Nude Awakening II (3 page)

“Good, ‘cause that's all yo' sassy ass need is some good dick!” Jurnee laughed.

“And my man has plenty of it!” LaToria boasted, giving Jurnee a high-five.

Neither felt at ease to speak on the oral threesome they shared with Trevon. By an unspoken agreement, both women figured it was simpler to pretend it never happened.

***

LaToria's three-bedroom crib gave Jurnee the comfort of her own bathroom. Standing at the sink, she gazed at her reflection. Heavy cosmetics hid the discolored bruise around her right eye. She was at least thankful the swelling had lessened to a point where shades weren't needed. Feeling the signs of an oncoming throbbing headache, she squatted down to search the cabinet under the sink. To her surprise, she discovered an opened box of panty liners. She found it odd for the box to be in the guest bathroom. Moving it aside, a white folded piece of paper caught her attention, sticking out the top of the box. The form drew more attention from Jurnee when she spotted LaToria's name on it. Eager to read the form, she removed it and then reached over to lock the door. Unfolding the medical form, she gasped at what she read.

“Why?” she muttered, shaking her head.
LaToria wants an abortion?

Jurnee stayed silent, her mind running too fast to grasp any thoughts. She read the medical form carefully, specifically checking the dates. Closing her eyes, she wondered why LaToria was planning to have an abortion later in the month. Jurnee replaced the form back like she found it,  knowing LaToria wasn't being honest with her nor Trevon.

CHAPTER

Three

Gotta Pay You Back

Where is Marcus?” Kendra demanded, using Swagga's real name.

Swagga's new bodyguard, thirty-three year old Rick, knew it was a wise choice to lie. “I'm not sure.” He shrugged his beefy, tatted shoulders.

“Bullshit!” she said, throwing her wine glass to the floor. “You're his damn bodyguard, so shouldn't your black ass know where the fuck he's at? I'm not going through this shit today. Now where is he?”

“Please calm down, Kendra. It's his party. He's around here someplace.”

“Uh-huh, probably with that pink-haired bitch I saw all up in his pocket a minute ago!” She scanned the crowd, not giving a damn about the sideways looks she was getting. None of the guests were her friends. All the people within her view stood in the lanes of ‘dick riders' or straight up groupies. Both made her sick. All they cared for was Swagga's money. Kendra was fed up with Swagga's bullshit constantly being thrown in her face every day. Shit started out sweet when Swagga appeared willing to keep it official within their relationship. It lasted all of three short weeks until she busted him with a thirsty ass ‘ho in the gym sucking his dick. Kendra forgave him but she didn't forget. Fuck the money, the mansion, and fuck Marcus aka Swagga. Kendra refused to be dogged out by any man. She tried to give Swagga a chance on the strength of their daughter, but she could only deal with so much. Spinning on her toes, she rushed the exit with Rick on her heels, Kendra ignored his pleas to calm down.

Stomping up the stairs, she was glad her daughter wasn't with her today. She left Rick at the bottom of the stairs, and then stormed inside the spacious bedroom she shared with Swagga. It took her five minutes to stuff two large Gucci suitcases full of her shit. Today should have been a happy day for her. She no longer had the fear of her man going to jail. She knew he was cheating on her with a bottom ass bitch that wasn't worth shit!

Rolling the suitcases down to the garage, she headed straight for the brand new lightning silver Bentley Continental GT coupe. Slamming the trunk, she headed for the driver's seat to put Swagga in the rearview mirror. Just as she slid inside, Rick ran up to the window holding up his cell phone. He gestured her to lower the glass.

“Swagga wants to holla atcha,” he said, catching his breath.

Kendra snatched the cell phone. “What!”

“Shit, dats what I need to be askin' yo' ass! What the fuck is wrong wit' you?” Swagga yelled in her ear.

“Where are you?” she asked, raising her voice. “Better yet, who is with you?”

“Huh?”

“Nigga, you heard me. So stop trying to play me! But you know what? I'm tired of your funky bullshit, so have fun with that skank bitch you fooling with!”

“Yo, why you trying to act all foolish and shit! I just beat a fuckin' charge that coulda laid my ass down, and you buggin' ‘bout dis dumb shit! I swear I'ma—”

“Goodbye, Marcus!” She dropped the phone in Rick's palm, and then slid the tinted window up. She had no more words to exchange with Swagga.

***

“Dumb ass bitch!” Swagga yelled after Rick told him about Kendra leaving. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes on the sofa in the game room.

“You okay, sweetie?” a soft voice asked.

Swagga nodded. “Just finish what you was doin',” he said, running his fingers through the pink hair of the groupie he just met. She smiled, lowering her soft wet lips back down his shaft. Swagga couldn't recall her name, but he knew her measurements—34B-26-42! Remembering his past, he made her get butt ass naked before anything jumped off. Of course, he hid his true reason for asking her to strip because he was still ashamed of his slip-up with Chyna. Focusing on the pleasure he was getting, he assumed Kendra would bring her ass back once she calmed down. Swagga opened his eyes and locked in on the sight of the groupie doing her best to swallow him whole. Up and down she slurped on his raw, stiff meat while cupping his balls.

“Eat it up, baby. Dis yo' dick fo' tahday.” He reached down to squeeze one of her pointy nipples that jiggled with her movements. Without being asked, she ran her wet tongue up his shaft and then back down to his balls. Her head work was on point. Swagga moaned and lifted his ass off the cushion. Four minutes later, her head was still bouncing over his lap without pause.

Swagga asked her to slow down when he felt a nut building. He wanted to be on his feet when he came. “Yo, what's yo' name again?”

“Nashlly,” she cooed, rubbing her lips against the tip of his erection.

“Okay, Nashlly. Now show me why I should let you be in my next video.”

She did so by taking him deep inside her mouth while palming his ass.

***

Later that night after the party ended, Swagga and Rick had a trip to make. With Rick driving Swagga's new pearl-blue Rolls-Royce Ghost, they ended up at an empty public park in West Palm Beach.

“Is this nigga official?” Swagga asked, working on his third Newport.

Rick nodded. “I've known him for a few months. So yeah, he's official.”

“A few months! And you trust dude to put in this type of work?” Sawgga asked with doubt creeping in.

“Relax, okay? Shit, you've known me less than three months, so what's the big difference? Let me handle it like I promised you.”

“I hope this ain't no bullshit.” Swagga settled deep into the soft, plush leather seat, wincing from the smoke burning his eyes. Looking ahead, he only saw darkness. “I know dis fool ain't gonna be late! My time is money.”

“He won't be late,” Rick replied, waiting for a pair of headlights to appear. “We're early, remember?”

Swagga rubbed his nose, clearly showing he lacked patience. “Yo, you see that pink-haired bitch I bagged? I might feature her in my next video. Ass soft as hell!”

“Yeah, I saw her,” Rick said. “And I think Kendra saw her too.”

“I 'on't give a fuck! She just on some bullshit right now. By next week she'll be back wit' a nigga,” Swagga claimed, full of pride.

Rick slid the sunroof back, allowing the smoke to clear.

“My bust,” Swagga said, inching the glass down to thump the cigarette out. “I forgot you don't smoke.”

Before Rick could respond, his eyes were drawn to the rearview mirror. “Here's our man,” he said, removing a chrome .40 from his hip.

Swagga didn't question Rick's actions. If he felt some heat was needed, he would roll with it. A level of trust was still being built on Swagga's end, but so far Rick hadn't set off any ill vibes.

“Let me make sure everything is all good first.” Rick was all business now.

“Do whatcha do,” Swagga replied, hiding his nervousness.

Rick filled his palm with the .40, and then he exited the Ghost. Swagga leaned up when a dark colored sedan pulled alongside them with the lights off.

“I'll be a minute,” Rick informed him before easing the door shut.

* * *

Slowing the dark gray Mercedes S550 was a Bahamian by the name of Fritz. Seeing Rick, he unlocked the passenger side door.

“Long time no see,” Rick greeted Fritz.

Fritz loosened his black silk tie looking straight ahead. “And time a keep ah movin' wit' out us. So what is it that I can do fah you?”

“My boss needs to smooth out a few bumps in his path.”

“Bumps eh?” Fritz rubbed his chin. “How many?”

“Just one,” Rick told him.

“He know me price?” Fritz said, sitting a black cigar box on the dashboard.

“Money ain't an issue here,” Rick told him.

Fritz smiled. “That be one of me favorite sayin'. So, how do ya boss want dis bump taken care of?”

“Make it look like an accident. Anything else will have the police looking our way.”

Fritz nodded, keeping his face in the dark. “Dat can be done. And when does dis bump need my attention?”

Rick rubbed a palm over his freshly done cornrows. “By June.”

“That won't be a problem,” Fritz replied. “Can you meet me tomorrow at the Fontainebleau? You should bring all the details you have on dis issue you wish for me to take care of.”

“What time?”

“Noon.”

“Okay, I'll call once I get there.”

Fritz nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

Rick exited the Benz and then slid back inside the Ghost.

“What dude talkin' ‘bout?” Swagga asked, the moment Rick was seated behind the wheel.

“Gotta get up with 'im at the Fontainebleau, tomorrow at noon.”

“Y'all got all that shit in order that quick?”

“Fritz is ‘bout his biz.” Rick turned the headlights on, and then he pulled away from the parking spot. Fritz's Benz had already pulled off.

“Did you tell 'im how it needs to look like an accident?”

“Relax, yo. I got this. By June that nigga gonna be a memory.”

Swagga ran his fingers through his long dreads, releasing a deep sigh. It was hard to relax due to his issues, but Swagga was set firm on keeping his hands clean. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed up an urban model who was eager to get up on his dick again.

Rick drove with his mind dealing with his actions. He knew the risks that rode with hiring Fritz to commit murder. Those risks were overlooked by the twenty racks
($20,000)
that Swagga would drop in his pocket. Easy money in his view. Being Swagga's bodyguard had many perks that Rick worked hard to gain. He would do his job and get money. He stood at 6-feet 5-inches, 315 pounds. Rick was imposing, even without the sight of his licensed weapon. Added to his immense size, he easily favored the brawler, Kimbo Slice.

“How's the new track coming in the studio?” Rick asked when Swagga later ended his call. They were cruising down I-95 South entering Dade County.

“'Nother banger, I hope,” Swagga responded with the seat reclined.

Rick slowed the Rolls-Royce when the radar started to beep. Lowering the speed to 85, he switched lanes to ease by a slow traveling van in the lane ahead. “You still need me to run that security check for your video next month?”

“Yeah go head an' do that.” Swagga inhaled, yearning for another Newport.

When the two vehicles were side by side, the van seemed to match the speed of the Ghost. Turning his head, Swagga noticed the cargo door was cracked. He continued to study the van. The driver was hidden behind a poorly done tint job on the window. Glancing back to the cargo door, he suddenly sat up. Seeing a hand gripping the cargo door gained Swagga's full attention. Before he could shout a warning, he was nearly face to face with a masked gunman holding an AK-47 with an extended clip.

Swagga's panicked screams filled the interior as the hail of bullets rained against the passenger side door and window.

Rick instinctively jerked the wheel to the right, veering hard against the van. The action threw the gunman on his ass. Before he could regain his balance, Rick floored the pedal, weaving past a small sedan. Cars in their wake swerved and locked their brakes.

“You okay!” Rick shouted, pushing the Ghost near triple digits.

Swagga had his eyes shut with his chest heaving. “Why the fuck you do that shit?” he panted.

“Had to throw his aim off!” Rick glanced up at the rearview mirror trying to spot the van. “The car is armored but the tires ain't.”

Swagga twisted around in the seat, feeling embarrassed. He forgot that his ride was bulletproof. “You see 'em?”

Rick shook his head. “Nah! I think they weren't expecting this shit to be armored.”

Swagga turned back around. “Take me home,” he said. “Niggas done fucked up fo' real now!”

Rick nodded. “I think you'll need more protection. Let me get my full team with me until we find out who is behind this.”

Swagga's fear stood deep in uncertainty of who could be behind the attempted hit. Whomever it was, the motherfucker was bold and knew about his movements.

“Did you recognize anything about that van?” Rick was still speeding along the interstate with the hazard lights flashing.

“Nah. Nothing but that AK.” Swagga turned in the seat again. “Damn, it's like they knew where to find me . . .”

Rick glanced at Swagga and then back to the road. “I think we were followed somehow.” He hated to admit it because it was his duty to be on point and observant at all times.

“We got company!” Swagga pointed to the rear.

Rick didn't need to look behind him. He could hear the sirens and see the flashing blue lights in the side mirror. Someone had called the police and Swagga's Rolls-Royce was easy to spot. Slowing down, Rick removed his .40 and laid it in plain view on the dashboard along with his gun permit to carry a concealed weapon. “Call your lawyer and tell 'im you gonna need his assistance. When I pull over, let me do the talking.” Rick stayed calm, despite the two Florida State Troopers filling the rearview mirrors.

Swagga fumbled his cell phone twice before his nerves settled. He had no reason to worry. Rick had a strict code of not driving dirty with drugs that were used daily by Swagga. Willing himself to match Rick's calm stance, Swagga hit the speed dial to get up with his lawyer with hopes that Rick knew what he was doing.

***

An hour later, the banged up van pulled into a vacant building with the headlights turned off. The driver slowed to a squeaking stop while watching his partner in the side mirror rolling a rusted metal door shut. All was quiet in the seedy area of Overtown.

“What the fuck went wrong!” the driver shouted, his voice echoing off the bare stone walls. “How the hell ain't nobody tell me about his car being bulletproof. We coulda gotten our asses fucked all the way up!”

“Bruh, I'm just as surprised as you. I hit that nigga at point blank range, and the shit just bounced off the glass.”