God Don't Like Haters 3

by Jordan Belcher

  Since then, she'd clearly had practice.

  My question was: With whom?

  But it was a question I didn't want to know the answer to, at least not right now, not while she was unearthing feelings of pleasure I hadn't felt in years.

  On the verge of cumming in her mouth, I stood her up and sat her on the dresser. I pushed inside of her and she gasped with her chin to the sky, wrapping her legs around me and locking her ankles. I seized her neck between my teeth, nibbling and sucking, feeling the warmth of her blood flow through her jugular veins. I wanted to come inside of her while holding her close, and that's what I did.

  "I love you, Buddy Rough," she moaned afterwards, still holding me.

  "I love you too, Sundi." I stared at the bite marks I'd left in her throat and took my thumb and tried to massage them out.

  She lifted her chin for me. "Is it bad?" she asked.

  "No, it's not that bad. I don't think so. I'm sorry, Sundi. I was caught up in the moment and—"

  "Don't apologize, La'Renz." She smiled, then lifted her right breast and showed me the traces of her dark brown scar. She pointed to it with her other hand. "As long as you don't do this again, you can do whatever you want to do to me during sex." She laughed.

  I laughed too. "You got a deal," I said. "No more war wounds."

  I went to the bed and sat down as she walked to the bathroom. I felt winded. I felt old. Looking down at my flaccid penis, I could see that Sundi's juices had lathered my shaft completely. Some of it had already started to crust. I thought back to the moment when I walked out of the shower naked in front of Kirbie. I smiled to myself. Around the time when I first met Jazzmine, I did the same thing. Jazzmine stared at my length and girth and uttered, "Nice," with wide eyes. And even though Kirbie didn't say a thing when she saw me nude, her facial expression spoke volumes. She was beyond impressed; she was captivated.

  Now every time Kirbie thought of sex, I was certain she'd think of me.

  "What is this?" Sundi asked.

  I looked up and saw Sundi holding a thick 9x12 manila envelope, its gummed flap fully sealed. "I don't know what it is," I said as she handed it to me. "Where'd you get it?"

  "Somebody shoved it under the front door as I was coming from the bathroom. You get your mail delivered here?"

  "No. I have a P.O. Box."

  With alarm, I yanked on my slacks one leg at a time and stormed out of the room fastening my belt, looking both ways down the hallway for anybody who might've slid the envelope under my door. I saw an old woman at the end of the hall in fleece jogging pants climbing on the elevator, but before she went inside she paused and glanced back at me teasingly.

  "Hey!" I yelled, and started running after her barefoot on the red carpeted floor. "Hey, hold up bitch!"

  But by the time I made it down the hall the elevator the doors had closed shut. I smacked the doors with my palm.

  "Shit."

  I walked back to my room and saw Sundi in the mirror putting her earrings back on.

  "Did you find who dropped it off?" she asked.

  "No," I said, grabbing the envelope and ripping it open.

  "You should call the front desk. I'm sure they know who came up here."

  "I doubted."

  Anxiously, I pulled the contents out of the envelope. It was full of high-quality black-and-white photographs. At first I didn't know what or who I was looking at—the first picture I studied was an indistinguishable still shot of a man and woman having fierce sex, their fuck faces contorted in rageful ecstasy. But the next picture was a full frame close-up, and the image of the two lovers was tack sharp and recognizable.

  I was looking at sex photos of Eliyah Golomb and Sundi Ashworth.

  I was so infuriated I started to see red.

  "La'Renz, can you help me with my necklace?" Sundi asked me. When she finally turned and saw my facial expression, she frowned. "What's wrong?"

  I showed her what was wrong. I threw the photos at her and they floated to the ground at her feet. She squatted to pick one up, then gasped.

  She looked up at me in horror. "La'Renz, these are old photos."

  "You never told me you fucked Eliyah!" I roared.

  "I didn't know I was supposed to."

  Wrong answer.

  I closed the space between us fast, before she had a chance to shrink away. Then I grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her to her feet.

  "La'Renz, please!"

  She struggled back, so I threw her to the ground near the front door.

  "Get the fuck out!" I yelled. "You're a fucking traitor! I should've fuckin' known. "

  "La'Renz, what happened between me and Eliyah lasted a short time. It had nothing to do with you." She was crying, mascara running down her cheeks. "I love you. I never loved him."

  "Get out, WHORE!"

  "Can't you see what Eliyah is trying to do? He's trying to split us apart because he's jealous of you. I never agreed to or even had the slightest idea that he took pictures of us having sex. What he did was illegal, La'Renz. This is a setup."

  I took my belt off and wrapped a few inches of it around my fist, letting the slack hang to the floor. "I'm only going to tell you one more time. Get up and get out of my room!"

  She stared up at me with eyes full of tears, but didn't move. She was shaking. "La'Renz, you've changed. You're not gonna hit me with that belt because you're not the same person you once were. You can't let Eliyah drive a wedge—"

  I swung the belt in a violent arc as hard as I could.

  Swap!

  She howled in pain. The belt caught her on the thigh, leaving a severe red welt.

  I didn't have to tell her to leave again. She scrambled to her feet, fell down, got back up on wobbly legs and gathered her things as quickly as she could. I swung the belt at her again but swapped the door as she ran out.

  If I wouldn't have missed, I would've gotten her on the neck.

  Fuckin' whore, I thought, dropping the belt at my feet. I locked the door and sat down on my bed again, looking down at all the lewd photos strewn about.

  Eliyah fucked Sundi.

  In some photos he appeared to be fucking her hard, while looking directly into the hidden lens as if he knew I'd see these pictures one day.

  Eliyah fucked Sundi.

  Eliyah FUCKED Sundi.

  That son of a bitch!

  It was a painful fact to grasp, so painful I could feel the tears welling in my eyes.

  But I knew how to get rid of pain and tears.

  After taking a deep breath and closing my eyes tight to fight back the sorrow, I grabbed my cell phone off the nightstand and called Julian Beltrán.

  Chapter 20

  Sundi Ashworth

  Atlanta, Georgia

  "Bastard!" I cried, as I banged my back against the rear of the elevator car, hiding my face in my palms. My chest was heaving up and down as I bawled my eyes out. "Muthafucking bastard!"

  I was infuriated with La'Renz for whipping me. He really hit me! I lifted my dress and stared at the red welt in disbelief. It had already caused irritation of the surrounding blood cells, making the welt look larger than it really was.

  But even if I wasn't hurting from physical pain, I was still tormented with anguish. The reality that Eliyah Golomb had been playing me from the beginning struck me hard. He never had any intentions of hiring me back, because he'd been planning for this moment to send La'Renz those pornographic pictures of us since he hired me—six years ago!

  I had been a pawn in his sick, drawn out beef with La'Renz.

  And I allowed it to happen.

  As the elevator descended, I tried to take deep breaths and control my sobbing but I couldn't. Black mascara poured down my cheeks, curling under my jowls dripping everywhere.

  I felt a small sense of relief when the claustrophobic elevator finally chimed and released me into the parking garage. I walked fast, strutting across the pavement in my high heels as I searched my purse for the keys to my Dodge Char
ger I rented from the airport. I should have been able to easily find them; they had a yellow tag attached. But what I really should have done was hook them onto my home keys instead of—

  Swish. Swish.

  I stopped in my tracks and turned around quickly, trying to determine where that noise came from but I didn't see anyone. Just endless rows of forlorn automobiles.

  "Hello?" I said. My voice traveled in a broad echo. "Hello?"

  No one answered back, but I could have sworn I heard someone walking in a loud pair of fleece pants.

  Brushing it off, I kept looking for my keys as I walked, mumbling to myself, "Sundi, you have to start choosing better men. No more men in the music industry. This business is so crooked and conniving, there's no way you'll find a man that hasn't been corrupted by the politics and childish feuds."

  At my car, I took another deep reposeful breath and let it out slowly, then stuck my hand in my purse again and finally found my keys in a side pocket.

  "Jesus, thank you," I said in relief. Otherwise I would have had to call the rental car company, and who knew how long it would have taken them to get anything done, especially at this time of night.

  Swish. Swish-swish-swish.

  I turned, this time with cat-like reflexes. But again I saw no one.

  "Is anyone there?" I said, the tremor in my tone betraying how scared I was. "I know somebody's there."

  The silence was frightening.

  "La'Renz?" I looked around, peering over roofs of cars as best I could. "La'Renz, is that you?"

  Nervously, I turned back around and tugged on the door handle, which was supposed to unlock by touch as long as you had the key fob nearby. I had it in my hand and it didn't engage! I had no idea why it was malfunctioning.

  I tried it again. The handle lifted but stayed locked.

  "Fuck!"

  I had this same problem at the airport, and the service guy gave me a new fob. He told me if I had this problem again, then just use the traditional key, which was stored inside the fob. In pushing down on the fob's key-retract button, I dropped the whole damn set on the ground. Hastily I bent down to snatch it off the pavement, then bounced back up—and that's when I saw the reflection of the old woman from Eliyah's mansion in my window glass. I screamed.

  "Quiet!" she hissed.

  Before I could turn around, the woman grasped my head in her hands and violently gave a hard shove forward. My face blasted through my driver's window and glass shattered everywhere, the most excruciating pain I'd ever felt in my life.

  It was the last thing I remembered …

  Chapter 21

  La'Renz "Buddy Rough" Taylor

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Out front, the valet pulled my rented Lamborghini into the semi-circle of the hotel and brought it to a halt at the curb in front of me. Its canary yellow paint job glistened all over, marvelously, like magic. As it idled, the driver's door lifted vertically into the sky and the young valet hopped out with spunk—as if he'd just had the time of his life—and then handed me the keys.

  "There you go, Buddy Rough," he said, smiling. "Drive safe. Oh, and I took a selfie in your Lambo. Is that okay?"

  It seemed as if he was going for his phone to maybe show me his photo or take a selfie with me personally, so I pushed past him and dropped down in the driver's seat, pulled my door down and took off.

  Vrooom! Scuuurt!

  As I traveled south down Pryor Road, I thought about what I'd done to Sundi. I knew I hurt her bad, physically and mentally. But the old me—Buddy Rough in his 30s—would have hurt her a lot worse.

  The old me might've killed her.

  Shifting into the next gear up, I pictured the sinister smile on Eliyah's face when he was stuffing that envelope with those sexually explicit pictures, sealing it closed with his pitch-forked tongue. I pictured him pouring himself a glass of champagne afterwards, toasting to his own reflection in the mirror with another devilish smile.

  "You made your move, Eliyah," I said out loud. "Now it's time for me to make mine."

  The Lamborghini's engine howled as I accelerated into my next turn, which was a bend in the main road that took me to a crowded shopping center. My instructions were to pull around back, so I did, barely able to squeeze my Lamborghini between a utility pole and a Ford SUV that had parked too far away from the curb. I came awfully close to scratching one of the sideview mirrors.

  As I waited in this back alley, I started to wonder if maybe I shouldn't have driven such an exotic, attention-grabbing vehicle to buy cocaine. But it was short notice and the Lamborghini was what I had as transportation, so it was either this or do the deal out of a cab.

  Before I went to prison, me and Julian Beltrán used to make all of our deals out of either his Los Angeles restaurant or the one he owned in New York City. I told him all the time he needed to also consider building a hub in Atlanta because that was where musicians were flocking to. It made sense because Julian catered to musical artists, producers, music insiders, and celebrities from other fields who needed drugs to cope with the restlessness of high-level success. It seemed like he finally listened to me.

  The back door to Julian's restaurant opened and a young Mexican male with a buzz cut waved for me to come on. I knew he was Mexican Mafia because of the tattoos inked on the back of his hand that disappeared up his sleeve.

  I got out, closed the door but didn't even lock it. I didn't care if someone stole it or anything inside. Quite frankly, I didn't give a shit about anything right now except crushing Eliyah Golomb.

  "You need to wear this blindfold," the young Mexican said.

  "I don't wear blindfolds, my friend," I replied. "No bueno."

  "If you're here then you know the rules. No blindfold, no access."

  "You must not recognize me. My name's La'Renz 'Buddy Rough' Taylor. I'm partners with Julian."

  "Do you know how many celebrities come to this back door throwing their names around like I give a fuck?"

  "Unlike them, I'm a dealer not a user."

  "Rules are rules, mi amigo. Blindfold—put the damn thing on."

  I looked the kid square in the eyes. He was probably just starting high school when I went to prison.

  He held the blindfold out. Reluctantly, I took it from him. But I didn't tie it around my eyes. I stuffed it inside the crotch of my Tom Ford slacks and rubbed my balls with it real good, then pulled it out and threw it in the kid's face.

  "You wear it," I said.

  In a rage, he bounced out of the doorway and grabbed my dress shirt by the chest as if he thought he could easily man-handle me. He managed to shove me backwards up against my Lambo, but now that I had back support, I was able to push off and elbow him across the jaw.

  It was a solid hit.

  And in the split-second that it took him to rethink and re-strategize his stupid decision to attack me in the first place, I grabbed his shoulders for leverage and gut-checked him with a knee. It hurt him so bad he actually dropped down to all fours. I hooked an arm around his neck from behind and picked him up in the same motion, choking him. Squeezing. Choking him harder.

  "I bet you're gonna remember me next time," I growled in his ear. "La'Renz 'Buddy Rough' Taylor. The Mogul."

  With the kid being relatively young, I surmised that the range of motion in his neck was too limber, and there was no way I'd be able to snap it. Not that I would have tried it on one of Julian's soldiers, but the thought did occur to me.

  "Let ... me ... go," he wheezed, using way too much air that, if I was in his position, I would have tried to save.

  When I saw several more tattooed mafia members storm out the back door—all of them armed with firearms of different calibers and barrel lengths—I let the kid go immediately and pushed him away from me. If this group of criminals lived by the same creed as Julian's old bunch, then they would've shot through the kid just to kill me.

  "Still haven't lost that temper, have you?" said Julian Beltrán, who had just stepped out the back d
oor to join his men. He walked up to the kid I had choked—the kid was still breathing hard like a bull, staring at me like he wanted to charge me again—and patted the kid on the shoulder to get him to calm down. The kid stepped back in line with the rest of the men, then Julian approached me with his hand extended, wearing a smile that said he wasn't surprised I'd gotten into a fight. "I just knew it was you out here causing a ruckus. I don't know whether to shake your hand or shoot you."

  I tucked the tail of my dress shirt back in my slacks, then shook his hand. "He wanted me to wear a blindfold. When'd you start that shit?"

  ***

  The meeting with Julian was fun. It felt like old times, except now his restaurant's food actually tasted good. We worked out a deal that would provide me enough cocaine to supply a few famous people I knew that still got high, and that was all I needed—for now. Apparently, Julian had nabbed a few millionaire customers I used to deal to, thus shouldering me out of that cashflow. But what could I do? I was in prison; they had to get their dope from somewhere. But thankfully I still had some rich friends who snorted a line on occasion who would never deal with the Mexican Mafia directly.

  And that guaranteed that Julian Beltrán would always need me.

  As I launched the Lamborghini down a continual stretch of highway in the dark of night, I glanced to the east where I could barely see my hotel amid other tall, glowing buildings. I passed by its exit—and several other exits, continuing on my quest south of downtown Atlanta—trying to figure out how Eliyah Golomb had known that I was staying in that particular hotel room. He'd narrowed me down to that very room somehow.

  Details like that would haunt me if let them, so for the moment I tried not to wonder about how he found me. I turned up an un-mastered song off of Kirbie's upcoming mixtape, cranked it to the max and was bummed that it wouldn't go up any more. I was twenty minutes out from Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, where I was picking up Kirbie. I really needed her company right now after what happened between me and Sundi.