Michelle wanted a little one on one with Daryl, but Deja didn’t seem right.
She sat down with her friend. “Hey, what’s up with you? Looks like Nikky’s good to go with Omar, and I’m ready to take Daryl home to see if he has bedroom moves to match his dancing. How about you? You going with Speed? He’s really fine, and has some good moves on the floor, too.”
“No. I need to get home. Jerome texted me. He’s pissed I’m not there. Wants me to come over to his place tonight.”
“But you told me Jerome’s seeing other women when he feels like it,” Michelle said. “Just because he says so, doesn’t mean you have to go be his booty call.”
“Yeah, I know, but I’m worried he’ll get pissed more and we’ll have trouble.”
“What do you mean ‘trouble’? He’s never hit you or anything, right?”
“It’s not like that. I just don’t want any drama, is all.”
“Okay, if you say so. But don’t put up with any bullshit from him.”
Michelle narrowed her eyes. She didn’t believe Deja, but this didn’t feel like the right time or place to call her on it. If she said it was okay, then it had to be okay, at least for now.
I’ll keep an eye on them. Jerome gives me a bad feeling.
“Say, Michelle, could you front me some cash?” Deja asked. “I thought I could get a ride home with you or Nikky, but . . .”
“I’ve got you, girlfriend. Here’s a Grant. You be good.”
When Nikky came back from the dance floor, Michelle grabbed her, pulled her aside. “Hey, I’m headed home for some well-deserved sex. Deja’s taking a cab to Jerome’s. You good here?”
“Hella, yes! Me and Omar are right behind you. He’s not real pretty, but he’s treated me good, and I can tell he’s the real deal, at least for tonight. Catch you on the flip side.”
.
Fourteen: Interrupted
WHAP!
She slapped him on the ass.
“What the hell!” Daryl’s eyes flew open. Michelle stood next him, butt naked and grinning, a toothbrush in one hand.
“What, hunh? Okay, you want to play? Because, damn, girl, you look good this morning.”
So did he. Sadly, Michelle had a busy day and she had to get a move on. Bummer.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Time you get your lazy butt outta my bed. You and Grant here are buying us some breakfast.” She stuck out a fifty-dollar bill.
“Yeah, all right, if you’re sure you don’t have the time.” He stretched big, grunted, and rolled out of bed. His little man was standing up, too, and Michelle smiled to herself. She loved having that effect.
After Daryl came out of the bathroom, he cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb over her nipple. Then he kissed her on the neck and gave her bottom a swat, sending her into the shower.
“Can a brother get a little help?” he soon shouted over Michelle’s running water. “What do you want for breakfast, and where can I get it?”
“Scott’s, down on the corner,” she yelled back. “Breakfast special, big coffee, to go. Money’s on the dresser.”
After her shower, Michelle headed over to dig through her underwear drawer where the Grant still sat on top of the dresser. “I’ll be damned,” she said. “First guy to leave the money here.”
The big windows and French doors let the morning sun into Michelle’s kitchen where she and Daryl sat, enjoying their breakfast. Her cottage was only five blocks from the beach, but because there was no ocean vista, the view from the kitchen out to the patio had to do. Fortunately, thick shrubs and plants lined the little patio, creating a sense of privacy and peacefulness.
Michelle sat back and sipped her coffee, half of her breakfast sandwich still on her plate. Daryl pointed to it, having already finished his.
“You going to eat that?” he asked.
“Nope. Want it?”
She pushed it over to him, and he held up the half-sandwich.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Thanks.”
Again, they sat in quiet companionship, while he chewed on a bite from her sandwich, and she sipped more of her coffee —
This is nice; having breakfast with Daryl.
— when her ringtone, Morning Reveille, interrupted her thoughts.
“Sup?” she answered.
“Hey, girl, hope I’m not waking you up. It’s about Deja.”
At Nikky’s urgent tone, Michelle immediately refocused, all thoughts of Daryl and the morning forgotten. “What’s happened?”
“That asshat Jerome jacked her last night,” Nikky said.
Michelle narrowed her eyes to small slits. “How bad?”
“Not really bad, she’ll be okay. Nothing’s broken or cut. Just some bruising and swelling.”
“Tell me.”
“Her lip’s swollen, along with her eye, and there’s a nasty-ass bruise on the side of her face.”
“That lousy rat bastard. Are you there now?” Michelle asked.
“Yeah, I have the afternoon shift. I can stay with her all morning.”
“Okay, good. I’m coming over now.”
Michelle looked over at Daryl, who stared back with a questioning look on his face. “I have to go,” she said.
Daryl nodded once, stood up, and pulled her close, rubbing his hands down her back. “You’re more than hot; you’re a special kind of woman. Thanks for breakfast.” He kissed her softly on the lips, then walked out the door ahead of her.
Michelle was already halfway to Deja’s before she even realized how impressive Daryl had been. From the butt slap to getting kicked out with no real explanation, he’d been a true gentleman.
Last night had been good — really good. Daryl not only had skills, he also had the right kind of attitude: he played with sex, made the whole thing — before, during, after, and during again — all fun. She moved him right up to the top of her A-list.
Her thoughts changed back to Deja and she envisioned what she’d do to that bastard, Jerome, when she caught up to him.
* * *
Michelle parked her Crossfire on the street in front of Deja’s apartment building and took a moment to breathe deeply to calm her racing heart. Then she took slow, careful steps up the walk, measuring her pace with her breathing and her thoughts.
In general, she hated stupid men, but even more, she hated any chickenshit man who’d hit a woman. Any man stupid enough to hit one of her friends was dead meat.
Michelle’s anger ran deep, but she needed to be in complete control to keep her drama from blowing onto Deja. Deja needed a friend to support her, to help her, to love her; she sure as hell didn’t need Michelle’s potential explosion of violence. Before knocking on the door, Michelle forced herself to stop fidgeting and close her eyes, visualizing a calming childhood memory, then she smoothed her shirt, knocked, and went in.
“Oh, girl, let me look at you.” Michelle hurried over to Deja and, crouching, gingerly touched her upper lip and swollen left eye. A nasty bruise was blooming on the side of her face. “Yeah, that has to hurt. But it doesn’t look too bad. With some makeup, you could go to work tomorrow.”
Nikky came out of the kitchen with some fresh ice wrapped in a cloth.
Michelle clutched Deja’s hands. “Look, sweetie, I have to do a couple of errands this morning. Nikky will be here with you. I’ll come back later and stay with you this afternoon.”
Deja stared at her through reddened eyes, and the damage to Deja’s face made Michelle’s blood run ice cold with hatred. It’d definitely take a couple of weeks for the injuries to fade.
“Now, about that asshat, Jerome. What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing,” Deja said softly. “Don’t do anything. He can be real mean, and I don’t want you to get hurt. I can handle this. His temper gets too hot sometimes, but he’s never hurt me real bad.”
“It’s okay, sweetie. I’ll stay safe. Has he done this before?”
; “Yes.”
“Ever this bad?”
“No . . . I just really pissed him off this time.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Michelle said. “I’m so sorry, but we have a real problem. We both know, once a guy — not just Jerome, but any guy — does this, they keep going. This won’t stop until someone stops him. If he isn’t stopped, he’ll keep getting worse.”
“He really isn’t that way,” Deja said. “I know he doesn’t mean to hurt me.”
Michelle took Deja’s hands. “That’s your heart and hopes talking. Your head knows better.”
“I know. You’re right.”
Still holding Deja’s hands, Michelle squeezed tight. “If we don’t stop him, sooner or later, he’ll hurt you bad. I’m not going to let that happen. You hear me? He has to learn he can’t do this. Not now, not ever.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I can kill him, almost kill him, or just jack him enough to make him understand I’m serious. My choice is to remove all the danger to you.”
“You mean kill him?”
“That’s what I would choose. But my choice isn’t what counts, yours is. You tell me. If you can’t decide, just shake your head and I’ll take care of it. He’ll be permanently gone so you never have to worry about him again.”
“No, I don’t want that.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know,” Deja said. “I’m so confused.”
Michelle slid off the couch where she’d been sitting next to Deja and knelt directly in front of her. She gently cupped Deja’s face with both hands. “Yes, you do know. You just don’t want to make a very difficult decision. That’s Jerome’s influence. The Deja I grew up with knows her own mind. Make a decision, or he’s dead.”
Deja’s wide eyes darted around the room. Then she nodded.
“You need to tell me now,” Michelle said, “because I’m leaving to go take care of some business and I might run into Jerome while I’m out.”
“Please,” Deja whispered in a tiny voice, “don’t do much. Just scare him a little, okay?”
“If that’s what you want, then he lives, but if he ever does this again, he’ll wish he’d died the first time. Now here, give me a hug, and I’ll see you at lunch. Which do you want, Roscoe’s or T-Bone’s?”
Michelle briefly caught eyes with Nikky, who nodded a single confirming “yes.”
* * *
Sitting in her car in front of Deja’s apartment, Michelle speed dialed her uncle on her phone.
“G-Baby’s B-Shop. This is G.”
“Hey, Uncle G, it’s me, Michelle. Do you know that asshole Jerome that Deja’s been hooking up with?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I need to find him and take care of some business. Deja’s pretty upset so I don’t want to talk to her about it. Do you have any idea where I can find him?”
“Lemme see . . . he used to work over at the Pep Boys auto parts store, but not anymore. Now, he mostly hangs with a bunch of guys over at the park, playing dominoes. If he’s not there, call back and I’ll ask around.”
“No, don’t do that,” Michelle said. “I don’t want people knowing I’m checking up on him.”
“I see.”
“What kind of car does he drive?”
“Um, last I remember, it’s a white Sebring. Older model. He always keeps it clean and freshly polished.”
“Thanks, Uncle G.”
Michelle started up her Crossfire and put the top down to see better. With a cap to shade her eyes, she headed off to the park, but she’d only driven two blocks from Deja’s place when she saw a white Sebring with shiny, oversized chrome wheels parked at Henry’s.
No. Can that be his car? I couldn’t be that lucky.
Henry’s small convenience store had been built during the time when big store front windows were rare, and instead of installing those big windows, Henry covered his smaller ones with bars. Sometime within the past fifteen years, a BBQ trailer shack showed up, sitting on blocks at the edge of the parking lot.
I’ll be damned. That is his car. Look at that fool, sitting there alone with his forty-ounce like he’s some kind of king shit.
Michelle pumped her brakes, slowing almost to a stop, checked the street in front, and behind in her mirrors, then quickly scanned Henry’s. No cars, no one walking, no bikes on the street or by the door at Henry’s. She knew there wouldn’t be any security cameras, but she looked for them anyway. None.
The trailer is closed up tight, nobody inside. With him sitting at the table, the trailer blocks the view from that side.
There could be someone inside the store. I can’t go in to check; Henry will recognize me. That won’t work.
Pull in close to the table where he’s sitting, but out just a bit to block the view from someone coming up the street.
Michelle played the scene in her mind, counting the seconds for each action. She calculated less than a minute, starting from the moment she pulled in, to when she pulled out.
Take the chance now, or wait for another time?
Michelle pulled into the parking lot, then walked around the back of her car, putting herself directly in Jerome’s path. She wanted him to see her coming well before she reached him. She wanted him arrogant, thinking he had nothing to be concerned about with a woman approaching.
She sat down next to him on the bench by the picnic table. He slowly looked over at her, making a big show of taking a drink from his beer . . . and when he realized a silenced .380 was pushed up against his dick, his eyes almost popped out.
“Muthafucka, if it was up to me, you’d be dead right now,” Michelle said. “Deja’s my friend and she said not to kill you. I wanted to at least shoot your dick off. She asked me not to. You get a pass, but this is me telling you: I’ll fuck you up forever if you mess with her again.”
“You’re nothing but a stupid bitch,” Jerome said. “You don’t got the balls to shoot no one.”
Michelle shook her head. “I can see the fear in your eyes; hear the squeal in your voice. You’re trying to play it off like you’re all that, but you don’t have the heart; deep inside you’re a chickenshit coward.”
Outwardly, she appeared calm. Inside, she capped and controlled her rage. Right now, in the moment, she maintained a calculated coolness. From past experience, she knew tomorrow would be full of emotional swings — from the heat of anger to the acidic depths of depression. That was tomorrow. Today, she had a job to do.
She calmly stared him right in the eye and eased the barrel up his stomach and across his chest to his left side a little below his armpit. Without breaking eye contact, she pulled the gun back about a foot. His breath released and his eyes flicked down to the gun. Up so close, she didn’t need to aim or even look; peripheral vision was good enough.
She fired once —Puhffiitt!— and the slug creased his side; more frightening than dangerous.
Jerome screamed. Eyes flying open, he flinched back, pushing against the table. He started to get up, but Michelle jerked the gun up to meet him, the end of the barrel stopping a few inches from his face.
“Sit down.”
Jerome sat.
Out of the corner of her eye, Michelle saw a kid coming on a bike. She crossed her legs like a man, with her ankle on her knee and hid the .380, still pointing it at Jerome, from under her calf. “Say anything, look at anything, make any kind of a move, I’ll empty the clip in you.”
Michelle held Jerome’s gaze while the kid coasted on his bike up to the front door, hopped off, and leaned the bike against the wall. Jerome froze, sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. He held the wound with his right hand, and his eyes, now bloodshot, watered.
For the few seconds it took the kid to park his bike and disappear through the front door, time stood still. Michelle’s stare never wavered. After the door closed completely, she put her foot down.
“Because of what’s happened here, you might think I’m cold-blooded. I’m not. I’
m practiced, patient, and professional. Touch a single fucking hair on Deja ever again and I’ll take you apart piece by piece. God’s truth, asshole. I’d enjoy that.”
Jerome nodded.
“Sit still.”
Jerome nodded again.
Michelle scooted back, stood, hid the .380 under her crossed arms and back-stepped to the end of her car. She lifted her arm slightly to show Jerome her gun. “Don’t forget: not a hair.”
A moment later, she backed out of Henry’s parking lot in search of takeout for lunch.
.
Fifteen: Strange Skills
MICHELLE FOLLOWED NIKKY’S GAZE checking out the rock climbing gym. Seeing it fresh through Nikky’s eyes, she had to admit it looked bizarre — the inside walls of the large industrial building had been covered from the floor to the ceiling with a smooth, artificial rock dotted with brightly colored bumps, knobs, and holds. Though most of the surfaces were vertical, a few were fashioned like cliff sides so the climber would end up hanging from the holds.
Numerous people mimicked flies climbing the walls. A few wore harnesses attached to safety ropes, while others seemed to be attached to the wall itself with no visible safety equipment and even less apparent good sense.
“No way. No fucking way,” Nikky said. “I’ll never do some stupid shit like that. Girl, you’ve gone and lost your goddamned mind. Just to start, look at these.” She held up her beautiful long nails on both hands. “Ten good reasons why you won’t see me climb no stupid wall. I’ve got a hundred more reasons that are even better if you want to hear them.”
With her updo curls, tight miniskirt, and strap-up heels, Nikky was as out of place in the gym as a business suit in a rock concert. Didn’t stop the guys from admiring her butt, though.
“Of course, I don’t expect you to do this,” Michelle said. “I just wanted you to see some of the things I do. I told you some wild stuff, and what you see here is part of it. Not the real deal, because I can’t just climb up the side of some building in broad daylight.”
Hard Revenge: Action Adventure Pulp Thriller Book #1 (Michelle Angelique) Page 8