Maneater (23 page)

O
n my knees, I cried, “Noooo,” holding on to Onyx's leg. Crawling up her body, I held Onyx's toned biceps, her jet-black skin flawless, nerves raveled. I screamed in her face. “Where is she? Tell me right now.”

Gasping Onyx whispered, “Velvet, I'm so scared. Right before you walked in here I heard gunshots.” Onyx was fueled by anger, and her large eyes swept hard corner to corner. “Valentino demanded his money back. Wants me to get it. I don't know what to do…she might be…”

I let go of Onyx, matched the intensity of her hatred for a man I hadn't met, then asked, “Gunshots? Who the fuck is Valentino? Where is he? I'ma kick his ass.”

Helpless. Standing in Honey's office of Sweeter than Honey, I had to rescue her. I owed her so much. I was grateful for Honey. I was her first client. She'd tracked down my son's father, gotten me seventy-two grand in back child support from Alphonso, the sleazebag who'd raped and impregnated me, then demanded I not call him ever again, 'cause he didn't want his wife to know he'd fathered our son, Ronnie. Honey believed in my dream of starring in the movie
Something on the Side,
and she'd gone with me to Los Angeles to confront Ronnie's father. I'd come to Honey's office to share my joy. I'd gotten the part. I had to thank her for all she'd done for me despite the fact that I'd had sex with Grant. Honey was one special, forgiving woman.

Onyx's eyes closed. Tears streamed over her cheeks, staining her sleeveless mint green silk blouse. Her mouth opened. Blackberry lips parted, exposing chocolate gums and white teeth. Circling her long black ponytail in her palm, she jammed the phone to her ear. She was taking too long to say something. I snatched the cordless phone from her hand.

Frantically, Onyx waved her hands at me. “I was listening. Waiting. Don't hang up. Honey said, ‘Don't hang up.' I think she's still on the other end. Oh, god help us please.” Onyx paced the floor, circled her desk. Rubbed her palms on her skirt.

I pressed the phone to my ear. Heard a lot of static, like someone was hissing, fumbling, or shuffling.

Onyx cried, “He's going to kill Honey if he doesn't get his money back.”

“I'ma call Grant. Grant is a real man, and he'll kick Valentino's ass,” I said, scrolling through my cell phone contact list.

Onyx shook her head. “I just talked to him before you got here. He's on his way.”

“That's what's up. I'll call Sapphire then,” I said, pressing the letter
S
.

“She's on her way, too,” Onyx said.

I yelled into the cordless. “Hey! Valentino! Answer this damn phone. This is Velvet, motherfucker.”

The slamming stopped. Silence crept into my ear. Chills crawled up my spine, tensing my neck. Then I heard a man's voice. “Who in the hell is this?”

“This is Red Velvet, and I'm going to personally beat your ass if you harm Honey,” I told him. “Punk.”

Calmly, he said, “Put Onyx on the phone, Red Velvet.”

“I'm running this show. You talk to me.”

“Okay, Velvet. Is red your favorite color?” he asked.

“Yours?” I countered. “Stop wasting my time. Where in the hell is Honey?”

“You mean Lace. If we don't get our money, she's either dead or going to jail,” he said. “I'll personally drop her ass off on the sidewalk in front of a mortuary, and trust me, you won't be able to identify her body. Or I'll take her to a police station after I cut off her arms and legs. You decide since you're in charge. Or you can give me my money in exchange for your precious Lace St. Thomas, or I'ma put your ass on a stroll until you earn my money.”

I had to think this out fast. I gestured at Onyx. She took the phone.

“Valentino, give me forty-eight hours. You'll have your money wired to whatever account you give me. I can do a wire. I can't get cash out of Honey's account.”

“What? Are you crazy?” I said, snatching the phone from Onyx. “We ain't giving your ass one dime, you hear me? No Honey. No money. You wanna talk? Meet us tonight at Stilettos Strip Club at eight o'clock, and don't be late. I want to meet your retarded ass in person.”

“You're a hothead. Liable to get yourself killed tonight. I'll be there at eight o'clock, but your forty-eight hours start right now,” Valentino said, then hung up.

Onyx stopped crying, started sniffling.

“We need Sapphire Bleu,” I said. “She'll take care of Valentino.”

We had the law to protect us. Sapphire was a cop, and she was Honey's friend.

Onyx sat on her desk. Held my hand, then said, “I owe Honey my life. We all do. The other eleven girls, too.”

“Where they at? The other girls. They could help us.”

“Out working. Trying to convince prostitutes to stop selling their bodies. We were all escorts in Vegas. High-paid escorts. And Honey was our madam. Honey started this business in Atlanta to help women get off their backs. Now she's the one who needs our help.”

I exhaled, trying to devise a plan to free Honey. What if Valentino didn't bring her to Stilettos? What if he didn't show up?

Hoping to reassure Onyx, I said, “We'll find Honey. Believe that.” I was fascinated, curious about Onyx. “What was that like? Being an escort. You know lots of females have sex for free, let men use them. Must be better getting paid. How much did you get paid?”

Cold, hard, Onyx stared at me, cold, hard. “A woman would be better off auctioning her soul to the devil than letting a different man stick his dick in her mouth…pussy…asshole every night. Sometimes two, three, four men a night. Back-to-back-to-back. Two thousand a night isn't worth it when you end up shot in the head, like my best friend, Sunny. One day before her twenty-first birthday, Valentino killed her, because she wanted out.” Onyx broke down in tears.

Oh, damn. What if Valentino was serious about killing Honey?

I hugged Onyx. “I'm so sorry to hear that.”

Onyx trembled in my arms, spoke as though she hadn't heard me. “Honey could've left us in Vegas, come to Atlanta by herself, taken her millions, started a new life without us. But she didn't. Gave all of us airline tickets. We all came right away, except Girl Six.” Onyx eyes widened. She picked up the cordless, dialed a number, then said, “Girl Six, get your ass back to the office. Now.” Eyes shifting. Bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

“You think Girl Six set Honey up?” I asked.

“Don't know. But I'm definitely going to find out.”

T
he second Onyx told me Honey was in trouble, I was on my way to Atlanta.

Never got out of my car in front of my parents' home in D.C. Backed out of the driveway, drove to Washington Dulles International, parked in the short-term, not caring how long my car would stay there. I owned a second home in Buckhead, furnished with everything I'd need.

No luggage, hands free, I zigzagged across three lanes of congested airport traffic, slapped the hood of a car that almost hit me, woman looking down, text messaging. Better keep her attention on the road before she killed someone. I ran to the ticket counter, pulled out my credit card.

Life without Honey wasn't happening.

I'd never met a woman with so much fire, enthusiasm, drive, determination, beauty, and sex appeal, with so many bedroom skills, and with such a bodacious booty. She'd ruined me for all other women. Honey was the only one for me.

The agent smiled as she greeted me. “How may—”

“I have a life-or-death emergency. You've got to put me on your next direct flight to Atlanta. I don't mean your next available. Let me make myself clear. I must be on your next flight leaving for Atlanta.” I handed her my driver's license and credit card.

Her smile vanished. “Give me a minute, Mr. Hill.” Her acrylic nails swiftly tapped the keys.

“I might not have a minute. Please, hurry.”

Her head stayed bowed. Her eyes lifted toward me. She continued typing.

“I apologize. The woman I want to marry is missing, and I have to find her,” I explained.

Her smile returned. She typed faster. “Here,” she said, handing me a gold first-class boarding pass, along with my ID and credit card. “Wish we had more men like you. Your flight departs in twenty minutes. Hurry.”

This was one time I didn't care if I was in the last row. “Thanks!” I said. As I ran to the security checkpoint, my jacket flapped under my arms. I looked like a bird taking flight. I emptied the contents of my pockets—wallet, cell phone, keys—in a white bowl, held on to my boarding pass.

My phone rang on the conveyor. I snatched the white bowl.

“Excuse me, sir. You can't reach into the X-ray machine,” a man in a TSA uniform said.

Best to ignore him to avoid misdirecting my anger. I didn't checked my caller ID before anxiously answering, “Hurry, I've got two minutes.” I stepped aside, allowing another passengers to go ahead of me.

“Hey, bro. Won't take but a minute,” Benito said. “I need some money.”

“Where are you?” I asked him.

“Hanging out in Atlanta for a few days. So can you help me out?” he asked.

“Atlanta?” I said.

“Yeah, I'm in the ATL, bro. You know me. I'm a transient. Atlanta. Vegas. D.C. Never know where I'll show up.”

I felt my blood pressure rising. Wanted to question him about Honey. Didn't want to give him time to make up lies if he knew the truth.

“I'll call you back in two hours,” I said, then hung up.

Placing the bowl on the conveyor, along with my shoes, belt, and jacket, I walked through the metal detector. I had to get a secuity clear card. Should've been at my gate by now. I ran to the shuttle, stood the entire ride. The first one off the shuttle, I ran to my gate, barely beating the last call for my flight.

“Orange juice please,” I told the flight attendant, settling into 1B, the same seat I'd sat in when I'd met my Honey for the first time, except a different woman was next to me now.

Her black skin glistened. Long hair flowed over her shoulders. Skirt rose a few inches above her knees, exposing her bare legs. Open-toe shoes revealed an impeccable pedicure. Hadn't seen black strips with diamonds across the tips of toenails. Elegant. She smelled sweet, like candy. The kind of fragrance that would ordinarily draw me real close to a woman. Make me introduce myself. Not today. Regardless of how sweet she was, she wasn't sweeter than Honey.

“Here's your juice,” the attendant said.

The cabin door closed. I fastened my seat belt, shut my eyes. Wanted to cry. What good would that do? Wondered how much Benito knew about Honey's disappearance. If he was involved. Hated having to communicate with him, but my brother was my only lead.

I felt the lightest touch on my shoulder, opened my eyes.

“I don't mean to bother you, but you seem like a man who enjoys sports,” the woman next to me said.

I exhaled. Nodded. Closed my eyes again.

“I'd like to offer you two suite tickets to see my son play tomorrow night in Atlanta,” she said.

Answering her without opening my eyes, I asked, “What's his name?”

Quietly, she said, “Darius Jones.”

I sat up, looked at her. “You mean the Darius Williams who changed his last name to Jones?”

Her lips parted; her smile captivated me. I took a deep breath.

She nodded. “Long story. Short version, my son changed his name back to Jones after my husband died. His biological father is—”

I interrupted her. “I know Darryl Williams, pro basketball player.” I smiled back at her. “You are gorgeous. Stunning.”

“Thanks. My name is Jada Diamond Tanner,” she said, handing me her business card.

I dug in my jacket pocket, handed her my card. “I'm going to Atlanta on an emergency. The woman I want to marry is in danger. I have to do all I can to save her. I love her.”

Jada's eyes filled with tears. “My husband felt that way about me before he died. My Wellington Jones wasn't a perfect man, but the one thing I knew for sure was my husband loved me with all his heart. Doubt I'll ever love like that again, but I haven't given up. If there's anything I can do to help you find her, you have my number.”

Had no idea what compelled me, but I leaned Jada's head on my shoulder, held her hand in mine, and comforted her until our flight arrived in Atlanta. My instincts indicated that Jada was one special woman.

Everything happened for a reason. Was I in search of Honey to have a wife? Or is my heart simply in search of a true love?

Enjoy the following excerpt from HoneyB's

 

Single Husbands

 

On sale now from Grand Central Publishing

 

WARNING!

 

Adult Fiction

 

Sexually Exquisite

 

If you are not eighteen years or older, do not, seriously, do not read this book.

Is There a Loophole in Marriage Vows?

I
f you are or have ever been married, does this sound
somewhat
familiar?

In the presence of God, and our family and friends, I offer you my solemn vow to be your faithful partner in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, and in joy as well as in sorrow. I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals, to honor and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, and to cherish you for as long as we both shall live.

I encourage you to reread the above paragraph word for word. But don't stop there: read all the marriage vows you can find, and e-mail me any preexisting marriage vows where it states married couples cannot have sex outside of their marriage. If you choose to quote the phrase “vow to be faithful,” I ask that you first seek the definition of the word
faithful
; then pay close attention to how the word
faithful
is being used.

There are beliefs rooted in Christianity, like “Thou shall not commit adultery” and “Thou shall not covet his neighbor's wife,” but to my knowledge, correct me if I'm wrong, none of the ten commandments are quoted in marriage vows. So I must ask you, the reader, because you are intelligent, is there a loophole in wedding vows regarding infidelity?

The three couples in this story made a commitment to one another, but somewhere along their journey, after saying, “I do,” Herschel Henderson, Brian Flaw, and Lexington Lewis took detours. Now take a moment to think about how people change after they get married. These three men didn't honestly deviate from their premarital behavior. Most people don't. What happened was the women they married thought that signing a marriage license would miraculously make their unfaithful fiancés faithful husbands.

Have you ever thought about the definitions for
marriage
and
license?
Marriage is the state of being united to a person of the opposite sex as husband or wife in a consensual and contractual relationship recognized by law. There are no prerequisites to getting married. In reality it doesn't matter if the parties exchanging vows even respect or love one another. Who cares? The law rules above all hearts. The law doesn't care if one is miserably or happily married. One's IQ and bank account can be below zero, and one can still find someone to marry.

Moving along, a license is permission granted by a competent authority to engage in a business, an occupation, or an activity. It is a document, plate, or tag that indicates such permission was granted.

A license is a document. Every license—except a marriage license—must be renewed and can be revoked, suspended, or terminated. A marriage license can either be annulled (reduced to nothing) or dissolved (decomposed or made to disappear), which means the marriage ends in divorce.

A marriage license is a façade. It's a piece of paper granted not by the parties involved but by an authority (the law) to the parties, who have no enforceable control over their spouse. In many cases, people marry strangers. What's my point? People who decide to get married are disillusioned, because they believe they have entitlements when, in actuality, they have zero authority to hold the other person accountable to anything that that person does not desire to commit to. You don't marry a piece of paper. What you commit to is a union with an imperfect being, who you somehow expect will become perfect when you hear, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

A marriage license to me is synonymous with the enforcement rights of a birth certificate. It simply identifies a person's legal commitment, but the license does not, cannot, will not, shall not make anyone whole, complete, or happy. One can literally break all the laws of marriage and never be penalized. Which brings me to the question, what are the laws of marriage? Hit me up with your responses.

One can throw in the towel and cut one's losses, but one cannot bring forth charges against a cheating spouse unless one is perhaps married or living in the state of Florida. I ain't gon' mention no names, but I wonder if that's why that famous, multimillionaire couple's affairs suddenly became hush-hush when a baby was allegedly conceived out of wedlock. Hmm? I'd better shut my mouth. Anywho, what good is a marriage license? Now if you marry the right person, a license may make you wealthy, but how much will it cost you?

The law cannot make any person accountable; it merely grants an immeasurable tool with no accountability. Every license in America, except a marriage license, has built-in requirements for renewal, or else it does what? It expires. So when a couple decides to get married, they need to determine with their heads if the commitment is one they're willing to keep forever. Not many couples stay married forever, and of the ones that do, many die unfulfilled.

What the women in this novel get is what they have had all along. Instead of dating a single man, these women voluntarily consent to marrying…
Single Husbands
.