Suddenly, Irving was worth a second look. Citi was horny, and she craved someone that could make her feel good in the bed. Scar had his whores and he wasn’t a real factor in her sex life. She had spent several months in Miami, and not once did she have an orgasm.
“How are things coming along, Irving?”
“They’re coming along fine, ma’am. The parts should be here in a few days.”
“Irving, do me a favor. Stop calling me ‘ma’am.’ I’m not my mother. Shit, do I look like a ma’am to you?”
“No, ma’am—I mean—”
“Just call me Citi.”
He smiled.
Citi noticed that all eyes were on them. His coworkers were turning green with envy because he had her undivided attention. To them, it didn’t make any sense—a beautiful and rich woman like Citi giving Irving some attention. For once, they wished they were in his shoes.
She continued to openly flirt with Irving and felt the need to take things further with him. All kinds of naughty things roamed through Citi’s mind, and she wondered what other kind of surprises he was concealing from her. She stared down at his crotch and noticed the dick imprint through the fabric. It was hypnotizing—and from her view, he seemed to be impressive. Manuel easily became irrelevant.
Citi smiled and said, “I’ll be back. I’ll let you work.”
She strutted out of the body shop with all eyes glued to her curves and plump backside. Even Irving was stuck on stupid for a moment.
Hours later, when Irving’s shift ended at the shop, he walked outside to find Citi’s Benz idling out front. She sat in the backseat. The rear window rolled down and Citi amicably gazed at Irving leaving the building. She smiled. He smiled.
“Get in,” she said to him.
His co-workers couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Lucky muthafucka, they said among themselves. Irving clutched his knapsack and tensely approached the sleek Benz, and Citi opened the rear door for him. It was an invitation to come see her world and have some fun.
“Are-are you sure you w-want me to?” he stammered.
“Irving, I’m not gonna ask you twice. It’s your choice.”
He glanced back at his co-workers and there were looks of jealousy and contempt. He decided to take Citi up on her invitation. He slid into the backseat of the luxury Benz and joined a beautiful woman.
***
“Damn . . . this is really nice,” Irving said of the penthouse suite.
His eyes glittered from the luxury he was seeing. He had never been in such an opulent home. He was a poor kid from a poor neighborhood who could barely afford his own car. It was seventh heaven in his eyes.
“You own all this?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Wow—I mean, I wish I could afford something like this.”
“Maybe one day you will,” she said.
He laughed. It was unbelievable to him. “I’m just a mechanic working and repairing cars.”
“So, open up your own shop.”
“I’m not that smart at business . . .”
“You can be,” she said.
“And besides, I don’t have the money.”
“You need to stop making excuses for yourself. You got skills, Irving. But enough of the small talk,” she said.
She wanted some dick. She didn’t bring him there for chitchat. Her hormones were raging, and her pussy was throbbing. She wanted to see what Irving was working with and if she’d wasted her time bringing him home or not.
She approached him and placed one hand against his chest and the other dipped low, grabbing his crotch and squeezing. Irving was completely taken aback by her assertive approach.
“Oh shit,” he murmured.
“Damn, Irving. I feel something nice there.”
For a moment, he stood there stuck on stupid as Citi fondled him. She unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick, and it was long and thick. She was impressed. She toyed with his chest and started to stroke him nice and slow, evoking a moan from him.
“You like that?” she asked him.
He seemed speechless.
“You wanna fuck me, Irving?” she teased.
Of course, he did. What man wouldn’t?
Citi’s manicured hand continued to work his dick, constructing a huge erection in her fist. She stepped back from her young stud and started to peel away her clothing. She wanted to entice him and show him what she had in store for him. Her tits and ass were perfection. He stood there in awe at her nakedness and it seemed like seeing her naked body added an extra inch or two to his size.
“Damn!” she said. His manhood was impressive. “Undress,” she said.
He continued to stand there bashful, but with his hard dick showing. And he was too polite. She didn’t want polite. She wanted raw and nasty, crazy and hard inside of her. She went up to him and they kissed passionately.
“I want you to fuck me,” she whispered into his ear.
Right there, they dropped to the floor. She nearly ripped his clothes off and like his dick, the rest of him was impressive. He worked out—his physique was pure eye-candy, so why was he shy?
She slid a Magnum condom onto his erection, and slowly lowered herself onto his hard dick. She felt every inch of him penetrating her and she slowly started to ride him like a piston in a cylinder.
“Mmmm . . . Ooooh . . . Ooooh . . . shit, nigga, fuck me,” she cooed and then flicked her tongue into his mouth and continued to moan. “Fuck me!”
He cupped her ass as she continued to ride him. She felt the fullness of his big, hard dick inside of her. Her fingernails dug into him as she thrust herself up and down, her walls clenching against his moving flesh inside of her.
Irving grunted and moaned. For him, it was a dream coming true. Their bodies rubbed and smacked together, creating a fleshy sound. They twisted and turned, sexually contorted on the floor and transitioning into doggy style where Citi wanted him to smack her ass from the back and pull her hair. Irving seemed shy from doing something like that, but Citi assured him it was okay. She wanted it rough. She had to tell him what to do, what she liked. Although he wasn’t the Latin lover she wanted in Miami, his hard dick made up for her disappointment.
Irving caught on quickly to what she liked, and he slid his dick in and out of her pussy at a steady pace. He had stamina, which was another bonus for him.
“I’m gonna come!” he announced.
She could feel him engorge as his orgasm was building inside of his shaft. She was ready to explode. Her mouth was agape and her face in ecstasy as she rode the dick again, toppling forward and smothering him in her tits.
They both exploded. She came hard, and he was quivering with delight. It felt like he would never stop. It was some of the best sex she’d ever had, and Irving was beyond blown away.
Shockingly, Irving was ready for a round two and three. He was like the Energizer Bunny. Citi knew she’d made a smart move by choosing him.
They continued fuck long after her Range Rover had been fixed. Irving gave her what she needed, and she was gradually turning this boy into a man. They made it their business to meet each Monday before her hair appointment. He started to call their tryst Black Love Mondays. It was something he looked forward to. It got him through the week.
After some time, using condoms between them became a thing of the past. Irving and Citi connected in ways they never imagined. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was falling for the young, broke mechanic.
35
Luxe & Beauty Salon in Coconut Grove was impressive. The front reception area had a juice bar, coffee, pastries, and a large lounge area with a 60-inch TV mounted on the wall. The middle section was massive with twenty leather stylist stations, and in the back were eyebrow and eyelash stations, manicures, and pedicures. The high-end beauty salon took in $400,000 monthly, had
won numerous hair shows, was once featured in Essence and Hype Hair magazines, and some of their clients were A-list celebrities.
As usual, the place was swarming with female customers. The gossip was flowing, and the money was too.
The day was winding down to closing hours. It was nearing midnight when Apple casually strolled on the pavestone in five-inch Louboutins just as the last patron was leaving the shop, her hair and makeup on point.
The owner was flipping the “Closed” sign over and was about to turn the locks, but Apple pushed her way inside. Nikki stood there in shock.
“Kola is that you?” she asked in disbelief.
“Do I look like fuckin’ Kola?” Apple scoffed.
“Apple,” Nikki squealed. “Oh shit! They said you were dead. What are you doing here?”
“You sound happy to see me.”
“I am.” Nikki reached out to hug her cousin, but the love wasn’t returned.
Once again, Nikki went to lock the door, but once again, she was interrupted from doing so. Kola and Cartier pushed their way inside the shop, startling Nikki. There was no mistaking it. It was Kola. She took a couple of steps back and suddenly found herself surrounded by the three women. Her false joy soon turned into horror.
“Hey Kola,” she greeted nervously. “I haven’t seen you in a minute.”
“I know . . . since I got knocked.”
“Wow, it’s been that long,” Nikki replied. She moved deeper into her shop and they all followed. “Come in, y’all, so we can catch up.”
The tension could have been cut with a knife. However, Nikki tried to play it cool and pretended not to notice. She removed a bottle of red wine from a nearby shelf and offered the girls some with a nervous smile.
“Nobody drinks this shit,” Kola barked. “Look at this bitch, acting like she got some class now.”
“Oh, y’all want something stronger?” Nikki tried to joke. She didn’t wait for their reply, adding, “Don’t worry, I gotchu.”
She went into the backroom and came back out clutching a bottle of Hennessy and some shot glasses. Kola carried a deadpan expression. Their cousin was trying to make peace somehow—break out the southern hospitality. She poured some of the brown juice into the shot glasses and handed them out.
“Let’s drink and talk and catch up on old times,” said Nikki.
“Yeah . . . let’s do that,” Kola replied.
And they did that. The girls took a seat in the chairs and downed the liquor, and as the brown juice flowed through their veins, they caught up on old times with their cousin. They all sat in the stylists’ chairs and talked about men, fucking, money, hustlers, cartels, and more. Nikki bragged about her come-up and expressed how well her business was doing and named some of the celebrities who frequented her shop.
“I once did Beyoncé’s hair,” Nikki boasted.
“Bitch, stop lying,” Apple said.
“No, I’m for real. She was in town for her concert and she needed an emergency stylist and my name came up. Girl, that bitch is gorgeous fo’ real. She came up in here with her entourage and you would have sworn it was the President in town,” Nikki proclaimed.
More Hennessy was poured into glasses, and the gossip continued. For a moment, it seemed like all was well between Nikki and her cousins—like they were trying to scare her in the beginning—put on a show by showing up at her shop unannounced. But Nikki felt relaxed. They were family.
When they could laugh no more, and reality was no longer a joke, it was Cartier who decided to shift the mood inside the salon. Her eyes cut over at Nikki and she said, “You know you gotta answer to Kola, right?”
Nikki swallowed hard. She stared at her cousins. “What is she talking about?”
Kola erupted with, “Let’s start with how you set me up to get busted! You fuckin’ lied about the feds raiding our fuckin’ place. You stole my fuckin’ money, and then you left me to rot in jail. Does any of that bullshit sound familiar?”
“That’s fuckin’ bullshit! That’s wasn’t me!” Nikki vehemently denied everything.
“Bitch, you gonna sit there and lie to my fuckin’ face like I’m some stupid bitch?”
“You got sloppy, Kola!” Nikki exclaimed.
“Sloppy?” Kola abruptly lifted herself from the chair and looked like she was ready to charge at Nikki. “You fuckin’ played me, bitch!”
They argued. Nikki continued to deny everything, but Kola looked around her cousin’s immaculate salon and she saw where her money went.
“Bitch, I should fuck you up!” Kola screamed.
“Don’t come in my shop with that bullshit, Kola. I ain’t the fuckin’ same,” Nikki warned her.
“What, bitch?”
“You fuckin’ heard me,” Nikki retorted.
Kola had heard enough. She couldn’t stand the sight of her cousin anymore. She swiftly charged at Nikki, ready to tear the weave out of her head and bash her face in. But Nikki had something for her cousin and the others. She quickly pulled out a pistol that she’d gotten from the back when she got the Hennessy and she opened fire wildly at her cousin.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Luckily for everyone, Nikki was a lousy shot and was too afraid to aim straight. Kola, Apple, and Cartier quickly took cover. Nikki continued to fire wildly. She screamed and cursed at them. This was her shop and she wasn’t about to be bullied, threatened, or harmed.
“I ain’t scared of y’all bitches!” Nikki shouted.
“You fuckin’ cunt!” Kola screamed behind one of the chairs.
Nikki fired her way and the bullets slammed into the chair, barely missing Kola.
“Get the fuck out my shop!” Nikki screamed. “Fuck you!”
Pop! Pop!
As Nikki was distracted by aiming at Kola, Apple snuck up behind her and thrust a .380 to the side of her head and parked a bullet in her temple. Nikki collapsed right there, dead.
“Bitch,” Apple uttered with disdain.
“What the fuck, Apple!” Kola hollered.
“What?”
“I wanted to kill that bitch myself.”
“You seemed busy ducking,” Apple mocked.
“I had it under control,” Kola griped.
“Really? It didn’t seem that way to me. And besides, you weren’t even thinking about the bitch all these years, cuz you were too busy playing house wit’ your husband. It was me that said this bitch ain’t gonna live her life while I’m in South Beach again,” Apple proclaimed.
As the twins fussed, Cartier had the idea of going through the cash register and taking all the day’s earnings. “I bet this bitch got a safe in here somewhere too,” she said.
The sisters ceased their argument. Now wasn’t the time for bickering, they felt. They had a dead body on the floor in a well-known beauty salon in Coconut Grove.
“C’mon, we gotta do this shit fast,” said Cartier in a hurry.
After ransacking the place, the girls found the safe in the back. They locked the doors and dimmed the lights. Kola went and pulled the car around to the back door and they used a dolly to haul the safe out of the salon under the cover of darkness. It took all three of them to lift it and place it into the trunk. After that, they went back into the salon and wiped away their prints and whatever they touched, it left with them in a plastic bag. They took the surveillance footage and left Nikki’s body sprawled across the floor in the middle of her shop.
36
Apple took the first shift in following around Scar’s mistress around town. She rode in an unassuming Ford and wore old jeans, a bad wig, and a baseball cap as she followed Scar’s mistress to work, to the mall, and various other places.
The girls took turns, and Cartier had the late shift.
That night, Scar’s mistress exited her home looking glamorous in a tight red dress and a pair of high heel
s. She climbed into her Audi and sped off. Cartier was close behind. Twenty minutes later, she followed the girl to a nightclub in South Beach called Twist.
From the car, Cartier observed the woman strut into the nightclub, and then she made the call to Apple and Kola.
The girls entered Twist separately. Twist was a large club on Collins Avenue with a long black bar and many VIP areas, and there was a large gold couch in the middle of the club. The music was techno and disco, and the trio noticed that the girls were dressed extravagantly in dresses and gowns, and their faces were beat. Men and women were mingling, but there was something off about the place. The disco lights flashed and there were a few men vogueing in the middle of the dance floor.
“What the fuck is this place?” Apple questioned.
When a couple took to the stage to sing a Gloria Estefan song, it was then that they all realized that they were in a drag queen club. Seeing Scar’s mistress up close, they realized that she was a he—and he was transitioning.
It was a what-the-fuck moment. All three of them were completely in shock. Was Scar gay?
As the night progressed, Kola and Cartier started a conversation with one of the male bartenders who had a penchant for gossiping. Most of the women inside Twist were transgender—in the process of adding and removing a few body parts like Bruce Jenner. They were still shocked to find out that Scar was fucking a man—a man who was in the process of becoming a woman.
It was ironic.
But they weren’t there to criticize his sexual lifestyle. They were there to plot against him and kill him. The girls were keenly focused on his mistress, whose name they found out was Christy. Christy was a popular bitch inside the club, knowing lots of people and looking like the life of the party.
They followed Christy to the bathroom. Once inside, Cartier approached the mistress with some minor aggression, thrusting a small pistol into her side and demanding her attention.
“We need to talk, Christy,” Cartier growled at her.
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