Flawless 2 Page 7

  “What the hell…?” Kimberlyn thumbed through hundreds and fifties.

  Suddenly, her cellphone rang. The sound startled her enough to drop the mail.

  “Hello?” she answered.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?” Desmond asked.

  Kim looked down at the mysterious envelope filled with cash. I wonder if he put the money in my mailbox, she thought to herself. Nah, that ain’t even his swag. He’d just ask me if I needed the money. “Um…no…Not really…”

  “You up for breakfast then? Lemme come swoop you. We need to rap.”

  “Desmond, I don’t think now’s a good time.”

  “Well, when is—so I can set the Breitling? Look, at some point or another you gon’ have to face me, babe. Why not over dinner tonight?” he offered.

  “Desmond…I…okay, I’ll think about it.

  “What’chu mean you’ll think about it?”

  “I’ll think about it,” Kimberlyn laughed.

  “Aight,” he said. Desmond was satisfied knowing she was entertaining the idea. “You do that then.”

  ***

  Later on that day, Shayla paid her friend a visit to make sure everything was cool. She knew Kimberlyn was upset seeing Desmond with Dana, and hadn’t talked to her since last night.

  Kim answered the door once Shayla arrived, and the two women went to the living room. “I see you aren’t watching that overrated, god awful movie again. That’s progress.”

  “Don’t hate on Love & Basketball,” Kim laughed.

  She and Shayla took a seat on her comfy sofa. The TV channel was set to Beyoncé on Pandora. Ring the Alarm sounded off through the speakers. Kim was definitely on one that evening.

  “Girl, tell me why Romeo visited me today—”

  “Bitch, don’t act like you’re surprised. You knew that nigga couldn’t stay away for too long. I don’t know why ya’ll even be playing.”

  “I don’t know,” Shayla shook her head. “I mean, he sounded sincere this time…but he sounds sincere every time. I never know what’s running through his mind and that scares me sometimes. One minute he acts like he’s down and the next he’s retreating,” she said. “I really thought I was over him…But I’m not. As crazy as it sounds, I’m not.”

  “It doesn’t sound crazy at all. Maybe a lil’ dick-whipped...but not crazy,” she laughed. “But I will tell you this much. Before that baby comes, ya’ll need to make up ya mind on if you’re gonna be together or not.” There was a faraway look in Kim’s eyes when she said, “You don’t wanna drag a child into ya’ll mess. I really wish I had done things differently with Jordan…”

  A short period of silence hung in the air.

  “So is it true?” Shayla suddenly asked. “Is Desmond really Jordan’s biological father? I couldn’t believe that shit when I heard it.”

  Kimberlyn hadn’t even told Shayla, but she knew the streets loved to talk. “It’s true.”

  Shayla shook her head in disbelief. “Damn, K. And you’ve known all this time? Why you never tell me? And how could you keep something like from Cool for so long?”

  “Simple. He never asked. I never told.”

  Shayla kept her personal opinions to herself, since she knew they wouldn’t be welcomed. To have a guy thinking he was a child’s father for nearly six years was dead wrong. But only Kimberlyn knew why she did the things she did.

  “K, I’m your girl. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to tell you how to live your life. But you gotta deal with Desmond eventually. You getting rid of Cool was one thing…but Dez is Jordan’s father. They deserve to be in each other’s life…Just like you deserve someone to make you happy. I don’t know why the hell you’re ducking and dodging him anyway. Remember, Kim…Cool was the one who pulled the trigger. Not Desmond.”

  “I know,” she agreed. “But Dana—”

  “Bitch, fuck Dana,” Shayla interrupted. “She holds no weight, value, or say so as far as you and Dez’s relationship. Yeah, she may be the mother of his kid but so what? That’s all she’ll ever be. That man loves you, K. Hell, even Stevie Wonder could see that shit.”

  Kimberlyn blushed because she knew deep down Desmond was crazy about her. Maybe I will take him up on his dinner date offer, she thought. Shayla was right. She had to let her guards down if she ever wanted to have true love.

  15

  It was ten minutes past eight, and Desmond was already running late. He’d agreed to meet Kimberlyn at The Optimist at 8:30 but an unexpected phone call thwarted his plans. Instead of heading to Midtown for his dinner reservations, Dez made a detour to handle business.

  “Why the fuck ain’t this nigga answerin’?” he asked impatiently. Desmond’s iPhone was pressed so tightly against his ear that the back of his earring poked his skin. He was fuming with rage after learning another snake was among his camp.

  After several long, nerve-racking rings, Romeo finally answered. The loud music in the background explained why it took so long to pick up. “Aye, what’s up bruh? Everything straight? I’m right in the middle of a pool tournament—”

  “Nah. Everything ain’t straight. I need you to round up all dem niggas and meet me down at the trap.” Desmond quickly disconnected the call, and sped up I-75.

  Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into the dank and leery projects known only as The Gardens. It was a low-key area where most of his corner boys hung out. After parking his custom Mercedes AMG truck, Desmond hopped out. Firing up the blunt that had been tucked behind his ear, he quickly made his way to the outdoor hall.

  Niggas posted up outside saluted him as always. Desmond’s swag showed that he was a man in charge who commanded respect. That evening, he wore black slacks, a black button down dress shirt, and charcoal vest. On his feet was a pair of $2000 Gucci ostrich loafers. The silver Rolex on his wrist blinded onlookers. Desmond wasn’t worried about a motherfucker running up. He may’ve been clean, but he kept a strap on like a dyke. Tucked discreetly in the waist of his pants was a loaded .40.

  Desmond could hear the chaos well before he even arrived. The sounds of people kicking the shit out of someone resonated in the dark hall. He kept his cool when he saw Omar being stomped to death.

  “Fuck’s going on?” Desmond asked casually. “What’s the word?”

  One of the bystanders—a young dark-skinned cat named Jamal—walked over to Desmond. Sporting a trap jacket with the fur hood and a du rag, he was the epitome of every drug dealer. He was also the one who called Desmond an hour ago.

  Apparently, after waking up from being knocked out cold, Omar called for assistance. Too afraid to go to the hospital for fear of Desmond finding out, he sought out medical treatment elsewhere. Thinking he could trust his boy Jamal, he confided in him everything that had taken place with Ava. Unfortunately, Jamal’s loyalty to the camp was far greater than his to Omar.

  Since his car had been stolen, Jamal offered a ride. Playing it off like he was taking Omar to a local black market doctor, he took his ass to the trap instead where he was ambushed immediately.

  “He been keepin’ da bitch at his crib a whole month,” Jamal explained. “Said she’d been cooking, cleanin’, and suckin’ his dick just for protection.”

  “Why?” Desmond asked in disbelief. That didn’t sound like Ava’s character at all. But then again, neither did robbing and shooting him in cold blood.

  Desmond watched as one of the young boys pissed on Omar. They were heartless when it came to punishing pussy niggas.

  “Supposedly, some mufucka ganked her ass. Nigga said she was broke and desperate when she came to him.”

  Omar had told Jamal everything and now he was spilling the news to the head nigga in charge. Secretly, he hoped for some type of promotion due to his unwavering loyalty. He’d been hugging the block for far too long, and it was time for some much-deserved recognition.

  “He said the bitch took his whip, two grand, and split. So ain’t no tellin’ where she at now.”

  Desmond frowned at t
he little bit of information. He was hoping to get some insight on Ava’s whereabouts. Even though he’d earned his stolen money back plus interest, Desmond still wanted to tie up the loose ends. It’s the fucking principal, he told himself repeatedly. What Ava did was unforgiveable. When I finally catch up with that bitch I’ma put a bullet right in between her pretty eyes.

  “She won’t be goin’ too far with just two thousand,” Desmond said.

  Toking on his L, he watched as Omar was kicked around like a soccer ball. Six years ago, they had jumped him in when they were nothing more than a street gang. Today his access card had been revoked. Blood in. Blood out.

  All of a sudden, Romeo and six more thugs ran up with their straps exposed. They all assumed some shit was popping off. Nothing could’ve prepared him for seeing one of their own beaten senselessly.

  “Fuck’s this shit?” Romeo asked confused.

  Desmond calmly pulled out his heat and cocked the gun all while puffing his blunt. It was a Dutch Master so it burned slowly. “This, my nigga, is what we call discipline,” he said.

  Desmond had niggas combing through the city looking for Ava. And all along, she was right up under their noses, in the safety of a traitor.

  “Man, I fucked up! Don’t kill me!” Omar cried with a bloodied mouth.

  The kicking finally came to a halt after everyone had tired themselves out. Omar’s footprint-stained clothes were dirty and covered in blood. Desmond’s soldiers had really done a number on his ass, but it was well deserved considering the circumstances. One of Omar’s eyes was swollen shut, and three of his teeth were missing.

  Desmond was relentless as he approached a sobbing Omar. They were related through marriage, but he didn’t give a fuck. Besides, they weren’t in the same caliber. Desmond was at the top of the food chain in the drug business, while Omar was the complete opposite. They didn’t even own the same level of respect—which was why Omar was staring down the barrel of a loaded .40.

  Romeo’s mouth went dry as he watched the entire scene unfold. He’d always been about a dollar, but killing his own was something he was totally against. If Desmond put the gun in Romeo’s hand and demanded he shoot Ava, he wouldn’t have been able to do it. With no real blood relatives in his life, Romeo took to his camp like they were his own.

  Desmond, on the other hand, was a different breed. He believed in consequences and retribution—and was willing to dish it to anyone, even his own people.

  “Bruh…,” Romeo spoke up from behind. Everyone was silent as they waited for Desmond to pull the trigger. Romeo was the only one who wasn’t feeling it. “What’chu doin’, dawg? Don’t do this shit.”

  Omar looked pathetic as he cried on the ground in the hallway. He’d even pissed himself in the midst of being beaten. He wasn’t a real nigga at all; just a motherfucker who couldn’t handle the little responsibility and trust given to him.

  “Come on, man. Please. Lemme make this shit right,” Omar pleaded. He was pawing at Desmond’s expensive loafers like a slave to his king. “I can fix this—”

  “How?!” Desmond barked. “How the fuck can you fix this shit? You gon’ get me my money back?”

  Omar continued to sob and sniffle in response. He knew he could do no such thing singlehandedly. At that moment, he hated himself for putting pussy over common sense. He should’ve turned Ava over when he had the opportunity. Sadly, Omar would be taking a bullet in her place. One more body in the ground wouldn’t bother the dead.

  “Desmond, man, you ain’t gotta do this. You ain’t got shit to prove!” Romeo said.

  “MOTHAFUCKA, I GOT EVERYTHING TO PROVE AND EVERYTHING TO LOSE!” Desmond yelled.

  His loud, deep voice bounced off the hallway’s walls. He’d more than likely wakened every wino and crack addict in a 50-mile radius. Desmond couldn’t believe Romeo would even put him on the spot like that. If he didn’t handle Omar, niggas would surely start thinking shit was sweet and he couldn’t have that. Desmond needed everyone to know that treachery wouldn’t go unpunished. He was playing with a million dollar business, and fuck ups could not be afforded.

  Desmond had grown somewhat cold after the incident. Anyone was liable to get it, especially a motherfucker fraternizing with a nemesis. Fuck being family. Loyalty came first; always.

  Romeo took a step forward. “Dez—”

  POP! POP!

  Desmond heartlessly squeezed twice, putting two in Omar’s head. For every cause was an effect.

  “Got damn,” he cursed, realizing blood had splattered his clothes. “Now I done got blood on my mufuckin’ shirt. And I’m runnin’ late.”

  16

  “I cannot believe this nigga is running late,” Kimberlyn said to herself.

  She was already on her second glass of wine. Waiting for Desmond to show up to his own planned meal was not how she thought things would start off. He’s the one who asked me out. Why even propose a date if you’re gonna show up late?

  Kimberlyn was twice as irritated, because she’d gone all out on dolling herself up. She had a serious point to prove after Dana tried to call her out in the club. Kim was beautiful that evening in a black Topshop slip dress and gold Jimmy Choo pumps. Her black and gold Saint Laurent purse accented the outfit perfectly. For once Kim’s hair was pinned up in a messy but stylish high-top bun.

  Kimberlyn looked down at her Michael Kors watch and frowned. Desmond was now thirty minutes late.

  “Can I get you anything else?” her waitress asked, stopping by the table once more.

  “Yes. The check,” Kimberlyn said dryly. She had waited for Desmond to arrive for far too long. He’s obviously not coming, she told herself.

  “Okay, then. I’ll get that for you right away, ma’am.”

  Kimberlyn sighed in disappointment as she watched the young, bubbly woman saunter off. I don’t know why I let myself believe things could be perfect between Desmond and me. It’s been nothing but pure hell since day one. I’m better off just going home and forgetting about his ass for good.

  After paying her ticket, Kimberlyn headed to the exit. Surprisingly, she nearly ran into Desmond on her way out.

  “Damn, you finna bounce?” he asked with a look of disappointment. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, and he reeked of marijuana.

  “What the hell do you think? I’ve been waiting for over a half an hour. Why you even ask me out if you were—is that blood on your vest?” Kim asked.

  Desmond looked down at his shirt and then at her. “I…uh…Yeah…I…I had to handle some business,” he answered truthfully. He figured it was no sense in bullshitting with her. After all, it wasn’t like Kimberlyn didn’t know what he did. She was well aware of the dangerous life he led.

  “Great. You’re finally here and now we still can’t dine because of your clothes,” Kim complained.

  Desmond loved how she didn’t ask any questions. The last thing he wanted to do was admit that he’d just put down a nigga.

  “Then let’s get up outta here. I got somethin’ better in mind anyway.” Right about now, all he wanted to do was get back on Kim’s good side. Lately, things had been pretty rocky between them.

  “Desmond…I don’t know,” she said, stalling with her response.

  Desmond gently took her hand in his and led her to his vehicle. There were a few people leaving out the restaurant, and he didn’t want anyone in their business. Once they were standing next to his truck, Desmond softly pinned her against it.

  Kimberlyn’s Dior perfume surrounded them. Even though Desmond looked rough and was covered in blood, she couldn’t deny that he turned her on. She could feel the stiffness of his dick as he pressed against her.

  “Quit fuckin’ with me,” he said in a low tone.

  Kimberlyn stared deep into Desmond’s eyes and became lost in them. Since a teen, she’d always been smitten by the bad boy type. Desmond was just that, but fortunately, he knew when to turn on being sweet.

  “You love a nigga or what?” His warm breath
tickled the flesh of Kim’s neck, causing her nipples to harden.

  Kimberlyn swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. Damn. Why does he have to be so fucking irresistible? “I didn’t say I didn’t love you…,” she answered in a small voice. Just like that, he’d broken down her barriers, revealing her vulnerability.

  “Then answer the question…” Desmond’s hands slowly went to her waist before pulling her closer. He leaned in and kissed Kimberlyn.

  The kiss started off innocent enough, but when tongues came into play things really heated up. Kimberlyn melted into Desmond’s body as he cupped her face in his hands. The combination of passion and aggression in his touch left her mesmerized. Before she knew it, a light moan had escaped her lips. Right there in the parking lot of a 5-star restaurant, they made out publicly. Kim’s panties were drenched by the time they finally pulled apart.

  “Do you love me?” Desmond asked again.

  Kimberlyn didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  Pleased with her response, Desmond opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

  “What about my car?” Kimberlyn asked.

  “I’ll have somebody take care of it.”

  Kimberlyn didn’t know why, but she trusted him. Believing that her car would be in good hands, she climbed inside Desmond’s Benz truck.

  I hope he doesn’t make me regret it, she thought.

  17

  After Desmond’s public display, Romeo desperately needed a drink. And what better place to wind down than his own strip joint Club XTC? Shayla hated that he’d purchased such a place, but it was his safe haven—and a damn good investment.

  As soon as Romeo walked in the place dancers and fellas showed him love alike. The spot was relatively crowded to be so early, and he was happy to see the club was raking in money.

  A flurry of singles exploded into the air after a brown-skinned vixen climbed the pole and did tricks. There were so many bills on the floor that the carpet beneath it was hidden. Some trap song the DJ was playing had the niggas going wild.