The Banks Sisters Complete

by Nikki Turner

Genres: Financial Thrillers

Synopsis

Death, deception, and the surprise introduction of a long-lost family member keep the drama on full blast in the pages of The Banks Sisters Complete by urban fiction susperstar Nikki Turner.

Meet the Banks sisters--Mona, Bunny, Tallhya, and Ginger. One of the only things they have in common is their love for their beloved grandmother, Me-Ma. When tragedy strikes and Me-Ma has a heart attack at church, the sisters are shocked to discover that she left the house and all her money to the church. Now the pastor wants them out, unless they can come up with the money to buy the house from him. To make matters worse, Bunny already owes over a hundred thousand dollars to a very dangerous man.
The sisters devise a plan that could have them rolling in plenty of dough--as long as they can stay one step ahead of law enforcement that's on the lookout for a group of female bank robbers who have burst onto the scene. Things become even more complicated when their mother shows up, threatening to snitch them out if they don't give her a cut, and Pastor Cassius Street refuses to follow through on his promise to return the house to them.
The situation becomes a bloody mess, and now the sisters must band together in ways they never thought possible as they deal with a growing mountain of problems. Only time will tell if these sisters can stay one step ahead of the circumstances they unwittingly create.

Release date: March 27, 2018

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 400

Sample

A black van had been squatting on the corner of Jefferson Avenue for the past 20 minutes. It was an older model cargo van with limousine-grade tinted windows. It easily blended in with the other vehicles on the busy street, so no one paid much attention to the van. This mistake would cost everyone dearly.

Inside the van, behind the dark glass, were four guys on a major money mission. Each man wore all black and was skeed up on a mixture of cocaine and heroin. All of the men were in possession of two things: rubber masks that their faces would be concealed by, and an AK-15 assault rifle, which rested inside of gloved palms.

“You think we should bounce?” said the passenger wearing a George Bush mask. “Maybe that shit’s an omen.” George Bush was referring to the police cruiser that was parked in front of the bank that they’d been casing for the past week.

The driver, wearing a Hillary Clinton mask, said, “Fuck that. Police gotta cash their paychecks too. We sit tight, we wait this shit out,” he said firmly.

Freddie Krueger, in the back of the van next to Jason from Friday the 13th, agreed with his longtime friend, Hillary Clinton. “We sit tight and we wait this shit out.”

Jason was about to toss his vote into the hat when the cop strolled out of the Metropolitan Savings and Loan National Bank with a big smile, got into his cruiser and peeled off.

Once the cop beat the corner it was a few minutes before Hillary Clinton said, “Let’s go get this fuckin’ paper.” He reminded them: “No one gets hurt unless it’s unavoidable. But, understand,” he looked in each individual’s eyes, “nothing is going to stand in the way of us getting this money.”

The clickety-clack of the assault rifles being cocked echoed off the van’s bare interior. That was the unspoken communication that everybody was on the same page and was ready.

Freddie Krueger opened the sliding door, “Now let’s go get this motherfuckin’ money!”

On that note, everybody got out and they sprinted across the street, toward the bank.

Fate would have it that it was Simone Banks’ first official day on the job, and she was just getting the hang of things.

Jackie, the bank’s assistant manager, and the person responsible for training Simone said, “You doing real well to be a newbie. You are such a natural at this,” patting her on her back. “What do you do to make this seem so easy?”

Simone was in training to be a manager. Her first lesson was learning to operate one of the bank’s seven windows.

“I stay positive and I pray to God,” Simone said, holding her breath, hoping that this new endeavor would work out for her. More than anything, she really needed the job to support herself.

“Prayer always goes a long ways,” Jackie said in an angelic harmony.

“You’re right about that.” Simone gave a smile with a nod, warming up to Jackie as she balanced and refilled her drawer.

“Are you sure that you never worked in a banking institution?” Jackie asked with a compliment.

Jackie seemed to be in her mid-fifties. She wore her hair in a tight bun and had an overall good spirit. Simone and she had clicked almost immediately.

“No, just many years of business school combined with a lot of other courses,” Simone responded. In fact, Simone was 29 years old and had never had a job in her life. When she was ten Simone and her father made a deal. As long as she went to college, he’d take care of her. She took full advantage of the opportunity her father afforded her, getting degree after degree.

But over the past six months a lot had changed in Simone’s life, mostly for the worse. And things wouldn’t be getting better any time soon.

At 12:13 p.m. four masked men stormed through the bank’s doors.

Hillary Clinton was the first one through the door of the bank, immediately raising his weapon and firing on the security guard. “Get the fuck on the floor.”

Before the security guard, a father of two, could reach for his weapon, he ate three slugs to the chest and died immediately.

“Blah . . . blah . . . blah.” Fear gripped the entire bank. Customers screamed and the employees were mortified, filling the bank with screams, squeals and madness.

“Keep fuckin’ calm, and nobody will get hurt,” he said, waving the gun. “Don’t fuck with me,” he ordered. The patrons did exactly what they were told. After all, he’d just murdered a father in cold blood, it didn’t seem like he was taking any prisoners.

Hillary Clinton ordered everyone, “Keep your hands in the air. No fuckin’ heroes!”

Simultaneously, the rest of the gun wielding crew followed suit. They came into the bank, guns blazing on some straight gung-ho style, firing shots into the air. The customers dove on the floor or hid for cover.

“Rad-da-ta-ta,” roaring bullets blazed through the air like fireworks. Next came the high pitch screams from the patrons. Some automatically hit the floor and ran for cover while the others were stunned. A few just stood still in freeze mode, and waited for instructions from the guys in charge.

The man wearing a George Bush mask was smacking anybody in his way. “Shut the fuck up!” he said, wanting the patrons to fear him more and insight the screams of terror.

The shooting ceased and the robber in the Hillary Clinton mask shouted. “Everybody put ya hands on ya fuckin’ heads! If you move em’, I’ma put a bullet in your fuckin’ head!

Simone prayed to God over and over. Even while praying and being scared shitless, her brain continued to process the horrific scene taking place in front of her very own eyes. Four bank robbers, ten customers and eight employees, alive. One, may he rest in peace, already dead. God, she silently prayed, don’t let there be any more.

“Awwww,” an ear piercing scream.

The outburst spewed from a woman with bleach-blond hair and red lipstick. The butt of an assault rifle slammed into her face, knocking one of her front teeth out. The tooth caromed off the marble floor and up against a wall.

“Last warning,” Jason yelled at the lady as she silently wept.

The oldest of the four men robbing the bank and killing innocent bystanders was only 24 years old. This was the first bank any of them had ever tried to knock off. They were nervous, but the drugs did a good job at helping them hide it. The more fear they instilled into their victims, the more emboldened the young killers became.

Hillary Clinton jerked the trigger of the automatic weapon. “Barratt . . . Barratt . . .” He let loose a barrage of bullets again. The drugs had him on some renegade, strong-arm power trip. He was feeling untouchable and invincible.

“Let me be clear. Do as we say, when we say it. If you can do that we gon’ take this money and leave without anyone else fucked up. Get it?”

Heads slowly nodded.

Jason, Freddy, and George hit the first three tellers while Ski-Mask maintained control of the room.

“Please don’t fuckin’ push me.”

The teller at the second window got too close to the silent alarm, “Bitch, you touch that button, and I swear on my grandma holy drawers you gone die today!” Jason threatened. He backhanded the teller so hard, her legs wobbled before giving out on her. It was still in question which was harder, the actual smack or her hitting the floor.

Simone still couldn’t believe this was happening. She wasn’t one to pray in the middle of a room, but with what was going on right in front of her, praying seemed like the best thing for her to do right now. Though things were not looking too good for her, her colleagues, or customers, it didn’t stop her. She continued to silently call upon God.

Simone also prayed that nobody made any hasty moves, because she knew these guys were dead-ass serious. The slightest move from her or any of her co-workers could, and would, cost somebody their life. As her thoughts continued to run wild, out of the corner of Simone’s eyes, she saw Jackie’s finger slowly inching toward the silent alarm. On one hand Simone desperately wanted help to come and rescue them all from the bad guys, but she wasn’t willing to risk her life trying to be anyone’s hero. Jackie was a braver woman than she.

“Clack, clack, clack,” More gunfire erupted, startling her. The guy with the George Bush mask was in the face of teller three.

“Don’t give me that fuckin’ look,” Jason-Mask ran over, jumped over the counter and bashed the next teller in the face. She grabbed her face with both hands and screamed. He grabbed her by the back of the head and rammed her face into the counter. The blow was so powerful that she went unconscious instantly.

This sent everybody else in another frenzy.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jason said, silencing the hostages who were in an uproar over the heinous act.

While Bush-Mask and Hillary Clinton-Mask waved their huge weapons around looking at everyone inside, Jason-Mask grabbed another teller by the hair and manhandled her. The poor woman was timid and couldn’t help herself.

“Bitch put the money in the bag and no fuckin’ dye packs! Hurry the fuck up! Bitch!” He shouted as he controlled her movements by her hair. Tears rolled down her face as she tried her best to place money inside a bag. Her hands shook badly. She managed to empty the money out of the first drawer.

The novice crew emptied the first three stations and moved on to four, five, and six.

“Come on man!” Bush shouted out. “Make that bitch hurry the fuck up!” Just as he saw the man move his hands from his head, Simone saw it too. She wanted to scream out and warn him not to move, “No, put your hands, back up,” but the words didn’t come out.

The bank robber with the Hillary Clinton mask aimed, fired, and blew the back of the man’s head off. The powerful slugs ripped through the back of the man’s head and exploded his face across the bank. Brain and blood decorated the shiny marble floors. Blood and brain splatter was everywhere. The place was becoming a massacre.

Everyone’s face shared the same expression: disbelief. Betty scooped the money from the draw as quick as her nervous hands would allow. Simone prayed that it was fast enough. Tellers operating window five and six had learned from the others mistakes. Scooping money up in her hands and dropping it inside the bag she moved on to the drawer of the teller that was laying on the floor.

They quickly did as they were told and kept their mouth closed.

The innocent bystanders were horrified and only wanted this nightmare to end.

Window seven, which was Simone’s window, was the only drawer that hadn’t been hit.

“Bitch you know what’s up.” A small amount of spit came seeping out of his mouth as he spoke. The man standing over her screaming in her face with the gun in his hand was over six feet tall, yet still several inches shorter than his lanky friend with the Hillary Clinton mask.

Simone froze. Her feet became like blocks of concrete and she couldn’t move. In her head, she recited her earlier prayer. She kept praying to God but no matter how hard she prayed that God make her invisible, Jason and his friends could still see her. God either didn’t see fit for whatever reason to make her invisible or he had better things to do. Either way, Simone thought she would soon be dead.

Calmly, Hillary Clinton said with the gun in her face, “Bitch, if you want to be the world’s flyest corpse, keep standing there like a statue and don’t you dare think I’m playing.”

Though her face and eyes were filled with desperation and tears, you better believe they didn’t have to ask her twice.

Point taken, she wasn’t about to die for somebody else’s insured money. She started stuffing money into the bag, like it was an Olympic event. She wasn’t settling for anything less than a gold medal.

He stood over Simone, mean mugging as she put the last of the cash from her drawer into the bag. After Simone was done, he hesitated.

“Don’t fuck with me bitch!” he yelled at Simone. “I’ll shoot your pretty little brains all over this counter!” He looked at her with a look of disgust, as if she was holding out on him. She had no clue at all what more he wanted. She had given him everything she had in her drawer but he still wasn’t satisfied. For a split second, she honestly thought that it was over for her.

All she could think of and hear in her head was a vague voice saying . . . Here lies Simone Banks, may she rest in peace.... She envisioned herself in an all-white Donatella Versace gown in an all-white gold trimmed casket.

She convinced herself that she would be all right if she just did exactly as she was told. She was not ready to die. She still was praying to God that he let her live through this. She was taught that if she had the faith of a mustard seed, then God would deliver. As soon as that thought crossed Simone’s mind, she began to see bits and pieces of her life flash in front of her. Could this really be the end for her?

Simone couldn’t understand, why her? She did exactly what he asked for and now he was going to kill her?

She felt a hard hit on the side of her abdomen. It took her a second to realize Jason-Mask had just hit her with his gun.

“Please don’t shoot me! I did everything you asked me to do!” Simone pleaded. Indeed she could feel her life on crash course and all she could do was beg for mercy.

“Bitch! Why in the fuck you playing with me?” he screamed at her. She could see his saliva seeping out of his mouth. He then put the gun to her head and cocked it.

Her heart dropped at the realization that she was about to die. Then out of nowhere she got the strength and boldness to calmly speak out, “I gave you everything and I don’t have any codes to anything,” She wasn’t going down without a fight.

He gave a long hard look in her eyes, with the mean mug and gun still to her temple. Then he said to her, “That there is your Chanel bag right? That there, dat boy bag right?”

“Yes!” She nodded.

“Shit’s real?”

Indeed it was. Simone nodded again. At this stage, even if it was a bootleg replica, she would’ve still given the same answer. “Of course!” she proudly said.

“Well, that shit just saved your life, my bitch been asking for that shit,” he informed her.

Simone stared at the purse. It was the hottest bag out and an expensive gift from her father. The matching wallet inside was one of the last purchases she made before all the credit cards were cancelled and her once lavish lifestyle was pulled from under her feet. Though she loved that bag a lot, she loved her life more. Without hesitation, she shoved it too in the duffle bag with the money. There was no way in the world that she was getting hurt over a pocketbook, no matter how hot, expensive, or authentic it was.

He grabbed the duffle bag and clutched on to it so tight, one would have thought that he was Usain Bolt fleeing from a stick-up.

“Nigga, you stealing ladies purses now?” Hillary Clinton asked, shaking his head at his homeboy. Not waiting for an answer he just gave the command. “Let’s roll,” Hillary Clinton shouted. He backed up toward the door and Freddy Krueger followed. Jason flipped over the counter and hurried toward them, taking up the rear. He turned around and saw one of the remaining tellers press the silent alarm button. He aimed in her direction and squeezed the trigger. Bullets flew like a swarm of bats coming out of a cave. The slugs found permanent homes inside of her face, neck, breast and stomach. Her body dropped and the masked men rushed for the door.

More screams of fear erupted from a couple people, scared shitless, and worried that they could be next. But the guys kept heading to the door.

They were home free and Simone was still alive.

Finally, the nightmare is over! She looked up to the ceiling as if she could see God. Thank you’ Jesus! Simone thought as the last one of the deadly crew had one foot out of the door and one foot still inside. As she was about to exhale—grateful that she hadn’t been too physically hurt, but saddened for those who had—the unthinkable happened.

The dude wearing the Jason mask, stopped at the door and turned around. He randomly pointed the AR-15 into the bank for no apparent reason.

Simone’s breath froze into a block of ice, trapped in her lungs. She found herself staring down the muzzle of the assault rifle like a deer paralyzed by the headlights of an incoming speeding truck before the fatal collision. There was no time to duck or move out of the way. Even if there had been a beat or two to get out of the line of fire, the suddenness of the act, combined with her reincarnated fear of dying, held her in place like a straightjacket.

God help me! she prayed.

But it was too late.... With a diabolical look, Jason pulled the trigger.

Boom!

Bush shoved the bank’s door open, leading the bloodthirsty crew across the street, through the moving traffic, to the waiting van. Once inside, the crew felt they were home free.

“We did that shit, man! We fuckin’ did that shit,” Hillary Clinton said with a big smile on his face as he pulled his mask off. “Told you motherfuckers we were going to make this shit do what it do.”

“Go! Go! Go!” Bush slapped the back of the head of the driver, putting pressure on him. “Get us the fuck from ’round here.”

Hillary Clinton, in return, put the van in gear and pressed on the accelerator. He moved into traffic. They’d done it. They’d robbed the fuckin’ bank and it was going to be a’ight.

“We up now!” Hillary Clinton said.

Before the celebration could get in full bloom, Bush noticed the two police cars.

“Shit!” He looked again. “Fuck!”

At the same time, to intensify things more, Jason opened the bag and dug his hand inside, a dye pack exploded. He quickly removed his hand and shouted, “Fuckin’ bitch! No! No! No! No! No! Not a fuckin’ dye pack!” Jason looked hurt as if someone had just taken his manhood.

“This shot was all for nothin’ man?” Freddie shouted out of frustration.

The others looked down at the bag, just as two police cruisers turned the corner and blocked off the street. They exited their vehicles and leaned over their hoods with their weapons aimed at the van.

“Fuck, man, what the fuck we gon’ do?” Freddie got a bit antsy when he noticed the cop cars were blocking the one-way street. Two more black and whites turned the corner behind the van, hemming them in.

The vibe inside of the van flipped from jubilant to morose in the blink of an eye. Two black and whites parked nose to nose in the middle of the street were blocking their van from continuing forward.

The driver tried to quickly diagnosis the situation to figure out the best way out.

Jakes crouched behind the makeshift barrier, guns in hand and ready to earn their pay. The two cop cars behind them had turned into six and eliminated the option of backing up.

“It’s work call, shawty! My turn now to put in mine! Buckle up, my niggas!” the driver shouted out. He seemed to be getting an adrenaline rush off it all as he put the pedal to the metal.

Underneath the George Bush mask Dougie freaked. “What the fuck we gon’ do now?” he said with a shaky tone. The youngest of the four, Dougie was eighteen.

Hillary Clinton—a.k.a. Mike—looked his cousin Dougie in the eyes, “We gon’ get it on ’em, meaning go to war or die trying,” Mike declared.

Mike was nobody’s fool. He knew the odds of them winning a shootout with the RPD were against them. But growing up Black and broke, being the underdog was nothing new. It was their day-to-day norm.

Freddy Krueger—A.K.A Bennie—was 22 years old and had already spent two stints upstate. Going back this time was no option. He knew if he was caught with even a piece of stolen bubble gum, this time, they’d fry his ass for sure. “Court is in session,” he said, “and it’s being held in the street.”

“Then let’s get it poppin’” said Jason whose real name was Jason Kill. Jason slammed a fresh clip into the assault rifle. His boys did the same. Then Jason swung the door open. Dougie, Bennie, and Jason hopped out of the van with guns blazing.

Jason let loose, firing on anything in sight. The shots rang out loudly. The slugs from the AR’s blew huge holes through the police vehicles, shattering windows and knocking the sirens off the roof. It was a shame Jason hadn’t joined the army because he had great aim and plenty of heart.

The police returned fire. Both sides put it down hard. The noise from the shootout sounded like a warm night on the battlefields of Iraq.

A police officer stood up and caught three slugs to the face. His partner fired back multiple times at the man who’d shot his friend and coworker.

Meanwhile other shots were aimed for the driver. The front windshield of the van shattered, the driver slumping over dead. His head fell on the horn causing it to beep continuously. The men knew it was do or die and didn’t have any time to waste. The team witnessed their homeboy, Mike, go down, but there was no time to mourn. They would have to pay their respects to him with their war game.

The three masked man jumped out of the vehicle and rolled into the street. They were gunning like skilled soldiers, at war with the boys in blue. They were fueled as they opened fire on the police officers non-stop. The volley intensified. Both sides had lost a man. Neither wanted to drop another but knew there was no surrender or retreat. In no time, mixed with the sounds of guns going off, the air was filled with approaching sirens and first response vehicles.

The fella’s bullets tore the cruisers apart. Huge holes popped up over the vehicle, sending two of the cars into flames. That gave the robbers that extra push they needed as they reloaded and continued gunning.

The gun exchange went on for a few minutes. Being outnumbered and outgunned neither intimidated nor deterred the crew from firing their weapons. Two more boys in blue kissed the asphalt as blood leaked from their bodies. The AR-15’s bite was as vicious as its bark.

Bennie tried to take cover behind a parked BMW and got chopped down like an oak tree. His body hit the pavement like a drunken monk. Pain soared through his body as if he’d been struck by lightning.

Blood poured from his mouth as he choked, trying his damnedest to hold on as life slipped away from him. He died staring at the Bush mask by his side, but not before letting off a rain of gunshots, going out in a blaze of glory.

Dougie snapped. He’d watched his cousin and best friend die. Even a high school dropout such as himself could predict the outcome for him and Jason. But he swore on everything he loved that he would drop a few more pigs before he died. And he meant it with a passion. He raised up and let bullets fly like birds flying south. The volley temporarily pushed the police down for better cover. Though the police had been trained to deal with these kinds of situations, they also cared if they lived to see tomorrow. Dougie knew that this was his last day and acted as such as he let loose round after round.

But Dougie’s camaraderie was his weakness. His emotions overrode his intellect and he made the mistake of checking on Bennie. Maybe he was still alive. He blasted his way to where Bennie lay. He gunned with one hand while checking Bennie’s pulse with the other. “What the fuck you doing, Dougie?” Jason screamed, knowing that it was a dumb move and could be detrimental to them. “He’s dead.”

The reality of his man, cousin, and best friend lying dead in front of him literally fucked him up. His bold plan of attack was no longer strategic. It had suddenly become emotional. Dougie was pissed the fuck off. He rose up and opened fire on everything in his line of fire. The different caliber of weapons sounded like a gun range with everyone firing simultaneously. The sound of bullets hitting metal, glass shattering, screeching tires, and police sirens flooded the air.

As Dougie looked up to hear what Jason was saying, a chunk of his scalp got peeled back. The AR-15 fell from his hands and he flew backward. Then a slug ripped through his head, knocking a huge chunk out. He got hit by another one and another one. He hit the ground, sprawled out like a dead bird.

Jason ran to the van. By luck, or the Grace of God, he managed to make it there. He tossed the deceased driver to the ground, climbed inside, and put the vehicle in drive. He smashed the pedal all the way down to the floor. The van accelerated and sped toward the police vehicles. He rammed into them as they opened fired on the van. He ducked down and floored the gas pedal. He turned the corner and the engine died. He sniffed some coke, opened the door and hopped out with his weapon in hand. Four bullets riddled his back but they didn’t stop him. He felt invincible like Scarface. He continued on, as two more slugs ripped through the back of his legs. He fell and quickly flipped onto his back as he placed the gun to his head and pulled the trigger. His brains flew through the top of his head. His arms and weapons dropped at his side as he released his bowels and any of the life left in him. The police officers squatted down behind the parked vehicles as they slowly advanced toward the corpse. Once they saw that he was deceased they lowered their weapons.

The question everybody had on their mind was ‘What the fuck just happened?’

“Doing it now, my nig. We ain’t do too bad, either,” Spoe said with no emotion. He spoke into his phone in what seemed like a quick, one-way conversation. “Yo, I’m going to finish this shit up and take a shower. By the time you do what you need to do, come through and pick up your bread.” He disconnected the phone and threw it in the mix of all the paper he was trying to sort out.

The goose down feathered, crisp white comforter on the king size bed had quickly turned money green due to the bills of American dead Presidents that covered the beautiful bed. While kneeling his sexy, muscular body beside the mattress, Spoe seemed to be quite exhausted. He sorted and stacked the Benjamins, Grants, Jacksons, Hamiltons, Lincolns, and Jeffersons into one thousand dollar piles. He had been counting and stacking the bread for more than an hour. The funny thing was that taking it had been an easier job than counting it. So far the count was better than half a million.

“The fruit from a long day of labor, baby?” Spoe’s girlfriend Bunny came into the room, walked behind him, kissed his neck and massaged his tensed shoulders. “That’s a lot of money, daddy.”

Any presence of her lit up the room and his face. “You know it.” He spun around and gave her a long, wet, tongue kiss. “All for us, baby.” And he meant every dimension of those words.

Spoe was old school in so many ways, especially when it came to his woman. As the man of the house, he felt it was his responsibility to be the sole provider. All Bunny needed to do was to look amazing, take care of his needs, and make his house as comfortable for him as absolutely possible. She was great at all three and that was something that Spoe never took for granted.

That’s the reason why he spoiled her the way he did, providing nothing but the best for them. Matching his and hers Porsche Panerama topped with the Cayenne for him and the 911 convertible for her. The cars were parked in the garage of an expensive condo that overlooked the James River. Their condo has three huge bedrooms with high-end furniture and huge walk in closets filled with the hottest trendy clothes and accessories. Spoe and Bunny’s elaborate lifestyle was made entirely possible by Spoe’s shill thrill of relieving drug dealers of their proceeds . . . by any means necessary.

When it came to taking money, there was no denying Spoe was at the apex of his game. His peers either respected him, feared him, or both. The one thing that was a known fact about Spoe was that nothing stood between him and his dead presidents. This was another thing he never took for granted. He knew if he wasn’t careful, he could get caught out just like the next man.

“How does that feel?” Bunny asked, continuing to massage his neck using her knuckles.

The only thing that he might’ve cared about more than his money was the love of his life, Bunny. They had officially been together for five years not counting the two years that he had chased her. Though he had more of his fair share of women running behind him, the only one he sprinted after was her. Once he got her, he vowed to never let her go. She was his queen, his prize, his trophy, his everything, and a blessing that he thanked God for every day. No woman had ever captivated him like she did, and he cherished her. He loved her more than he loved his own life. She was his fantasy in an extremely loving, borderline smothering, kind of way. There was no denying that Spoe was obsessed with Bunny and Bunny secretly liked it that way.

As handsome, charismatic, and not to mention rich, as he was, he could have anybody he wanted. There wasn’t a day that gone by that he didn’t turn down women who threw themselves at him. He couldn’t seem to see past Bunny. Rumor had it that Bunny had put something in his food, or worked some kind of Haitian Voodoo, to have him infatuated with her, but that was far from the truth.

The two had an agreement that they took seriously. It was simple: she had him and he had her. So she spent the majority of her time focusing on him and making him happy. In return, he gave his all to making her ha