Ruthless and Rotten (11 page)

“You heard me! I said my man, ho—mine!” she repeated with certainty.

“Yeah, right! You got me all fucked up! I don't make threats, I make promises!” Paris pointed her finger in her face. “Fuck you and him! Believe that!”

Kenya stepped in the middle before either one got a chance to swing. The entire salon was staring at the group, waiting for a show. Charday, being the peacemaker, came over and asked them to calm down or leave. They were all good clients, but business was business and they were all tripping. The last thing she wanted or needed in her salon was a knock-down, drag-out.

Before Paris and Kenya could oblige to Charday's wishes and get out the salon door good, they heard the song “Gold Digger” playing. It was the ring tone that was on Chocolate Bunny's cell phone. Hearing that tune, Paris zoned out, having an instantaneous flashback to the other night when O.T.'s phone dialed her back and recklessly sucker punched the female in her jaw, causing her to fall to the floor smack down on her ass and at the feet of waiting clients.

“She was past due on that one!” Paris snickered as her and Kenya finally got in the car and pulled off.

Damn!
Kenya thought as she drove away.
Alley Cats is gonna be on the nut tonight when Nicole gets there. I really gotsa go to the club now!

Driving down the interstate with the warm air blowing on his face, O.T. let the music take control of his mind. He was once again lost in thoughts of London's perfectly shaped ass. He secretly always wanted to fuck the shit out of Kenya, but considering the fact that she was Storm's woman, that made her off limits. Seeing how London was her identical twin, she was the next best thing to actually sticking the dick to his brother's girl. In his twisted mindset it would be like hittin' them both off at the same time.

As O.T. felt his hard pipe pulsate through his jeans, he smiled seeing his exit and quickly made the turn. It was now only a couple of short blocks to get to his brother's crib for his daily visit. His dick was stiff as a board. If he played his cards right, O.T. hoped he might get a few minutes alone with London, at least to feel on her titties or grab a handful of her ass. No matter what he did, she was with it.

Kenya always did her best to cock-block him when it came to her sister, letting him know that it was no way that she was being a part of any backstabbing conspiracy plotted against Paris. If London was in a room with O.T., you betta best believe that Kenya was in that bitch too. Day after day Kenya informed him that there wasn't a damn thing going down on her watch. Little did Kenya or O.T. have any idea that today would be his lucky day.

No sooner than Kenya and Paris bent the corner, London ran back in the house and straight up the stairs. She tiptoed into her sister's room, past a sleeping Storm, and went into the closet. It was now time to select an outfit that would make O.T. lose his mind when he saw her. For days, she had taken notes from the videos and knew that with Kenya out of the house, she might finally have the chance to put her plan in effect. After snatching a short blue jean miniskirt off the hanger and a powder-blue T-shirt that was sure to fit tight, London headed for the shower.

She used some of her sister's favorite cucumber melon body wash as she felt the warm water hit her nude body. London then rubbed in plenty of the matching lotion after drying off. Slipping on Kenya's new shell-covered sandals, she pranced downstairs. She then admired her work in the mirror. London now looked exactly just like Kenya. Her once dull appearance was gone and the bait was now set for O.T. to get trapped.

I know that he's gonna want me now! If this doesn't entice him, I don't know what will,
she thought as she hugged herself
. I just hope that he gets here at the usual time and Kenya stays gone. I don't need any obstacles getting in my way!
London went into the kitchen, getting one of Kenya's peach-flavored wine coolers out of the refrigerator. She hated the way that they tasted, but holding the bottle in her hand made her feel more mature and sexy. Plus, most of the females in the nasty uncut videos all had glasses in their hands as they danced around.

Where is he at?
she wondered, watching the clock. Sitting down on the couch, crossing her legs, London held the remote in her right hand, clicking channels while tapping the cooler bottle with the left.

 

 

O.T. pulled into the driveway and turned off his car. He sat back in the custom leather bucket seats, leaning his neck on the headrest. O.T. had to collect his thoughts and closed his eyes briefly. Seeing his brother still suffering after all this time was causing him to have constant migraine headaches. As much as he tried being the strong person that all the people involved depended on, he was starting to crack from the heavy, stressed-filled pressure. When he sat up, opening up his eyes, O.T. saw Kenya standing in the doorway waving to him.

“Damn, I guess I should go ahead and go in,” he mumbled as he unlocked the car door. Getting closer up toward the door, he busted out laughing. “Oh shit, tell me I'm seeing thangs!” O.T. stopped in his tracks, folding his arms and started shaking his head. The jersey he was wearing showed off every muscle, his jeans sagged perfectly, and his Tims had the tongue stuck out with the laces loose.

“What's so funny?” London asked with her hands firmly on her hips. She had done her best to imitate Kenya and now O.T. was standing there laughing in her face. “What's wrong? You don't like it?” London stood still as she waited for him to speak.

“Ain't shit funny, ma. Ain't shit funny at all.” He rubbed his chin, licking his lips. “I just thought that you was Kenya and shit. My mistake, don't trip!”

“I'm not tripping, but I don't want you making fun of me,” London whined.

“Dig this here,” he cut her off. “Where is Kenya at anyway? Is she up there with Storm?”

London stopped pouting and refocused back on her plan. “Naw, she's not home. She went somewhere with Paris. Don't you and your girl communicate?”

“Don't worry about my girl, okay? That ain't none of your business.” O.T. got closer, kissing her on the lips.

“Well, what is my business?” she replied with a sarcastic, sassy tone.

“This right here should be your main concern right about now!”

O.T. put her hand on his dick and backed her into the living room. It was just like Christmas and his birthday all wrapped into one as his dick got harder and harder. He had his hands roaming her entire body. London's skirt was pushed up, exposing the fact that she didn't have any panties on. Her naked ass looked just as he had imagined; perfect, plump, and round. After feeling on, across, and in every part of her body, O.T. was ready to get to the real deal. When he pulled his dick out of his jeans, London was amazed. His shit was long and thick. The head was lighter than the rest of it and was dripping.

“Come get this, ma, he wants to meet you.” He motioned to her with one hand while slowly stroking his manhood with the other.

“Do you have any protection?” London wisely asked.

“Naw, I'm good. I ain't got no diseases!”

“I didn't say that you did, but I would feel a lot better if we used something.” London spoke up as she broke free from his arms and ran upstairs to try to find a rubber in some of Kenya's belongings.

Five long minutes passed and London hadn't returned yet with the condom. An anxious O.T. sprinted up the staircase and bumped into London, who was coming out of Storm and Kenya's room. He held her tightly and began kissing her once again. She was breathing hard from searching the dresser drawers and was like a rag doll when he took his mouth off of hers. O.T.'s pants were still unzipped, making it easy for him to pull his semi-hard dick back out. He propped his body inside the doorway for support and pushed London down on her knees. Using both of his hands, he took her head in between them and guided her mouth onto the dome of his dripping stick.

“Give him a wet kiss,” he urged.

“I haven't ever . . .” Her earring fell off from the force.

“Ever what?” He halted her words by rubbing his dick across her lips, making her taste his pre-cum.

The gloss that she had applied earlier was now on the head of his shaft. London tried to keep protesting, but was only met by O.T. placing his hand firmly behind her neck and the raw feeling of hard meat practically pounding her tonsils crooked. London was starting to make gagging sounds that only fired O.T. up more. The more that London fought to breathe, the harder he pushed in and out.

In all the erotic chaos that was taking place, the two of them failed to realize that for a few brief seconds, Storm had regained consciousness and reached out his hand toward them.

O.T. was at the point of no return and yelled out Paris's name, not London's, as he shot the mother lode down her throat, making sure that she swallowed every single drop. When he released her out of his strong-armed grip, London fell onto the plush, new-smelling carpet, gasping for air. Before she could regain her composure, O.T.'s phone chirped. It was Paris, saying that it was an emergency and to meet her at their house ASAP.

“I gotta go! Something's up and my baby needs me!” He stepped over London's body with his Tims still on to get a wet rag. O.T. then zipped up his pants on the way down the stairs, leaving a confused and emotionally drained and wounded London on the floor alone, whimpering.

“Please don't go,” she quietly begged from the floor. “Please.”

O.T. hadn't paid a second thought to anything that was being said. From the moment he got the call from Paris saying 911, nothing else mattered. “I'll be back to see Storm! And thanks for that head shot!”

London heard him slam the front door shut and the sound of the music from his car stereo fade out of ear range. After a short while she went to the bathroom.

 

 

London washed her face and brushed her teeth twice, trying to get the smell of O.T.'s thick, hot sperm out of her mouth. Every time she swallowed, it seemed like there was a strange aftertaste lingering. She couldn't believe that O.T. had the nerve to shout out another woman's name while they were doing something—well, at least while she was. London was totally pissed off, but not at him for that cold, callous display, but at Paris for interrupting them with her false problems.

London knew that Kenya would soon be on her way home, so she rushed to Storm's bedside to give him his medication and change out of her sister's clothes. She didn't want to hear Kenya's long, dragged-out arguing about anything tonight. She wasn't in the mood; besides, her throat was still hurting. The syringe was only one third of the way filled as London walked over to the IV bag that was hanging. She laid the needle down on the nightstand for a quick second to get one of the moist wipes out of the drawer and wet Storm's dry lips. Glancing over at the clock, she realized time was ticking and she still had to change back to her own clothes. As she reached over and started to touch Storm's face with the wipe, he suddenly raised his arm up, tightly grabbing her wrist.

“Kenya, how could you?” he managed to say through his dry lips.

“Stop—you're hurting me!” A stunned London tried pulling back. “Let me go! Let me go!”

“Why, Kenya—why did you lie to me?” Storm was now applying pressure to London's tiny wrist with every passing second.

“I'm not Kenya, I'm London!” she argued to no avail.

“Right, first you were Tasty, then Kenya, and now you're London!” Storm had tears swelling in his eyes. “I thought that you loved me? You said you did! You a liar!”

“I'm not Kenya I keep telling you! Now please let me loose.” London tried prying his fingers off her. “You're hurting my arm, you monster!”

“You're not Kenya, but you're wearing the outfit that I picked out for her in Vegas. You smell just like cucumber melon, her favorite scent, and if you haven't looked in the mirror lately, you look just like Kenya!” Storm was heated as he confronted who he truly believed was Kenya. “Stop denying it. Your lies won't work anymore. Just tell me why?”

“Please, Storm, you're hurting me!” London continued to plead, trying to break loose.

“You hurt me too!” Storm argued. “And I see the shit ain't stopped. I woke up and called out to you and what the fuck do I see, but my supposed-to-be fiancée and the love of my life on her knees deep-throating my baby brother.” Storm snatched London by her neck. He was furious and wouldn't listen to a word that was coming out of her mouth. “I outta snap this motherfucker in two. You ain't shit!”

London found the inner strength somehow and yanked away from him, stumbling to the floor. “You're crazy!” she screamed, running out the room. “You're crazy!”

Storm tried his best to get out of the bed and chase after her, but he couldn't. His busted leg wouldn't let him. “Kenya! Kenya! Kenya!” he kept calling out in vain. “Come back here! Kenya, come back!”

The echoing sound of his voice and the thought of what he had witnessed between her and O.T. was too much for London to bear. She ran out onto the front porch to escape his verbal wrath. Ten minutes later Paris pulled up, letting Kenya out of the car and drove off in a rush. Kenya casually strolled up the walkway and found London perched on the stairs.

“What are you doing sitting out here?” Kenya's facial expression changed when she got a good look at her twin sister. “And why the hell do you have on my fucking clothes? Storm bought me that damn outfit! Go take it the fuck off!”

As Kenya waited for her answer, London grew angry at the fact that everything always had to be about Kenya. She twisted her upper lip and grinned. “You always think that you and your girl Paris are so high and mighty, don't you?”

“What that got to do with why you wearing my damn stuff?” Kenya fumed at her twin, trying to change the subject. “Tell me that!”

“Whatever!” London ignored her sister, while trying to wrap her head around what had just happened between her and not one brother, but two siblings.

“Well, I'm waiting.” Kenya tapped her foot as if she was a scolding parent or teacher. “Why do you have my shit on your back and my new shoes on your feet? Are you gonna answer me or what?”

London stood up, rubbing her sore wrist that was starting to bruise and let her twin have it full blast. “I'll tell you what, Kenya. I've got a bright idea for you. Why don't you get your uppity, stuck-up, trying-to-forget-where-you-came-from-ass inside the house and try answering some questions your damn self?”

“What are you talking about?” Kenya was puzzled by her sister's statement. “What do you mean? Stop talking in secret, cryptic code all the time and try being normal for once.”

“What I mean is that you should stop worrying so much about your damn precious little clothes that I borrowed and go in there.” London pointed over her shoulder back toward the door. “Your foolish-ass boyfriend, Storm, is wide awake and seems to be somewhat in his right mind. And if I'm not mistaken, something tells me he wants to see you. Now, how's that for being normal!”

“Oh, my God! Move outta my way!” Kenya ran past London and up to her and Storm's bedroom. She could hear him screaming out her name louder with each step she took. It was now time for Kenya to face him, explain her ridiculous, unnecessary lies, and try her best to make shit right again.