Read an Excerpt
By De'nesha Diamond Erick S. Gray Nichelle Walker
DAFINA BOOKSCopyright © 2010 Kensington Publishing Corp.
All right reserved.
I know that sound better than anything in the whole world. It's the sound of handcuffs, lockin' a nigga down. In this case: it's me, Delvon Jackson. Fuckup extraordinaire. Shit. I can't believe I'm back in this position. The Atlanta cop behind me jerks my wrists up, and as a reflex I clamp my back teeth together to bite down on the pain. But this muthafucka don't give a fuck. He's too busy reading me my so-called rights. That's cool because I don't really hear him. I'm too fuckin' mad at myself at how this whole shitty situation went down.
"Watch your head," the cop says, but he still rams my shit into the frame of the back door. "Sorry about that."
Dazed, I don't even say anything to the ignorant muthafucka. All I can think about is her. My eyes burn, but I hold back these damn tears 'cuz no matter what, I ain't no bitch and I ain't gonna go out like that. But ... goddamn! Sabrina was my world.
To the left of this parked police car, the Walker Estate is engulfed in flames. Not until Officer Asshole slams the door do I get a break from the intense heat rollin' from the burning mansion.
My bottom lip trembles as I close my eyes for a brief moment. I quickly realize my mistake when Sabrina's beautiful smile flashes behind my eyes.
"Delvon." The memory of her sexy, husky voice whispering my name echoes in my head. I loved the way Sabrina used to moan and gasp my name in a whisper wheneva we were funkin' up those expensive-ass silk sheets she loved so much. Not to sound like no punk or nothing but I swear to God my heart hurts so bad I want to rip it out of my chest. Damn. I loved that woman. I peel open my eyes and glance out of the police car's window and watch a mixture of firemen and random volunteers battle the tall flames.
I really fucked up this time. And I don't mean kinda fucked up. I mean my ass is going straight to jail. Do not pass Go and I can forget about collectin' a muthafuckin' thing.
Officer Asshole slips in behind the wheel and I can feel his heavy gaze tryna blaze a hole in the center of my forehead. After a long silence his hard, gravelly voice asks, "Why did you do it?"
I swear to God a knot about the size of a fuckin' baseball lodges in my throat. I lick my thick lips and try to breathe.
"You might as well gone and confess. People already comin' out the woodwork droppin' dime about how you been stalkin' the place."
I glance around and see snitchin' niggas gathering around the burnin' house like it was a goddamn communion bonfire. I finally cut my gaze away to meet Asshole's black gaze through the rearview mirror. "People don't know what the fuck they're talking about."
One of the cop's thick, bushy, black eyebrows jumps up to the center of his forehead. "No?"
I don't answer because I know he knows I'm lying.
I look away.
"Okay." The black officer shifts in his seat. "Then maybe you have an answer to why you're even here since they filed a restraining order on your ass."
"She didn't file that shit. Her husband put her up to it."
Asshole's gaze hardens. "Guess you showed him, huh?"
My gaze refocuses on the burning house. It looks like the fire department has given up on saving it. Those goddamn tears come back in full force. If I was any kind of man, my ass would have been inside that damn house instead of Sabrina.
"Maybe you'll have some answers down at the station," Asshole says after it's clear that I dismissed his ass a few minutes ago.
I sit there and watch the fire for what seems like forever. Finally Asshole's partner, a short, plump, black woman with thick black hair slicked back by at least a tub of hair gel, jumps inside the car.
"Did he say anything?" she asks her partner.
"Naw. I'm sure he's too busy tryna think up a lie," Asshole tells her, and then starts up the car.
"The shit better be good," she passively warns. " 'Cuz you're certainly lookin' at the needle for all this shit."
My heart drops as we pull away. The tall, roaring flames remain in my view for a long time. So much shit is floatin' through my mind. All the whens and hows.
By the time the cops haul my ass into the downtown Atlanta precinct, I think I have my thug armor securely in place and I'm prepared to ignore their bullshit interrogations until my state-appointed lawyer shows up. Once again, I don't say shit when Officer Asshole nearly rips my arm outta socket and bangs my head on the doorframe as he drags me out the back of the patrol car.
"Sorry about that," he lies with a cocky-ass grin.
For a moment I'm wishing for just two minutes alone with this muthafucka without these goddamn handcuffs. I betcha his ass wouldn't be grinning after I got through. My thoughts are clearly reflecting in my eyes and the cop quickly chest bumps me, tryna initiate some shit.
"What's that look about, nigga?" Asshole growls in my ear and then chest bumps me again. "What? You think you can beat my ass?" Another chest bump. "C'mon, nigga. If you feel froggish-jump."
I snap. "Alright, then. You take these muthafuckin' handcuffs off and I'll show you how I get down."
"Is that right, muthafucka?"
Before I can even think about responding, this asshole lands a punch square across my jaw that reels my mind back so far, I swear I can remember the taste of my momma's breast milk. Blood bursts from my bottom lip as my knees buckle and then kiss the concrete. While I'm dazed for a coupla seconds, Officer Fat Bitch finally rushes around the patrol car and pulls at her partner.
"C'mon. Now stop horsin' around. The piece of shit ain't even worth it. Let's just get him in and take him to the interrogation room."
I spit out a mouthful of blood as I listen to their bullshit good-cop bad-cop routine. I've seen better actin' on the comedy channel. But I gotta hand it to Officer Asshole. The muthafucka got one hell of a left hook.
"Get yo ass up." He snatches me back onto my feet and I'm dragged into the precinct lookin' busted and disgusted.
Every head and set of eyes cut toward me as I perform my awkward perp walk, but still I somehow manage to keep my head up. That is 'til I catch sight of my man, Alonzo, sitting at a cop's desk on the other side of the room. What the fuck? Was Alonzo a goddamn snitch?
A'ight. I'ma tell the muthafuckas everything.
In the interrogation room, I collapse into a rusted-out metal chair behind a peeling brown folded table. The muthafuckin' room smells like musk and Lysol, giving me an instant headache. I've lost count of how many times my ass has been up in this very precinct over the years, but every time I'm in here I'm amazed at just how bright the white walls are and how intense the quiet can play with your nerves.
"Want something to drink?" the female cop asks, still playing the role of the good cop.
"Water," I answer, and then watch her as she strolls out of the room to leave me alone with this black Dirty Harry wannabe.
Immediately after the door clicks closed, a nasty smirk slithers onto this mean muthafucka's face. I can tell by the gleam in his eye that he wants to whale on me some more but somehow he's keepin' his shit in check ... for now. After a few minutes, I start wishin' that he would start hittin' me. Anything would be better than the silence. I shift around in my chair-and once I get started I can't seem to stop.
"You look uncomfortable," Asshole says, stating the obvious.
I ignore him.
"Maybe you got a lot you want to get off your chest?" he suggests, walking to the table, flipping one of the other metal chairs around, and then squatting down into the seat. "Maybe you want to tell me why you planted that bomb at the Walkers' estate?"
"What's the matter? You couldn't handle that Sabrina Walker didn't want some out-of-work play thug? You figured if you couldn't have her then nobody could? Is that how it went down?"
I grind my teeth and feel the veins along my face throb, but to my horror a tear skips down the side of my face.
Asshole immediately starts laughing. "Awww. I got my ass a sensitive thug in here." He leans over the table. "What's the matter? You gonna start tellin' me your ass was in love or some shit?"
My heart starts hurtin' again as this muthafucka just hit the nail on the head.
"So you're just a nigga Romeo that likes to play with explosives. Is that it?"
"Or maybe you were targeting Mr. Walker?"
My eyes meet his.
"Yeeeeaaah. That's it." His shit-eatin' grin widens as he continues to read my ass like a book. "You were trying to get him out of the way, weren't cha?" He cocks his head, watches my reaction.
My guilt is blazing up from the soles of my feet and burnin' the tips of my ears. I used to have a better poker face than this, but tonight everything has changed. I'm a murderer now and nothing will ever be the same again.
"Let's start with something simple. Why don't you just tell me how you met Mrs. Walker?"
I lick my busted lip as the memory comes back to me in an instant. And before I know it, I'm spillin' my guts. "I met her at this club called The White Room...."
From the moment Alonzo, Crazy Larry, and I rolled into the parking lot of The White Room in Crazy Larry's black on silver Escalade, I knew that we had arrived at the spot. This huge white and glass building didn't look like no regular club, but like one of those fuckin' high-class museums. Real classy like. And the women? Goddamn. The suburbs were rollin' with some fine-ass bitches. Believable hair weaves, thousand dollar outfits, and enough bling to blind a nigga.
Alonzo and Crazy Larry wasn't playing when they said that this place had a better grade of women. Each and every one of them looked as if they had just stepped out of the pages of those glossy magazines I used to jerk off to in the joint.
"Well? Whatcha think?" Alonzo asked, whacking me on the back and cheesing like a muthafucka.
"I think my ass just died and gone to heaven," I said, following a long line of firm booties, hypnotized.
"Damn, nigga. Close your mouth."
Figuring that he had a point, I quickly snapped my shit shut and just moved with the flow of the crowd. Inside, I was again impressed by the setup. For the most part the place was decorated wall to wall with chrome and glass while mini-searchlights flashed every color of the rainbow from different corners of the club. The music was bangin' and the place smelled like cotton candy and pot all rolled into a heady aphrodisiac that instantly had my dick hard and my balls throbbing.
Me and my two-man posse continued to peep out the scene as we got our pimp walk on toward the bar. The place was jumpin' with old Michael Jackson hits. A real tribute to the music man we all just lost. I quickly ordered a Hennessy from the one-gloved bartender and then returned my attention to the dance floor.
That was when I first saw her.
An explosive vision in red and with curves that put every chick that ever graced the defunked King magazine to shame, I spotted the woman that I most definitely wanted to pump a whole mess of babies out of. She had long black, wavy hair that a nigga could just picture winding his hands around and the smoothest, prettiest peanut butter complexion I'd ever seen. I knew instantly that this red angel wasn't like none of those ghetto chicks I was used to fuckin' with. This woman just oozed so much style and class that I had no doubts that those fat diamonds dripping from her ears, neck, and wrists were the real deal.
No shit, baby girl had a nigga wantin' to bust out a pen and some paper to write some poetry or some shit.
"I told you to close your mouth, nigga," Alonzo shouted over the music. "I don't want nobody thinking that I brought Forrest Gump up in this muthafucka." He laughed.
I snapped my mouth shut and blindly reached for my drink from the bar. One thing I refused to do was pull my eyes from my red angel. As Michael Jackson's "P.Y.T." blasted from the speakers, baby girl sent tongues waggin' with her firm ass rollin' in perfect harmony with her slim hips.
"She's the shit, ain't she?" Alonzo said close to my ear. "I know you wanna hit that."
I heard amusement ringin' in his voice. "What hood with you? You know this chick?"
"Hell, everybody up in here know her. Remember that big-ass crib I told you I've been workin' these past few months?"
"Her and her man stay up there. Money out the ass. Their gangsta ain't no joke."
"Oh, she got a man, huh?"
"That shit surprises you? She probably been bankrollin' niggas since she bought her first training bra."
I shook my head as I watched those hypnotizin' hips bounce, wiggle, and roll. "You ain't gonna tell me no one man can handle all of that."
Alonzo laughed. "Probably not, considering Mr. Walker got a good twenty years on her fine ass."
"Aren't they all?" Alonzo drained the rest of his drink and then quickly hollered for a refill.
I smirked. "What's her name?"
"Off limits," he said.
"Funny," I said, unamused. At the same time, Lady in Red glanced my way as if she heard me. In an instant our gazes locked just as the music shifted to MJ's "The Way You Make Me Feel." We both smiled at the same time, and in my mind I convinced myself I just might have a chance with this woman who was so clearly out of my league.
"You don't want to go there, man," Alonzo warned. "Messin' with that woman ain't nothing but trouble with a capital T."
"Well, what do you know about that?" I said, emptying my glass in one gulp and then slamming the glass back down onto the bar. "I love trouble."
"Alright. Don't say I never warned you."
As I moved toward the dance floor, I performed a casual head rock while my eyes dragged slowly over Red's curves. A few other ladies tried to holla at me, but I didn't hear a damn thing they were sayin'.
Red's smile grew bigger and my eyes locked on her pretty pink tongue as it glided across her full red-tinted lips. She was definitely feelin' me. She was practically transmittin' nasty images into my head.
The nigga she was dancin' with flashed me an annoyed look, but he might as well step before I embarrass his ass. The weak punk even made an attempt to reclaim her attention, but she dismissed him with a flick of her hand and started groovin' toward me.
My cock was so hard and heavy that, shit, I just wanted to slam this fine-ass black Barbie doll up against a wall somewhere in here and fuck the shit out of her.
"Dirty Diana" started bumpin' and this chick started rubbin' her ass against me, puttin' a big smile on a nigga's face. I wrapped my arm around her tiny waist and started matchin' her grind for delicious grind. I knew right then and there my ass was caught up in everything from the smell of her hair to how her body felt up against mine. We rocked those same dance moves for at least two songs-to the point that I finally had to say something.
"You're gonna fuck around and I'ma send your ass home pregnant." I was hoping to win a smile or a sexy laugh outta her, but instead she stopped dancin' and looked back over her shoulder at me. I knew immediately that I'd fucked up by the way disappointment flickered across her face. Unbelievably, she went from actin' like a starved sex kitten to a prim and proper lady within a blink of an eye.
Without saying a word, she turned from me and started walking off the dance floor.
She whipped back around with an expression that clearly said, Fuck off.
I didn't get a chance to respond before she jerked away and then disappeared into the crowd, leaving me looking like a love-struck fool in the middle of the dance floor-my dick still hard as hell.
Chapter TwoOfficer Good Cop finally rolls back into the interrogation room with a small Styrofoam cup of water. She instantly glances at her partner. The question of whether he'd gotten a confession from my ass is written clearly in her deep chocolate gaze. It's then that it occurs to me how I've royally fucked up by talking.
"I not saying another muthafuckin' word 'til my lawyer gets here."
"Your lawyer?" Asshole chuckles. "You got something to hide, Delvon Jackson?" His dark gaze is shooting hollow points at the center of my fuckin' forehead.
I shift in my chair again. I have a graveyard of secrets and right now it feels like these two muthafuckas are about to dig up a lot of caskets.
Officer Good Cop sets my water down. I'm just stuck lookin' at it 'til she finally remembers to uncuff me. When those tight-ass silver bracelets are removed, I quickly start massaging my wrists. My freedom won't last. I know this. I can feel it. And when I close my eyes and picture Sabrina wrapped in my arms, I know I deserve whateva's comin' my way.
Excerpted from Heartbreaker by De'nesha Diamond Erick S. Gray Nichelle Walker Copyright © 2010 by Kensington Publishing Corp.. Excerpted by permission.
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