. He needed to do something about that lesbian trick. How he gon’ just hand a hoe a career in the fashion industry? Shit didn’t even make any sense.

  That Amazon woman towered over Kanye, while Misty, on the other hand, was perfectly petite and a beautiful, exotic stunner. Misty was a much better fit for Kanye. Kanye West didn’t have Smash’s long money, but he’d be a nice replacement if Smash Hitz decided to dump her.

  Peeved at Kanye for not being available, Misty clicked to another musical selection. Trey Songz. She smiled as she listened to his vocals. Yeah, that sexy nigga could beat the pussy up until Kanye came to his senses.

  Suddenly, Misty heard an odd, knocking noise beneath the music. The racket seemed to be coming from her car.

  The smooth glide of the Lambo became slightly bumpy, which was odd, being that the super car was in pristine condition.

  A strange flapping sound jolted her.

  What the fuck is going on?

  Decreasing her speed, she turned the music off, and focused on the source of the disturbing noise. The flapping noise increased in volume. Then the Lambo started vibrating and shaking, making her fear that she might lose control of the car.

  Shit! Beyond irritated, she pulled over to the side of the dark road, her expensive Lamborghini wobbling, thumping like a beat-up hooptie.

  Clutching the steering wheel, with the Lamborghini leaning to the side, Misty sat and fumed for a few moments. I gotta fucking flat tire. How the fuck that happen?

  What the hell was she supposed to do now? A call for road assistance could take up to an hour or more.

  What was she thinking when she decided to take this drive to no-man’s, muthafuckin’ land all by herself? She should have had Tank or Nitro chauffeur her to Smash’s hidden-in-the-sticks crib.

  But no… She wanted show off the way she wheeled her whip.

  She also wanted to win some cool points for using discretion and handling her business solo.

  She pressed a switch and the door pushed up. BlackBerry in hand, she stepped out the car and walked around to the passenger side. Misty sucked her teeth in disgust. The front tire looked like it had exploded.

  As she poised her finger to call for help, she saw headlights bearing down on her.

  A stroke of luck! Feeling fortunate, she rushed around her car, waving her arms, flagging down the car that was approaching.

  Intending to sweet-talk the motorist into driving her to Smash’s mansion, Misty stepped out into the road so that she could be seen.

  The car suddenly picked up speed and was heading for Misty at a crazy, high rate of speed.

  “Fucking lunatic!” Misty yelled as she attempted to scurry back to the shoulder.

  But her timing was off and she had misjudged the intention of the driver.

  Unbeknownst to Misty, the driver had locked in on her position and was careening toward her. Misty never made it to the safety of the shoulder.

  Upon impact, she was catapulted through the air for what seemed like an eternity. Flung so high and for so long, she actually had time to acknowledge that the sensation of flying was somewhat pleasant.

  She floated through the air for a few more seconds and then came crashing down, hitting the ground with a horrible crunch. She lay still for a few seconds, taking in the astonishing reality that she had survived.

  She was alive and conscious. Thank God! Now she neede
d to confirm that she was still able-bodied. She tried to maneuver her legs, but they were hopelessly crumpled beneath her.

  In a panic, Misty struggled to prop herself up, but her arm was limp and useless.

  The car that had hit her sat in the dark with its lights out. The engine purred like a satisfied cat after capturing its prey.

  Misty had never felt so vulnerable in her life. Lying on her stomach, her cheek on the ground, she faced the direction of the car. Her eyes were wide open as she panted intensely.

  Headlights clicked on suddenly, illuminating her broken body… exposing her vulnerability.

  I know this better not be no hit-and-run bullshit. That drunk-drivin’ mufucka better get out of that car and help me!

  Finally the car door opened and then slammed closed. Expecting to hear heavy footsteps rushing toward her, she was surprised when she recognized the sauntering cadence of stilettos clicking on asphalt.

  With squinted eyes trained on the direction of the clicking sounds, she was finally able to discern a pair of shapely, stallion-like, sepia-toned legs.

  A woman moved slowly toward her. She had a swagger in her walk that made Misty furious. It didn’t improve her attitude when she noticed that the stilettos were new Louboutins.

  Hurry up, bitch! Walking all slow like you da shit.

  The woman grew closer. Misty blinked in shock when she noticed that a tire iron was dangling at the stranger’s side.

  Misty wondered what the woman thought she could do with a tire iron. Was she going to waste time attempting to pry the busted tire away from the rim? Incensed, Misty frowned excessively.

  Fuck a flat tire! This no-driving bitch better get on her goddamn cell and send for a muthafuckin’ ambulance.

  The woman stopped and stood over Misty.

  “Thanks,” Misty forced herself to murmur, though she really wanted to cuss the woman out.

  Keeping angry thoughts to herself, Misty focused on her only free limb and reached up a beseeching hand to the tall, silent stranger. She’d cuss her out and whip her ass later.

  Right now, she needed to find out which limbs could function and which couldn’t. Her right arm seemed okay, but her left arm and both legs were questionable. Maybe with this bitch’s help, Misty would be able to stand up on her feet and try to walk.

  Instead of feeling the remorseful, helping hand of a stupid and reckless driver, Misty felt the excruciating blow from the tire iron as it collided with the side of her face.

  Dazed, she could hear the crunching sound and searing pain of two molars tearing away from her gums. She opened her mouth to scream but the sound was stifled as she gagged and choked on blood that was pooled inside her mouth.

  Beginning to comprehend her dilemma, Misty closed her eyes and lay lifeless. If I lay still and play dead, I might get out of this bullshit.

  Smash Hitz had to be behind this. The self-proclaimed gangsta wasn’t nothing but a straight-up bitch, sending a woman to handle his beef.

  But why would Smash send somebody to fuck her up before she delivered the goods? His oversized, goddamn medallion was in her car, wrapped in gold tissue paper and tucked inside her Louis Vuitton bag.

  She could hear the clack of the stilettos as the female assailant strolled to the direction of the purring engine.

  Misty listened intently as the car door opened and the woman got back inside the car. She felt a tremendous sense of relief when she heard tires squealing, realizing that the henchwoman was speedily leaving the scene.

  Misty used the last bit of her waning strength to try to lift herself up again.

  But when the car suddenly veered in Misty’s direction, she had only a few seconds to reassess the situation.

  She wasn’t going to make it. The Amazon was a hired assassin. She’s gonna fuckin’ kill me!

  So this is how it ends for me? Goin’ down like some helpless, punk-ass bitch. Can’t move. Can’t even try to fight this slut. This is so fuckin’ fucked up.

  Tires rolled over Misty’s back. At the sound of bones breaking, she submerged into peaceful, painless oblivion.

  CHAPTER 3

  One Year Ago

  Too damn old to be giving birth, it would have served Misty’s mother right if she’d gone into a seizure while pushing out Brick’s baby.

  Brick’s baby! Misty doubted if she’d ever get used to that expression. If she wasn’t such a strong woman…such a survivor, she would have probably ended up in a nut house for having to deal with the cold reality that her own mother had taken her man.

  Brick wasn’t just any man. He was Misty’s good, faithful, freak-in-the sheets, money-making man.

  It was the ultimate sin for her cut-throat mother to take Misty’s breadwinner, and then turn around and marry him, as if legalizing such a foul betrayal made it acceptable behavior.

  She would never honor Brick’s union with her mother. Never! Their marriage wasn’t nothing but a sham.

  And that baby…Umph! Little Baron would probably end up being a retard or something. How could a child conceived by a pre- menopausal bitch and a damn-near illiterate mufucka be alright? Something had to be wrong with him. Time would tell.

  Misty wondered who Brick thought he was fooling. He still loved her. That’s why he was sitting on her mother’s hospital bed, letting Misty rub on his arm.

  Troy sat in a chair by the window. When Misty caught him scoping her move, she gave Troy the evil eye.

  Like a good boy, Troy looked the other way. He picked up his cell and started playing some stupid game.

  She watched the rise and fall of her mother’s chest. She was out cold. Delivering a baby had worn her ass out.

  “Brick,” Misty whispered. “I miss you.” She lowered her hand to his thigh. It was hard like concrete, turning her on. And making her mad at the same time. This nigga had some nerve to start sculpting his body after he hooked up with her haggard-looking mother.

  But she pushed her resentment aside and began caressing motions that ventured closer to the inseam of his jeans.

  Faking it like he didn’t want her touching him, Brick inched closer to his unconscious wife, hugging on her as if for dear life.

  “With your scar gone, and your body all ripped and everything, we could make a fortune together. You gotta be bored with this family bullshit. Don’t you wanna get back with me? You know you miss the life.”

  Brick glanced at his wife and then cut an eye at the bassinette where his infant son lay sleeping.

  “Let’s talk outside,” Brick said in a hushed tone. “I don’t wanna wake them up.”

  Now, that’s what I’m talking about! Misty stood, finger-combing her long hair, while Brick rearranged the blanket that covered the baby.

  “Come on,” Brick said in a whisper and began walking toward the door.

  “I’ll be right back, Troy,” Misty said, her eyes dancing with delight. She gave Troy the thumbs-up sign, indicating that it was a wrap. Brick would be helping him handle the work load real soon.

  “Let’s go to the lounge,” Brick said and walked ahead of Misty. The slight swag in his walk made Misty raise a brow. He was walking way ahead of her, which she considered the height of disrespect.

  After being with her ancient mother, he should have been ecstatic to be walking side by side with a gorgeous diva.

  Brick smiled and spoke to a few nurses as he passed by their station. Misty saw the nurses gushing and smiling…licking their lips like Brick was raw meat.

  Then it dawned on her. Brick had game. He was putting on a show for those nurse bitches, trying to keep up the pretense that he was a faithful husband and a loving father. Misty made sure she put on her mean grill when she got close to the nurses’ station.

  Fuck them whores. Don’t be worrying about what those bitches think, she wanted to tell Brick when she entered the visitor’s lounge. But she held her tongue.

  For appearances, she’d go along with this farce, but not for long. Brick was her man. He always was. Always would be.<
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  Brick sat down. He leaned back in the chair and smiled at Misty.

  Oh, goddamn! Brick had turned into a fine-ass mufucka. He looked so fuckin’ good, she was ready to give him some “welcome back home” coochie right there in the visitor’s lounge.

  It took all her willpower not to hop out of her seat, straddle him, and start fucking the shit out of the sexy, new and improved Brick.

  But she remained calm and focused. Giving him only a flicker of a smile, Misty got down to business.

  “Brick, I want to apologize for everything. I didn’t treat you right, but I’ve learned my lesson. I realize it’s gonna be real hard for you to hurt my mother. You dread having to tell her you gotta bounce.”

  He gave her a wide-eyed look.

  She took a deep breath and nodded her head reassuringly. “I’ll be standing by your side when you break the news. I gotchu. We’ll tell her together…make her understand that it’s not personal. But you and me…shit, we go back to childhood. My mother doesn’t understand how we do.”

  “Oh, she understands,” Brick said, shifting his position, meeting Misty eye-to-eye.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Before she went to sleep, she told me to be careful. She loves you, Misty, but she knows she can’t trust you.”

  Misty scowled. “So you still gon’ put that dried-up bitch before me?”

  Brick made a snorting sound. He dropped his head for a few seconds, composing himself. When he raised his head, his expression was serious.

  “Thomasina is my wife. I love her. But I’m wasting my breath trying to school you on how I feel when you don’t have the slightest idea of what love means.”

  Now teary-eyed, Misty said, “That’s not true. I’ve always loved you, Brick.”

  “No, Misty. You love you. I ain’t mad at you, though. Keep doing you.”

  Tears streaming down her cheeks, Misty shook her head in denial. “You feel sorry for my mother because she’s all old and needy.”

  “Truth is your mother don’t need me…I need her. And she ain’t old. She’s only in her forties. Thomasina is all woman. But you wouldn’t know nothing about that.”