by Tiana Laveen
THE DEVIL IN APARTMENT 13
Written by Tiana Laveen
Edited by Natalie G. Owens
Cover Layout by Travis Pennington
BLURB
Shahzad Haidar has been called many things… evil, horrid, ghastly, incredible, alarming. The latest label was the usage of the word, ‘Devil.’ However, Shahzad is none of those things – he is a Jinn. But not just any Jinn…
Shahzad is a slick urban genie who runs an empire. His company creates magic and grants wishes under the illusion of being merely for entertainment. However, for the right price, he can make true dreams and even ungodly nightmares come true. Having little interest in human lives other than for financial gain and amusement, he is shocked when an incident occurs that challenges his lackadaisical attitude towards hominids…
Vivian Carver believes her name is synonymous with bad luck. She’s a waitress living smack dab in the middle of NYC and has had it up to here with entitled tourists, an annoying roommate and just barely surviving. She’s forced to move into a cheaper apartment, and with it comes a seedy landlord, drippy faucets and a peculiar stranger in apartment 13.
Shahzad has pulled all the stops to get to know Ms. Vivian Carver, someone who in no shape, form or fashion understands her full potential… She is one of the most beautiful humans he’s ever seen, and he is determined to make her his mate for life. Shahzad however, doesn’t offer just three wishes—he is determined to give her so much more…
Can a black hearted jinn with the world in his palm truly fall in love?
Can a woman with the world on her shoulders see the beauty in a being that teeters the line of good and evil?
Read, ‘The Devil in Apartment 13,’ to find out!
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2020 by Tiana Laveen
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. PIRACY IS AGAINST THE LAW.
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my dearly departed cat, Tamu. You were a little devil with an angelic fuzzy face, and I loved you all the more for it.
No matter how much time has passed, I will never forget you and I am certain you are running around meowing and causing feline mayhem in Heaven.
Good night, baby.
Until we meet again.
WARNING: This book is for grown folks ONLY.
There’s a lot of profanity, plentiful detailed sexual encounters, and some violence, too.
Are we clear?
Great!
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
About this Book
Copyright
Dedication
Warning
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
Everything but the Kitchen Sink
The old woman’s thick, yellowed skin appeared layered, like sheets stacked upon each other. Her pale pink, blistered lips spread open and curled into an abyss of blackness as her cheeks rose with what could only be coined as beginning stages of hysterical mirth. Cottony snowflakes fell upon her stringy gray hair, melting on contact, and her small, murky blue eyes fringed by feathered crow’s feet narrowed as she blinked back tears. Those tiny peepers glistened in the night, the pupils dead yet alive for a strange fire struggled to burn within them. Such a contradiction.
Around her, parked police cars glowed in dizzying flashes of ruby red and sea blue. The colors danced about in a wild carousel, throwing rapid light fire on her and her backdrop of a tall brick building splashed with gratuitous graffiti. Her flesh turned purple and puce as the pulsating colors merged into something sickening … revolting. She wrung her age-spotted hands as she stood there stoically, her slightly humped back covered by a thick man’s coat two sizes too large, open in the front to reveal a faded brown sweater that had seen better days. The wide lapels blew to and fro, trembling in the breeze like bat wings.
“It was worth every penny,” she muttered. “Every cent…” She swallowed hard and turned away, then spun about as if invigorated, while uncertain of what to do with herself. She drifted between sadness and exuberant joy. When she faced the street once again, a haunting, spastic grin was carved into her face like a decaying jack-o’-lantern…
Happiness. Deceit. The cost is high. The rewards immeasurable…
Her deceased husband was cold as the snowflakes falling about, his heart icy, flesh growing rigid. His body, now stiff as a board and covered in a thin white sheet, was placed in back of the ambulance. The scene had drawn a small crowd in the upper east side neighborhood of New York City. Shahzad stood witness, taking it all in, cigar in hand. He noticed how her neighbors seemed to feel sorry for her. They gawked and gasped and offered watered down condolences. He overheard them say her three adult children were on their way.
Shahzad glanced at his gold and diamond pocket watch, slid it back inside his coat, and inched closer towards the old woman, forcing a friendly smile on his face.
Their gazes met, and though he was certain she didn’t recognize him in her current state, his work spoke for itself. The old lady had spent a good chunk of her savings to make her husband go away – to disappear from natural causes like dusky smoke drifting towards the sky. According to the woman during their final consultation, her spouse was a mentally, physically, and emotionally abusive tyrant who’d run their family with an iron fist, and found love in nightly pints of gin and vodka.
The man’s removal had been rather swift. No one, least of all Shahzad, had touched the crusty old son of a bitch. In fact, he hadn’t needed to lay a finger on him. The bastard had been two inches away from death’s door. The stars had simply aligned and just like that, Shahzad had clapped his hands, making the fucker’s heart stop.
And his client had become a widow, her long awaited deadly wish coming true. Just like that.
As he walked away from the scene, he began to whistle. He was the dream granter, the wish doctor, the nightmare stalker… King of all things magical and pretty, devil of all blood-tinged, rusty chains used to pull and drain hopes and dreams… reduce them to smoke…
Shahzad was what few believed in and seldom understood. He was a jinn. A proud, powerful genie with a disdain for weakness and a love for money, lust, and power. Some would deem him a demon, a nasty spirit drifting upon the Earth. Others felt jinns were mere wish granters, taking no delight in human interaction. The truth lay somewhere in the middle.
He popped his collar and laughed.
Job well done.
He was the living embodiment of the American dream…
“That’s their obsession, folks
. Cheating boyfriends, whorish girlfriends, husbands and wives with roving eyes…” Sliding his hand into the pocket of his dark suit pants, Shahzad paused to gather his thoughts for a moment, and then continued with his speech. “They’re consumed with who’s fucking who. These people have so little self-control over their emotions, they’d do almost anything to ruin someone who fooled around on them. Silly really.” He shrugged. “It’s all on this principle of love, which they tangle up with a notion of ownership, and which then bleeds into a desire for control and unrealistic expectations.”
He sighed and shook his head. So, if you keep that in mind, you will be successful. Understand their deepest desires, down to the fine details. Our business is in the cravings… the greatest weakness of man.” He narrowed on his eyes on his employees as they faced him, their lips pressed closed, their gazes latched onto his, and their ears taking in every word. “Never forget the humans need to constantly regulate their sex drives. It’s their greatest downfall. Since the beginning of their existence, this has been true.”
“If they’re struggling to control their sex drives, Shahzad, or attempting to do so, as you say, then why so much infidelity?” Ali, one of the best in his team, asked.
Shahzad sucked his teeth and leaned over the long, shiny gold conference table at his headquarters for ‘As You Wish’ Incorporated. “That’s the core of the reason, Ali. They’ve made sex vile, coveted, the source of suspicion and stupidity, soaked in jurisdiction and jealousy. Therefore, they obsess about it. They’re disgustingly insecure creatures. Small brains. Primitive.”
He spun around towards the wall of windows behind him and couldn’t help but smile as he witnessed the sun beginning to set. It was almost time for the fun and games to begin. He turned back to the crowd. Stroking his short black beard with his right hand, he peered into his brethren’s eyes. All were dressed impeccably, down to their glossy high heels and Banister Derby shoes.
“They believe these practical jokes, as they call them, so they can sleep easy at night.” He paced back and forth, glancing a time or two at the large painting of his parents hanging on a wall. Working his Gucci Princetown crocodile shoes, he made slow, steady steps which echoed on the glass and marble floor. “We give them a taste of revenge, one that doesn’t result in prison time but teeters between amusement and revenge. They think it’s all make-believe. A prank. A cruel joke. But it’s more… so much more. Some order the full package.” He chuckled and winked as the room erupted in laughter. “We all know what the full package is. It’s for those who deep down in their soul believe in extermination as the only means to an end. Isn’t the truth stranger than fiction?”
He smirked as several heads nodded in agreement. Shahzad reached for his gold and ruby encrusted goblet filled with rich burgundy wine and took a sip. Wisps of smoke spiraled up from the beverage, blending in the air around them. Snapping his fingers, The Beatles’ ‘Come together’ started to boom through the surround speakers. He grabbed a gold cigar, brought it to his lips, and looked back out the window. The sun had set now. The city lights glowed like galactic vomit, inviting a ghastly good time.
“It’s showtime…”
“And over here, you’ve got ya dishwasher. Still works good, no issues, nothin’ like that. The stove is electric, but it’s got a nice exhaust system.” The balding man had nearly run out of breath as he spoke and moved around the tight galley kitchen. His faded navy-blue pants, hanging off his stout body, were threadbare about the knees and falling apart along the hem, and he stunk of rancid sweat. To make matters worse, his hairy butt crack was exposed.
Vivian huffed as she readjusted her purse along her shoulder. She tried to envision the place with a new coat of paint. Perhaps a violet accent wall and nice lace borders? A bit of elbow grease could go a long way and some cute Ikea furniture could spruce the place up just right…
Oh, who was she kidding? The place was damn dump and looked nothing like the online pictures. If it seemed too good to be true, it sure as hell was.
What did I expect for this price in Manhattan?! She sighed, disgusted, trapped, sinking low within herself.
“Well, what do ya think? It’s gonna go quick so ya better act fast,” he stated with a crooked smile.
“It’s uh… it’s habitable, I guess. Sam, question for you.”
“Yeah?”
“Is this place going to be professionally cleaned before I move in?”
“Cleaned?” the property manager asked, looking confused. His deep tan skin flushed with a pinkish hue about the cheeks. “Lady, it is cleaned.” He chuckled and shook his head, as if she’d told an amazing joke. “Me and the Miss took care of it ourselves.”
Fabulous… What did you use? Cold water and a cotton ball?
“I’ll be out in the hall.” He pointed towards the front door, the wood stained with sooty handprints as if someone covered in ash, dust, and smoke had tried in vain to escape. “Take another look around.”
He disappeared then, leaving her there with his odor hanging heavy in the air. Sucking her teeth, she weighed her options.
I can’t really afford anything else right now. Well, I could if I got a roommate but I definitely want to avoid that. This last time was the final straw. Phil was fine, but Shante was a nightmare to live with… had to get away from her, and she was barely paying her half of the rent anyway, on top of all the other bullshit I had to deal with. This way at least I can live by myself, save up a little money, then by this time next summer, I’ll be able to move out and get better digs.
She itched for a cigarette but hadn’t smoked in months since she got on her health kick. It had all begun with her sister who’d begged her to try and stop, lest she end up like their mother, but she wasn’t certain how long the hiatus would last. It was a hard habit to break, but despite the current stress of her life, she was managing.
She went from room to room, seeing how the windows were in bad need of a good washing. She passed a chair someone had left behind, and noted the word ‘cunt’ carved into a hallway closet shelf. After perusing the run-down place and making peace with it, she stepped out into the hallway to find the manager, Sam, on his phone speaking loudly in what sounded like Lebanese.
The broad shouldered man, who was built like an ice-cream cone, had a cigarette dangling from his short, fat fingers as he barked in his native tongue, letting some poor soul have it on the other end of the line. Vivian wasn’t fluent in the language, but she knew a good curse out when she heard it. After working as a waitress and bartender for the past seven years, it didn’t matter what tongue her customers spoke. Anger always translated the same.
The man abruptly ended the call, turned to her with a toothy grin, and blinked a couple times, as if trying to appear cute and demure. She stopped herself short from rolling her eyes.
“You’ll fix the sink, right? It’s dripping. There are also water stains on the bathroom ceiling and the towel bar in the—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He waved her off. “We’ll take care of it, no problem. So, you want it?” He tossed up his hands then took a drag of his cigarette. “It’ll be gone in a few hours if you don’t. I can guarantee ya that!”
She sighed and slumped against the wall. It seemed as if the weight of a million worries with no solutions had landed on her shoulders, treating her as if she were a great place to set up shop.
“Yeah.”
“Good, good! Let’s go back inside here and get these papers signed. Welcome to the neighborhood!”
CHAPTER TWO
Behind Bars
“They call him Big Jew.” Elizabeth chortled as poured another round of drinks in the noisy bar.
“How rude!” Vivian smiled and grabbed two ice cold bottles of craft beer.
“I know, right?” Elizabeth shook her head. “It is super obnoxious, but that’s something they keep between themselves. Silly, really… I don’t know if the guy is even Jewish, but they call him that because his money flows like Niagara Falls.” She
shrugged.
“So he’s a big tipper. Don’t you ever feel like a stripper?” They both burst out laughing. “We work hard for the money so you better treat us right!” Vivian sang the classic Donna Summer song.
“Yes indeed! They say he spends a lot of cash in here, but only comes a couple times a year. We’re talking thousands of dollars, buying rounds for people. It’s like a windfall. I could use a bonanza so I am going to cozy right up to him. Hopefully he is titillated by a well-constructed pair of boobs.” The woman shimmied her perky 36Ds, causing Vivian to shake her head and laugh.
“Now you really do sound like a stripper.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Hopefully he’s into my type. You know, vagina.” The woman smirked. “It seems like lately all the cute, rich ones are gay… I wonder if he’s married?” Elizabeth’s blond, long pony tail swung about as she nodded towards the slender, rather small man who seemed to be in his own world, tinkering with his phone. Not hardly paying attention to the words being spun about him.
He wore a plain sports jacket, a pair of jeans and white sneakers, his hair a jumble of thick, dark curls that pooled into neat matching sideburns over pale skin, which in some way suited him. His green eyes glistened like emeralds behind a pair of glasses not exactly in fashion, but practical. His watch though—well, that was another story. That was the kicker … perhaps, ticker? It was a brilliant gold and onyx Rolex, catching the swirling lights in the place just right. With a smile, Vivian dropped off two Heineken beers to a couple of guys sporting Yankee baseball caps and returned to make three lime margaritas.
It’s hoppin’ tonight…
Tanner Smith’s Cocktail Bar was particularly busy. The beloved watering hole on West 55th street in Midtown usually was, but the crowd was extra thick that Friday evening. The smell of freshly grilled burgers and crispy garlic fries mingled with the aromas of sweet, feminine perfumes and rugged testosterone. People were letting loose, relieving the pressure from the work week that had finally gone by. Vivian glanced at the time mounted on the rustic brick wall.
