Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and if that woman is Nikki Bell, then that means everyone better jump outta the way. After giving up dancing at The Pink Palace and settling down with her family, Nikki believes she could have a normal life. She soon finds out she is wrong, and now her past is back to haunt her. When things start to go downhill fast, she learns that Malachi Turner, a notorious drug dealer and the new owner of The Pink Palace, is the man responsible for destroying her new life. Nikki has no choice but to confront him.
Malachi gives Nikki a dire choice: come back and dance for him or suffer the deadly consequences. Nikki, desperate for a way out, meets a stripper named Jasmine, a bad girl with a history of mischief and mayhem. Jasmine wants to challenge Nikki to a fierce battle to be the number one moneymaker at The Pink Palace. The tension is thick between these two.
When the truth is revealed to Nikki about the reasons why her life took a tailspin, she has no choice but to make uneasy alliances in order to bring Malachi down and escape his grasp. First she must decide: How far is she willing to go in order to get her life back?
About the Author
Marlon McCaulsky, originally from Brooklyn, New York, was raised in St. Petersburg, Florida. His publications include The Pink Palace, From Vixen 2 Diva, The Pink Palace 2: Money, Power & Sex, Love & Life, and The Freak Files Reloaded. He is a 2010 African American Literary Award nominee for his story "My Boo" in Romance for the Streets.
McCaulsky is also a screenplay writer and producer at Creative Genius Films. Used to Temporary Happiness is his debut independent film. He lives in Atlanta, Georgia.
Read an Excerpt
The Pink Palace 2: Triple Crown Collection
By Marlon McCaulsky
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.Copyright © 2010 Triple Crown Publications, LLC
All rights reserved.
The Baddest Bitch
JACQUELINE "JASMINE" DAWSON
The spotlight shone on the long black runway stage. The smell of liquor and smoke lingered in the air throughout the dimly lit club. My skin tingled with excitement as my body glowed from the baby oil I rubbed all over me. My breasts stood firm in my skimpy bikini top, imprinting my erect nipples underneath.
I stepped out on stage in my five hundred–dollar red Prada shoes like a supermodel and gave the crowd of men ogling my curvy body my signature walk on the runway. It was more of a strut than a walk. Nobody could match my swagger as I grabbed the chrome pole and pulled my body upside down like a trained athlete. I wrapped my long, smooth, golden brown legs around the pole and swung around until I touched the ground.
The crowd of horny men loved the way I flexed my body to the beat of Ray J's "Sexy Can I." I dropped into a split and made my ass clap, and twenties and fifties flew like confetti on the stage.
I stared in the eyes of this one dude and licked my full, succulent lips. He was hypnotized. Without a word, I mentally commanded him to empty his wallet for me. Plus the fact that I took off my bikini top made him my slave. It was amazing how stupid men got when they saw titties.
This one guy decided to "make it rain" and showered me with ones, tens, and a couple of twenties. I guess he thought all women were impressed by that, but it was the dumbest thing I'd ever seen! You think a woman would throw money on the ground for a nigga? Dumb-ass!
I'd been dancing at The Pink Palace for only ten months, and I was already the top-dollar bitch in the club! I had just made over a grand in less time than it took to fill out a job application.
I walked out front and saw this new girl that called herself Kandi. She did look sweet enough to lick all right. She was a young, tight thing, just like I liked them!
Oh, no. I saw her doing a table dance for the nasty little pervert Reggie. He was Malachi's little brother and he walked around there like he owned the place. Half the time he was up in VIP trying to fuck with the girls or walking through the locker room like he was an inspector trying to look at everybody's ass for free. Nasty little troll was always scratching his crotch. That was why nobody with common sense and 20/20 vision would fuck with his ugly self. He might have been Malachi's brother, but he ain't had the money, power, or respect his brother did.
Poor Kandi didn't know any better. He was slapping her ass so hard I could hear it from across the room. She was just smiling like she enjoyed it, but that shit had to sting. Great. Now he just pulled her down in his lap and was rubbing all up on her. She was trying to stop him from digging his fingers under her bikini thong. The bouncer wasn't gonna say nothing to Malachi's little brother, so I decided I better check this stupid nigga.
"Come on, stop," Kandi said to him, but he didn't.
"Damn you got a fatty, girl. Let me get a sniff," Reggie said to her.
"Reggie! You didn't hear what she just said?"
He stopped and smiled at me.
"Hey, Jasmine, why don't you join us and let's get this shit really crunk!"
"How about I tell Malachi you're fucking with the girls again?" I shot back at him and he glared at me.
"Get the fuck up," he spits to Kandi, and she did quickly and started to walk away.
"Hold up. Don't leave so fast," I said to her, and she looked at me, confused and scared. "This nigga owes you for your lap dance."
"What? Bitch, please." Reggie rolled his eyes.
"Pay her ... now," I said to him seriously.
Reggie glared at me as he pulled out a wad of cash, peeled off a ten, and gave it to her.
"Lap dances cost more than that," I informed him. He cut his eyes at me and then gave Kandi a twenty.
"Here. Now piss off!"
"Fuck you too," I snapped at him and took Kandi backstage with me.
"Thank you for helping me," Kandi said and smiled.
"No problem, sweetie. Don't ever let me see you fucking with that dusty nigga again. Just because his brother owns The Palace don't make him shit," I explained to her.
"Okay," she said shyly. She had to be barely eighteen, if that. She looked kinda like Keisha Knight Pulliam, only a little sexier in a blue two-piece and stilettos.
"You heading out?"
"Yeah, my feet are killing me. Thank you, Jasmine."
"Don't worry about it. Just remember what I told you." I gave her a hug and seductively brushed a few stray hairs from her face.
She smiled and then turned and walked toward the locker room backstage, but then she turned and looked back at me. Gotcha! Pretty young thing didn't know it yet, but she was gonna be mines soon.
I looked around the club and noticed that there was nothing left there but some small-time niggas. I'd already made my paper for the night, so I decided to bounce out of there too. Then I saw the man himself come through the club doors. Unlike his ugly-ass brother Reggie, Malachi just looked like money. Don't get me wrong; Malachi was ugly too, but his money just made him a lot sexier.
Malachi was a big man, built like a linebacker. His shoulders were wide, and his chest was solid, so you know his $3,000 black Italian suit was tailor-made to fit his hulking frame. His hair was cut in a low Caesar fade with endless waves. His skin was a smooth, jet-black complexion, and his eyes were an intense dark brown. He intimidated even the hardest nigga that thought he was a thug.
Fear was in some ways better than respect, although I didn't feel either when I was around him. The power of my pussy made him a different man behind closed doors.
He strolled in with his niggas around him. Big Bump was his bodyguard, and Ricky was one of his boys that ran the corners for him. His eyes scanned the room, and he saw me and gave me that lustful glare. He then made his way up the stairs to his office. It looked like I was gonna get some overtime that night.
All eyes were on me as I walked into the club. Some looked at me with respect, but most of them with fear. That was better. That made niggas easier to control. This was my club, my world, so that made me a god.
As I glanced across the club, I saw that everything was running smooth, like a well-oiled stripper on a pole. The DJ was spinning a new track from Ludacris, and there were two girls on stage, shaking they asses like they was supposed to. But then I saw my number one rump-shaker standing at the bar, looking finer than a bitch. Jasmine. Since she'd been dancing there, business had been at an all-time high. Just seeing her in that bikini made a nigga's dick rock hard.
But I had other things on my mind than pussy. I spotted my idiot little brother, Reggie, fucking with some girls at a table. Stupid nigga tought with his dick more than the got-damn sense he was born with. He better had taken care of that shit I told him to do.
He saw me and straightened himself up. I headed upstairs to my office with Ricky behind me. Bump stood outside my door. Ricky had a seat in front of my mahogany desk, and I walked to the glass window behind my chair and looked down at the club. I saw Reggie coming upstairs to see me.
"Do you think Reggie got that shit taken care of?" Ricky asked me.
"He better have. Did you get that shit from Jorge?"
"Yeah, right on time as usual. Detective Raymond made sure we stayed off the radar."
Big Bump opened my door and let Reggie in.
"What's up, bruh?" He then turned and saw Ricky and scowled. He made no secret of his dislike of him.
Reggie thought that just because he was my brother that he should be running the corners instead of Ricky. He was my brother, but he was also a fuck-up. Ricky handled whatever I told him to do without screw-ups.
"You can't say hello, Reggie?" Ricky said to him sarcastically.
"Rick," Reggie said dryly.
"Did you get that thing done, Reggie?" I said to him.
"Hell yeah. That nigga Dre ain't gonna be a problem for ya anymore."
"I told ya I would handle that bitch. You should let me handle more shit for you, bruh," Reggie bragged and looked at Ricky.
Ricky smiled and shook his head. "You got something to say to me, Reggie?"
"If I got something to say to you, nigga, then I say it," Ricky informed him with a lot more bass in his voice.
"Look at this nigga. Just because you took care of some small-time nigga for Malachi, you think you can do what I do? You silly, nigga." Ricky laughed at him.
"Fuck you, Rick! Dre was one of the biggest dealers in Atlanta, and I handled that nigga! Keep on talking shit and I'll handle yo' bitch ass too!"
Ricky stood up and got in Reggie's face. If Reggie wasn't my brother, Ricky would've put a bullet in his head by now. Ricky had killed niggas for much less in the streets.
"You can't handle shit, nigga. That's why Malachi keeps your bitch ass up in this club where he can watch yo' baby ass."
Ricky was correct in his assessment. Reggie was too immature to be left on his own in the streets. I promised our mother I would take care of his ass before she passed away, but with Reggie taking care of Dre for me, he was starting to prove himself for me.
"Both of you niggas shut the fuck up." I took a seat behind my desk and pulled out an already rolled blunt from my desk. "You did good, Reggie. You just do as I tell you and I'll give you more shit to do in the future."
My private line started to ring, and I looked at the caller ID. "Both of y'all get the fuck out. I gotta take this call."
They both walked out of my office, and I picked up the phone.
"Hey, daddy," my six-year-old daughter, Courtney, said.
"What are you doing up so late?"
"I couldn't sleep, Daddy. Mommy said it would be all right if I called you. When are you coming by?"
That bitch of a mother of hers knew I wouldn't be back over in Dunwoody until that weekend. She did this shit on purpose to mess with me. She knew Courtney was the only way she could see me on a regular basis.
"Baby girl, Daddy has a lot of work to do, so I won't make it over there until later."
"Okay," she said sadly.
"But don't worry, sweetheart. When I see you, I'm gonna have a surprise for you."
"Really?" she asked, excited.
"Yes, really. Now go to bed and I'll call you in the morning."
"I love you, Courtney."
"I love you too, Daddy."
"Okay, now put your mother on the phone." I looked down out the window and saw Jasmine sitting at the bar, looking up at my window. I gestured for her to come up. I heard Courtney giving the phone to her mother, Latoya.
"Yeah," she said dryly.
"What did I tell you about putting shit in Courtney's head?" I growled at her.
"I just told her if she wants to see her daddy then call him," Latoya snapped with attitude.
"You gonna stop playing games with me, Latoya! You gonna stop that shit or —"
"Or what, nigga? I'm the mother of yo' child! You should be here with us instead of that damn club fucking wit' them strippers!"
"Don't forget that I met your ass in a strip club, shaking yo' ass too, bitch! And if you wanna keep living in that big-ass house that I'm paying for, you do what the fuck I tell you to," I reminded her.
There was silence on the line as she thought about what I'd just told her.
Big Bump opened my door and let Jasmine in.
"I just want us to be a family again, Malachi. You know I love you," Latoya said to me.
Jasmine walked over and sat her sexy, fat round ass on my desk.
"You just remember what I said and there won't be any problems," I said and hung up.
Jasmine spun her fat ass around on my desk and faced me. "Wifey stressing you out?" she said, teasing me.
"She not my bumbaclot wife."
"I hate seeing you so upset, Malachi," she said and kicked off her red Prada shoes. Then she seductively rubbed her feet up my slacks and found my rock hard dick. Damn, she was so fucking sexy.
I grabbed her long, thick leg. Her calves were muscular, sculpted from hours of dancing.
"What you got for me, baby?" she asked.
I pulled six Ben Franklins out my pocket and dropped it on my desk. She skillfully scooped it up and tucked it under her bikini top. Then she dropped between my legs and unzipped my slacks and pulled out my dick.
She darted her tongue around the tip then licked my sensitive spot just below the head. She sent shivers up and down my shaft. Her technique was the shit!
I leaned back in my chair, and she deep-throated me and milked my dick for the next hour. She served me like everybody else. Like I said, this was my world, and I was a god.CHAPTER 2
As much as I hated to leave Dre's side, I had to get back to Penny at the shop. Between Penny and Janelle coming in helping her out, business was still coming into the store, but bills needed to be paid.
It had been one month since Dre went into a coma, and the hospital was sending me bills left and right. We didn't have heath insurance. I was lucky Dre and I had some paper saved away for Tyler's college fund. I hated to touch it, but I didn't have much choice.
What the hell am I gonna do now? I thought as I rode down the elevator in Emory Hospital. How can I run the business, take care of Tyler, and continue to pay Dre's medical expenses before we're completely broke? I hope Obama can get this universal health care plan past them fools in Washington.
I walked through the walkway from the lobby to the parking garage and took another elevator to the fourth level. As I was walking to Dre's black Cutlass Deville, I heard somebody bumping T.I.'s Paper Trail album. I looked down the garage and saw a black Escalade on 24-inch rims. The windows were a dark tint, so I couldn't see who was inside. I got a bad vibe for some reason, and I got in the Cutlass and started it up.
I pulled out of the parking space and drove by the Escalade. Nothing happened. Maybe I was still just a little paranoid.
I got to the shop and saw Penny and Janelle holding down the fort for me. They didn't know how much I loved them for stepping in and helping me like that. Penny was checking a lady out at the counter, and Janelle walked over to me and gave me a hug.
"What's up, cuz?" Janelle said to me.
"Same old shit."
"Dre's still the same condition?"
"Yeah. The doctors are still telling me there's no telling when Dre could come out of this."
"I'm so sorry, Nikki," Janelle said to me sincerely.
"You don't need to be. That muthafucka Malachi is the one that's gonna be sorry."
"Malachi? Who's that?" Janelle asked me.
I shouldn't have let his name come out of my mouth.
"Is he the one that did this to Dre?"
"Why didn't you tell the police?"
"I don't have any proof he did it. Plus I don't trust them fuckin' cops either." Shit. I shouldn't have said that knowing that her husband Jayson was a cop too. "I'm sorry, Janelle. I know Jayson is a good man."
"It's okay, Nikki. Who is this Malachi?"
"He's the new owner of The Pink Palace," I said to her, and Janelle shook her head. It seemed like a lifetime ago we both used to dance up in there. Janelle had done her best to put that place behind her, and here I was bringing it back up. "He and Dre did some business together back when Dre was hustling. When Dre got busted, he still owed him some money. For the last three years, Dre has been paying him back, and after he paid him what he owed, Malachi wanted to extort more money from him."
"Let me guess: Dre refused to give him any more money and Malachi went after him," Janelle said.
"Yeah. Piece of shit couldn't just let him be. He just took him from me," I said as tears watered my eyes.
"It's okay, Nikki. We'll get through this together. Maybe I can ask Jayson to look into this Malachi and see what he can turn up."
"No. Janelle, I got you involved with Damien's psycho ass and he almost raped you. I'm not gonna get you twisted up with this nigga too. This is not your problem."
"Nikki, I'm a big girl now, and I know what you went through with Damien. I won't let you go through it again with anybody else." Janelle still thought it was her fault that Damien and Horse nearly beat me to death three years ago. It was my own reckless lifestyle that put me in that situation in the first place. I wouldn't put Janelle in harm's way again.
"Don't worry, Janelle. I'll be fine. Just don't tell Jayson about this. Malachi will get what he's got coming sooner or later. They always do. For now my only concern is Dre's health and raising Tyler. I just don't want him to grow up without his father."
"He's gonna pull out of this, Nikki. I know it."
I wished I could be so sure of that. It had been over a month since Dre slipped into this coma, and the doctors had no clue when he might come out of it, if he ever did. I had to be realistic about it. Dre might never wake up.
God, you can't do this to us. We've gone through so much already. We both changed so much, just to have our past come in and bite us in the ass. Please, God, just help my family.
* * *
The next morning, I dropped Tyler off at the daycare and headed to the hospital. As I was driving down Peachtree Street past the Fox Theater, I saw a black Escalade two cars behind me. I thought it was the same one I had seen in the parking garage the day before. It was following me. I knew I was not being paranoid now.
Excerpted from The Pink Palace 2: Triple Crown Collection by Marlon McCaulsky. Copyright © 2010 Triple Crown Publications, LLC. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Prologue - Back Again for the First Time,
1 - The Baddest Bitch,
2 - Paranoia,
3 - Dining With the Devil,
4 - Sexual Seduction,
5 - Deal with the Devil,
6 - Ego,
7 - Special Circumstances,
8 - Disappearing Act,
9 - Marked For Death,
10 - Relaxers,
11 - Obsessed with me,
12 - Just like me,
13 - Revelations,
14 - Private Party,
15 - Preexisting Condition,
16 - Holding back the years,
17 - Daddy's home,
18 - The business,
19 - A common enemy,
20 - Judas kiss,
21 - I'm going in (and I'ma go hard),
22 - Battle of the Sexes,
Epilogue - Meet me at the alter in your white dress,
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
An intense, page-turning read, The Pink Palace II, introduces new players into the game. But things are never as they seem. Nikki is left with life-changing decisions to make that could become deadly if not handled just so. Again, McCaulsky has written a great story. Although this is part of a series, he has done a fantastic job of weaving the old with the new where it’s not necessary to have read book one to understand the plot. McCaulsky is a wonderful story-teller with the ability to create characters readers can not just relate to, but also identify with and feel.
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