Baby Momma Saga:
Part 2
Ni’chelle Genovese
www.urbanbooks.net
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter 1 - Self-Destructing Hearts
Chapter 2 - The Miami Blues
Chapter 3 - It’s All Fake-Believe Anyway
Chapter 4 - Warm Kitty, Soft Kitty, Little Ball of Fur . . .
Chapter 5 - Houdini Who?
Chapter 6 - Always Beware of the Jellyfish
Chapter 7 - Listen, Time Will Tell Every Time
Chapter 8 - Red Box
Chapter 9 - There’s No Place Like Home
Chapter 10 - Shot at and Missed, Shit at and Hit
Chapter 11 - No Harm, Your Foal . . . Fowl . . . Foul
Chapter 12 - All of Y’all Crazy (Back in VA)
Chapter 13 - Almost Doesn’t Count
Chapter 14 - Knights Like This . . .
Chapter 15 - All Good-byes Ain’t Gone
Chapter 16 - All Over a Wet Pigeon
Chapter 17 - Tell Me Somethin’ Good
Chapter 18 - Momma’s Maybe
Chapter 19 - Burn Bitches Like Bridges (The Other Side of Miami)
Chapter 20 - A Monster Is Still a Monster
Chapter 21 - Wheels of Steel
Chapter 22 - Minding Madam Business
Chapter 23 - Psychics Get Called Crazy—Until They’re Right
Chapter 24 - Hit the Brakes Like Errrrrrrrrrrrrr
Chapter 25 - Secret Agent Man
Chapter 26 - Twisted Sister
Chapter 27 - Summer, 1986
Chapter 28 - Momma’s Maybe, Daddy’s Baby
Chapter 29 - Orders Are Meant to Be Followed
Chapter 30 - I Am Relieved
Chapter 31 - Which Witch is Which?
Chapter 32 - An Equal Sign = Ain’t Nothing but Stacked Up Minuses
Chapter 33 - Sins of the Father
Chapter 34 - Always Share Your Nightmares So They Can’t Come True? (Three Years Later)
Chapter 35
Chapter 36 - Where It All Began
Chapter 37 - A Complex Electra Complex
Chapter 38 - The World Is Ruled by Favors and Fools
Chapter 39 - Hello, Kitty
Chapter 40 - Mommy Issues
Chapter 41 - Fake Falls Away, and the Real Gets Realer
Chapter 42 - King of Hearts
Chapter 43 - Always Keep a Spare Tire
Chapter 44 - The Fairer Sex Never Plays Fair
Chapter 45 - Woman to Woman
Chapter 46 - Peter Piper Picked a Partner
Chapter 47 - Girls, Girls, Girls, Girls
Chapter 48 - Mu$e$ Make Your Money
Chapter 49 - Amu$ement$ Can Make That Money Too
Chapter 50 - Cinderella Dressed in Yella
Chapter 51 - Model Millionaires Are Rare
Chapter 52 - The Art of Allowing
Chapter 53 - Sex Kitten Vs. Sex Panther
Chapter 54 - Candy Kane
Chapter 55 - Inspector Gidget and Inspector Gadget
Chapter 56 - Home Sweet Home
Chapter 57 - You’ll Never Lose Women Chasing Money
Chapter 58 - What Had Happened Was
Chapter 59 - Step Up Or Get Stepped On
Chapter 60 - Alpha Dog
Chapter 61 - The Only Thing Stronger Than Another’s Love Is Another’s Hate
Chapter 62 - When Love Is a Hustle
Chapter 63 - Road Runner
Chapter 64 - First Response
Chapter 65
Chapter 66 - Discovery Channel
Chapter 67 - Stockholm Syndrome
Chapter 68 - Going Home
Chapter 69 - No Justus, No Peace
Chapter 70 - Allow Me to Reintroduce Myself
Justus
Urban Books, LLC
300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109
Farmingdale, NY 11735
Baby Momma Saga: Part 2
Copyright © 2017 Ni’chelle Genovese
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN-13: 978-1-6228-6597-0
ISBN-10: 1-62286-597-9
eISBN-13: 978-1-6228-6598-7
eISBN-10: 1-62286-598-7
This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.
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Prologue
My fingers were wound up so tight in the belt of my trench coat they were starting to go numb. Bright as day, yield sign yellow was the best way I could describe it. Angelo had taken it upon himself to pick it out for me, and I hated it the second I laid eyes on it. “Think of it like a bombshell-meets-video-vixen look,” he’d said, smiling proudly.
All I could honestly think was ‘Where in the world is damn Carmen San Diego.’
Hours ago he came home from an urgent family meeting and after a quick hushed phone call he was draggin’ me off to God knows where in the middle of the night. The better to see you with my dear, that’s the only reason why I’d ever pick a glow in the dark jacket. The family probably told him to escort me somewhere secluded so I could be put down like a lame horse.
The moon was the fullest I’d ever seen it and I couldn’t help wondering what Mimi would say it meant. I hadn’t thought about my grandma since the night she’d found me unconscious in her bathroom floor. One minute I was fine, listening to Avant in my room. The candied scent of Pear Glace’ body splash, my signature fragrance, filled the air. I must have taken some bad oxy, because next thing I know I was retchin’ into blue toilet water and then everything went black. When I came to, Mimi was hovering over me, rambling about a mirror breaking on its own and a bird on the roof making a nest out of hair, both signs of bad luck and death. She was probably still superstitious to the point of insanity; superstition was Mimi’s religion of choice.
Angelo looked over at me and the bluish silver light from that moon did un-humanly things to his gray eyes. I knew him, but I ain’t really know him. You could have the most well-kept pet in the world but if it was dangerous to begin with you always worried about it reverting to its baser instincts and turning on you. Angelo claimed to love me, but we never made love. He was a collage of rough rushed sessions that usually ended in me peeling his hand from around my throat before I passed out. Sex was never about me, but I’d just let him get his and consider us since he was helping me stay out of prison.
We’d pulled to a stop in front of foreboding wrought iron gates.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, brushing a cold finger along my cheek, feather-light, faint like the salt in the air from the ocean.
“I’d be better if I knew what was up. And why you so cold all the time? I think your ass is anemic, you need to get seen about that.”
He scoffed, “I’m fine. And all yous need to do is play your part. Here, I brought ya’ a present.” He pulled a little vial of white powder out of his pocket and I looked at his ass like he was crazy.
“You know I don’t–“
“I know and that’s why I’m not askin’. The family is involved now, so ya�
� gonna have to trust me on some things. Take it, can’t have you up in there acting all nervous. Andiamo.”
“Well?” the voice called out.
Startled at the interruption, my little imaginary Q-bert who had been hopping around the three-dimensional Parquet wood flooring vanished as I glanced up. Angelo was out in the car and here I was alone with this stranger and probably not supposed to mix coke with pain-killers.
“Well, what?” I asked the pale fiery red-headed man.
“Do you have it? The one in the car said you’d bring it in. I have the money but I’ll have to sample it first. You are a funny acting one. You aren’t wearing a wire or anything, are you?” He lifted his head, narrowing his eyes at me suspiciously.
Oh, thanks Angelo, get me high and bring me on one of your drug runs. Appreciate that a bunch.
Sighing, I tried not to zone out again as I stared at the blazing halo of flames on his head. My fingers tingled at the thought of touching his flaming locks. I swore I could almost hear them crackling and sizzling in the air. Instead, I reached into one of the pockets of my jacket. Yep, just as I expected, little vials clinked and I walked toward the ginger freckled-faced man. He didn’t take them as I expected. His rhinestone-encrusted smoking slippers were soundless as he padded away. The white satin of his shirt billowed behind him like the sail of a ship. He’s either a Gingy Geenie or a sultan of Satan with all those red flames on his head. And I’m the yellow submarine coke queen.
There was a blur of shiny wood paneling, marble flooring, bronzed busts on pedestals and winding staircases. The private rooftop patio was dizzily breathtaking, plus all those steps had me realizing how out of shape I’d gotten. Gingy pointed for me to sit down on large chocolate and red cushions in the midst of his rooftop garden. White awnings covered the seating area with yellow and green teacup lights. They twinkled and winked overhead like little Tinker Bells.
I handed Gingy his product and frowned when our fingers touched. Static sextricity, I mean like some other-other kind of sexual charge shot all the way down to arches of my feet. The cushion sank beside me as he sat down and I felt like a sensual heat-seeking missile. It wasn’t even like he was that fuckin’ attractive. The heat coming off of his skin hit me in radiating waves. I naturally leaned closer to warm myself by the hearth of his head fire. See, this is why I don’t mess with this shit. Vicodins don’t make me wanna mount a damn stranger. Why would Angelo send me up here high and horny as hell?
“Woo, you can tell Angelo I agree, he’s definitely got the best shit in all of Miami,” he shouted. “And your angel-face has a look worth dying for. Why haven’t I seen–”
He paused and we both looked down. There it was, in the crease of his expensive, satiny white lounge pants. The welcome party had come out—the happy tee-pee—and he turned ’bout as bright red as the hair on his head.
“Fuck uh, that doesn’t happen like—” He’d started to explain, but hell, I understood what he was feeling and I was already pissed Angelo had sent me to do his damn job. We hadn’t even discussed the particulars about this shit. Mmm, might as well earn myself a “tip”. My skirt cinched up as I slid over onto his lap and I didn’t know if all Gingy felt was that damn electricity or if it was just this one in particular. He untied my jacket and reached inside, locking his arms around my back. Just grinding against him through my panties had us both gasping and panting. I didn’t care if Angelo was outside waiting. This is exactly what the hell he got for forcing my ass into the coke game. I’d make something up. I just needed to get this out of my system, and Gingy’s lips were gettin’ real close to figuring out my kitty’s password as he purred along my neck.
Reaching down, I unzipped his pants and gasped. Damn, Gingy, lemme find out I picked the wrong other white meat. Big ass dick. Access granted. Thank you for entering your password and pussy ID. I slid my drenched panties to the side and all but gasped in shock against his ear. Either he was a freak of nature or I’d just been dealing with Angelo so long my ass was a born again virgin.
“Pull my ears, tug my ears, I can’t . . . unless you, I need you to,” he chanted breathlessly.
The hell, this ain’t the time for Simon-fuckin-says, pull on what, and tug what? Ears? Ugh, I just want to cum. I started tugging anyway and he let out this deep guttural moan. The sound traveled through my body like notes vibrating through a harp. All five of my senses were now erogenous senses. Sounds like gasping and moaning, or wet skin sliding even smells like Bonne Belle cotton candy Lip Smackers were all pinging my ‘oh em gee’ spot dead on. What the hell kind of Spanish-fly roophie-colada coke did we do?
“Ally?” Someone shouted from behind me.
Gingy frantically pushed me off his lap. Frustrated, I sniffed my upper lip confused, because I sure as hell didn’t wear cotton candy lip gloss.
“Jasper. Jassy, baby it’s not what you think I promise.” Gingy approached a very pissed off little man with his hands raised apologetically and he was speaking so . . . so effeminately.
Completely miffed, I wiped the damn lip gloss off my lips and straightened my skirt and jacket. He sure as hell didn’t have all that flair turned on five seconds ago.
“Really Al? It isn’t what I think? So, you’re gonna tell me you weren’t just fucking that . . . that hi-ho school bus prosty? She was tugging your ears, Al. She was tugging your fucking ears!” Jasper’s interrogation ended in a high-pitched shriek and my hands too flew up apologetically when I saw the gun he’d whipped out. Oh, Bonne Belle and butt-fucks really?
“I have had enough, Al. You’re like a puppy with your little pink lipstick hanging out. Every time I let you out to piss, you’re wandering around and you’ve got your G-damn lipstick in or on some . . . . some tramp. It’s supposed to be my fucking lipstick,” Jasper wailed at Al and I cringed. Poor little guy, but it was so less dramatic when he kept calling it lipstick. I imagined him crouched in front of Al trying to put it on like some lipstick and it almost made me burst out laughing.
The gun exploded and I jumped as Gingy crumpled. Bright red stained his pristine white garments as well as the deck beneath and shit just got so serious.
“You-who, old-yellow, yeah you. I’m gonna help rewrite the manual for all your Stepford-Goldy-Gold Digger, boyfriend fuckers in training. Chapter One: Never Touch Another Bitch’s Lipstick.”
Jasper turned the gun on me and my eyes widened. I threw my hands out in front of me.
“Angelo, wait, he didn’t know,” I shouted.
Jasper turned to see who was there. That was the play I’d chosen out of the split second coke-cocktail induced options that I had to choose from. When the ball snapped in my head, I got low and charged, hitting him with my shoulder in his midsection. His back thudded against the white sandstone of the balcony, where he teetered with his arms flailing wildly. We locked eyes and for an instant and I felt sorry for him as he tipped over and fell the four stories onto the rocky private beach below. His neck broke amongst several other things from the way he was unnaturally sprawled on the outcropping rocks.
I walked out the front door and climbed into the car.
“The family needs to know how well you handle certain uh, situations to see how you’ll fit in. Was that your gun I heard, or do I need to get the boys to clean up?” Angelo asked quietly.
“There’s no mess. I didn’t even know I had a gun, or that I was supposed to kill or get someone killed. Thanks for the heads up,” I replied as sarcastically as possible.
“Anytime, bella. Anytime.”
* * *
“What do you mean replacing me? You don’t replace Sadira Nadesche.”
Her voice rang through one of the studio monitors where most of what looked like around forty people hovered, watching anxiously. They appeared to be in various states of excitement, awe, or shock.
“We’re mid-production. I’m the highest paid actress in this industry, voted number one on all the lists. Pick a list. Get me my manager and my lawyer. Now,” she said.
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The click clack of my electric-blue, peep-toe Badgley Mischka heels echoed loudly across the cement flooring of the set. The camera feed, which must have been another area on set, quickly flickered off. Everyone turned and Angelo, who’d promised to stay by my side the entire time, squeezed my arm gently as what felt like a million eyes focused on me. To the average observer we looked like the perfect couple. He wore a black Henley long-sleeved shirt that clung to his lean and thinly-muscled frame, Cavalli shades, tousled hair, and Diesel jeans. Clean, simple, and sexy. Me? My stylist, Sir’Tavius, put me in a little black dress and a Paul Smith blazer that matched my favorite new blue and black Dior purse.
Rumors of a fresh-faced starlet surfaced out of nowhere. A favor Angelo asked from his father. The price for that favor was atrocious. When I made my debut I couldn’t show up lookin’ like a ragamuffin, so Angelo hired me the best stylist in the business.
“Oh, wow, she’s gorgable,” someone whispered.
“Don’t matter how adorable or gorgeous she is, Sadira is going to murder that ass,” someone responded.
Ignoring their comments, I pressed a tight, nervous smile to my new face and tilted my chin high. Oh yeah, my new face. I guess good things do come from foul circumstances. It’d taken three surgeons, almost a year of healing, and at Angelo’s prodding some etiquette and refinement classes to get me ready for the world.
Last August when Michelle broke my nose it gave Angelo the idea of a lifetime. He paid his father to help re-invent me. Yes, I was still hiding in a sense; I was just doing it in plain sight and armed with everything from a new identity and credit cards all the way down to a damn near perfect credit score.
A short woman, way shorter than me, with large, thick, square glasses that made her eyes look enormous, walked up to me. She extended a shaky hand, blinking her alien-esque eyes rapidly.
“Desivita Dulce’, I presume? I’m awestruck. I mean, my name is Frankie and wow, you are a minxer. They didn’t show us any pics, which was weird. Not that you’re weird, just that it was weird. Directors just said they had a better header, and ta-da here you are, and I’m rambling. Um, we . . . I . . . well, we weren’t expecting you until tomorrow. Uh, so your trailer isn’t ready yet,” she said in a flurry of nervous head nods and hand gestures.
Baby Momma Saga, Part 2 Page 1