by Amour
“Now, I know I just seen you with a guy. What happened?”
I stood there wondering if I should tell him the truth or make up something. What I did know was that he was very attractive, and I was glad that he was the driver of this whip.
“Well, my date saw how I was looking at you, and he got all upset,” I said in all honesty. Mr. Expensive smiled, revealing his perfect pearly whites.
“I can’t understand how a beautiful lady like you would be walking all alone. If you don’t mind, I’d like to give you a ride home.”
I didn’t hesitate as I walked over to the passenger side to hop in. Once I was in, I started checking the luxurious car out. I had never been in anything with so much worth as this, and I was feeling like royalty.
I gave him the directions to where I lived, and then we were off. When we pulled up to my two-story home, I thanked him.
“Before you go, would it be asking too much for a name and maybe a number?” he asked.
I smiled and said, “No, it wouldn’t. My name is Angel,” and then I gave him my number.
He quickly typed my name and number into his iPhone. “I’m Mitch. . . . I want to see you again, sooner than later,” he proclaimed.
“Well, you can see me tonight. That’s if you don’t mind coming to a nightclub,” I said, believing he would decline. I assumed a nightclub in Chicago would be too much for him.
“Cool. Which one? You ain’t no stripper, are you?” he asked.
“No, I’m a bartender at Vision Nightclub. Come. I’ll hook you up with the drinks.” I ended our conversation there as I stepped out of his car. I was hoping he would come, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high. I waved to him as I opened my front door.
He blew the horn, and then he pulled off.
Normally, I didn’t get swept off my feet that easily, but Mitch was another breed. At this point, I was somewhat glad that Pat had yanked me out of his car. I knew I had to be extra sexy tonight, especially if Mitch was going to be present.
I stood behind the bar making the drinks, which people consistently ordered. I always studied the many different people who ordered drinks or worked the dance floor. Everyone had a story, and some people’s facial expressions told it all.
A muscular, chocolate-coated man slid in the seat that was directly in front of mine. He was looking down at something, but in my mind, I knew he had money on top of money, because his Armani suit said that he did.
“What you drinking?” I asked as I leaned over the counter so that he could hear my voice over the loud music. I wanted him to look up so that I could see his face.
“Two shots of Hennessy and bottled water,” he replied. I was shocked he was drinking dark liquor. He looked to me like a Cîroc or Goose drinker, but I went to work, anyway, as I got his shot glass and the Hennessy off the shelf. I poured the cups and slid them to him. Then I went to the cooler and retrieved his bottled water.
“Twelve,” I said as I sat the water on the counter. He pulled out a Gucci wallet and took a twenty-dollar bill out. He handed it to me.
“Keep the change.”
I smiled. As long as I had been working there, no one had ever tipped me over two dollars. I wasn’t fazed by the eight dollars. He fazed me. He defined the term sexy, and I could tell that wifey was not doing her job, obviously. As he looked up and smiled, I couldn’t help but smile back at him. It was Mitch, and I knew God was giving me a sign.
I could feel my juices sliding down my inner thighs. I was hoping they wouldn’t go through my tight blue jean shorts. I wanted more, so I decided to spark up a conversation.
“You seem out of your element,” I said, leaning in so he could hear me. His eyes zoomed in on my breasts. After all, they were poking out of my low-cut shirt.
He finally found my eyes. “Yeah, just a little, but I’ll be fine.” He cracked a small smile.
He left the bar shortly after our conversation. The remainder of the night, my eyes searched the room for him every so often, but I didn’t see him.
“Girl, he got you open,” said my drunken coworker Brittany. She laughed.
I turned toward her with a smile on my face, handing her another Sex on the Beach. I shook my head no, because I wasn’t open at all. I just had my mind set on him.
When the night ended, I gathered my things and headed out the door. To my surprise, there was Mitch, leaning up against his Bentley. He was parked in front of the club, and I couldn’t help but blush, knowing that he was waiting on me.
“Thought I left without you, huh?” He smiled.
I shook my head no, knowing damn well I was lying. “Follow me,” I said as I seductively walked to my car, three cars behind. I could feel his eyes on me, and I liked every minute of it.
After we pulled up to my two-story house, I parked and hopped out of the car. He followed suit, trailing me to my door. When we got inside, I turned on the living room lamp and the TV. We both sat on the plush love seat. There was a lull in the conversation, so I decided to revive it.
“Any kids?” I questioned.
“No, ma’am. You?”
“Well, I have a daughter, but her dad is keeping her from me.”
“Really? Why, if you don’t mind me asking?” he asked.
Even though I hated talking about it, I figured it would not hurt to tell him. “Well, he and his family thought I was crazy, and were upset that I didn’t want to be with him anymore,” I said, telling half the truth.
“Wow,” was all Mitch could say.
Truthfully, I was a little crazy, according to the doctor who had diagnosed me with bipolar disorder years ago. Sometimes, I did question my sanity when I did things I wouldn’t normally do, but I couldn’t control myself in some situations. It wasn’t my fault . . . or maybe it was since I refused to take the medicine that was prescribed me. I hadn’t done anything abnormal in over a month, so I didn’t feel the need to take the pills all the time. They only made me feel drowsy, and I didn’t have time for that.
I decided to invite him up to my room. My sister was gone, and it was very seldom that I had the house to myself. As soon as I closed the bedroom door behind us, Mitch and I started kissing. I pushed him down onto the bed. I sat down next to him. He sat up, removing my clothes from my body, and I returned the favor.
I climbed on top of him once we were totally naked. I popped my pussy on his big black dick. I already knew tonight would be a night that he would never forget. He held my body close to his as I continued riding him like at a rodeo. My hands slid under the pillows to grip the sheets.
My left hand felt something that I thought I had got rid of a month ago. Mitch began whispering in my ear.
“Show Daddy what you got.”
I sped up my pace, and then I instantly got pissed. I looked him in his face and saw my baby daddy. I just started stabbing him recklessly with the machete I had under the pillow. He screamed like a little bitch, but I couldn’t stop laughing as I continued to ride his dick.
“You like that, Daddy?” I asked in a seductive tone while licking my lips.
He just grunted, as all the men did. His blood splashed on me and all over the walls. He still wasn’t dead, though. For some odd reason it appeared he had nine lives.
I grabbed his hand and rubbed it across my clit. His hand was a little cold. I placed his hand on my thigh and turned his arm so that the inside of his wrist was visible to me. His vein poked out, begging me to make it leak. I could hear it screaming, “Angel, slice me.” Therefore, I did.
His eyes rolled in the back of his head, and his body shut down. I wasn’t sure if he had gone to meet his maker or if he was playing possum. His blood was dripping out of his wrist and onto my thigh.
“Uh-oh, baby, we’re making a big mess,” I said as I wiped the blood off with his hand. I continued to ride him, thrusting my body up and down on his dick. I wasn’t sure if he came or not. I mean, I didn’t want him to get blue balls.
Something kept telling me that he was
still alive, and I just couldn’t have that. I mean, after all the evil shit he had done, he didn’t deserve to live. I started my stabbing spree back up. I let the machete land wherever it wanted to. Even though my arm was tired, I continued to stab him.
I heard knocks on the door shortly after. I hurriedly hopped off his dick and ran to the door. I cracked the door and peeked through the opening. There was no one there. Maybe I was tripping. I closed the door and locked it behind me. I walked back over to the bed and saw that he had blood coming from his mouth.
I smiled a devious smile. I stood over him, shaking my head. His six-foot, solid, chocolate frame lay there lifelessly. I grabbed my machete, which had obviously fallen onto the floor when I went to answer the door.
“Well, since you’re dead, you won’t be needing this,” I said as I grabbed his dick. I pressed my machete up against it and slowly cut it off. It gave me a natural high to know he wouldn’t be fucking any other bitch, let alone getting one pregnant.
I put on my silk robe and headed outside to the backyard with his dick in my hand. My pit bull, Concrete, loved meat. I was sure that this was some meat she had never had. I opened up her gate and placed it in her dog bowl. When I stepped out of the way, she immediately began chowing down on it. I closed the gate and watched her for a while, and then I headed back inside. I had a mess to clean and a man to get rid of.
First, I went straight to the bathroom to wash my hands. The sink was full of blood mixed with water. The color turned me on. I damn near had an orgasm watching it flow down the drain.
When my hands were clean, I decided to head upstairs to get that bum out of my house. He was a deadbeat-ass father, and I hated him. All these years of keeping me from our daughter and he really thought he was going to get in my pants and not suffer the consequences? A fool he was.
I opened my bedroom door, and there was blood all over the place. This was definitely going to be a task. I went to retrieve my first-aid kit and sewing box out of my closet. I grabbed the chair from my vanity and placed it next to the bed. I sat down on it and grabbed his arm with the wrist that I had sliced and began stitching him back up. I figured that if I stitched him, he wouldn’t bleed so much when I put his clothes back on.
After that was completed, I got a bucket and filled it with some hot water, grabbed a couple of washcloths, and gave him a bed bath. Surprisingly, I hadn’t stabbed his face. He still looked presentable from the neck up. That was exactly how I needed him to be so when people saw him in his car, they would assume he had fallen asleep at the wheel and he wasn’t sitting there dead.
After I washed him good, I wrapped his arms up with bandages. They both were sliced and diced from the stabbing spree I went on. I put the clothes he’d been wearing back on him. Good thing he’d worn a suit, because he definitely needed long sleeves. When he was completely dressed, I dragged him out of the bed and to the hallway by the stairs. He was already dead, so there was no need to be gentle with him. I rolled his ass down the stairs. His head hit all thirteen stairs hard.
I laughed the entire time. I was starting to feel bad for him, but not bad enough to forgive him for what he had done. When he reached the bottom, I walked down the stairs and retrieved my red leather gloves off of the coffee table. I put them on and got his keys out of his suit jacket.
I clicked the automatic unlock button to his smoky-gray Bentley as I dragged him out to his car. I opened the passenger door and struggled putting him in the seat. It took me about a half an hour of struggling before I got him settled in. I decided I wouldn’t put his seat belt on. I mean, how much more dead could he get? Then I got behind the wheel and started the ignition. The clock read 4:54 A.M. I knew I had to rush, because soon it would be daylight. I parked his car two blocks from my house and placed him in the driver’s seat. I looked around and didn’t see a soul in sight. I decided to leave the car running, and then I jogged back home.
I was out of breath by the time I made it back home. Handling his body and jogging home were a bit much for me. I was tired, so I went upstairs to my room to clean up the mess I had made and get some sleep.
I woke up at 8:00 A.M., as I did every morning for work. After a refreshing shower, I went to wake up my little sister, Crystal, for school. I opened her bedroom door to find that she was not in the bed.
“Right. She’s over at Tiffany’s,” I said to myself out loud. I closed her door and headed down the stairs to find something quick to eat.
Crystal had been living with me ever since our mother had been diagnosed with cancer. Crystal had Down syndrome and anxiety attacks. I was about fifteen years older than her. When we were growing up, it always seemed as though my mother didn’t care for her, but because she was her daughter, she had to stand her. I never understood or questioned it, though, but I figured it was because she had all those health problems.
I would have loved it if Crystal were my daughter, being that I lost my child in a tragic situation. I was fifteen when I got pregnant. I didn’t quite remember who I had sex with when I got pregnant with her, because I was pissy drunk that night. When I had her, I was in a psych ward for suicidal attempts. She and Crystal would have been the same age, eight years old.
I sat at the table as I ate my breakfast and listened to the news. The reporter mentioned a death in Lincoln Park, which was my neighborhood. I grabbed the remote and turned up the TV.
“We have breaking news. There has been another death here in Chicago. The body was found in a gray Bentley over in the Lincoln Park area. This is the third death of a male in the last two weeks. We are not sure if the deaths are connected as of yet, but this is very coincidental,” the blond-haired, blue-eyed reporter announced. “The body belonged to thirty-four-year-old Mitchell Perry.” They posted a recent picture of him on the screen so that everyone could see exactly what he looked like when he was alive. “If you know anything about this case, please call the police station at five-five-five-two-three-four-one, or Crime Stoppers at five-five-five-oh-eight-one-two.”
I felt bad, and my stomach started to hurt. I got up and went to the bathroom. I lifted the toilet seat and vomited. I wiped my mouth off with a washcloth and headed back to the kitchen. That was too close for comfort. That was right around the corner from our house, and we lived in a good neighborhood. The thought of a murder so close to home was a bit much for me.
I had lost my appetite, so I dumped the rest of my breakfast in the trash, headed upstairs to brush my teeth, then came back downstairs and walked out the door. I climbed in my car; then I headed to the law firm. I worked at Bennifeld’s law firm in Chicago, a place many, many criminals called home. I met at least five new people a day.
The majority of people who entered the law firm were males who had caught a case and knew this was the best place to receive help. They had to talk money, because Mr. Bennifeld was very expensive. This was where I met some of my male friends, but I met the majority at my bartending night job at Vision Nightclub.
I parked my Ford Taurus in my assigned parking spot and turned my car off. I sat in my car a few minutes before stepping out. I was still feeling a bit sick, not to mention that I felt a little cold coming on. I hugged myself, trying to get warm. It was late September, and it was beginning to get chilly outside.
My red BeBe heels clinked against the pavement as I made my way inside of the firm. When I was growing up, people labeled me a stuck-up, skinny chick, but in my eyes I was just selective about who I conversed with. Without a doubt, I was pretty, but I wasn’t conceited. I was just aware of my beauty. All my clothes weren’t name brands, but they were all well put together. My flawless cocoa-brown skin complimented my light brown eyes and my five-five frame.
At the law office I was this uppity, proper lady. At night at the club I was a very different person. I think this was very necessary, being that they were two different professions. I was twenty-three years old and was trying to maintain a decent living for my sister and me.
Here at the law firm I was
a receptionist known as Miss Angel Jacobs. I had my own desk, supplies, and space. I didn’t have to share an office with Mr. Bennifeld’s other two loudmouthed employees, Kim and Porsha, which was a blessing. I didn’t know what I had done to those two, but it was evident that they did not like me. That was fine with me, though, because truth be told, I hated to be around them.
I could tell there was a problem with the two of them and me, because every time I came through the door, there was the rolling of eyes or the smacking of lips. They didn’t talk to me unless they absolutely had to. When they did speak to me, they gave me attitude.
My job was to see what a potential client’s case was, look it up, and tell them the price. After they accepted or rejected the offer, I would either thank them for calling or schedule an appointment for them. Many times the clients would leave me their number for my personal use, and depending on their charge, I might give them a call back. When I say “depending on the charge,” I mean whether it was a misdemeanor or a felony. A misdemeanor wasn’t as severe as a felony and a felon was what I refused to deal with. Drug charges were my only exception, only because sometimes that was the only way they could get their money.
Although Mr. Bennifeld clearly was against us dating clients, we still did it. He told us if he ever discovered we were, he would fire us. As much as I needed my job, I also needed dick from time to time, and if I had to get it from the workplace, then so be it.
The very first date that I considered was with a man who was charged with multiple counts of drug trafficking. He was fine, with dark skin and dreads. He had an accent that I loved. He said it was because he was from Queens. Whatever it was, I enjoyed listening to him talk.
His name was Quincy, and he looked and smelled like money. It wasn’t that I was a gold digger, because money didn’t mean much to me, even though having money was definitely a plus. He was also a gentleman. He held doors, paid bills, and always made sure my pockets were right. We went on a few dates and spent a lot of time together. It was almost two months before we had sex or anything. I fully regretted ever sleeping with him, not because he was a horrible lover, but because I lost control when there was sex involved.