Read an Excerpt
Still a Mistress
By Tiphani Montgomery
DAFINA BOOKSCopyright © 2007 Tiphani Montgomery
All right reserved.
"I want that bitch dead!" was the first thing he said about his mistress after cumming on top of my stomach. The murder that rested in his eyes revealed how serious he actually was as he collapsed on the bed. His sour, stale breath seemed to have climbed on my face as his breathing got heavier. He continued to lie next to me, while I looked over his shoulders and saw the culprit, a large bottle of expensive whiskey. Macallan 17 to be exact.
The bottle, which was only sips away from being empty, sat on the table. It told me that he was pissy drunk, but he held his liquor well. Most crooked politicians did.
Asheville, North Carolina's most hated mayor had made a request of me that wasn't in my job description. But as he kept talking, I found myself up for the task, and besides, the longer he talked, the more expensive the perks got. I'd been offered any luxury vehicle of my choice, a house that was big enough for a small army, and an all-day shopping spree at Bergdorf Goodman.
My nipples became even stiffer every time he mentioned an elaborate perk. I was that much closer to closing the deal, and the thought of being a murderess for hire was intriguing to me. I figured that it wouldn't hurt to add another skill to my résumé, other than fucking everybody. Besides, I could use the practice. This contract was definitely what I needed to prepare me for my next big plan.
"Chloe," he said, looking at me with glassy eyes. "I really like you, and once she's out of the way, I want you to step up."
I let out a slight laugh. "Step up? Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" I asked. "I don't step up. I move bitches aside!"
"No, baby, I didn't mean it like that," he blurted out in an attempt not to piss me off. "It's just that you do things for me that nobody has ever done, and I want to make sure that you stay by my side."
Everything that he'd just said was 100 percent bullshit. I wanted to ask him what made tonight different. What sparked the sudden change of heart? Why did he want to finally make me his main bitch? We'd been fucking for a little over six months now, and he'd never said this to me before, even though I knew he was pussy whipped.
My shit was powerful.
I was sure it was the liquor talking, and I wasn't upset at his suggestion for my new role, because the only position I'd ever played was the one of a mistress. Hell, I enjoyed being a mistress. It was the only thing I knew how to do. The thought of fucking men who belonged to other women was the ultimate turn-on. Especially since there were no strings attached, and I always got the same benefits or even more. I wouldn't even know how to be a housewife.
It was just the fact that he thought he was doing me some type of fucking favor that made me mad. Maybe he felt that pacifying me would make murdering his former mistress easier. Little did he know that he could've saved his breath. His weak promises of love didn't matter, because money was my motivator.
"By your side, huh?" I looked at him and rolled my eyes at the thought of what his plan was once he was through with me. His sorry ass would probably do me the same way. "Baby, I would never leave you," I mustered up, giving him a brief kiss on his cheek. If this was the game he wanted to play, I was down.
"That's what I want to hear," he responded.
"What about your wife? Where does she stand?" I asked even though I didn't give a fuck.
"My wife stays for now," he said, with remorse in his tone. I poked out my lower lip, pretending to be upset with his decision. "Don't worry, though. I'll never treat you like my mistress. I'll always treat you like number one."
That was all I needed to hear. "So, why do you want this woman out of your life?"
I tried my best not to get personal, but my nosiness took over, and I had questions that needed to be answered. The mayor's breath was on fire, and the scent almost melted my nose off as he continued.
"This bitch has been trying to ruin my life from the beginning, and now with her getting pregnant on purpose, I know things are about to get ugly. I want her ass dead before my wife and the public find out. She's already promised to blackmail me, and I need her stopped before it's too late!"
I inserted my index finger into my wet pussy, pulled it out, and rubbed it against his full lips. "How do you know that I won't ruin your life?"
His smile could be seen a mile away. "Because I trust you, baby. Besides, there simply isn't enough room for the both of you, and she's the one I want out of the picture. I couldn't imagine you gone."
There you go again with more bullshit, I thought. This dude must think I'm some type of rookie. Game recognizes game, and I was a professional when it came down to this shit. I knew in the end, he wouldn't give a fuck about me. It would always be about his wife.
"I'm glad you chose me, Daddy," I replied in an assuring tone.
We snuggled on his beautiful white goose-down duvet at his cottage on the Biltmore estate. This was a piece of luxury that not even his rich-ass socialite wife knew about. The only part of the house that I despised was the two-story library, which held thousands of books. It was an instant memory of my bitch-ass sister, Oshyn. Ever since we were little, books had always been her first love. Long ago I waged a war against anything she loved, and literature of any kind had now become my enemy.
I'd made myself at home in Asheville a year ago, right after I left Raleigh. I needed to get out of town after all the chaos, but I also wanted to stay as close as I could to Oshyn. My plan was to get her back for everything she'd done to me. I'd never been to Asheville before, and the mountains seemed to clear my head. Shit, even Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh came here to hide, so I knew there had to be something special about the place. There wasn't any drama here, any worries, or any problems ... or so I thought.
I was renting a cabin and was down to my last two hundred dollars when I met the mayor at a restaurant downtown. I knew it was only a matter of time before he would be taking care of me, but I had no idea he would be the one to bring back my killer instincts.
"You're so much prettier than that other bitch I deal with," he said, stroking my hair. "And your body is to die for!"
I looked at his small gray Afro and smiled. I knew he was referring to my perky 36C cups and big, round ass. "Is she white?" I asked.
He seemed surprised by my question. "Why would you ask me that? Besides, what difference does it make?"
"Actually, I could care less, but I'm just curious. For some reason, you look like the type of black man who would have a white girl on the side. Shit, I'm probably the closest thing to black pussy you've ever had. You're probably tired of being with a woman with an ironing board for an ass."
"Well, if you must know, yes, she's white."
I wasn't surprised by his comment, but I hated that I had to kill someone who sounded like a woman after my own heart. I started feeling kind of bad that I had to betray one of my fellow blackmailers. Women in this business had to stick together, but I was sure she would do the same thing if she were in my shoes. It was always business before pleasure.
My thoughts were distracted by what looked like a large, deforming burn that was shaped like the boot of Italy, sitting on the right side of his face. The miniature country, which had melted away on his brown skin, was too gross to ignore. I tried my best to avoid that side of his face when we got together, but it was hard not to look at. Something about this monstrous feature scared me.
Reminded me of the boogeyman.
Reminded me of my past.
My childhood always had a way of doing that. I tried not to let it bother me too much, because he was filthy ... filthy rich!
I'd done my research, so I knew mayors normally didn't make tons of money, but this one did. With his sleazy political connections he netted millions in various crooked investment deals, and his ties to the mob didn't hurt his rapidly growing pockets, either.
"How much?" I whispered while rubbing his huge potbelly. After recalling all of the wealth I was surrounded by, I was ready to seal this deal, but I needed him to be as comfortable as possible with his decision.
He sat up, took another swig of his whiskey, and said, "A hundred thousand."
I paused and thought about accepting the offer, but my mind quickly wandered away again and got the best of me. I couldn't believe a hundred grand was all his mistress was worth. She was also carrying his unborn child, and he wanted them both to disappear. I immediately saw myself in her.
It was only a year ago that Oshyn had stolen my baby's life, and now I had agreed to do it to someone else. A little bit of emotion started to rise in my chest, but I quickly suppressed it. Emotion wasn't part of my résumé. If this was what he wanted, the bitch would simply have to go.
Not only did I need the money, but this would also make what I planned on doing to Oshyn a total walk in the park. I was sure that no one knew whether I was dead or alive, even after everyone died at Oshyn's house, except me and her. I'd left her home that night bullet ridden and broke. All the money I'd stacked up went right down the drain, and Brooklyn was the reason for most of it. I'd given Brooklyn the million dollars I'd blackmailed from Mr. Bourdeaux, and he took it all, leaving me with nothing.
Since then, my more generous clients had offered me permanent housing in their mansions and penthouses, but I reluctantly declined their offers. From the bullet hole Oshyn had put in my stomach to the one Brooklyn had put in my shoulder, along with the broken nose I sported, all those things were just too much to explain. With all these gunshot wounds, I was starting to feel like a female version of 50 Cent. As it turned out, I definitely had more than nine lives, minus the budding music career.
"Is a hundred thousand enough?" the mayor asked, probably uncomfortable with my long pause.
"Nah, you're gonna have to come larger than that. I'll do the bitch for a hundred, but the baby is gonna cost you another two, making it three hundred even."
"Two hundred thousand for a fucking kid that's not even born? You're out of your damn mind, Chloe. Abortions don't even cost a tenth of that!" He became enraged, and the alcohol didn't help.
"Three hundred. Take it or leave it, but it's my final offer." Even though I could've really used the hundred grand, my offer was set in stone, and I wouldn't take anything less. I just couldn't bring myself to kill the baby for anything less, born or not. Maybe with me being twenty-six now, I was beginning to gain a conscience, but this was something that truly bothered me. "Take it or leave it," I said again.
"All right. Three hundred, but not a dime more than that. After everything is done, I need you to skip town for a few weeks. You know, just until everything cools down. I've already arranged for your trip to Jamaica."
"Jamaica? That wasn't in my plans. I have things to do," I whined.
"Baby, just trust me," he begged with a sinister smile that screamed just the opposite.
That was the problem.... I didn't trust anybody.
It was ten thirty at night when I arrived in a development called Crest Mountain. As soon as I entered the neighborhood of brand-new homes, I could tell you had to have money to live in this area.
"I guess the mountains are where he keeps all his whores," I said as I admired the beautiful waterfall entrance.
Feeling more at ease in the midst of darkness, I was glad that I'd waited until the sun went down before I decided to go ahead with my assignment. I figured there was nothing worse than murdering someone in broad daylight, which was what the dumb-ass mayor first suggested.
I cruised fast enough through the neighborhood not to raise suspicion, but slow enough so I wouldn't miss her house. Surprisingly, I drove past the expensive homes in a 2007 sapphire blue Lexus ES 350 that the mayor purchased just for this occasion. I suggested driving a hooptie, but after checking out the area, I was glad I didn't. Any vehicle other than a luxury one would've stuck out like a sore thumb, and I didn't need that kind of attention. I thought it was too bad that he had ordered that the car be torched after the murder, but I guess it was necessary. A senseless and brutal demise for a car of this caliber hurt like hell. My pussy got wet just thinking about me cruising around town in this beauty.
When I finally pulled up in front of her house, I was quite impressed. I realized that the mayor's directions were on point as I reviewed the house that was in a picture he'd given me and compared it to the one I sat in front of. I was relieved that I didn't have to look for the address, because the numbers were barely visible due to all the huge manicured trees.
"Wow. It looks like she makes a good living from being a sideline ho," I said as I continued to look at the million-dollar brick estate. Call it jealousy, but I began to wonder what she had that I didn't for the mayor to put her up for so long.
Now, I was beginning to think she should've been out the fucking picture a long time ago. Her living conditions spoke volumes of her pussy game. Most bitches were lucky if they got their rent paid, and this one had managed to get herself a kingdom. I knew I should've demanded more money, I thought as I realized how little three hundred thousand dollars was to him. By the looks of this house, his ass could afford it. I decided not to dwell on the numbers too much and to stick to what I was here for. I was content with the deal we'd worked out, which was eighty thousand in cash before I left him this morning and the rest when the deal was closed.
I turned off my car and sat in the dark, trying to peep at the scenery. The mayor had tried to assure me that no one was ever at her house, but I was still cautious. I knew that women in our profession always kept our options open. In the midst of my thoughts, I noticed her silhouette in the second-story window. Damn! White people never have blinds for some damn reason, I thought after realizing that most of the houses in the neighborhood had windows that weren't covered.
I looked as discreetly as I could in my rearview mirror and readjusted the long burgundy wig that covered my jet-black hair. I also wore a pair of Gucci shades so as not to reveal my Asian descent. I patted my hip to make sure that my weapon was still in place and grabbed the spare key to her crib, compliments of the mayor. I had slid out of the car and was barely closing the door when my phone rang.
"Damn it," I whispered softly, wondering why I'd been so careless as to leave the phone at the highest ring volume. "Hello?"
"Are you there yet?" the mayor asked, slurring his words. "Did you kill her?"
"Are you fucking serious? Did you really just say that to me over the damn phone?" I was pissed. I treated every call like it was being tapped, and this asshole mentioned some stupid shit like that over the phone. He was definitely out of it. "Stop calling me. You asked me to do something for you, and it's getting done. Don't fucking call this phone again!" I warned before hanging up.
Too much time had been wasted already from that meaningless phone call. I just hoped I hadn't brought any unwanted attention to myself. I turned my phone off and ran to the front of her house.
I hesitated for a second, wondering if it was a good idea to enter through the front door. However, those thoughts quickly went away when I remembered that it had to appear as though she knew her killer. It would be a lot cleaner than a break-in. The mayor had informed me that her alarm was turned on only when she went to sleep, so I hoped her ass hadn't called it a night after I saw her in the window. I thought this was pretty backward and wondered why she just didn't set the alarm as soon as she walked in. But he said she was a creature of habit, and that was something she'd done for years.
Excerpted from Still a Mistress by Tiphani Montgomery Copyright © 2007 by Tiphani Montgomery. Excerpted by permission of DAFINA BOOKS. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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