Lethal Love: Deceit can be Deadly

by Perri Forrest

“I’m perfect,” I assured her emerging from what felt like a short trance. “Thanks for calling me, Brigette. I appreciate it. I’ll be waiting for your bill.”

  “Absolutely. And Nova?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you need to talk, I’m here.”

  “I know, Brigette. I appreciate you.”

  And I did appreciate her. Not for the work she had done on my behalf, but for being the sweet soul that delivered such good news. She had no idea the level of joy she had just brought to my life.

  The day had just gotten better…

  60 | Brock Davis

  En Fuego Cigar Lounge, Las Vegas

  Sunday afternoon

  “Let me ask you a question…”

  Brock Davis sat across from his acquaintance dressed in the first of many gifts to himself—a tailored, asphalt-blue Hemsworth suit. The in-store stylist had paired the get-up with a shirt of the same color, and leather Tom Ford’s, in charcoal gray. With the exception of the groomed sideburns that ran just past his earlobes, Brock was clean-shaven. He had instructed his barber to remove all other facial hair. His man-bun was nicely styled with the help of the new bottle of Paul Mitchell mousse he’d bought from Sally’s Beauty Supply. He took a long, hard pull on a full-flavored Don Antonio, then held it in front of him in admiration. Not just admiration for the cigar, itself; but what it signified—new wealth. New life. New everything.

  He felt good… like a new man. And he looked the part.

  Today was Brock’s lucky day. Lucky days didn’t normally grace the front pages of Brock’s life. Not as a child, and not as a grown man. His luck was changing and he couldn’t be more excited about it. All the years of feeling anger. All the years of taking shit from people who thought they were better than him—all because they had gone through the higher education system and he had not. It wasn’t enough that he was self-trained on all the skills that he possessed. It wasn’t enough that he knew how to perform everybody’s job in his department—and probably even better than they did.

  He had been passed up for a total of eight promotions, all due to ego. He knew it was ego. That’s all it could have been. They didn’t dare bring someone in their midst who had expert-level knowledge. Someone who hadn’t gone through an ivy league university for that knowledge. They hated that he could come in and become a corporate celebrity, get the attention of higher-ups and then have their asses for dinner!

  So, because of all the cock-blocking that Brock had endured, he hated most everybody that was a part of his organization chart—starting with the guy at the top… Drew “Fucktard” Levine. In fact, it was that hate which formed the once-strong friendship between him and Kyle Pendleton. They shared disdain for their employers, as well as their colleagues.

  But as close as Brock and Kyle once were, the tension had not only mounted, but it had peaked. Now, Kyle sat uncomfortably, trying to keep his anger balanced toward Brock—a man he thought was a friend. “Ask the question,” Kyle shot angrily. “Or do you have to wait until you finish sucking off your cigar?”

  “Damn, Kyle, I offered you one too. Why so testy?”

  “Because I’m not here to smoke cigars and have a friendly chat.”

  “Oh shit. And here I thought we were buds.”

  Kyle looked around the lounge at the scene that he wasn’t at all impressed by. “Just ask what it is you need to ask so that I can finish with my own questions. I got more than a few.”

  “What made you have so much hate for a woman, Kyle? A beautiful woman. A smart woman. Why do you hate her so much?”

  Kyle seethed. “What the fuck difference does it make? She’s clearly gotten to you.”

  “Gotten to me how?”

  “Don’t fucking play with me, Brock. You know that I know you’re not on the up and up with what you told me.”

  “What I told you about what? We’ve been here already and—”

  “And you lied,” Kyle hissed. “You lied… for her!” he whispered loudly. “What’s she got on you? I know it’s something.”

  “Nova is a lovely woman. She’s got her head on straight. She’s just been dealt a bad hand in life like a lot of us.”

  “Put the pom-poms away, motherfucker. I don’t give a shit about her life or anything in it. You said that you saw something that could implicate her—”

  “Now, did I say those words exactly? Or did I say that I was having sex with that friend of hers that was murdered? And that I might have been in the vicinity that night, and it might not have been the husband who did her in?”

  Kyle leaned back in his seat, facing the hard fact that he had been had. He knew it before he agreed to the meeting with Brock. He just needed to look the fucker in the eyes to let him know that he wasn’t dealing with a dummy.

  Suddenly, a smile cracked across Kyle’s face. “What’s with the new suit? Looks like it fits you perfectly. Tailored? Designer? Where’s the baseball cap, jeans, and tennis shoes?”

  “It’s a lifestyle switch. You should try it sometimes. It’s always good to change up.”

  “Ohhh, I get it.” It was as though a light bulb went off in Kyle’s mind. “How much is she paying you?”

  “What are you talking about, Kyle?” Brock mocked. “I have my own money. I decided to do something nice for myself instead of wallowing in pity about a job, about life, about people.” Brock placed his slow-burning cigar in the bronze tub next to him, then leaned forward to finish addressing his former associate. “It’s 2018. It’s time to change the way we look at things, the way we do things. We can’t let outside forces dictate how we view life. Change it… for the better. Tailor it to you. If you hate your job, quit. If it’s just—”

  Kyle burst into hearty laughter in the way a person would after hearing a good joke. “You’re trying to Dalai Lama me? You? The person who fucking sat outside his boss’s house several nights a week plotting on how to kill him? You? The person who orchestrated a meeting with the wife’s best friend, just to get a behind-the-scenes look at their lives! You’re a bonafide racist who fucked a black woman because of pure obsession—with a man!” Having had enough, Kyle stood from the leather seat, and angrily pushed back on the chair. “You’re a joke. And no designer suit will fix that! No fake ‘awakening of the spirit’ talk, will fix that! Your fucking slicked-down girl ponytail won’t fix that. Because underneath the dumb bun, you’re fucked in the head, Brock. The worst kind of human.”

  Unfazed, Brock repositioned himself to reclaim his abandoned cigar. He didn’t bother looking around to see if anyone noticed the exchange. He simply dragged on his $300 delicacy, and watched Kyle storm away after having just disrespected him in ways that weren’t acceptable. Ways that would not be tolerated…

  61 | Nova

  After getting the news about Drew, I was beside myself; but not with grief. More like relief. And maybe even a little bit of curiosity. Who killed him and why? I would have paid a pretty penny for that shit. Knowing Drew, he had gotten in there and didn’t realize his environment was controlled, and that he needed to watch his mouth. Watch the way that he slithered overall. He was the epitome of white privilege. Talking how he wanted to, acting the way he wanted to. And never worrying about consequences.

  I was hoping that he would get old, grey, and crippled with the occasional ass-whooping. Instead he got death.

  Oh well.

  With Drew gone, and with this Brock meetup, I couldn’t contain my excitement about being able to live life to its fullest. No stress about when the divorce would be final. No stress about paying off an extortionist. Real freedom. And sure, there are people who would dare say that had I not committed a crime, then I wouldn’t be in the predicament that I was in. To those people, I’d give a huge middle finger. The day that people realized that a person’s heart isn’t something to be played with, would be the day that crimes of passion ceased to exist. Until then, some would continue to pay with their lives… and just the same, some would continue to pay with the loss of their liveli
hood.

  And though not in that order, Drew had paid with both. I’d call that real justice.

  It had just started to get dark when I took the Centennial Hills exit. I eyed the duffel bag sitting in my passenger seat, thinking about all the money inside that belonged to me—that I was about to give to somebody else. Five-thousand dollars was the agreed upon amount. And for the next twenty-four months it would be the same until his demand of $120,000 had been met. “This way, it kind of holds me accountable, and keeps me from spending it all in one place. Something like an allowance,” he liked to joke. Like the shit was funny at all.

  Ten minutes later, in front of the address he gave me, I dialed Brock’s cell.

  “Right on time. I’ll be down in a few minutes. You can park behind my new baby. It’s the cherry red Camaro. You’ll see it. It’s the sweetest thing out there. I only parked there because I’m leaving right after this.”

  Like I give a fuck.

  Fifteen minutes had already passed when that fool decided to make his way into the night. I popped the lock for the passenger door to allow him entry, then pulled the bag onto my lap so that he could have an empty seat to sit in. Why he was wearing a whole suit, was beyond me, but since he said he was leaving, his ass probably had some kind of date or something.

  “What took you so long?” I asked agitated, as soon as he was seated. “You told me eight. It’s 8:20.”

  “My bad. I’m here now.” He smiled, his greedy eyes finding their way to my lap. The hunger in his eyes when he realized that the money was so close, was the thirstiest shit I’d ever seen. “You know I’ve never actually held $5,000 in my hand in loose bills? It’s gonna feel good.” He grabbed at the duffel’s handles. “And I owe it all to you.”

  “You’re not taking my bag. Why didn’t you bring a bag of your own from inside?” I asked him.

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. This is mine. I’ll wait while you go and get your own. You’re already getting my money; you don’t need my Cartier as well.”

  He stared at me in disbelief, pulling his hands back. “You couldn’t just put the money in a bag other than this one? Or at least told me to bring a bag down when you—”

  “Do you want me to come back when you have a bag?”

  He looked at me, desperately wanting to say something disrespectful. I could tell. But then he leered down at the bag, and back up at me. “Alright.” He grabbed onto the door handle. “I’ll run up and get something to put the money in. But let me ask you a question.”

  “It’s already 8:30. I’d really like to get in the house so I can get ready for work tomorrow.”

  He smiled. “Was that your first kill? I’m intrigued. I haven’t seen you so much as break a sweat with any of this shit—unless, you did it in private—which I doubt. How does that happen?”

  “You strike me as the type that already knows the answer to that. Besides, even if I could answer it, I’m sure it’s different for everybody.”

  “Riiight. But I’m not interested in everybody. I’m interested in—”

  I turned to him. “Mr. Davis, have you ever been hurt so badly that your heart feels like it’s going to burst out your chest? Have you ever been so filled with anger that you feel a thick layer of heat eclipse your entire form—head to toe? Maybe you have. Maybe you haven’t. In my case, when it happens, I become another person. That person shows up… she’s different. Remorseless, vengeful. Just like the perpetrators come and disrupt my life with no remorse, I come to theirs with the exact same energy.”

  “Hmm…” he said in a voice softer than the one he usually spoke with. “I guess it’s a lot safer on the softer side of you.” He shrugged and held his gaze on me. I thought I saw a little bit of empathy there. “At the end of the day,” he continued, “their loss was my gain.”

  He started to laugh and something in me swelled. Why was laughter even a part of that moment? I felt mocked, played. It showed me in living color that this man felt like the powerful one. Him being in power was already a pre-existing issue for me. And yes, he did have the upper hand. But laughing about it wasn’t something that sat right with me.

  “I’m glad you find all of this funny.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “Actually, I don’t. I don’t think it’s funny at all.”

  “You’ve got heart,” he said. “And not just heart; you got the balls of a man.”

  “Like every one of y’all have balls. Tuh. That’s debatable.”

  “Whoa. Ouch.” He reached for the door, finally ready to fetch a carrier for the money. Another chuckle rolled out of him. “Alrighty then. And on that note. I’ll be right—”

  ~*~*~

  Brock had no idea that he would never make it back into his apartment. He had no idea that he wouldn’t be taking another ride in his nice Camaro parked a few cars up. He had no clue that when he turned his back on me, I would turn the power on to my taser and light him up. All because he was too busy thinking about money. If he had been paying attention the way he should have been paying attention, he would have seen the taser that sat in plain sight. I guess when money is involved, nothing else matters. Greed. Had he not been so greedy, he might have been able to save his own life. He might have been spared a few more days. Instead, he almost broke my fuckin’ door trying to hold on when he slumped to the ground. And now, he lay on the side of my car, incapacitated and fighting to breathe.

  Laugh now, bitch…

  After waiting about ten minutes, I exited my vehicle, and then went to kneel next to his struggling form. His mouth moved, but no words came out.

  “What made you think it was a good idea to blackmail somebody who had everything to lose? What made you think that just because you said you saw something, that I would let you come and disrupt my life and fuck up everything that I planned for months? Huh!” I asked, nudging against his tense shoulder. His eyes pled with me to help him. But help for him, was not coming in this life. “You show up to my job with a smirk on your face and the odor of arrogance that I had just escaped from. Really? What made you think that was okay? Or did you even really think about it?”

  His eyes fluttered recklessly. He fought to keep them open. He fought hard. All the while foam began to spill from the sides of his mouth, and onto the asphalt.

  “I mean, I do admire the way you finagled your co-conspirator, but at the same time, how did I know that one-twenty would be enough for you? How did I know that you wouldn’t want to change the amount at some point? No fucking way were you going to have that kind of control over my life. Unfortunately, I didn’t have months to plan your death, but I’m sure just like before, shit will fall into place just the way it’s supposed to.”

  I sighed a breath of relief, then smiled. It felt like I had just come off a round of yoga where all my chakras were in alignment with each other. Peace and serenity. Nobody would rob me of that state of mind ever again. No. Body.

  Certain that he was gone, and that Brock Davis would no longer pose a threat, I was ready to leave him to his last moments. But the more I thought about it, the more I felt it necessary to seal his coffin. The last thing I needed was to drive home wondering whether someone would happen upon this place and get him to safety. I couldn’t risk that. So, I finished what I started. I gripped his man bun, yanked his head back as hard as I could, and slashed his throat, from ear to ear with the blade from my back pocket.

  Getting blood all over my hands and top wasn’t appealing at all. But neither was having to touch his ass! Ugh. I swiftly removed my shirt and used it to wipe my hands off. Luckily, his cell had fallen not too far from his body, so I grabbed that and slid it into my other pant pocket.

  I stood and then surveyed the still of the area once again, and then got back behind the wheel and on my way home to scrub down.

  “Now, I’m free.”

  62 | Nova Skai Sinclair

  New Beginnings

  Two months later…

  I stared out over the
pool, from the window of what I had affectionately named, Skai Palace. Funny enough, when I was a little girl, I had dreams of something as luxurious as this. And now, after finally getting it, for the first time in my life, I felt like I had a home. A real home. One that was all mine. I had only been a resident for a week and I was crazy in love. Nigel had consistently shown me properties that fit my taste buds to a T. A lot of the places that he had taken me to, I had to process the look and feel, overnight. But this one, I knew right away. The moment I clicked the ALS link, and the stunning piece of architecture blessed my screen, I knew. My heart swelled and my eyes watered at the vision. And then, when we I accessed the description of the property and saw:

  With 4,933 square feet of living space, this 4-bedroom, 3-bathroom luxury home in the Sun City section of Las Vegas provides an open floor plan of modern elements. The formal entry leads to a dramatic living room with an elegant fireplace that extends to a light-filled dining area. Custom chef’s kitchen with high end appliances overlooking the family room beside an exquisite entertainer’s wet bar near a glass nano wall that opens to an outdoor white pebble pool and spa with a spacious outdoor lounge dining area. The main floor also boasts a guest suite, and theater room. European tile throughout the home create warmth and consistency. Architecture flows through home with ease, thanks to vaulted ceilings, natural light, detailed surfaces and a lavish spiral staircase leads to the second story living space with a luxurious size master suite, spacious closets, and adjoining baths.

  I was sold!

  Had to have it. When coasting down the driveway with Nigel, my heart skipped several beats. The anticipation was overwhelming. It was instantaneous love. I had Nigel draw up the lease papers that night. Purchase options were on the table, and I was almost certain that when the time came, I would make the choice to become the owner. And all without touching my own money—thanks to Drew Levine.