“Hello?” she answered with attitude.
“Hey, it’s me…”
“Me who?”
“I’m so hurt...”
“Ohhh, Nova? Whose number is this?” she asked.
“My battery was dead, so I grabbed my spare.”
“Oh okay. What’s up?” she asked, her voice dragging.
“You sleep?”
“Yeah,” she said softly.
“Well, I’m outside, so come let me in.”
“There was an extended pause on her end before she responded. “Sis, I’m tired as hell. Why are you out so late?”
“Come open the door, girl. Clearly, it’s important since I’m—” Before I could finish my sentence, the front door opened. Royce appeared wearing a light-brown mesh chemise that wasn’t too far off from her peanut butter complexion. She leaned against the door’s threshold, one hand on her hip, and a firm look of agitation etched across her face. “Damn,” I snapped, brushing past and into her living room. “That’s unfriendly. Glad nobody’s chasin’ my ass. How you just gonna have me out there giving me the third degree?”
“Okay, okay,” Royce groaned. She moved her spot to one against a nearby wall in the living room. “What’s going on?”
“Umm…” I said, taking off in the direction of her bedroom. “You got company up in here or something?”
“Girl, no. But I’m sleepy as hell, Nova. If it’s not an emer—”
“It is, though. Come back here so we can talk for a minute.”
I glared over my shoulder at her, until she reluctantly pulled away from the wall and followed me back to her room. It took her no time at all to climb back into the comfort of her bed, where she attempted to snuggle.
Girl, girl, girl… girl, girl… played on repeat in my head.
And too bad for Royce that she hadn’t looked deep enough in my eyes when she had the chance. Because had she done that, she would’ve seen things that only a best friend could see. But she hadn’t, and now she would regret it for sure.
I removed the hood from my head, shook my thick curls loose, then unloaded my backpack onto a small bench near the bed.
“So, what’d you do yesterday?” I asked from the foot of Royce’s bed.
Her anger permeated through the muffle of her voice from beneath the sheets, when she said, “Girl, please don’t tell me you came over here in the middle of the damn night to ask me what I did yesterday.”
“Just humor me.”
“Nova, really? Let’s do this tomorrow… I mean later on today.”
“I just don’t get how you’re sleepy. I just got a text from you about forty-five minutes ago.”
“Wait. Huh?” Royce asked, before popping her head out of the covers. “Umm… I didn’t text you.”
“Oh. Shit, Royce.” I pulled the device from my pocket and into view. “My bad. You texted Drew.” Instantaneously, Royce’s brown eyes bucked to the size of nickels. I smiled because I knew… that she knew… that she was fucked. “You don’t look so sleepy anymore, best friend…”
Her eyes never left me as her form slowly began to erect. Back against the headboard, her throat retreated from the deep swallow she’d just taken.
“Uh… umm . . .” she stammered, with barely a whisper.
My blood boiled with a stew of emotion; my heart beat with the vigor of African drums, inside my chest. The beast had already been awakened, and something about the fear in my friend’s eyes, gave me pleasure—a lot of it. If I had to describe it, I would probably equate it to a shark smelling blood knowing that a feast was nearby.
“Uh… umm . . .” I mocked. “You okay?”
“I-I-I’m just—”
“Just what, Royce?” I slowly turned the display screen of Drew’s cellphone in her direction, then began reading from memory. “Let’s see. He sent you a text saying that he was coming over in half an hour. And then you responded with, ‘I’ll be wet n’ ready’.”
Putting the phone back into my pocket, I began pacing at the foot of the bed. I could tell by Royce’s silence and the sudden eclipse of thick air hovering over the room, that she was about to shit her sheets. She was desperately trying to come up with anything to tell me, but fear crippled those efforts.
“Let me explain,” she finally managed through a pathetic-ass whisper.
I shook my head. “Ain’t shit to explain, Royce. Xfinity explained every goddamn thing I needed told to me. Every muthafuckin’ detail.”
“Oh my God… Nova…”
“Yeahh…” I dragged out. “It’s registering, huh?”
Royce’s bottom lip quivered up and down as she inhaled, and then exhaled short strokes of air. Vengeance filled me, and I was sure she saw it in my smile. “I saw you sucking his dick. Like, deep-throat action. Almost like…” I smirked. “… like a bitch in love. Almost like a bitch that’s been doing it for a while.”
I almost shed a tear for what I was about to do to her. Almost.
Reaching into my recently discarded backpack, I pulled out a .357, complete with a suppressor on the end.
“P-p-please… p-p-please Nova. Please…”
“Please what, Sis? Best friend? Person I’ve always been there for? Please tell me what I can do for you,” I urged her, slowly waving the beautiful piece of man-made steel back and forth, finger firmly on the trigger.
I was ready to pull it and end her, but I also wanted to see the deceitful bitch squirm some more too.
“I-I … umm…” Then came the tears. The woman who had just tried to tell me that she was sleepy so that she could fulfill a date with the man I married, was now crying a river. It was the heavy sobs, complete with snot running down her nose and onto her sheets. “Oh… God…” she cried.
“Oh no, bitch, don’t call Him. He can’t save you now. Nah, not today.”
With her palms facing outward, she muttered, “Okay, okay… just…” I recognized the gesture. It was what Royce had always done when she was preparing to speak. She was also trying to stall for time. “I love you, Nova. I n-n-never meant for—”
A single drawback of my index finger and it was done before she could fully deliver a speech that didn’t mean shit for my life. When the bullet punctured her chest, it blew her back with force, killing her instantly.
I waited a few seconds before taking a step closer. Even with what she had done, I thought watching my best friend of five years die, would affect me in some kind of way, but it didn’t. Not even a teeny-tiny bit. What I came to realize, as the dark red puddle formed around her, was that I wasn’t required to feel shit. Not a fucking thing.
Hurt people… hurt people.
After wiping down the weapon with a towel from Royce’s bathroom, I placed it back into the backpack and came out with the second part of my plan. I unzipped the Ziploc bag, grabbed three of the used condoms that had been tied on the end, then emptied my husband’s ejaculation in several places on his lover’s body: her lips, her hands, on her chemise, between her thighs. I even smeared a bit on her sheets for good measure.
Months of planning had concluded.
I packed everything away, slid my backpack on my back, and stared down into Royce’s bulging eyes.
“Loyalty costs nothing, Royce. Somebody should’ve taught you that.” I leaned down close as if she could hear me. “Try not to be a hoe in your next life,” I whispered to her corpse.
Two days later . . .
2 | Leo Kastellanos
It was early afternoon when I parked my company truck in front of the row of just-finished Boca Park Bridges homes on the quiet, tree-lined residential street. Even with all the properties I had under my built, this one was a favorite. It had also sold the quickest of all my developments. This area of Las Vegas was highly desired because it was family-friendly, had good schools, and plenty of shopping. It was a great distance from the excitement of the Strip, and home to one of the more popular Greek festivals hosted in the valley.
The floor plans for these homes w
ere something to be in awe of. Each of them split-level, boasting no less than 4,000 square feet of space, and more windows than a person would know what to do with. They featured California rooms on both the upper and lower levels and amenities that would make a first-time home buyer cry ferocious tears of joy. And a few of them actually had. The eight homes that sat across the street had sold immediately—in some cases without the buyers even stepping one foot inside. They had fallen in love, strictly, with the digital model.
After checking a quick email from my office, I lowered the volume on my radio before cutting the engine. Habitually, I scanned the area before exiting the vehicle. Old habits die hard, I thought to myself.
Although the area was nice, and extremely secure, I never got too comfortable in any place. In my life I’d seen shit happen in the nicest of environments. Hell, I had even been the cause of some of the shit that had happened. So, I knew all too well how deceiving, looks could be. Take me for example; just looking at me, anybody would assume that I was fresh out of grad school. That I was a young guy in my late twenties looking for the next best opportunity in a closed-off cubicle at some Fortune 500. It was all attributed to my calm demeanor, the chic style of dress that I opted for, and what I’ve been told was boyish charm.
People would never guess that the dark-haired, blue-eyed man before them had never attended college, that I hadn’t seen my twenties… in twenty years, and that I was the CEO of my own development company specializing in luxury single-family developments throughout several states—across the United States.
I reached over to my passenger seat and grabbed my hardhat, then pocketed my cell. As I placed the hat on my head, a chuckle rolled out. I already knew that any one of the contractors on site, or their foremen, were going to be less than pleased that I had shown up to oversee their efforts. But I didn’t give a shit. It was my name—Leo Kastellanos—that was etched on this entire project, which meant that my reputation was on the line.
As much as the workers hated me, it was the fact that they had to be on their best behavior whenever I was around, that bothered them the most. I held the highest expectations of everyone involved in the processes… from the contractors that leveled the concrete, to the laborers that perfected the art of laying rooftops. I felt that if my name was on it—and it was—I had an invested interest in ensuring that the end result was nothing less than perfection.
Climbing out of my truck, I beamed with pride when I eyed the thirty-six by forty-eight Kastellanos Development signs on grounded stilts in front of all the homes.
I spotted Coleman, one of the senior foremen, approaching. He wore a grin that I knew was forced. “Leo!” he greeted, with fake enthusiasm. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“You know the drill, man,” I said, walking past him without bothering to stop.
“But wait a sec,” Coleman said, reaching out to touch my arm.
I glared down at the man’s hand, then shot him a look that he knew immediately. “I don’t like you coming at me like I need permission to be here,” I told him. “What the fuck is that about?”
Coleman backed up a few steps and threw his palms up in mock surrender. “I come in peace, man. It’s not like that at all. I was just trying to run something by you.”
I took my hardhat off and laid it on the hood of one of the sub’s trucks. “What you got?” I asked, my arms folded across my chest.
“I mean, I really just wanted to talk to you about a career opportunity. I’m gonna be leaving Rainbow Construction after these sets of homes are complete. I’d really like to explore one of your senior project manager positions.”
I nodded, then relaxed my arms, leaning against the truck. “You want to come and work for me?”
“I do. Got a great deal of respect for you, man. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye but that was only ever just me wanting to make sure that everything was running smoothly.” Coleman shrugged his shoulders. “Type-A here, man. What can I say?”
Just as I was about to offer up a response, my and Coleman’s attention was captured by two police cruisers pulling up to one of the homes across the street, and slightly adjacent to where we stood. Moments after, when two more cars pulled up, my antennae went up. It took mere moments for officers to enter the residence. Not long after that, they emerged with a clean-cut, preppy-looking guy wearing a suit, tie, and leather loafers. The dude was protesting loudly and struggling, all while his wrists were locked in cuffs behind his back.
“This is bullshit! I’ll have every last badge for false arrest!” He seemed to be having a one-sided debate with himself. Judging by the thick formation of cops, no amount of arguing would be enough. They had already decided they had their guy. “You have the wrong person!” he continued. “Nova!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Call Raquel! Call her now!”
Unbelievable, I thought as we continued watching the scene play out. A woman, who I assumed was Nova, came running out of the house. She was average height, somewhere around five-foot-five. She had a nice bust size, a small waist, shapely hips, thick thighs and toned calves. She was hysterical and had a phone to her ear. “It’s ringing now! Everything’ll be alright, Drew!” she reassured.
“Fuuuck,” Coleman expelled a long breath. “I wonder what happened. They seem like real cool people.”
“You know them?” I asked out of curiosity, that had more to do with her than him.
“I made it a point early on, to introduce myself to the neighbors since we’d be wakin’ them up early as shit in the mornings. I think he’s an executive for the Department of Energy, and I think she’s a head doctor…” he paused. “Or something like that.”
I broke my stare at her for a quick second. “A head doctor, Coleman? Really?”
“I mean, you know; one of those psychologists. I think.”
“Hmm, and he works for the government. Wonder what the hell he’s up to. Not that anybody with government ties could shock me when it comes to shady shit.”
“Right?” Coleman cosigned. “He just doesn’t seem like the type, though. Seems like an older preppy…” He paused, then hunched his shoulders. “But shit, what the hell do I know?”
“Yeah.” My response was half-assed. I was busy studying the beauty bathed in a delicious shade of dark chocolate.
She was stunning. Even with many yards separating her, I could see that the face matched the body—flawless. A mane of curls that blew with the wind each time she took a step across a front yard that was of impressive design, using multi-colored rock. It was the way the loose-fitting tank hung around her upper body, and how the pale-green short-shorts lay on her thighs like they were bound there by loyalty. It made me not want to look away. Like I might miss something if I did.
As she expressed herself, the pitch in her voice elevated ever so often. She spoke with authority, and while she seemed to emphasize her words, she didn’t seem too bent out of shape. I deduced that it was just her thing to stay as calm as she could in situations. Maybe it had to do with her profession of getting inside of people’s heads.
“So… uhh… yeah, Coleman,” I uttered, slowly turning back in his direction. “Let me go and show my face and maybe later in the week I can take a look at your resume. Sound good?”
“Aww, yeah. Better than good, man. Thanks a lot.”
“It’s cool. Can’t ever have too much talent.”
On the way to survey the final touches, I took periodic glances across the street. Even though she obviously belonged to somebody else, up until the point that Nova finally went into the house, I sized her up. Beauty aside, there was something about her that intrigued me. Something that made me want to know exactly what the hell had taken place in that house. And most importantly, how, or if, it would impact her.
The human in me hoped like hell that she would come out of the situation unscathed; that whatever shenanigans her man was involved in, wouldn’t hurt the life she had. The businessman in me, however, hoped like hell that their activities�
��whatever they were—wouldn’t depreciate the value of my property. That would piss me off, royally.
3 | Detective Keith Morrison
San Leandro Police Department
11:18AM
“I don’t give a fuck how many different ways you ask the motherfucking question!” Drew Levine roared. He was raging out and could be heard yelling loudly inside the interrogation room. He hadn’t let up in the hour or so that he’d been there, adamantly proclaiming that he was being falsely accused. “What part of, ‘It wasn’t me’ don’t you get?! The answer is not going to change!”
Detective Keith Morrison sat emotionless as his detainee threw a useless tantrum. His fit wouldn’t help things move along any quicker. Might even slow shit up a bit. Keith was entertained as he observed the guy’s complexion go from fair to crimson in a matter of seconds. He fluctuated between a place of trying to present reason, and then when it didn’t work, reverting back to a state of agitation. Morrison was amused and in full study-mode. Even without having yet seized the weapon, he already had what he needed. He was just waiting for the guy to give in and admit what he had done.
But just like all the other arrogant, entitled assholes like him, Drew Levine refused to do that. Morrison knew the type; he’d grown up with them. Jock. Ladies’ man. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, All-American pretty boy. He knew that this Drew person grew up thinking that he’d never have to face consequences for any of his actions. He also knew that the prick was going to hold on to his lie for a duration that would go to infinity and beyond.
“I swear to God when my lawyer gets here, you’re gonna regret this shit! Guaranteed! I’m being held on some bogus shit that has zero… you hear me? Zero… to do with me! And where the hell is my lawyer, by the way?! How many times do I have to ask?”
Keith folded his arms across his chest and reclined the worn leather seat back as far as he could, without regard to whether or not he’d go crashing to the floor.
Lethal Love: Deceit can be Deadly Page 2