For the next hour, Flame and Sasha fucked, sucked, and fucked some more in every position imaginable. His trusty camera captured every stroke and angle of the sexcapade. Most of the time, they watched simultaneously. That is, when their eyes weren’t glued shut from sheer pleasure.
Sasha turned out to be better than Flame ever imagined. Her sex was so hot it could start its own fire on the sun, and her head game made Superhead seem like Mother Teresa. She even licked his back door like it was ice cream. Flame couldn’t get enough!
From his theater, they took it to his bedroom, where they got it on until the break of dawn.
Then they slept.
* * *
Flame and Sasha slept through Good Morning America. They slept through Maury and Good Day New York.
Around the midday news she padded to the kitchen to fix them some water.
Then they slept some more.
Flame woke up to Wendy on the television cackling about something. Every centimeter of his body was sore. His abs were on fire. He felt like he’d performed ten thousand crunches nonstop.
Sasha awoke right after him, and she lay on his chest playing with the light hair on his stomach, breathing peacefully.
Then their peace was interrupted by Wendy.
“Ooooooh, and guess who got smacked up at an AMA after-party? Sasha Beaufont!” A train sound effect roared like a locomotive was about to careen through the wall.
“Yes! Say Diamond put the pimp hand down, y’all! And while this was going on, her sister was getting smacked up by Flame; but the good kind of smacking. Um-hmm, right on the wall in front of everybody! Sounds like my kind of party, y’all. Break-ups and make-ups . . .”
Before Wendy could finish snitching, Flame tried to formulate his alibi in his head. No way was he about to fuck this up!
Fortunately, Sasha bailed him out. “I hate Wendy,” she whispered. “Always spreading gossip. And I didn’t get smacked up. I smacked him!”
She never asked about Kim, and Flame never volunteered more info either.
They listened in silence as that media wrecking ball crashed through the walls of more celebrities’ façades; drifting between the land of the living and dead. Then out of nowhere Sasha spoke.
“Diamond is using you, Flame.”
Flame wasn’t sure he heard her correctly until she repeated herself.
“What’chu mean, using me?”
“Do you know where Diamond is right now?” Sasha posed.
“Yeah, he’s in Europe meeting with distributors so we can push our product over there,” Flame replied confidently. Diamond had hit him up right before he left.
Sasha shook her head slowly and closed her eyes. “No he’s not,” she whispered. “That’s what he wants you to believe. Flame, Diamond is using you to get back at your boss, Qwess. He never had plans on being fair with you,” she explained.
Flame’s ego wouldn’t let him believe that. He felt his clothing line was too fine not to be pursued by Diamond. Diamond had blown his head up with all the attention he was putting on the brand. He thought that Diamond saw he was about to smash the clothing game and wanted in.
He foolishly said as much to Sasha, and she laughed lightly.
“If Diamond wanted your designs he would’ve muscled them out of you with paperwork. Believe me, I’ve seen it before,” she assured him.
But Flame was adamant in his denial. Too headstrong. He insisted she was speaking madness. He knew that if anyone knew Diamond’s plans it would be her, but he still didn’t believe her.
“Flame, you don’t know the half,” Sasha insisted. “Diamond is connected worldwide. The entertainment industry is just how he cleans his money up.”
Sasha’s word held too much conviction to be invalid. Qwess had taught Flame long ago how a man, no matter how powerful, always shares his secrets with the one he shares his bed with. So Flame checked his ego and submitted to her intel.
“What do you mean?” He asked. “He still selling dope?”
“Drugs?” Sasha scoffed. “Hell, no! This is how Diamond got rich . . .”
Sasha informed Flame that the source of Diamond’s power was his namesake. Diamonds. Diamond owned diamond mines in Sierra Leone, South Africa, and Democratic Republic of the Congo. He had slaves toiling in them like it was the nineteenth century. Like some twisted form of retaliation for slavery, this nigga actually abducted his enemies and exported them to work in his mines. Since he owned the mines, some of them the most productive in the world, he was able to put his own price on the rocks. He, in turn, passed the exponential discounts on to some of the most influential people in the world. Not America alone. The world! These people controlled stock markets with the twitch of a finger. Started wars with a simple phone call. Decided who was going to live or die with a hidden finger sign.
Flame asked Sasha what these people would need with Diamond. Surely they could operate without him?
She explained that Diamond forged alliances with the local tribal leaders where his mines were located, then supplied them with whatever they needed—in the world. In turn, these tribal leaders ensured no one got near the mines except Diamond’s people. The diamonds were so important to these men because they enabled them to travel with their wealth throughout the world without detection or attention.
For instance, it was difficult to travel from one place to another with, say, a hundred thousand dollars in any currency. The sheer size of the paper would raise suspicion, not to mention declaration concerns with various government agencies when entering different countries. On the flip side, a pocket full of stones could easily exceed a hundred thousand dollars in any country in any currency. More important, they went undetected and undeclared.
Diamond received these people’s courtship as they constantly attempted to undercut the next man for better deals on the rocks when they were still just rocks. Since all of the men were affiliated with the entertainment industry in some capacity, that was often their bargaining tool. Diamond took care of them with the stones, and they took care of him within the industry, distributing his records and cutting other favorable deals.
By the time Sasha eased her conscience, Flame was filled with more confusion and questions than before. A man—A BLACK MAN—owning slaves in this day and age was blasphemous! However, more pressing to Flame was why Sasha was revealing all of this to him. He asked her.
“Because you’re a good person,” she stated simply. “And I don’t want you to get caught up in Diamond’s mess, his chess games and politics.”
“And what about you?” Flame asked. After all, she was sharing his bed with him, which made her guilty by association. “If he’s so bad, why are you with him still?”
Sasha sighed loudly. “Me and Diamond’s relationship is complicated. I mean, I love him, but . . .”
Flame blocked her out after she declared her love for him. He felt she was the typical woman. Declaring her love for another nigga while lying in his bed. Like she hadn’t just had her drawers full of his dick.
“It started out as a marriage of convenience,” Sasha explained. “You know, guy from the streets links up with the good girl. Our fans cross over to each other’s music out of curiosity of the other. Like, What is it about this woman that makes the biggest hardcore rapper in the world want her? And vice versa. You know . . .”
Indeed he did know. He saw it all before. When Qwess married Lisa Ivory, both of their sales doubled, seemingly overnight. Amin called it the bandwagon approach, celebrity-style.
“That’s how it started. Well, that and he reminded me of how my father used to be. Now . . . it’s too late. I’m locked in.”
Flame could hear the sorrow in her voice. He kinda felt sorry for the girl. So talented. Beautiful. So smart. Yet she was trapped, or so she thought.
“Yo, you could always leave him,” Flame suggested, knowing the futility of his statement. Even he knew it wasn’t that easy.
“What? And end up in a diamond mine?!” She shook
her head, tossing her hair everywhere. “I don’t think so. I got a good life. I’d rather continue to enjoy it.” She chuckled.
Flame had to admire the girl. Amidst drab circumstances she still found her humor.
They kicked around a few ideas of escape until the sun disappeared behind the buildings outside Flame’s window. He thought about going a few rounds again. Lord knows, he wanted more of that heroin disguised as a vagina between her legs.
Unfortunately, someone knocked on his door. He had a doorman that was paid good money to alert him before permitting anyone up to his apartment. He hadn’t, which meant only one thing . . .
* * *
“Damn nigga! Fuck you been? I been calling you all night!” 8-Ball lumbered his hefty frame past Flame right into his apartment. “Gotdamn nigga! Smell like pure pussy up in here. Crack a window or something. Let a nigga breathe. Damn. Who you got up here anyway?”
8-Ball stuffed his face with grapes and chugged from Flame’s milk jug like he had purchased it.
“Where you coming from?” Flame asked, evading his question.
“Yoooo, nigga,” 8-Ball said as he jumped up and plopped all 375 pounds on Flame’s granite countertop. “I been wit’ ole girl Monica. Aww, man, bitch is a freak, dawg. Hell, I’m a freak. We been fucking all week, J. We just got back from Miami. She down in Texas now. I been beating it up all fucking week!” He humped the counter, simulating how he did Monica. Then he stuck his tongue out and flicked the air with it.
“Yo, I stuck my tongue so far up her ass I can tell you what she had for lunch. I think I’m in love, dawg. Love. Word!”
Flame was multitasking hard. He was listening to 8-Ball while praying that Sasha didn’t come out of the bedroom. The last thing he wanted was for 8-Ball to know she was there.
8-Ball asked him again, “Who you got up in here anyway?” He tilted his head, curious. “Smell like potpourri and pussy all up in here, nigga, so don’t think yo’ ass slick. You been fuckin’ all night. That’s why you ain’t answer yo’ phone. So, you done got one of these mouthy New York bitches, huh?”
Flame grinned sheepishly, content to keep his secret; until his secret revealed herself.
Sasha peeked her head around the corner and said, “Flame, can I see you a second?” Even though only her head was exposed, her hair was disheveled enough to draw the conclusion to how it was messed up.
“Ohhh, shit!!!” 8-Ball exploded. “What. The. Fuck? Dawg . . . aww, damn . . .” 8-Ball dropped his head in disbelief and kept whispering, “Damn.”
Flame dropped his head in embarrassment too. “Sure, Sash, I’ll be right there.”
Sasha smiled prettily and threw a dainty wave at 8-Ball. “Heeey, Ball,” she cooed.
“What up, Sasha,” Ball replied, then as an afterthought, “Uh, how long you been standing there?”
Sasha smirked. “Long enough to know my girl is eating well when she’s with you.”
8-Ball covered his mouth and erupted in laughter.
Flame met Sasha in the hallway. She was wearing one of his Flaming Diamond tees. Her fat pussy lips peeked from beneath the bottom of the shirt. Flame reached down and palmed it. “What’s good?”
“Uh, I’ma get ready to go,” Sasha said.
“What?” Flame kissed her passionately and palmed her soft ass with one hand, kneaded it like dough. “I thought we were gonna . . . you know?”
She palmed his naked chest and returned his kiss. She spoke between kisses, punctuating every word with a peck. “I want to . . . but . . . you have . . . company. Besides, you tried to kill me last night. Look.”
She pulled up the shirt and showed him her swollen twat.
“I don’t think I ever had her beat like that,” Sasha claimed. “You wore a girl out.”
What could he say? That’s why they called him Flame the Furrier.
Flame jerked his thumb toward his kitchen. “Yo, let me get rid of him and we can jump in my Jacuzzi and I can massage it for you, maybe suck on it ’til it feel better,” he suggested.
Sasha closed her yes. “Hmm . . . as good as that sounds, I have to get going. I can’t stay missing for too long.”
Sadness washed over Flame’s face. “I understand,” he conceded.
“Look, I had a good time, Flame. An amazing time! I don’t regret coming over here at all.” She closed her eyes like she was reliving every stroke. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.”
“Definitely.”
Shit, Flame was ready to gut her again right where they stood, Ball be damned, but he wasn’t going to press his luck.
“I’ll call an Uber,” Sasha suggested before it was too late.
“An Uber? Nonsense. Nah, take one of my cars. I’ll get it from you later. You can take the Bentley since it’s tinted. The key’s on the wall by the door.”
Flame and Sasha kissed a few more times before he rejoined 8-Ball in the kitchen while she dressed to leave. A few minutes later Sasha walked past them wearing a pair of Flame’s basketball shorts that fit her like knickerbockers, a Flaming Diamond tee, and one of Flame’s Yankee fitted hats pulled low over her eyes. One of Flame’s LV backpacks was slung loosely over her right shoulder. She looked nothing like the superstar that she was. She looked just like what she was at that moment: a woman who had just gotten her back blown out by the other man.
“My Uber should be downstairs by the time I get down,” Sasha said. She waved her hand. “Bye, Ball. Flame, I’ll call you later.”
As soon as Sasha disappeared through the door, 8-Ball tore into Flame.
“Fuck is wrong wit’chu, J?! This is bad for business, man. Sasha?! Sasha?!” He shook his head so hard it was a wonder it didn’t roll around like in The Exorcist.
“Yo, it ain’t like that, dawg! I ain’t push up on her, she came on to me,” Flame proclaimed. But he could tell 8-Ball didn’t believe him. His philandering history testified against him. “I’m telling you,” he persisted. “Matter of fact, come on.”
Flame was going to show him the tape. The tape made it obvious that Sasha was the instigator. If Flame was being totally honest, a part of him wanted 8-Ball to see him punishing Sasha, if only for his own benefit. Ball was there the first time he ever saw Sasha and said he was gonna fuck her one day. 8-Ball didn’t believe he could.
“Watch, nigga, you’ll see,” Flame guaranteed, making a beeline to the camera that was still on the tripod. He snatched open the back where the tape was and screamed.
“What’s wrong wit’chu, nigga?” 8-Ball asked. “What’s up?”
The tape was gone.
Chapter 12
Fayetteville, North Carolina
Qwess walked into his conference room on edge. All of his heavy hitters were on deck: Amin, Doe, Lisa Ivory, and his father, Khalid. Prince, King Reece’s son, was in the room also, even though he wasn’t sitting at the table. Qwess had pressing business matters to discuss with his inner circle.
Since his last meeting with Liam, his whole life had been turned upside down. Just as Liam had promised, the industry was shutting him out. Distributors were returning his albums and refusing his calls. His media sources were refusing to allow him or his artists to come through. Even ABP’s videos were being pulled. Niya had a new album that was due to be released, as well as Flame’s new R&B album that they were planning to drop in the fourth quarter. ABP had already spent more than $5 million promoting and advertising Niya’s new project, with another $2 million ready to be pumped into the music economy gearing up for the release in a couple of weeks. Since going fully independent, ABP financed everything, and thus they felt every penny of that $7 million and were looking forward to their return on their investment.
“Good afternoon, everyone. I’m glad that you all could make it,” Qwess greeted. “We have some pressing business matters to discuss. As you know, I told all of you that they’re shutting us out. I called you all here to show you what that looks like in real time and for us to come up with a solution moving forward. Amin?”
Amin stood and put some figures on the screen on the wall. “This is where we were last year at this time. This is where we are now—before the shutout.”
According to the screen ABP had lost $10 million. Because of the scandal surrounding Niya’s release, her last album hadn’t done as expected. Then, Qwess retiring put a bigger dent in their coffers than expected. Add the other challenges of going fully independent, and they were in the red.
Doe spoke, “Aye, ain’t no way we in the red that much. I mean, I know we ain’t winning that much, but shit, we ain’t losing this bad, are we?”
“Numbers don’t lie,” Amin insisted.
“You know I believe in transparency, so I’m not gonna front, we fucked up right now. I don’t know how many more losses we can take,” Qwess said.
In truth, everyone in the room had grown accustomed to living the life of the rich.
Qwess and Lisa maintained homes and offices in Atlanta and North Carolina, they had properties in the Caribbean, California, and New York. They owned a private jet, and Qwess’s car fetish had his auto collection at over twenty-five automobiles, most of them exotics.
Doe and Niya’s lifestyle wasn’t quite as outlandish as Qwess’s, but the grounds upkeep on his North Carolina home was nearly a million a year alone, and he also had a lavish home in Atlanta. His wife was accustomed to being the princess of R&B, so she still spent as if she was at the top of the charts. Even though she hadn’t made money in years, she had developed a shoe fetish, and Christian Louboutin was her favorite. After she stayed with Doe after his affair, spoiling her was part of his makeup plan.
Amin was the most frugal of their team, and his monthly expenses were over $100,000. Add the fact that he played Santa at Jumu’ah every Friday, sponsoring the expenses for the Islamic school, and his numbers quickly tallied up for the year as well.
For acting as house counsel, Qwess had been paying his father handsomely to the tune of a million dollars every year. He spent most of his money traveling and spoiling his wife. Still, it was a lifestyle he was accustomed to.
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