Maneater (12 page)

H
ad a lot of shit on my mind this morning. Dick protested Danté's touch trailing down my spine to my ass. My back inches from his chest. His kisses on the nape of my neck made my face squint, lips scrunch up. Inside of me, my anger was suppressed, threatening to break through. Agitated, annoyed, I pulled away from him. I could've punched him in his face, repeatedly. Hatred—for Danté, Seven, Zena, my dad, all except my mom—boiled in my veins.

“You've got to get out of my house. Can't take us spending time together every night. You've got to go,” I told Danté firmly, unwrapping his hand from my limp dick. His heated breath burst against the back of my neck, circling my throat. I couldn't face him.

I got out of bed. Dressed. Loose-fitting jeans, no belt, snug black wife-beater, outlining my chest, highlighting my biceps, shoulders. I'd lost a few pounds since Seven had left. Missed her cooking. Seeing her pictures, I realized she was finer than when we'd met.

Fuck!

Left him in the bedroom, in the bed, buried under my black satin sheets. Went to the third floor, closed the door. I sat alone in my library, scrolling through the e-mails in my PDA. Used to rely on my computer for access to my e-mails. The computer could be replaced. My hard drive couldn't. Too-sensitive data. No backup data anywhere.

My jaded past was in a woman's hands. A woman who didn't give a damn about my future could send me to jail or straight to hell, destroy me. Had to depend on Zena not doing something stupid, like sending those fucking pictures to my clients or releasing my contracts to the police. Could lie and say she created the documents to frame me for not marrying her. Tried resetting my password. Each time, she still had access, sending me empty e-mails from my own address. Bitch was in control. Wouldn't log out of my account from my laptop.

I called her from the cordless in my office.

“Yes, Maverick. What is it now?” she answered, sounding annoyed.

“Zena, you need to give me back my laptop. You're fucking with my business. My livelihood. And make sure that punk who calls himself your man, Deuce Callahan, stays away from my place of business. I'm willing to give you back the fifty-thousand-dollar cashier's check in exchange for my computer.”

“You can't buy me. Shouldn't you be sucking on a bone? You two liars deserve one another. My only question is, which one of you is the man?”

Biting my bottom lip, I exhaled, pounding my fist on the glass-top desk. “I'm trying to be nice—”

“You can have your laptop back when Seven gets back.”

“Bitch! I'm tired of fucking playing games with you! You've got forty-eight hours, or your ass is dead! You hear me!”

Bam!
My fist hit the desktop again. The phone base fell to the floor. I left it there.

“You're a reckless man, Maverick Maxamillion. Why don't you focus on one thing at a time? Follow through with your hit on your lover, Danté, 'cause I want his ass dead, too, and then I'll tell you what to do next. And just so you know, you don't want to fuck with Deuce. He's a real man.”

Bam! Bam!

“Fuck! See what you made me do! Fucking around with you, I've cut my hand,” I shouted.
Click.
I froze. Bitch hung the fuck up on me?

Click?

Aw, shit, a second click.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I hung up. “Bitches,” I whispered, staring out the window. Forty-two degrees. Lake Michigan was chilly. Morning dew clung to each pane, partially hindering my view. Wish I were on my yacht, standing with Zena near the edge. I'd pick her up, toss her ass overboard into the lake, then speed over her body.

I saw Chad's car turning the bend onto Lake Shore Drive.

Zena had me, had Danté by the balls, too, could ruin us both with a…click.

Getting my fucking laptop from Zena was my number one objective. Finding out exactly where Seven was, was urgent. Confronting my father today was necessary. Making sure Danté left my house when I did was mandatory. He'd gotten too comfortable. Hadn't left my house without me since Zena caught us making love. His trying to come out of the closet and replace Seven wasn't happening. Pressuring me to take him to the games. No damn way. I wasn't gay. He was.

“Wanna talk?”

“Shit! Don't creep up on me like that, man,” I said, my heart thumping. I hadn't heard my library door open.

Chad parked in the driveway, in front of my garage. He'd arrived in time to save me from myself. Save me from Danté's narrowed eyelids, oozing hatred. Since Zena had crept in on me, I had to grant Chad and all visitors entry. Good neighbors were fine. Trespassers would get shot. Should've shot Zena while she was in my house.

Danté stood behind me. His hands were jammed in his robe pockets, close to his thighs. I saw the imprints of his knuckles.

“You've gotta go back in the bedroom and stay there until Chad leaves,” I insisted, attempting to pass him. I didn't want to find out how much he'd heard of my conversation with Zena.

He blocked the doorway. Watching him ease his hands out of his pockets, I held my breath.

Our eyes met. We exchanged energy. Love. Hate. Love. Regrets. Fear.

Danté opened his mouth, embraced me. His tongue parted my lips, invaded my mouth. Passionately, he sucked my tongue as though my dick was in his mouth, then said, “Yeah, you should be scared.”

He turned. Slowly walked into my bedroom, closed the door.

So, he'd overheard my conversation. I'd handle him later. I trotted downstairs to my first floor and opened the door for Chad. “Hey, man. Good to see you.” I meant that shit.

“Same here. Got what you want. Maybe,” he said, hiking his shoulders toward his ears.

“Let's go upstairs to the formal dining room,” I said, leading the way to the second floor. I had to be in ear range of Danté's footsteps.

“You'd better sit for this one, man,” Chad said, sitting at the table. He powered up Seven's laptop. “You sure you want to know where she is?”

“Got to,” I said, sitting next to him. “Before we get started, tell me, how do you bypass passwords to access systems?”

I had to get into Zena's personal files. See if I could incriminate her. Get into her business files as well. Wipe out her bank accounts, all of them. Crash her system. Let her know I could destroy her ass, too.

Chad shook his head. “That info in the wrong hands is dangerous. Let's just say I know how to reset passwords on practically every account that has one.”

Chad and I had an interesting relationship. We were friends. Hadn't hung together much in college. I'd been hustling my way to success. He'd taken school way too seriously, studying, cramming for the bar exam, dating one girl since high school, whom he married after he'd passed the bar. I'd given him four tickets to the football game. He'd brought his wife and another couple, like they were on a double date. No more tickets for his henpecked ass. Our worlds, different. Friendship, unchanged. I'd do anything for Chad, if he asked.

He went on. “I tap into other people's accounts to give my clients an edge over the opposing counsel's clients in the courtroom.”

I was more concerned with getting those pictures and my laptop back. Zena was too dangerous, potentially lethal. I'd hoped that when I got Seven's car back, my computer would be inside. Not. But Seven's car was locked in the garage to stay. Eventually, Seven would have to come and claim her property.

Danté and I had tailed Zena to the boutique inn on Ohio Street. Like most women, she'd been oblivious to the fact that we'd followed her from her home. Danté was too aloof about the pictures Zena had taken. Hadn't mentioned them. Was he hoping she'd ruin me? Had they partnered to set me up? I couldn't trust anyone.

“This is where your fiancée is,” Chad said.

“What the…” My bottom jaw dropped. Blood was instantly diverted to my groin. Almost naked men on the home page. Gorgeous bodies. I bit my bottom lip. Jealous. I wanted in.

Chad clicked on a few more buttons. Each screen was more provocative. My dick got hard when I saw Jagger. My mouth watered.
I could suck his dick.
He could do me…if he were on my team. He wasn't. His firm stance; the flexing of his bicep; his standing sideways, showing off his long, thick dick; the stern body language mirroring his eye contact—these said, “Females only.”

I slid my chair farther under the table, hiding my erection with my hand. “What else is on there?”

He double clicked on the Memoirs folder, and that shit fucked me up. The woman I had proposed to was a slut. A whore. A tramp. Worse than a prostitute. I sucked in my lips, stared at my boy, Chad.

“Now what? You're going to go get her or leave her there?” he asked. “Sometimes we're better off not knowing. Once you know, you can't forget that shit, man.”

“I need another favor,” I said, staring at pictures of Seven maneuvering four dicks at once. Bitch belonged on the corner in a short skirt, or in a damn circus.

“I'm listening,” Chad said.

“Can you make someone's PDA, laptop, and office systems crash if I give you the e-mail address and cell phone number?”

“Better if I had an e-mail address. Why? You want to destroy Seven?”

“No, not Seven,” I said. Hadn't thought about that. “Zena.”

“Her best friend? What's up with that? She got something you need?”

“I'm trying to protect Seven. Zena might have those pictures,” I lied.

“That's a stretch, don't you think?”

“Just do it,” I said.

“Not sure if I can help you on that one. If I weren't married, I'd ask Zena out. What are you going to do about Seven? That's the question.”

I begged Chad. “I need for you to do this, man.” Then I said, “The wedding's off.”

“Why?” he asked. “You're going to be like your old man. Follow in his footsteps. Heart of ice. Unforgiving. You love Seven. We've all done some dumb shit in our younger days. Marry her,” Chad said, turning off the computer, pointing to a piece of paper. “That's the password for her computer.”

So much shit. So little time.

“You're right. I should marry her,” I said, thinking about Seven's new body. Tight. Slim. Fucking fantastic. Why should another man get to fuck her? “I've gotta go see my parents.”

“Whoa,” he said, rubbing his hand on his chin. “That's cool, man. You want me to go with you?”

“Nah, I gotta do this alone. Shit might get crazy.”

“Exactly. That's why I should go with you,” he insisted.

“I'm good. I'll call you tonight,” I said, standing. “Thanks for cracking into her system. Hope you can help me out with Zena.”

“No problem. I'll take care of it for you. Get me all her e-mail addresses. Hey, man, don't lose your cool when you confront your old man. If you get pissed, don't touch him. Leave immediately,” Chad said, standing.

I followed him to the front door, locked the door behind him, then headed back upstairs. Danté wasn't in my bed. Searched the house. No Danté. Looked in the garage. His car, gone.

I returned to the dining room and Seven's computer, logged on to the Internet, checked my e-mail.

Seven had written: As I discover the true me, I fall deeper in love with Jagger. It wasn't planned, but your asking that I leave was the best thing that ever happened to me. Since you're happy with Zena, I've moved on.

I shouted at the screen as I replied, I told you I didn't fuck her! Seven, don't make me show up at Punany Paradise. If you're not back home within seventy-two hours, I'm coming after you. I inserted a few of her slut photos, then continued. Bet lover boy doesn't know you're a tramp. Come home in three days, or your pictures will be all over the Internet. No one will ever hire you.

I had to go see my old man. Get the dumb shit off my chest. I hadn't done anything wrong. Wanted, needed, to see my mother. But my old man wasn't going to have the advantage this time.

Walking into my library closet, I removed the black shoe box from the top shelf, opened it, stared in disbelief. My gun was gone.

Crash! Crash!

I fell to the floor, crawled under my desk. Some fools outside doing what? I waited a few minutes. Silence. I crept to my third-floor window, peeped outside.

Danté had a brick in each hand.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I yelled.

Danté yelled, “You told him not to let me up! I made you! If I can't have you to myself, you don't have to worry about your old man killing you. I will.”

Crash! Crash!

He hurled the bricks in his hands through the foyer windows. Sitting, I propped my elbows on the desk, closed my eyes, then exhaled, “Why me?”

M
en. Why did women need them? Why did I need any of them?

The men I'd met, they'd requested more of me than I'd ever asked of them. “Zena, can you help me out with my cell phone bill? I have to talk to you every day, baby.” Or “I'm short on my rent. I'll pay you back in two weeks. My baby's mama is always in my pocket. Can you take care of this round? I'll catch the next.”

The lame, senseless, repetitive excuses from men who dodged being responsible for themselves had made me tired of dealing with them. That had been my college dating experience. How Seven met Maverick, I hadn't understood until now. She hadn't. Maverick had met her. Courted her. Treated her well, then isolated her. The less she knew, the safer his secret.

Had a few secrets of my own. Seven had no idea I was already married. To a man who'd have his citizenship in one more year. I met Deuce Callahan at Chicago's city hall, said, “I do,” signed the marriage certificate, had sex with him once and hadn't fucked him since. He'd brought the witness. He'd paid off my college loans, given me a lump sum in cash.

I was comfortable; he was consistent. The most handsome, reliable man in my life had been nowhere in my life since he'd showed up at Maverick's office. I sat on the edge of my bed, dialed his number.

“Hey, baby. Things are crazy. Stock market out of control. Sorry I haven't been by. I took care of that Maverick maniac. You good?” he asked.

No, he hadn't taken care of Maverick. I smiled, then answered, “Yeah, I'm good. You?”

“Zena, listen to me. I really want you to have my babies. Say yes.” Deuce sounded anxious.

After all the nonsense with Danté and Maverick, I said, “Yes.”

“Oh my. Are you serious? Please tell me you're not just telling me what I want to hear,” he said.

I felt his smile. “Yes, I will have your babies,” I said, not believing my own ears.

“I will be by tonight,” he said. “Zena?”

“Yes.”

“I love you, woman.”

“I love you, too, Deuce,” I said, ending the call before I changed my mind.

Found one man I liked other than Deuce, and what happened? I caught him dicking down another man with more passion than he'd fucked me. Glad I found out before I'd done the unimaginable, fall in love. I'd never been in love. My relationships hadn't lasted that long. How much time was required to fall in love? One month, six months, a year? Six years? Citizenship?

I was pissed off. Maverick should have Danté killed. Do women a favor. Do me a favor. Make sure Danté wouldn't deceive another female. Keep me from going to jail for killing Danté myself. For Danté's sake, I had better not test positive for HIV.

Did Seven know about Maverick's double-agent lifestyle? Was that why he hadn't wanted me hanging out with Seven? The reason he'd leave whenever I came around? What team was he on? She on? Were their secret lives another reason Seven hadn't responded to any of my text messages? Friend or not, it was best to let her be, deal with this situation my way. Like in a relationship, sometimes friends had to give friends fifty feet of space instead of three. I was done texting Seven.

I picked up my cell phone, speed dialed Donna to see how her first day back was going.

She answered right away. “Hey, Ms. Belvedere.”

“Hi, Donna. How is everything going?”

“Everything on this end is quiet,” she replied. “Can hear a pin drop. Phone's not ringing much. It's real quiet.”

I listened. Couldn't hear background noise. “Any new inquiries?” I asked, scanning the toys I'd bought. Two remained unused. Those orgasmic mechanical assistants I'd used had exceeded my expectations.

“Not yet. Not today. I had time, so I designed a new e-flyer ad—”

“Yeah, I saw it. Looks good.”

“I e-mailed it today to repeat and potential clients. I'm surfing the Net, adding you to major search engines. You may want to consider banner ads on a few sites. The recession is slowing business for everybody. Three of your top clients terminated their contracts today. Said they had to cut their marketing budgets, downsize their staff. I hope you come in soon. Your mail is piled up on your desk. I've put it in bundles,” she said, sighing heavily in my ear.

She was right. I had to go into my office. Afraid Danté or Maverick would confront me at my workplace, I'd stayed away. For the first time, I considered carrying a weapon. Crime up. Unemployment up. Dow Jones down. Way down. If Maverick would have Danté killed, he surely didn't give a damn about me.

I needed to check my office mail. No electronic business deposits had been registered to my account the last few business days. That was odd. My reserves were getting low. No new business. Losing long-term clients. Heating my bedroom with a portable to avoid warming the entire house. Not good.

Raising the temperature on the thermostat, I almost forgot Deuce was coming over. “I'll see you next week. The mail for today come in yet?” I asked.

“About an hour ago.”

“Any checks?” I asked. I briefly entertained selling Maverick his laptop for the fifty grand he'd offered. Or I could close my business, have Deuce's babies, and become a full-time housewife.

“Not today. Maybe they'll come in on Monday,” Donna said. “Ms. Belvedere?”

“Yes?”

“Be honest with me. Do I need to start looking for another job? I'm concerned about your meeting payroll.”

Meeting payroll?
She was the only one on my payroll. And she was worried? Was Donna stealing from me?

“Donna. Do you have another job? Is there something you're not telling me?” I asked, holding the clit stimulator in one hand, a vibrator in the other.

“It can wait until I see you next week,” Donna said, backing down.

Not in the mood to interrogate her, I said, “Fine,” ending the call.

If she quit, I wouldn't have to pay her unemployment, and I'd save almost eighteen hundred a month. Staring at the unopened thirteen-hundred-dollar clit stimulator, I placed it on my nightstand. Might have to take it back for a refund.

I opened the vibrator, rubbed it down with toy cleaner, followed by a hot, damp towel. Peeling the gold package away from the condom, I placed the condom in my mouth, sucked the tip between my teeth, then placed my lips over the head of the vibrator. Keeping up on my skills, I tightened my lips around the head, then unrolled the condom down the shaft, almost to the base, finishing with my fingers.

“No more blow jobs or gay men for me,” I said, turning on the cordless dick. I'd just fuck myself until Deuce and I lived together. That way I didn't have to guess who was straight.

The pearls rotated; the head vibrated. I climbed into bed, lubricated my dick, spread my legs, then reclined on a pillow, bending my knees. Slowly, I inserted the head, closed my eyes, and exhaled out my mouth.

I switched a button, and the head rotated clockwise, thrusting the pearls along my G-spot. I clamped my thighs together, holding the vibrator in place. I reached for the clit stimulator and opened it, rubbed it with toy cleaner. Wiped it with the damp towel. Inserted the batteries. Turned it on.

“Goddamn!”

The vibration shot throughout my entire body. Head buzzed. Feet tingled. I took a deep breath, placed the tip against my clit. Instantly, I came. The vibrating dick in one hand, the clit stimulator in the other, I came so hard, I damn near passed out.

I limped to the bathroom, preventing my thighs from brushing my clit. My body jerked as I showered, water streaming on my shaft.

“That combination is lethal. Better not do that again anytime soon,” I said, turning off the water.

My cell phone rang. Not knowing if the call was close to going to voice mail, I grabbed the towel, dried one ear, slipped on my earpiece, then answered, “Hello.”

“Ms. Belvedere?”

“Yes. Who's calling?” I asked.

“I'm calling with your lab results,” she said.

My knees buckled, and I nearly slumped to the floor. If she said I had to come in, I'd expect the worst. If she told me the results over the phone, I was good.

“Hello?” she said.

I whispered, “I'm listening.”

“Your AIDS test is nonreactive. It's negative,” she said.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips. “Thank you so much. So much.”

“And,” she continued, “congratulations. Your pregnancy test is positive.”

“No, no. You've got me mixed up with someone else. I didn't request a pregnancy test. I'm not pregnant yet. You sure you know what you're doing?” I asked her. “I'm Ms. Zena Belvedere.”

“Yes, ma'am. You're pregnant. If you want confirmation, you can get a home test. If you want to terminate the pregnancy, we can assist you with referrals for an abortion.”

Ending the call, I raced to the bathroom, kneeled over the toilet, and vomited, as if I could regurgitate the baby, then flush it. Holding my stomach, I cried.

What was I going to do? Have an abortion? Or birth a baby into this world for a man who loved men more than women? I cried until my body ached.

Wait a minute,
I thought.

Deuce wanted babies. Demarcus Danté Davis was tall, dark, and handsome. So was Deuce Callahan. Deuce would never know the truth.

I showered, preparing my already conceived child for its new daddy.