by Zaire Crown
A.D. felt more fear than he saw in her eyes, which changed color from green to gray as she spoke. To him Tuesday looked like a wolf stalking prey. Her nakedness primal, hands fisted at her side.
“Now I hate to call in favors or play the you-owe-me game, but I need you to bring that big dick over here and pound all those bad thoughts outta my head. For the next hour I don’t wanna think about nothing but how good you taste and feel inside me. So call it charity or helping out a friend; do whatever you gotta do to make it right with your God Adrian.
“Now drop them pants, get in this shower and fuck me like the world about to end! ’Cause for me it might have already.”
Chapter Forty-seven
Tuesday watched him strip off his shirt, studied a physique eerily similar to her husband’s. The rewards of sixteen years of weight-training were covered in prison ink done by semiskilled artists. The most prominent being 313 decorating his chiseled ab muscles in huge Gothic numerals.
Before he could undo his pants, Tuesday’s knees were already on the bathroom floor. She pulled his belt loose, yanked down his zipper, pulled him free.
She devoured his dick like something hungry and wild.
Whatever conflict A.D. might have felt got pulled from him with each smooth inhalation. Her wet mouth quickly inflated his semi-hard piece to its full extension. Tuesday took the length of him with the corkscrew technique she’d perfected, tongue dancing from side-to-side across that sensitive under area, moaning as if he tasted delicious. The pleasure buckled A.D.’s legs and made him lean against the sink for support.
He looked down at her face to find Tuesday’s intense eyes waiting for his. She sucked harder, head bobbed faster. She dared him not to look away, challenged him to an erotic staring match.
She had been A.D.’s girl at eighteen but at forty she was a totally different animal. This was a grown ass woman with not just experience, but expertise. She sucked his dick with the type of confidence that came from mastery of her craft. All neck, didn’t cheat by using her hands, even relaxed her gag reflex so she could take all of him to the throat without choking. Tuesday grabbed him by the back of his powerful thighs and rammed him into her mouth with force.
It wasn’t long before A.D. was grumbling curses under his breath. He lost the staring contest when he closed his eyes and starting rolling his head around in ecstasy.
Tuesday spat him out when she felt his orgasm climbing, didn’t want him to bust yet. She snatched down his pants and boxers at the same time. Let him step out of them then led him to the shower.
A.D. offered to reciprocate but he, like most men, didn’t understand that giving head was more for her than for them. Nothing turned her on more than watching a man squirm and groan from the pleasure she provided. It was the ultimate exercise of power and control; for Tuesday, the highest form of foreplay.
A.D. bore witness to this when she grabbed his throbbing dick to guide him to her gates. He pinned her against the shower wall and pushed inside. Her sex was hot and ready, so wet she received his ten inches easily.
At first he slow-stroked her, stirred her Kool-Aid in lazy circles. He would suck and pull on her bottom lip to cap each kiss. His fingers traced her hips and the curvature of her spine. He teased her nipples with his thumbs. After licking her earlobe he whispered that her pussy had only gotten better with time. The words excited Tuesday and made her get wetter only to prove it.
Making love may have been what A.D. wanted but wasn’t what Tuesday needed. She propped her foot on the tub’s faucet and set a faster pace.
“Get off the church boy shit. Thug it out nigga!”
The sex became aggressive just the way Tuesday liked it. A.D. held her hundred and eighty pounds up against the wall with one muscular arm while the other hand clamped her neck: squeezing not choking. He started digging hard like he was trying to find treasure in her.
She held the back of his head and chanted “Don’t stop” when she felt her orgasm building. A.D. obliged her by putting a wicked angle on his stroke that caught her G-spot dead center. Tuesday grabbed hold of the rod that suspended the shower curtains and sang his name in a high falsetto. He manhandled her plump cheeks, pulled them apart and went deep until she came like a tsunami. The wave was so fierce it almost pushed him back out of her vagina.
They washed themselves then left the shower but A.D. was still rock-hard. Tuesday demanded more foreplay before they continued, so he picked her up and flipped her upside down. A.D. held her in the air while they sixty-nined. He carried her from the bathroom as they pleasured each other. Her damp hair swept his legs when he walked her through the hall. He showed her the entire upstairs by going room to room.
A.D. sucked her clit with enthusiasm, and while his tongue-game was only decent, it was the way he carried her that turned Tuesday on the most. With two daughters and a fully-staffed house, she and Marcus had never been able to pull that stunt.
The tour ended in his bedroom. A.D. licked her to a second orgasm but she stopped short before he reached his own.
“You don’t get to cum yet nigga. You ain’t put in enough work.”
She pushed him down on the bed and straddled him. The ride was violent. There were no slow gyrations or smooth body rolls; she didn’t entertain like she typically did for her husband. Tuesday bounced on him so fast and hard that A.D. stared at her like she was trying to break his dick. She grunted like an animal and made ugly faces. It took forty minutes of her riding rough like that to get Number Three.
He took her from behind, face down/ass up. A.D. obeyed her every time she asked for it harder or faster, until their flesh sounded like hands clapping along to an up-tempo beat.
She growled at him, “Smack my ass, pull my hair! Fuck dis pussy like you mad at it.”
He snatched her head back by a fistful of weave. Tuesday bucked like a bull trying to throw its rider and A.D. was the cowboy just holding on for his life.
Only after she got her forth nut did she urge him to get his. Tuesday threw it back incredibly fast and forced him to keep pace. Her dirty talk was just a sexy way of saying “Hurry the fuck up!”
A.D. rammed her for another twenty minutes before ecstatic grunts signaled the approach of his climax. Tuesday screamed at him: “Don’t cum in me! Don’t cum in me Adrian!”
He pumped and groaned a few more times then pulled out as he erupted. The size of his load suggested to her that he hadn’t released in a while. He sprayed thick frosting all over her buns like a pastry chef decorating a cake.
A.D. went to the bathroom for a wet towel to clean Tuesday. He collapsed on the bed next to her when he was done.
For a while she lay there with her eyes closed, enjoying the post-sex euphoria until she looked over and saw A.D. staring at her. His expression made her ask, “What’s wrong?”
“Feel like you ’bout to drop two hundred on the nightstand.”
“You earned five but my money kinda funny right now.” She could see in his face that he didn’t appreciate the joke.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I understand this was just me scratching an itch for you—I knew it wasn’t nothing more than what it was, but damn. I spent a long time in there fantasizing about you, about what the first time would be like after all those years. It definitely wasn’t that.”
Tuesday couldn’t believe him. “You mean to tell me you been home eight months and that was the first time you got some ass? What about your situation?”
He almost looked embarrassed. “She’s born again and fresh off a long relationship. Neither of us wanted to rush the physical part.”
Hearing that really made Tuesday feel like shit. Not only did she run a guilt-trip to force a celibate man to cheat on his woman, but the way she had used him was no different than how Marcus had used her when he was distracted by his problems. There was no real connection and she felt like a rubber fuck doll.
“I’m sorry.” Tuesday was sincere but matters more pressing weighed on her than A.D.’s chas
tity. The sex was a much-needed stress-reliever but her thoughts were right back to her daughters. She was haunted by the scene at the Residence Inn; the door kicked in, the whole place a mess, signs of struggle. She imagined Tanisha and Danielle’s frightened screams as strange men with large guns barged in and took them.
She borrowed A.D.’s cell and tried to call Danielle again out of desperation. The phone rang seven times and Tuesday was sure that it was about to go to voicemail like it had done all day. Her breath caught in her throat when someone answered.
She sat up on the edge of the bed naked. “Hello? Who is this?”
“Hey bitch, still feel like you’re in charge?”
Tuesday frowned at the voice. It was male, a familiar one that took a few seconds to place.
Aaron. Madame Vega’s son.
Chapter Forty-eight
“Is you crazy?” was all DelRay had to say in response to Tuesday’s request.
“It ain’t like they leaving me with no other play. She said come alone and that’s what I gotta do.”
She had already washed up quickly and dressed in the pants to an Adidas jogging suit and Pistons T-shirt that A.D. provided. She and DelRay were in his old Bonneville traveling within the herd of eastbound traffic on Grand River Avenue.
DelRay understood that saving the girls was Priority One but wasn’t cool with her walking into that situation alone. “I’d feel a lot better about this if we still had Silence.”
Tuesday agreed that she would as well but didn’t see the point of dwelling on what they didn’t have.
Aaron had told her to be at the salvage yard by eight and they pulled up fifteen minutes early. Two men with guns were waiting to greet them at the front gate. A semi-automatic was jammed in DelRay’s face to emphasize that he had no choice but to sit behind the wheel and watch Tuesday leave the car. She threw him a final nod before she was taken inside.
Her escort kept two steps behind with the assault rifle aimed at her back. This twilight march through the automobile graveyard at gun point was eerily reminiscent of the same walk she had taken with Face three years before. A lucky break had allowed her to turn the tables and escape with her life. Tuesday recalled the old saying about lightning never striking twice in the same spot.
She was led beyond the small office with the garage stalls. Acidic fluids churned in Tuesday’s stomach because she knew, just like the last time, they were going to the rear where the junkers were demolished.
The escort trailed her at a distance of five feet. Tuesday figured she could dip around a corner before he squeezed off a shot and easily lose him in the two-acre maze of stacked cars. However, there was no strategic advantage in doing so. They had her girls which meant they had her cooperation.
They continued to walk until she saw lights up ahead. Five cars too new to be there for scrap were parked in a semicircle. The familiar white BMW X-5 centered the pack playing alpha to cheaper domestics. High beams cleaved the darkness like magic swords and brightened the machines.
Aaron Vega waited with ten more men. As soon as Tuesday was close enough, he grabbed her shirt collar and punched her in the kidney hard enough to fold her over.
“That’s for my ol’ dude.”
Tuesday looked up and recognized the glassy stare of a young wild nigga on Zannie bars. From her knees, she puffed through heavy breaths: “I knew you wouldn’t know what to do wit’ me, ol’ weak sauce ass nigga. I like my foreplay rougher than that.”
He kicked her back to the ground when Tuesday tried to stand.
Madame Vega climbed out of the passenger seat of the X-5. “Boy stop being childish.”
One of the long-haired Colombians pulled Tuesday to her feet. She held on to her side as Vega approached.
“You weren’t totally honest with me the last time you were here, so I decided we needed to re-negotiate the terms of our agreement.”
“Bitch, you playin’ a dangerous game wit’ me and my children. You already know who my family is.”
Vega laughed. “I’m not gonna lie, I let you intimidate me with all that Sebastian Caine talk until a little birdie told me that Caine is dead. That same little birdie told me that you lost the company which means I will not be receiving my ten million dollars.
“He was also kind enough to tell me where I could get in touch with you to discuss any grievances. Unfortunately, you weren’t at the hotel.”
Brandon. He knew about the deal with Vega and the slimy muthafucka had burned Tuesday with her only potential ally.
Vega nodded to one of her men who pulled Shaun out a separate car wearing duct-tape around her wrists, a bandanna gagged her mouth.
The tiny woman in white pushed her towards Tuesday. “She costs you nothing but your daughters only come back at a price.”
Tuesday yanked the rag from Shaun’s mouth who immediately started babbling apologies. Tuesday ignored her, addressed Vega: “Where are my girls?”
She directed Tuesday’s attention to one of the huge machines; it looked the newest of the three. It was a box-shaped contraption open at the front and rear. This was a highly pressurized compressor that could easily flatten a car into a piece of sheet-metal as thin as a cracker. Tuesday’s rented Hyundai was inside.
Tuesday’s heart went weak when she saw a small silhouette in the driver’s seat roughly Danielle’s size. Little Tanisha could not be seen from the distance but Tuesday had no reason to think this was a bluff.
“I don’t have money right now but I promise I will get whatever you want. No matter the price, I’ll pay it. If I have to rob, scam or kill—I’ll get the money.”
Standing before her in all white, backlit by headlights, Tuesday thought Madame Vega looked like a spirit.
“I don’t want money. Life is a series of serious choices. You are about to make the hardest one you’ve ever had.”
Tuesday was already shaking her head before Vega could explain, already had tears in her eyes.
“This is how my husband died,” Vega continued. “I demand blood for blood. Sangre por sangre!”
“This some bullshit,” Tuesday spat. “Face was a grown man. Those are babies. My girls are innocent.”
“Reina cannot be allowed to get your company—that move would give the Rodriguez sisters new life which would be the end of my family. We need to stop the deal and I’m still willing to offer you my assistance for a fee that we will discuss later.
“But first you have to answer for my husband. Your older daughter is on the driver’s side and the younger one is on the passenger side. You may go to the car and open one door, take one out. That’s the cost.”
Tuesday sneered like a rabid animal. “Bitch you must be crazy if you think I’m gone pick one of my girls to die.”
“Blood for blood, Tuesday,” she said calmly. “You fed my husband to a machine just like this one. I’m not a sick person, and I promise you I don’t enjoy this. Killing a child doesn’t make this right, it only makes us even.”
Tuesday clasped her hands to emphasize the sincerity. “I’m sorry for Face, I really am. But that was three years ago. That was the past. We can move forward, make some real money together.”
“We can move forward and will,” Vega agreed. “But I’ll tell you what. After you listen to the whimpers and cries of your baby girl as the machine crushes her bones. Call me up in three years and tell me if you’ve moved past it.”
One of the men went over to the compressor and hit a button that brought life to the beast. It powered up with a loud whiny motor. A second button next to the first would start the press.
“Please.” Desperation made the words spill quickly from Tuesday’s mouth: “Dani, she’s nine years old and she’s so smart. So smart that she takes advanced classes at her school. I haven’t been there for her lately—she’s mad at me and it’s my fault but she’s my heart.
“And Nisha’s just a baby. She has her father’s ways and when she smiles at me it’s like a drug. She’s the type of girl if you buy her a
gift, she’s gonna ignore the toy and spend an hour playing wit’ the box.”
Tuesday got on her knees. “I’m a bitch who ain’t never begged for nothing in her life, but I’m begging right now. Please don’t hurt my babies.”
Madame Vega stared at Tuesday with eyes totally devoid of mercy. “I’m giving you a choice which is more than you did for me.
In one minute we go whether it’s one or two girls in the car. Make a choice.”
Chapter Forty-nine
Tuesday walked over to the blue Hyundai and peeked inside. Danielle’s wrists were tied to the steering wheel, a swatch of duct-tape covered her mouth. Tanisha was in the seat next to her strapped down by the safety belts. She wore zip ties on her tiny wrists and ankles.
Danielle looked up, eyes red and swollen from crying. She looked exhausted but perked when she spied Tuesday through the window.
“It’s okay baby. I’m here now.”
Her eyes went wide and she tried to fight against her restraints. Her little sister did the same at the sound of her mother’s voice.
“So what’s it gonna be? Door Number One or Door Number Two?” Aaron imitated a game show host and earned a laugh from his crew.
“Thirty seconds,” Vega warned.
Tuesday cried. “I can’t do this.”
“Not choosing is basically making a worse choice. Fifteen seconds.”
“I choose me,” said Tuesday. “Let them go and put me in the car.”
Madame Vega wagged her finger. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“You said, ‘blood for blood.’ I killed Face so I should be the one who dies.”
“If this was only about revenge then I could accept that, but you and I still have to conduct business.
“Plus you took somebody I love. It’s only fair that I take somebody you love. Dying is easy—the hard part is living with the pain.”
Aaron shouted, “Time’s up.”
The man on the machine hit the start button with the giddiness of a child. The heavy metal slate began to descend smoothly on the car like some medieval torture contraption.