Dirtier Than Ever

by Vickie M. Stringer

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Q wished that Bacon had killed Red when he had the chance. Red knew Q’s career as a hustler was over, and he was counting on starting a new legit business with the money he had made. He had once believed Red when she promised that the money didn’t mean a thing and she would give it all up to be with him.

Bacon returns from prison and suddenly Q is left for dead. With Q out of the picture, Bacon now has Red to himself. His sights are set on being the top hustler with Red by his side. He believes Red has finally changed when she reveals the truth about her past.

But all comes to a head when the snooping detective Thomas suspects Red’s involvement in Q’s getting shot and the murder of Zeke, Q’s best friend. With two murders, a tumultuous love affair, and money on her mind, Red must make a decision: Does she turn over a new leaf or revisit her dirty ways of old?

Gritty, steamy, and intense, Stringer delivers another action-packed caper about a hustler in high heels who is Dirtier Than Ever.

Publisher: Atria Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

Dirtier Than Ever

CHAPTER ONE

Q drove away from the bank, not knowing what to do. He hated the ground Red walked on and wished that Bacon would have killed her when he had the chance. Red had played him the entire time. She had known that the check she presented to him was no good. It was $1.6 million worth of lies. She knew that he had stopped hustling, and she knew that he was counting on this money to tide them over and to get things going on the business tip. She had promised him that the money didn’t mean a thing, and that she would give it all up to be with him. And he had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. He had listened to her bullshit, but now he realized that her word was as worthless as the voided check he held in his hand. “You scandalous, triflin’ bitch,” Q bit out through his gritted teeth.

A single beep rang from his cell phone. Q looked at it; one missed call from Detective Thomas.

“What the fuck he want?” Q asked, irritated.

Thomas had been calling him for the past couple of days, but Q had never returned his calls. He was tired of Thomas’s badgering and accusations. He was tired of going over the same shit with him on different days. Q was tired of him, period.

Q drove to the closest liquor store. He needed something strong enough to wash out the disgusting taste Red left in his mouth. Afterward he hightailed it back to the loft. He wanted to be there when Red came home for the evening so he could kick her ass out of his house and his life, permanently.

Once inside the loft, Q plopped down on the couch. He was mentally exhausted. Shaking his head in disgust, he looked around at the décor and thought about Red. He began drinking at the mere thought of her.

An hour later, Q was feeling real good and on chill mode. Just as he laid his head back and the heaviness of his eyelids began to take over, he was startled by a loud noise.

“Wha . . . whadefuckisdat?” he slurred heavily. His head drooped forward and he saw a now-empty bottle of Martel. “Stoppit,” he slurred again, looking at the bottle until he realized it was the phone ringing. He reached over to the end table with a heavy hand to pick up the cordless phone.

“Yella,” he answered.

“Mr. Carter?”

“Who wans ta know?” Q’s tongue felt four inches thick and his face felt numb.

“This is Detective Thomas. I need to see you about Ezekiel’s murder. I just got a hold of the toxicology report and there’s something I think you’d be interested in knowing.”

“Yeah . . . yeah . . .” Q sighed. The detective had been calling him nonstop, bugging him about Zeke’s death since it happened. The questioning soon turned into something Q wasn’t comfortable with. It was as if the detective were trying to accuse him of having something to do with Zeke’s death—or, at the very least, knowing who did.

“I also think you need to know we found a vid—”

“You know what you need to know?” Q spoke boldly into the phone.

“What, Mr. Carter? Do you have something that can help with the case?” Detective Thomas said eagerly.

“You need to know that you are an annoying-ass nigga. You and all your wannabe cop cronies. You can kiss my ass and do your own fucking work.” Q pressed the “off” button.

•  •  •

Bacon yanked Red’s head back until it couldn’t go any farther. He wanted to snap her neck so bad that his dick started to get hard. He had finally gotten his hands on her and it felt good. Knowing that money was a big motivator for Red, Bacon had browsed the local real estate listings under Gomez Realty, disguising his voice and then posing as a prospective client with an offer he knew she couldn’t refuse. After he mentioned that he had a sizable down payment for the property he liked, Red had suggested the property on Colonnade and made an appointment to meet him there. Just like he knew she would, Red took the bait—but he couldn’t believe that she actually had the nerve to come back to his crib, the crib she had previously tried to sell, the same crib she had been fucking other niggas up in, the very same crib she now was trying to sell him. Bacon glared over at the king-size bed and grew even angrier. He could imagine Red being in his master bedroom, in his bed, with other men, while he had been on lockdown struggling to survive. She was supposed to be wifey, supposed to have held him down, but she didn’t, and now she would answer for everything that she had done.

“Bacon, please,” Red cried quietly. A tear rolled down her cheek.

Bacon stared coldly at her, let out an evil cackle and stood. Smack! He backhanded her.

“Bacon!” Red cried out and clasped her cheek.

Smack! He backhanded her again.

Red shot him a poisoned look. Not only had he slapped her once but the bastard had hit her twice. She rose to her feet.

“Bitch, I ain’t say you can get up!” Bacon slapped her again, causing her to stumble. “You move when I say you can move!”

She got back on the floor.

“You dirty bitch!” Bacon shouted and raised his hand to her again.

Red was cold with fear. She hadn’t seen this side of Bacon in quite a while.

“Now crawl!” he commanded.

With the back of her hand, Red wiped away the tears that were streaming down like a river. “B-Bacon, you been watching too much TV.” She recalled how he liked this particular scene in the movie Sparkle, but she couldn’t play it out for him.

“That’s all I had time to do when I was locked down while you was spending all my shit! So bitch, I said crawl.” Bacon pointed his .357 Magnum at her. “Or die.”

Red knew she should have taken his guns out of the safe when she first thought about it, but now it was too late.

With the gun still pointed at her, Bacon reached and pulled a blue bag off the bed and opened it. Red stayed in the position she was in. Bacon reached into the bag, grabbed a stack of money and threw it down near his feet. Red eyeballed the money. Bacon reached again and threw another stack down next to the first one. Red recognized the band colors that held the money, and calculated that he had just dropped 50 g’s right in front of her.

“You know you want this,” Bacon taunted her. “Now you know what it’s like to be broke, huh? Crawl!”

Red began crawling.

Bacon reached into the bag and dropped more stacks of money on the floor.

Red crawled more. Your available balance is $1. Now you know what’s it’s like to be broke, huh? echoed repeatedly in her head. Everything she had been through was for nothing. She was back at square one, back to having nothing. Nada. She struggled her entire life to make a way for herself in a world that had been stacked against her, and now her entire life’s struggle had been reduced to nothing, she miserably thought. She was now once again in survival mode. She had to get through this. She had to get through this and rebuild. Red was determined not to be like her mother and have to depend on a drunken abuser when she was older. She would do whatever she had to do now to en-sure that her life turned out differently.

Red crawled along and stopped when she reached his feet. Bacon reached in his back pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, then looked down at Red.

“What was that bullshit you said to me before?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?” Red looked up at him with questioning eyes. “Can we talk about this? You acting weird, Bacon—you know this ain’t like you.”

Laughing at Red’s crazy remark, Bacon read aloud in a stentorian voice:

Dear Bacon,

Or, in your case, should I say Dear John? This is the letter you been begging for.

Well, let’s see. It would be virtually impossible for you to kick my ass, seeing as how you will be an old and gray bastard when you come home. You dick is so little that I can’t believe you ever wear a size 12 shoe. There goes that myth. When I first met you I sized you up real good and I knew the dick was going to be swinging. Boy, was I wrong. I guess that teaches me not to judge a book by its cover, or a dick by its shoe size.

I hope with all the free time on your hands you now realize that I never loved you. As quiet as it was kept, I didn’t even like you. Before you got locked up I couldn’t even stand the sight of your ugly face, and let’s not discuss the revolting sound of your voice.

“Bacon, I told you I—”

He skipped down to the next paragraph and read, “ ‘Your partner Stan’s cum tastes like ice cream in my mouth.’ ” He skipped down further. “ ‘I got your loot, you took the case, now press that bunk and do that muthafuckin’ time.’ ”

Bacon’s hand began to crumple the paper as he read, “ ‘My new man and I reap all the benefits . . . get you a boyfriend, let him suck your dick and leave me the fuck alone.’ ”

Bacon unfastened his pants and allowed them to fall to the floor. “Stan’s cum tastes like ice cream, huh?” He grabbed a handful of Red’s hair and forced her head to his smelly crotch. “Suck my dick, you dirty bitch.”

Red instinctively moved her face away and Bacon knew why. Prior to meeting her at the house, he’d made a run by Foxy’s, fucked her real good in her ass and didn’t wash his dick afterward. He figured that was something Red could do for him.

“Open up,” he sang as he waved his flaccid member in front of her. He caressed the side of her face with his .357 and kept the barrel of the gun right at her temple. “Bitch, I said open up,” Bacon grunted through tightly closed teeth and Red knew he wasn’t playing with her.

What the fuck am I doing? Red asked herself when she opened her mouth to take him in.

“Bite me and I swear, you’re dead,” Bacon warned.

Reluctantly, Red began to suck his dick. The taste of it was wretched enough, but the smell almost made her gag. Got this nigga’s nasty-ass dick in my mouth. I gotta get outta here. This nigga gonna kill me. Lord, please help me.

“Suck it, bitch. Suck my muthafuckin’ dick like you sucked Stan’s and all them other niggas you had strollin’ up in my crib.” He angrily shoved his dick farther in her mouth when he emphasized my crib.

The more Red sucked the softer his dick seemed to become. Bacon began grinding his groin into her face until the feeling of relief took over his body as he let go of a warm liquid. “Yeah, drink it up, ho,” he said as he peed in her mouth.

Red snatched her head back and shouted, “You grimy bastard!”

Bacon hissed at the pleasure of relieving himself but quickly grabbed his dick and finished by aiming the flow of pee on Red’s face. Her body had been violated before, but she had never felt like this. She had been forced to suck a nasty, stinky-ass dick and drink urine. Red was even more convinced now that Bacon was crazy and was certain that he was going to kill her.