Sister's Revenge: Action Adventure Assassin Pulp Thriller Book #1 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Assassin) (9 page)

“I
T’S AGREED—WE’RE
hitting up the Savvy,” Nikky told Deja. “I don’t want any whining or excuses. We’re going. Michelle’s been gone three long years, and we’ve got to get it on.”

“Yeah, I know what I said, but Jerome wants me to come to his place when he gets home tonight.”

Nikky rolled her eyes. “You’ve been with that no-count jerk for two years and he never takes you anywhere. And he never has any money; you always pay for everything. All he wants is to get some of that vajayjay when he’s in the mood. Screw that. We’re going clubbing with Michelle tonight.”

“You’re right.” Deja gave a firm nod. “I don’t know why I put up with him. I never let any guy give me shit before. We’re taking Michelle out for a good time tonight!”

Nikky smiled. “Good girl. Go pack up your stuff and come with me to my crib. How about you?” She turned to Michelle. “Can you meet us at my place with your stuff? We can all get ready there.”

“Sure. I’ll order some takeout and pick it up on the way.”

Later that evening and with an explosion of girl stuff strewn in every room and across every surface, Nikky’s apartment looked like a teenage pajama party gone awry.

“Look at you, girl,” Deja said to Michelle. “You are fly tonight. That dress shows your butt and legs real good, but . . .” She moved her hand back and forth in front of Michelle’s chest, exaggerating her move with a whole-body sashay. “You need some more padding in that bra. How do you ever get a man looking like fried eggs on top?”

Michelle looked down at her chest—or lack of it, rather—and laughed. “Shee-it . . . it’s never been a problem. Men may love to look at tits, but it’s a quality pussy they need. Let me tell you, I’ve got some serious quality where it counts. Any idiot who says something bad about my girls will find his sorry self talking to his hand. My vajayjay is golden, and a man who wants some has got to respect what he’s getting.”

At one point, Michelle had seriously considered getting a boob job in Bangkok, but later, in training, she discovered large tits could be a big problem. They drew attention—always. Especially when you didn’t want it. On a more practical note, they were a huge disadvantage when standing on a tiny ledge on the outside of a building. One woman had her tits reduced from a DD to a B cup after almost falling when her chest had pushed her back away from her balance point.

Michelle quick-checked her backside in the full-length mirror propped up against the wall in Nikky’s living room. “The men will be begging for a piece of this.” She licked the tip of her finger and touched her butt cheek with a hiss. “Smokin’!”

“We’re all hot tonight,” Deja agreed, “and not a minute too early. It’s almost ten, and time to get this show on the road.”

After a short drive and a couple valet tickets, the three women danced their way up to the front doors of the Savvy.

“Listen to those sounds, bumping big time,” Nikky said. “We’re turning this joint out tonight. The Savvy’s a ‘real’ club,” she told Michelle. “It’s in the hood, the music’s always bumping, and it has a good dance floor. Those Hollywood clubs are where the phony, wannabe players hang, always fronting like they’re somebody. Fact is, they’re either broke-ass or a fake thug living off their women. Some of them act like they’re the shit but have no heart. I’ve got no feeling for those jive-ass fakes.”

“You got that right,” Deja said. “I used to hook up with this guy I met over in Hollywood. He acted like he was the big baller shot-caller. Turned out he worked at some warehouse, driving one of them fork trucks. Doesn’t matter what a guy really does, so long as he doesn’t try to act like a big-time thug he’s not. Worse, that guy screwed like a sissy.” Deja raised her voice like a little girl’s. “‘Baby,’” she mimicked, “‘you so fine, but I gotta get up early in the morning. I’m too tired to lay the pipe tonight.’ Fucking momma’s boy.”

“Well, we’re here to party our butts off,” Michelle said. “If we meet some fine men, that’ll be good. If not, their loss. All three of us got some golden quality hoochie they wish they could get up in.”

“Michelle, you make me feel confident,” Deja said. “Let’s make a deal: we don’t waste any time on no deadbeats, wangsters, or creeps. Tonight, it’s all about quality.”

“Damn skippy!” Nikky said, when as if on cue a Jheri-curled man walked up, flashing his fake diamond-and-gold grill. She put one up hand in a stop-right-there motion. “Don’t even think about it,” she said. “We’re not interested.”

“Don’t be like that, ma.”

He set his drink on their table, and Nikky turned to him, straight-on, so there’d be no mistaking her meaning.

“Did I say you could put your drink down? Pick up that glass of Mad Dog you brought from home and get your cheap juice-dripping skank self away from this table. Get to stepping.” She gave him a hit-the-road-Jack hand movement, head and neck swerving as she spoke, then she turned to Michelle and Deja. “Cheap fuck didn’t even offer to buy us a drink before he tried to sit his skeezy self down. Think again!”

“You got that shit right,” Michelle and Deja said at the same time, and all three women busted up laughing.

Mr. Gold Tooth tried to play off the diss, mumbling, “Stupid bitches. They loss.” He walked away as quickly as his cool stroll would let him.

“Hey, take a look at that mocha chocolatte over there,” Michelle said, nodding toward a man. He sat alone, fine in a pair of new Stacy Adams brown-and-tan wingtips and dark chocolate slacks, flawless light skin set off by a dark green silk shirt and a fresh fade.

Nikky glanced in his direction. “Yeah, he’s all right,” she said with a knowing smile and an appraising arched eyebrow. “He might do in a pinch. What do you think? Up to your standards?” she asked Michelle, just as a waitress walked up to their table and placed down a round of drinks.

“These are from the gentleman over there.” She nodded over toward the man they were discussing.

“Hey, you go, girl,” Deja said. “First night out and already you got them paying to get with you.”

Michelle and Nikky turned to lift their glasses in a toast of thanks, and Michelle noticed Deja was all smiles but didn’t seem in the game.
She’s just not warmed up yet, that’s all
.

The man caught eyes with Michelle and nodded back.

“If he’s as good with the moves as he is fine,” Nikky said, “then you’re all set for tonight.”

“Yeah,” Michelle agreed. “I’m going to find out if he can move on the floor.” She didn’t believe in playing hard to get, nor in lots of other games people played. If she liked him, good: if not, adiós, and on to the next guy. Tonight, she wanted to dance, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to wait around for some man to come ask her.

She slid off her stool and approached the man, who pointed to himself, with eyebrows raised in a “Me?” expression. Michelle nodded, and he stood, strolling over to meet her halfway, where he stuck out his hand.

“Hi, I’m Daryl,” he said with a genuine grin that touched his eyes.

“Hey, Daryl, I’m Michelle, and I’d like to dance. You do dance, don’t you?”

“I love to dance. Shall we?” He extended his arm toward the dance floor.

The party went on for several more hours and during that time, Michelle and Daryl connected on and off the dance floor. Nikky met Omar and brought him and his friend, Speed, over to the table, and the six of them danced, old-school, having fun with funky moves like the Snake, the Cabbage Patch, and the Running Man. Together, they helped DJ Beatz kick it up.

Michelle wanted a little one on one with Daryl, but Deja didn’t seem right.

She sat down with her friend. “Hey, what’s up with you? Looks like Nikky’s good to go with Omar, and I’m ready to take Daryl home to see if he has bedroom moves to match his dancing. How about you? You going with Speed? He’s really fine, and has some good moves on the floor, too.”

“No. I need to get home. Jerome texted me. He’s pissed I’m not there. Wants me to come over to his place tonight.”

“But you told me Jerome’s seeing other women when he feels like it,” Michelle said. “Just because he says so, doesn’t mean you have to go be his booty call.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m worried he’ll get pissed more and we’ll have trouble.”

“What do you mean ‘trouble’? He’s never hit you or anything, right?”

“It’s not like that. I just don’t want any drama, is all.”

“Okay, if you say so. But don’t put up with any bullshit from him.”

Michelle narrowed her eyes. She didn’t believe Deja, but this didn’t feel like the right time or place to call her on it. If she said it was okay, then it had to be okay, at least for now.

I’ll keep an eye on them. Jerome gives me a bad feeling
.

“Say, Michelle, could you front me some cash?” Deja asked. “I thought I could get a ride home with you or Nikky, but . . .”

“I’ve got you, girlfriend. Here’s a Grant. You be good.”

When Nikky came back from the dance floor, Michelle grabbed her, pulled her aside. “Hey, I’m headed home for some well-deserved sex. Deja’s taking a cab to Jerome’s. You good here?”

“Hella, yes! Me and Omar are right behind you. He’s not real pretty, but he’s treated me good, and I can tell he’s the real deal, at least for tonight. Catch you on the flip side.”

W
HAP
!

She slapped him on the ass.

“What the hell!” Daryl’s eyes flew open. Michelle stood next him, butt naked and grinning, a toothbrush in one hand.

“What, hunh? Okay, you want to play? Because, damn, girl, you look good this morning.”

So did he. Sadly, Michelle had a busy day and she had to get a move on. Bummer.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Time you get your lazy butt outta my bed. You and Grant here are buying us some breakfast.” She stuck out a fifty-dollar bill.

“Yeah, all right, if you’re sure you don’t have the time.” He stretched big, grunted, and rolled out of bed. His little man was standing up, too, and Michelle smiled to herself. She loved having that effect.

After Daryl came out of the bathroom, he cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb over her nipple. Then he kissed her on the neck and gave her bottom a swat, sending her into the shower.

“Can a brother get a little help?” he soon shouted over the Michelle’s running water. “What do you want for breakfast, and where can I get it?”

“Scott’s, down on the corner,” she yelled back. “Breakfast special, big coffee, to go. Money’s on the dresser.”

After her shower, Michelle headed over to dig through her underwear drawer where the Grant still sat on top of the dresser. “I’ll be damned,” she said. “First guy to leave the money here.”

The big windows and French doors let the morning sun into Michelle’s kitchen where she and Daryl sat, enjoying their breakfast. Her cottage was only five blocks from the beach, but because there was no ocean vista, the view from the kitchen out to the patio had to do. Fortunately, thick shrubs and plants lined the little patio, creating a sense of privacy and peacefulness.

Michelle sat back and sipped her coffee, half of her breakfast sandwich still on her plate. Daryl pointed to it, having already finished his.

“You going to eat that?” he asked.

“Nope. Want it?”

She pushed it over to him, and he held up the half-sandwich.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Thanks.”

Again, they sat in quiet companionship, while he chewed on a bite from her sandwich, and she sipped more of her coffee—

This is nice, having breakfast with Daryl here this morning.

—when her ringtone,
Morning Reveille
, interrupted her thoughts.

“Sup?” she answered.

“Hey, girl, hope I’m not waking you up. It’s about Deja.”

At Nikky’s urgent tone, Michelle immediately refocused, all thoughts of Daryl and the morning forgotten. “What’s happened?”

“That asshat Jerome jacked her last night,” Nikky said.

Michelle narrowed her eyes to small slits. “How bad?”

“Not real bad, she’ll be okay. Nothing’s broken or cut. Just some bruising and swelling.”

“Tell me.”

“Her lip’s swollen, along with her eye, and there’s a nasty-ass bruise on the side of her face.”

“That lousy rat bastard. Are you there now?” Michelle asked.

“Yeah, I have the afternoon shift. I can stay with her all morning.”

“Okay, good. I’m coming over now.”

Michelle looked over at Daryl, who stared back with a questioning look on his face. “I have to go,” she said.

Daryl nodded once, stood up, and pulled her close, rubbing his hands down her back. “You’re more than hot; you’re a special kind of woman. Thanks for breakfast.” He kissed her softly on the lips, then walked out the door ahead of her.

Michelle was already halfway to Deja’s before she even realized how impressive Daryl had been. From the butt slap to getting kicked out with no real explanation, he’d been a true gentleman.

Last night had been good—real good. Daryl not only had skills, he also had the right kind of attitude: he played with sex, made the whole thing—before, during, after, and during again—all fun. She moved him right up to the top of her A-list.

Her thoughts changed back to Deja and she envisioned what she’d do to that bastard, Jerome, when she caught up to him.

* * *

M
ichelle parked her Crossfire on the street in front of Deja’s apartment building and took a moment to breathe deeply to calm her racing heart. Then she took slow, careful steps up the walk, measuring her pace with her breathing and her thoughts.

In general, she hated stupid men, but she hated even more any chickenshit man who’d hit a woman. Any man stupid enough to hit one of her friends was dead meat.

Michelle’s anger ran deep, but she needed to be in complete control to keep her drama from blowing onto Deja. Deja needed a friend to support her, to help her, to love her; she sure as hell didn’t need Michelle’s potential explosion of violence. Before knocking on the door, Michelle forced herself to stop fidgeting and close her eyes, visualizing a calming childhood memory, then she smoothed her shirt, knocked, and went in.

“Oh, girl, let me look at you.” Michelle hurried over to Deja and, crouching, gingerly touched her upper lip and swollen left eye. A nasty bruise was blooming on the side of her face. “Yeah, that has to hurt. But it doesn’t look too bad. With some makeup, you could go to work tomorrow.”

Nikky came out of the kitchen with some fresh ice wrapped in a cloth.

Michelle clutched Deja’s hands. “Look, sweetie, I have to do a couple of errands this morning. Nikky will be here with you. I’ll come back later and stay with you this afternoon.”

Deja stared at her through reddened eyes, and the damage to Deja’s face made Michelle’s blood run ice cold with hatred. It’d definitely take a couple of weeks for the injuries to fade.

“Now, about that asshat, Jerome. What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing,” Deja said softly. “Don’t do anything. He can be real mean, and I don’t want you to get hurt. I can handle this. His temper gets too hot sometimes, but he’s never hurt me real bad.”

“It’s okay, sweetie. I’ll stay safe. Has he done this before?”

“Yes.”

“Ever this bad?”

“No . . . I just really pissed him off this time.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Michelle said. “I’m so sorry, but we have a real problem. We both know, once a guy—not just Jerome, but any guy—does this, they keep going. This won’t stop until someone stops him. If he isn’t stopped, he’ll keep getting worse.”

“He really isn’t that way,” Deja said. “I know he doesn’t mean to hurt me.”

Michelle took Deja’s hands. “That’s your heart and hopes talking. Your head knows better.”

“I know. You’re right.”

Still holding Deja’s hands, Michelle squeezed tight. “If we don’t stop him, sooner or later, he’ll hurt you bad. I’m not going to let that happen. You hear me? He has to learn he can’t do this. Not now, not ever.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I can kill him, almost kill him, or just jack him enough to make him understand I’m serious. My choice is to remove all the danger to you.”

“You mean kill him?”

“That’s what I would choose. But my choice isn’t what counts, yours is. You tell me. If you can’t make a decision, just shake your head and I’ll take care of it. He’ll be permanently gone so you never have to worry about him again.”

“No, I don’t want that.”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” Deja said. “I’m so confused.”

Michelle slid off the couch where she’d been sitting next to Deja and knelt directly in front of her. She gently cupped Deja’s face with both hands. “Yes, you do know. You just don’t want to make a very difficult decision. That’s Jerome’s influence. The Deja I grew up with knows her own mind. Make a decision, or he’s dead.”

Deja’s wide eyes darted around the room. Then she nodded.

“You need to tell me now,” Michelle said, “because I’m leaving to go take care of some business and I might run into Jerome while I’m out.”

“Please,” Deja whispered in a tiny voice, “don’t do much. Just scare him a little, okay?”

“If that’s what you want, then he lives, but if he ever does this again, he’ll wish he’d died the first time. Now here, give me a hug, and I’ll see you at lunch. Which do you want, Roscoe’s or T-Bone’s?”

Michelle briefly caught eyes with Nikky, who nodded a single confirming “yes.”

* * *

S
itting in her car in front of Deja’s apartment, Michelle speed dialed her uncle on her phone.

“G-Baby’s B-Shop. This is G.”

“Hey, Uncle G, it’s me, Michelle. Do you know that asshole Jerome that Deja’s been hooking up with?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I need to find him and take care of some business. Deja’s pretty upset so I don’t want to talk to her about it. Do you have any idea where I can find him?”

“Lemme see . . . he used to work over at the Pep Boys auto parts store, but not anymore. Now, he mostly hangs with a bunch of guys over at the park, playing dominoes. If he’s not there, call back and I’ll ask around.”

“No, don’t do that,” Michelle said. “I don’t want people knowing I’m checking up on him.”

“I see.”

“What kind of car does he drive?”

“Um, last I remember, it’s a white Sebring. Older model. He always keeps it clean and freshly polished.”

“Thanks, Uncle G.”

Michelle started up her Crossfire and put the top down to see better. With a cap to shade her eyes, she headed off to the park, but she’d only driven two blocks from Deja’s place when she saw a white Sebring with shiny, oversized chrome wheels parked at Henry’s.

No. Can that be his car? I couldn’t be that lucky.

Henry’s small convenience store had been built during the time when big store front windows were rare, and instead of installing those big windows, Henry covered his smaller ones with bars. Sometime within the past fifteen years, a BBQ trailer shack showed up, sitting on blocks at the edge of the parking lot.

I’ll be damned. That is his car. Look at that fool, sitting there alone with his forty-ounce like he’s some kind of king shit.

Michelle pumped her brakes, slowing almost to a stop, checked the street in front, and behind in her mirrors, then quickly scanned Henry’s. No cars, no one walking, no bikes on the street or by the door at Henry’s. She knew there wouldn’t be any security cameras, but she looked for them anyway. None.

The trailer is closed up tight, nobody inside. With him sitting at the table, the trailer blocks the view from that side.

There could be someone inside the store. I can’t go in to check; Henry will recognize me. That won’t work.

Pull in close to the table where he’s sitting, but out just a bit to block the view from someone coming up the street.

Michelle played the scene in her mind, counting the seconds for each action. She calculated less than a minute, starting from the moment she pulled in, to when she pulled out.

Take the chance now, or wait for another time?

Michelle pulled into the parking lot, then walked around the back of her car, putting herself directly in Jerome’s path. She wanted him to see her coming well before she reached him. She wanted him arrogant, thinking he had nothing to be concerned about with a woman approaching.

She sat down next to him on the bench by the picnic table. He slowly looked over at her, making a big show of taking a drink from his beer . . . and when he realized a silenced .380 was pushed up against his dick, his eyes almost popped out.

“Muthafucka, if it was up to me, you’d be dead right now,” Michelle said. “Deja’s my friend and she said not to kill you. I wanted to at least shoot your dick off. She asked me not to. You get a pass, but this is me telling you: I’ll fuck you up forever if you mess with her again.”

“You’re nothing but a stupid bitch,” Jerome said. “You don’t got the balls to shoot no one.”

Michelle shook her head. “I can see the fear in your eyes; hear the squeal in your voice. You’re trying to play it off like you’re all that, but you don’t have the heart; deep inside you’re a chickenshit coward.”

Outwardly, she appeared calm. Inside, she capped and controlled her rage. Right now, in the moment, she maintained a calculated coolness. From past experience, she knew tomorrow would be full of emotional swings—from the heat of anger to the acidic depths of depression. That was tomorrow. Today, she had a job to do.