Betrayal

by Naomi Chase

  Honey’s face reddened as Lou shot her a stunned look. “Puñeta coño! You were fucking that asshole?”

  “Oops.” Tamia smirked. “Didn’t mean to let the cat out of the bag. Speaking of cats, nice panties, bitch. Did you mean to leave them behind at Dominic’s crib so I’d find them? When you called me that morning when he and I were driving back to Houston, did you already know I’d be stupid enough to go home with him?”

  Honey shook her head quickly. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Liar!”

  “I’m not lying, Tamia! I didn’t even know you and Dominic had spent the weekend together because I hadn’t spoken to him in weeks! The last time I’d seen him was the night he showed up at your apartment and—”

  Tamia gasped. “You’re the one who let him up, aren’t you? You left for a date, and the next thing I knew, he was standing on my doorstep. He wasn’t let up by some woman who lives on the same floor as me!”

  “No, he wasn’t,” Honey confirmed, looking guiltier by the moment. “He paid the front desk clerk to tell you that story. It ended up costing the guy his job—in case you were wondering where he’s been. Anyway, I don’t even know why Dominic was there that night. Once you went to prison, he told Bishop Yarbrough he was done with the whole scheme. He’d kept his end of the bargain and wanted nothing more to do with any of us.”

  Tamia sneered. “Yet he kept fucking you. No wonder you told me you didn’t blame me for sleeping with him. As you rightly said, the brotha can lay some pipe!”

  Honey shot a remorseful glance at Lou, who looked hurt and disgusted. “Like I said, I hadn’t spoken to Dominic in weeks. The day after you and I went shopping together, I went to his apartment to see him—”

  “Feenin’ for the dick, huh?” Tamia taunted.

  Honey blushed, biting her lip. “I didn’t leave my panties there on purpose. After we . . . were done, he kinda hustled me out the door, didn’t really give me a chance to get all my shit together.”

  “Made you feel cheap and used, didn’t it?” Tamia smirked, relishing the girl’s humiliation. “That’s what men like Dominic do. They use you, then they toss your ass out when you’ve served your purpose or they’ve grown bored with you. Guess being the bottom bitch ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?”

  Honey sniffled, scraping tears from her eyes with the heel of her palm. “I know you don’t wanna hear this, Tamia, but I’ve always admired you. I can’t tell you how many times I watched your Mystique videos and took notes. You were a badass bitch, the best in the business as far as I’m concerned. And I respected the way you did your thing and made your paper, then got out the game after you earned your college degree. Honestly, I jumped at the chance to live with you because I really liked you and I wanted to get closer to you. I didn’t have to pretend to be your friend. I am your friend.”

  “Some friend,” Tamia spat bitterly. “With friends like you and Lou, who the fuck needs enemies?”

  Tears leaked from Honey’s eyes. “Tamia—”

  “This is CRAZY!” she exploded, slapping her palm against the armrest. “I’m running out of muthafuckas to trust!”

  Lou swore under his breath in Spanish, his voice hoarse with shame and regret. “I’m sorry, mamacita. I’m so—”

  “Save your fucking sorry!” Tamia screamed, jumping to her feet. She snatched up her baseball bat, then spun on her heel and marched toward the front door.

  Lou caught up to her, grabbing her arm to detain her.

  She whirled around, shoving at his chest hard enough to knock him backward.

  “I love you, Tamia,” he fervently declared. “If I could go back and make a different choice, I would in a heartbeat!”

  Tamia sneered contemptuously. “When Dominic showed up at my office and called me Mystique, I didn’t know who could have sold me out. My first instinct was to question everyone—including you. I should have trusted that instinct. Lesson learned.”

  Lou flinched, pain darkening his eyes.

  Without sparing Honey another glance, Tamia turned and strode out the front door.

  Instead of returning to Dominic’s penthouse, she drove straight home, seething with pain and fury.

  When she arrived at her building, she relinquished her Porsche to the valet, wisely taking advantage of the complimentary service so she wouldn’t have to go anywhere near the parking garage.

  After letting herself into her apartment, she tossed down her keys and crossed to the windows, fuming as she glared out at the downtown skyline that would be ablaze with fireworks at the stroke of midnight.

  Honey and Joseph Yarbrough had ruthlessly conspired against her, setting her up for a fall she’d never seen coming. Since they’d thought nothing of destroying her life, she’d gladly return the favor.

  Pulling out her phone, Tamia scrolled through her contacts until she found the number she was looking for.

  Ten minutes later she’d placed her phone call, setting the avalanche in motion.

  Staring out the windows, she smiled narrowly.

  Payback is a straight-up bitch!

  Chapter 42

  Brandon

  Everyone was already gathered in the sun-drenched solarium when Brandon arrived at his parents’ house for the family’s traditional New Year’s Day breakfast. They sat around a long table adorned with fresh-cut flowers from the garden, fragrant platters of food stretching from one end to the other. Laughter and conversation flowed over the pleasant tinkle of crystal and silverware.

  It was all so perfect and idyllic. Like a picture out of one of those home-decorating magazines.

  This year’s familial gathering included Joseph and Coretta Yarbrough and their four sons. Cynthia was conspicuously absent.

  As Brandon entered the solarium, his mother beamed at him from her throne at the head of the table. “Hello, darling! We didn’t expect to see you or Cynthia this morning. She called and said you two wouldn’t be able to make it to church or breakfast because you’d had a late night ringing in the New Year.”

  “Did she, now?” Brandon drawled, stopping beside his mother’s chair to survey the feast on the table. “Did she also tell you that we rang in the New Year separately?”

  Gwen’s smile faded as the others exchanged speculative glances. “No, she didn’t tell me that.”

  Brandon smirked. “Then I guess she also didn’t tell you that I broke off our engagement yesterday.”

  This drew exclamations of angry protest from his parents and Cynthia’s family.

  “Why on earth did you do that?” Gwen demanded.

  “It’s kind of a blur now,” Brandon mused, thoughtfully stroking his goatee, “but it might have had something to do with me finding out that she’s been faking her pregnancy for the past month.”

  Shocked gasps went around the table, his mother’s being the loudest and most scandalized. One look at Coretta Yarbrough’s flushed face told Brandon that his bombshell announcement wasn’t news to her.

  “Coretta,” Gwen coolly inquired, biting off each syllable, “what is the meaning of this?”

  Coretta nervously picked up her glass and gulped down her mimosa as her husband gaped incredulously at her.

  Beau and Brooke bowed their heads, their shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

  Their father looked outraged.

  Cynthia’s brothers looked like they wanted to be raptured away.

  “Call me old-fashioned,” Brandon continued sardonically, “but if I’m gonna be forced into a marriage of convenience, I expect to get a real baby out of the deal.” He sighed, shaking his head as he snagged a powdered beignet from a silver tray on the table. “Anyway, I’m afraid I can’t stay for breakfast. But Mrs. Jessup, God bless her, is fixing me a plate to go. So you folks enjoy the rest of your meal.”

  He moved to leave, then snapped his fingers and turned back. “Oh, yeah, that’s the other thing,” he said, addressing Bishop Yarbrough. “I was listening to the radio on my way over here, and they were talkin
g about you. Apparently some story just broke about you paying escorts for sex?”

  As a shocked silence swept over the room, the bishop looked like he was about to have a stroke.

  Bernard glared furiously at his campaign surrogate, a vein throbbing at his temple.

  Coretta burst into tears, sprang from her chair, and fled the room.

  Darting a shamefaced glance around the table, Joseph got up and hurried after his distraught wife. Their sons weren’t far behind.

  In the deafening silence that followed the Yarbroughs’ departure, Brandon kissed his mother’s forehead, smiled into her eyes, and drawled, “Guess we really dodged a bullet, huh?”

  As her mouth flapped open and closed, Brandon bit into the warm beignet and hummed appreciatively, then glanced around the table at his family.

  “Happy New Year, everyone.” He winked, then turned and sauntered out as Beau and Brooke erupted into laughter.

  Later that evening, Brandon sat alone in the shadowy darkness of his living room. He was nursing a glass of scotch as he broodingly contemplated a DVD in his hand. He read the title scrawled in marker across the plastic cover. Mystique Slave Chronicles: Pussy Sublime, Volume One.

  He remembered the first time he’d ever laid eyes on the DVD at Dre’s apartment. He’d casually pulled it out of a moving box, never suspecting that the video held a secret that would turn his whole world upside down.

  Brandon stared at the disc, tapping it slowly against his thigh.

  Then he glanced up at the television—a huge high-def flat-panel TV he’d bought to replace the one he’d destroyed during an argument with Cynthia.

  Watching this should cure your obsession once and for all. God knows nothing else has worked.

  Brandon tossed back the rest of his scotch, then set the glass down on the table.

  Chest burning, heart pounding, he opened the plastic case and removed the disc, then got up and slowly made his way over to the DVD player....

  Chapter 43

  Tamia

  Tamia sat curled up on her sofa, her legs drawn up to her chest. She was staring at a plastic stick gripped between her fingers, struggling to absorb the magnitude of what the colored lines meant.

  Her phone rang beside her on the sofa cushion.

  She glanced down, showing no reaction when she saw Dominic’s number on the display screen. He’d been calling her since yesterday, starting from the moment he’d returned home and found her gone. She’d let his calls go to voice mail, not bothering to listen to any of the messages he left.

  She’d been in a state of numb shock since learning about his involvement in Bishop Yarbrough’s conspiracy plot. The fact that Dominic had been blackmailed didn’t absolve him of blame, though Tamia could understand why he’d agreed to the scheme. She didn’t know too many people who wouldn’t have if given the choice between extorting sex from a stranger or going to federal prison. Dominic had done what was best for him, just as she’d done what she thought was necessary when she’d allowed him to blackmail her.

  What bothered Tamia more than anything was that he’d been sleeping with Honey the whole time they’d been conspiring against her. When Tamia found Honey’s underwear at Dominic’s apartment, he’d told her that the panties belonged to a one-night stand, when in actuality he’d been screwing Honey for months. How could Tamia ever believe a word that came out of his lying mouth? She couldn’t, because he’d proved to be downright shady and untrustworthy. With him, the next betrayal was always right around the corner.

  When the phone stopped ringing, Tamia calmly picked it up and stared at the display screen: 32 Missed Calls.

  She heaved a resigned sigh. It was clear that Dominic would keep calling until he’d spoken to her. Knowing that she couldn’t avoid him forever, she reluctantly proceeded to listen to his messages.

  In the first one, he sounded concerned but annoyed: “Where are you? Is everything okay? You didn’t say anything about having to run out. We can’t be late to our own party tonight, so hurry the hell up and get home.”

  The second message was all concern: “All right now, Tamia, I’m getting worried. Where the hell are you? Do I need to call the police? Call me back or I’m doing a drive-by on Dashay and Jamila.”

  By the third message, he’d obviously spoken to Honey and gotten a heads-up that he was busted. “Tamia . . . I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say. I know I should have been truthful with you, love, but I couldn’t. . . . I had no other choice. I was as much a victim as you were. Come home so we can talk about this. Please, love. Come home.”

  This morning, while Tamia was in the bathroom puking her guts out, he’d left her a fourth and final missive: “So you kickin’ me to the curb but keepin’ the fuckin’ car I gave you, bitch?”

  Tamia scowled, angrily deleting all of his messages.

  When he called back a few minutes later, she picked up the phone but didn’t say a word.

  “Tamia?” He sounded relieved. “I’m glad you finally answered your damn phone. Listen, baby, I know you’re upset and you have every right to be. But you need to give me a chance to explain. It wasn’t my idea to blackmail you! And if you’re mad about that little jump-off, don’t be. She don’t mean shit to me. You’re the only woman who matters. In fact, the reason I bought you that engagement ring is ’cause I wanted you to get used to wearing it. I wanna marry you, Tamia.”

  She stopped breathing for a moment.

  Dominic sighed heavily. “Fuck. This isn’t the way I wanted to propose. We need to talk, love. Face-to-face. I just pulled up in front of your building—the valet’s about to park my car. Can you come downstairs and get me? You know they’ve been extra tight with security because of that note you got. So come down and get me so we can talk. All right?”

  Tamia nodded slowly and whispered, “All right.”

  She hung up and sat there, silent and unmoving. The plastic wand with the double pink lines was still clutched between her numb fingers.

  Three minutes later, her phone rang again.

  When she saw that the front desk was calling, she picked up.

  “Miss Luke?”

  “Yes,” she said tonelessly.

  “Brandon Chambers is here to see you.”

  Tamia’s heart lurched into her throat. Brandon is here.... Brandon is here....

  “Miss Luke?” the attendant prompted. “Should I tell him you’re coming down?”

  Tamia closed her eyes and lay her head back against the sofa.

  The attendant hastened to explain, “Even though Mr. Chambers’s name is on the lease, we’re under strict orders not to allow any visitors upstairs without proper clearance. It’s for the safety of our residents.”

  “I know.” Tamia swallowed tightly and opened her eyes. “I’m coming.”

  She pushed to her feet and dragged herself to her bedroom. After tugging on a blue V-neck sweater and black leggings over thick socks, she padded to the bathroom to brush her teeth and gargle with mouthwash to remove the nasty taste that still lingered hours after she’d last vomited. Surveying her reflection in the mirror, she grimaced at her disheveled hair and puffy eyes. A good combing fixed one problem, but there was nothing she could do about the other.

  Gnawing her lower lip, she contemplated the home pregnancy test she’d set on the counter. After a few moments, she picked it up and stuck it inside the cabinet beneath the sink. Turning off the light, she left the bathroom and headed from her apartment.

  When she reached the lobby, she saw Brandon and Dominic glowering at each other from opposite ends of the reception desk. Brandon had his black gym bag slung over one shoulder, feet braced apart in a dangerously aggressive stance that dared Dominic to come closer for another ass whipping.

  The security guard had positioned himself between the two enemy combatants, his hand resting warningly on the butt of his weapon.

  Hearing the ding of the elevator, Brandon and Dominic swung their gazes around.

  Tamia froze, and f
or one cowardly moment she was tempted to haul ass back to her apartment.

  Taking a deep breath to shore up her resolve, she stepped off the elevator and began walking toward her two lovers.

  They watched her intently, jaws clenched, postures tense as they waited to see who would be returning upstairs with her.

  When she walked up to Dominic, his eyes gleamed with smug triumph. She took his hand and turned it over, then dropped the keys to the penthouse and the Porsche into his palm.

  As he stared down at the keys in stunned disbelief, Tamia moved on to Brandon. He gazed tenderly at her as she took his hand and wordlessly led him toward the elevators.

  “Tamia!” Dominic blustered in protest. “What the fuck are you doing? I told you we need to talk! Tamia—”

  She and Brandon ignored him, staring at each other as they boarded the elevator.

  The moment the doors closed behind them, Brandon dropped his bag to the floor. They pounced on each other, mouths clashing voraciously. Brandon lifted Tamia, and she wrapped her legs around him as her back hit the wall. He sucked her tongue and ground his hips against hers, making her pussy throb.

  Gasping, she tore her mouth from his. “Wait, damn it. Wait.”

  He stared at her, nostrils flaring, eyes glittering fiercely. “I missed you.”

  The aching words, the raw need, the low register of his deep voice—they were enough to have her dropping to her knees, unzipping his pants, and swallowing him down her throat.

  Somehow she managed to look him in the eye and say firmly, “We need to talk.”

  He nodded. “We do.”

  When the elevator arrived on her floor, he bent to pick up his bag without setting her down.

  They gazed intently at each other as he carried her down the hallway. It was only when they reached her door that he reluctantly put her down, then stood close behind her as she fumbled to unlock the door.

  He followed her inside, shutting the door behind them and dropping his bag by the foyer table.