Sister's Revenge: Action Adventure Assassin Pulp Thriller Book #1 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Assassin)

by Lori Jean Grace

  Deja: tall and beautiful, the essence of wide-eyed sexuality. She strolled toward the center dance floor area.

  Damn, that girl’s like a walking advertisement for outrageous sex.

  Nikky: small, compact, powerful; as hot as a sleek panther in milk chocolate skin. She prowled in slow, liquid motion, sizing up the men for their potential and the women as competition. One look at her and any man knew she was the hottest woman he could ever hope to be with, but only a few would prove strong enough to do right by her.

  Nikky owns every room she walks into. It’s shaping up to be an interesting night.

  Already the place was packed. Perfect time to make an entrance. Lousy time to find a good seat. But Lady Luck smiled on Michelle as she spotted a woman rising from a table by the dance floor. She headed her way.

  “Hey, girlfriend, y’all leaving this table?”

  “Yeah, we’re moving over with those guys,” said the pretty woman in tight pants that showed off her figure, as she nodded at a booth across the room.

  “Mind if me and my friends sit here?”

  “Help yourself,” she replied, moving off.

  Michelle wiped the water rings from the tabletop and set her purse down to claim her territory.

  “Did you just get here?” a man asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Mind if I sit with you a minute?”

  “Actually, I do mind,” she said. “My girls’ll be here soon. We’ll need some time to get set.”

  “That’s cool. Get back at you later.”

  “All right, that’ll work.”

  He hadn’t even taken a full step away, when a woman put her hand on the back of a stool at Michelle’s table. “Hey, girl, mind if I take this?”

  “Sorry, it’s for my friend. She’ll be here soon,” Michelle replied, right as Deja strolled up with the gaze of every man close by glued to her ass. A few even looked at her pretty face.

  “Gurl, this party is jamming!” Deja said. “Hey, I saw that guy over here when you first got the table. He’s right to make a move fast; the rest of them will be like dogs sniffing around real soon, too.”

  Nikky joined them. “Did you see that skank with the huge ass trying to give me the stank eye? She’s acting like I want her no-count man.”

  “No, who’s that?” Deja asked.

  “Over by the end of the bar, at that tall table. She’s in that gold dress I saw at the swap meet two years ago. As if I’d even consider opening my legs for a loser like him.”

  “Yeah, I know her.” Deja nodded. “Well, actually, I’ve only seen her around. She’s always with some serious loser with no money and acts like he’s all that.”

  “Say,” Michelle said, looking around, “who’s the tall, pretty woman with ‘bitch’ written all over her. The one coming from the back?”

  “That’s Monique,” Nikky replied. “She’s been with Lewis the last couple years since Baby‑Sister split with him. She’s fly, but I also hear she’s as mean as snake shit. Nobody messes with her.”

  Deja snorted. “Snake shit? What’s that? Who talks like that? Have you been hanging with some cowboy and holding out on us? Snake shit. I’m definitely using that. I like the sound of ‘she’s meaner than snake shit.’”

  “I’m solid here for a minute,” Nikky said to Michelle, “if you want to make a lap and check out what’s up?”

  “Yeah, thanks. I’ll get us some drinks while I’m up. It looks like the waitress won’t get here anytime soon.”

  “I’ll hold the table until you get back.”

  While Deja bounced to the beat of the music, a very tall man approached, asking, “Say, ma, you ready to get your groove on?”

  Deja winked at Nikky, hopped off her stool, and said, “I can do that.”

  Michelle cruised the club. She passed by a massive man posted at the bottom of stairs leading up to what she suspected was the VIP balcony. She’d seen his type before—a big jock in high school, where it was easy; good, but not good enough for first‑string college ball, and too lazy, or too stupid, to do serious security, so they turned to street muscle. They relied on intimidation first, brute force after that. A pro could take him out in a heartbeat, but no pro would bother. None here, anyway.

  Michelle waited at the bar for their drinks, noting two entrance bouncers who wore black shirts with the club insignia embroidered on the chest. Another two private security men stood at the bar, while two more held positions against a wall. All individuals, so not part of a team. Bodyguards, probably for some of the celebrities, pro basketball or baseball players. The man at the stairs was the only muscle who belonged to Lewis, and there’d be at least one, likely two, upstairs in the VIP area. She grabbed their drinks, then returned to the table.

  “Hey,” she said, sitting down with Nikky, “isn’t that Danny somebody, the pro basketball player, dancing with Deja?”

  “Umm, yeah, I think so,” Nikky said. “I don’t pay a lot of attention about who’s who in sports. If you look around, though, a lot of those big-name guys are here tonight. You were gone for a while. Did you learn anything?”

  “Not much. Those stairs over there probably go up to the VIP balcony, where I expect Lewis is hanging.”

  “I think you’re right. Monique went up there right after you left and she hasn’t come back down. See those guys at the bottom of the stairs?” Nikky pointed. “The shorter one’s Quincy. I’ve seen him around the hood, but I don’t really know him. He’s Lewis’s little cousin. Word is, these last couple of years, while you were gone, he’s been coming up in the organization. If he’s been with Lewis that long, he should have the four-one-one on the deal Michael was killed in.”

  “Good news.” Michelle slid off her stool. “I’ll go introduce myself.”

  “Hold up. You don’t need to do that.”

  “Why?”

  “I had a visitor,” Nikky said. “He’s been hanging with me here while you were at the bar. He’s waiting for me now. I’ll spend some time with him, see what I can find out.”

  Michelle bumped fists with Nikky. “You go girl. It’s probably better you hook up with him than me. I’d have a hard time staying cool.”

  The party stayed bumping until late, and for several hours, Nikky and Quincy had gone back and forth between the dance floor and the balcony. Clearly, they were hooking up for the night. Michelle and Deja danced and met people all evening, but they kept it loose, and neither one of them had managed to connect with anyone who could help.

  Until Nikky rushed over to the table where Michelle and Deja were each just catching their breath. “We have to go,” she said. “I found out some real important shit.”

  “What, about Quincy?” Deja asked. “I thought you were going home with him tonight.”

  “That’s what I found out about. I can’t talk here. We have to go—now!”

  Just as she said the words, Quincy walked up and, wrapping his arms around Nikky from behind, grabbed a handful of her tit, right there in front of God and everyone.

  Nikky spun around, slapping his hand away. “Stop that shit, Quincy. I’m not some cheap ho you can squeeze my tit in public like that.”

  “Oh come on, girl, we both know we’re gonna fuck when we get to my place. What’s up with that ‘don’t touch me’ shit like you’re some cherry girl?”

  “Doesn’t matter if we fuck or not. You still have to show some respect.”

  “Sure, I respect you. I respect you got some fly-looking tits.” He grabbed her tit again.

  Whap!—she slapped him hard across the face.

  “No, you didn’t just slap me, bitch.”

  Quincy swung a fist at her, and Michelle’s right fist slammed straight into Quincy’s jaw.

  Immediately, he spun around to get it on with whoever had hit him, swinging wide.

  Michelle saw the wild swing long before it came halfway around and danced back. When her weight shifted, her spike heel snapped off, throwing her off balance.

  Deja jumpe
d up off her stool propelling her forward.

  “No—”

  In that moment, with her momentum going away from Quincy’s wide-swinging fist, and her breaking heel causing her to stumble, Michelle couldn’t switch her weight fast enough to reach Deja, who’d jumped in the way.

  With a sickening crunch, he bashed in Deja’s face. She went down.

  Her balance recovered, Michelle snapped a left jab into Quincy’s face—it was combined with a right, open, slightly cupped hand: slap on his left ear compressing his ear drum.

  Quincy yelled, hand to his ear, and fell back.

  Michelle kicked off her heels and stepped over Deja protecting her.

  Several men close by jumped in to move Quincy off. Unknowingly, they saved Quincy from having his ass horribly kicked.

  The fight was over.

  Deja lay on the floor, knocked out cold, blood gushing from her nose. She came to a few seconds later. “Oh, oh, oh, my nose is broken, oh goddamn. Oh shit. I’m going to kill that sonuvabitch.”

  Catching Nikky’s stare, Michelle said, “We need to take her to the hospital. Go get your car, I’ll get her up.”

  *

  Deja lay on a gurney in the emergency room, waiting for her nose to be set.

  “How’re you doing, sweetie?” Michelle asked.

  “Groggy from whatever they gave me, but I’m okay now,” she said.

  Michelle patted Deja’s arm, then pulled Nikky aside.

  “Damn, I hate it that Deja got hurt,” she whispered.

  “Yeah, me too. But listen, I’ve got something important I found out about Quincy. That party was more than just Lewis’s birthday party; it was partly Quincy’s promotion party because he’s taking over Southside drugs.”

  Michelle nodded. “I knew it was something.”

  “We were all up in the balcony doing blow and the guys were telling stories. Lewis said Quincy had saved his ass when he was in this deal taking over the territory and got all shot up. Quincy was his driver and had dragged his shot-up ass off to the hospital, said it happened during that deal that went down three years ago.”

  “Damn!”

  “Lewis told everyone that the deal had moved him into the lieutenant spot. Now, it’s Quincy’s time to move up. Then Lewis said—and this made it for sure it was him: at least they don’t have to kill a couple of brothers to take over the territory, like he had to.”

  “Muthafuckas,” Michelle spat.

  “They were all laughing. Quincy said when Lewis come busting out the house, he was shot to shit—completely covered in blood, one arm hanging, the other holding his side; walking sideways and dragging one leg. He was jacked bad. All hero-like, he jumped out and helped get Lewis in the car. He wanted to go inside and make sure everybody was dead, he said, but Lewis was bleeding so bad he’d passed out in the passenger seat. Figured saving his cousin was more important than capping a couple guys probably already dead.”

  Michelle took several deep breaths to calm herself, and then, exhaling slowly, she said, “He’s mine; they’re both mine.”

  “I knew it was them who’d killed Michael, but I still hung out longer; I didn’t want to look like I was trying to get out too quick. They were still bragging about how Lewis bled all over the seat—blood everywhere, ruining the white leather, leaving stains they couldn’t get out, so they had to get rid of that Escalade. I acted impressed and asked Quincy about it, and he said it was real sweet. White, with spinners.”

  “Anything else?” Michelle asked.

  “Yeah, and it might be important. Tonight we would have needed to get a cab to his place. He’d brought Lewis and Monique to the party, so he had to leave his car for them. I saw him give Lewis the keys.”

  “What kind of car does he drive?”

  “A Chrysler 300C. He was bragging how it’s the top of the line, best one they make.”

  “What color is it?”

  “Black, with chrome wheels. It was right there, out in front. We saw it when we went into the club. Deja said it must have belonged to someone important since it was parked there by the door with those red VIP ropes around it.”

  “Yeah, I remember it. Thanks.”

  Michelle looked up and away, like she was focusing on something outside of the room, then turned back to Nikky a few minutes later and said, “All right, I’ve got it.”

  “I could almost hear you thinking,” Nikky said. “What’s up?”

  “If anybody asks, I’m in the bathroom. I never left the hospital. I was with you the whole night, sitting right here. You feel me on this, girl?”

  “You know I do. Are you good by yourself? Don’t need any backup?”

  “No, I have this. I’ll be back soon. Remember, I’ve only gone to pee, and only if someone asks.”

  Twenty-One: It’s Personal

  MICHELLE NEEDED ACTION.

  She sped back to the club, hoping to get there before Lewis left, wanting to follow him home to take advantage of any opportunities. At the least, she could check his route, learn where both he and Quincy lived, because with what happened to Deja, she needed to do something that could possibly lead to taking them out.

  Heading toward the parking lot, Michelle slowed down as she neared the club entrance.

  Is that them? … Yes!

  Quincy, Lewis, and Monique were all getting into Quincy’s 300C behind the VIP ropes. A few minutes later, Michelle followed them onto the freeway.

  *

  Flashing blue-and-red lights lit up the inside of Quincy’s car.

  “Fuck! The po-lice are pulling us over.”

  “How fast you going?” Lewis asked from the backseat, where he and Monique were laid back, taking it easy. It’d been a good party with lots of celebrities kissing his ass, giving him respect. “Don’t worry ’bout no ticket, but here,” he said, “take this and put it up.” He handed over his gun. “We don’t need to get our asses hauled to jail for being strapped. Some rookie cop might recognize me and pull us out the car. Monique, give him that piece you got in yo’ purse.”

  “I ain’t doing shit,” Monique said. “The po-po can kiss my ass.”

  “Bitch, give Quincy yo’ muthafuckin’ gun like I said and remember who you’re talking to.”

  “Sho, baby, you’re right. I’m sorry. Just that the po-po piss me off, that’s all.”

  “Quincy, you strapped?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Man, put yo’ shit in the box. You’ll be the first one the police’ll pull out.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Quincy pushed a button to open a hidden compartment in the dash, where he stowed away the three guns. Then he closed the compartment and pulled onto the shoulder of the freeway.

  *

  A while back, Michelle had fitted blue-and-red police lights behind the grill of her Crossfire, counting on them to make anyone believe it was an undercover car. The ruse only worked in the dark, though, when the driver would be blinded by the car’s regular brights and flashing lights. During the day, they could see her car, and even the highway patrol didn’t drive convertibles.

  After she hit them with the lights, it took a while before Quincy finally pulled over. Michelle smiled to herself, knowing that the extra time was used to hide their guns.

  I love it when a plan comes together.

  As she strode up to the driver’s side of the Chrysler, she smiled again. Already the window was down, and Quincy gripped the wheel with both hands.

  “Officer, I don’t—”

  Puhffiitt!

  Quincy’s blood and brains splattered across the dash of the car, and he slumped over dead in the seat.

  “Goddamn!” Monique shouted as she jumped.

  Instantly, Michelle swung her silenced 9mm at Lewis’s face. He sat still and locked eyes with Michelle.

  “Both of you sit up and lace your fingers behind your heads.”

  Monique scoffed. “Fuck you, bitch, I ain’t doing shit you say.”

  Lewis slowly reached up and clasped his hands
behind his head. Monique looked over at him like he’d lost his mind. “What? I don’t believe this shit! You’re gonna do what this bitch says?”

  Michelle kept her stare locked on Lewis.

  “Fuck that. I ain’t no bitch gonna do what she says.” Monique slammed her hands into her lap, glaring at Michelle.

  Puhffiitt!

  Blood trickled down the middle of her forehead.

  “Sorry you didn’t get a chance to say goodbye,” Michelle told Lewis. “I would’ve given you that, but …” She shrugged.

  Lewis cut his gaze over to Monique, now dead next to him, and nodded once.

  “Do you know who I am?” Michelle asked.

  “You’re a dead bitch, that’s who.”

  “Save that shit. We’re well past fronting for the homies.”

  “Not no front. You’re dead. Even if you kill me, the people I work for will find you, and you’re dead.”

  “Is that right? I thought you were the man in charge, not some house boy running errands.”

  Hatred smoldered in Lewis’s eyes.

  “Do you know who I am?” she asked again.

  “Like I said, you’re a dead bitch.”

  “My name is Michelle Angelique. Three years ago, you murdered my brother, Michael, and my cousin, Gabe Jr. Do you remember them? I sure do. In case you forgot, that was the day you were gut-shot and ran out of the house like a scared bitch.”

  Recognition rose up in Lewis’s face.

  “I was in the house that day,” she said. “I saw you and your dead cousin here drive off in your white Escalade.”

  Lewis nodded once, like he’d made up his mind on something. “Didn’t want to kill Michael and Gabe Jr.,” he said. “They be okay. They worked for the wrong person, was all. It was time for a change in leadership in the hood. Their boss was being retired, and I had to take them out along with their boss. They got caught in the middle. It was just bidness.” He let his hands relax, dropping his right hand down and resting his left arm across the back of the seat. He turned and looked at Monique, then back to Michelle. “Now you do what you gotta do, or get gone. We’re done here.”

  Michelle had trained and planned for this moment for three years. She’d expected something very different. Something slow, carefully planned, with time to anticipate each move. Not in a million years had she dreamed of a chance, spur of the moment opportunity.