To Paris With Love

Book 3: Family Business

by Carl Weber, Eric Pete

Genres: African American Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Ripped from the pages of Carl Weber's New York Times- bestselling Family Business series comes a solo story about his most popular character to date -- the bright, sexy, and deadly Paris Duncan.Join Carl Weber and Eric Pete as they go back in time and take Paris Duncan to Europe, to the finishing school where she meets her first true love, makes her first real enemy, and commits her first crime. Readers will get a thrilling inside view into the events that made Paris the lovely but lethal woman she is today.

Release date: December 1, 2013

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

Then

Neuchâtel, Switzerland

My first three years at school taught me more about life than I could ever begin to learn in the outside world. I had sopped up those lessons like a hungry bitch going in on a plate of biscuits and gravy. And now with graduation right around the corner, I would be the student awarded the grand prize for most accomplished. That’s if I got to graduate because bitches like this one kept challenging my last nerves.

I tightened my grip around her neck, pulling her into a headlock. She whipped around and flipped me over her head onto the ground. In seconds I was up on my feet, crouching like a caged animal ready to strike again. Her hand shot out, coming down on my shoulder. The pain shot through me but there was no way I’d let her be the first one to finally take me down. I had an uncontested track record of wins. I kicked her in the solar plexus and kneed her in the jaw, causing three of her teeth to fall to the ground. I grabbed her in a bear hold, bending her arm behind her back until her short gasping breaths grew almost inaudible, making her drop the weapon at my feet. Still holding on to her I slid my hand to the floor and retrieved the Glock 9.

“Ggamdungi,” she spat the words at me.

“Shang nyun, Sheba-nom!” I responded then jerked her arm harder, causing her to squirm in pain.

“Fuck you too, bitch!” She spat the words at me.

“Oh, so now you speak English? ’Cause I prefer to be called a beeyotch in English and not your slanty-eyed language!” I schooled her. Although my orders were not to cause physical harm, I wasn’t feeling particularly generous. Last fool to use the N-word on me couldn’t walk for a week and will probably never be able to impregnate a woman. I swiftly clocked her on the side of the head.

“Paris!” Yosef, my instructor, a former Israeli rebel fighter, grabbed me tightly from behind, his fingertips boring into my shoulder blades. The pain forced me to let go of Jae Kim, who fell in a heap on the ground and passed out. She probably fainted at the sight of her missing teeth.

A group of students gathered nearby, ecstatic to watch the spectacle.

“Knocked her the fuck out!”

I heard two palms slap together in a high five.

“Bam! Just like that.”

“Damn! I told her not to mess with Paris,” I heard one girl say as Jae Kim stirred near her bloody teeth.

“I wouldn’t. Chick is fuckin’ lethal,” another added, then received a rousing round of agreement from the other girls.

It occurred to me that this would be a good time to practice passivity and restraint but my head and my badass attitude were out of alignment with my reality. Fuck him, her, and the rest of these motherfuckers. I won this exercise fair and square.

“I won!” I yelled out. There was no way they were going to mess up my record.

“Why do you do these things?” Yosef, the gorgeous six foot four inch, 240-pound Israeli instructor admonished me. He smacked me hard on the neck. “How many times do I have to speak to you about your inability to follow orders? Have you lost your fucking mind? Look what you’ve done.”

I could hear the sound of my own heavy breathing as I tried to contain myself so that I could respond appropriately instead of what I really wanted to do, which was curse his ass out.

Yosef wasn’t much older than us but he was the one person in the school who I truly respected. Not only was he built like a Mack truck but he was also capable of killing you with his bare hands without giving it much thought. I knew better than to piss him off too much because he could make your death look like an accident. It would take me years to know all of his secrets, but during our “private” lessons I made sure to get extra instruction, which somehow turned intimate over the past year. He wasn’t the first man I’d ever slept with; however, he was the only one who put fear in my heart. As much as I pretended to hate, it I found it sexy as hell. Most men who acted all tough got the pussy and promptly turned into pussies. But not him; he kept sex and work separate and right at this moment he was all business, which basically meant I was fucked because I’d never seen him this upset.

“You need to gather your things and get to the headmistress office,” he said as he led me through the tunnel that connected to the catacombs and back into the main building. It was the perfect place to flip this shit in my favor. I darted ahead of him, stopping and blocking his path.

“Yosef, she started it,” I whined, flirting with him. He held up one finger, silencing me. Damn, even deep in the shit he made me get all moist and turned on. I leaned closer to him, brushing my lips against his neck.

“Please.”

“Paris, you are such a hellion!” he snapped at me.

“Isn’t that what you like about me?” I slid my hand over the outline of his penis. It quickly hardened under my touch. “Instead of sending me to the office wouldn’t you prefer me putting my lips on this?” I rubbed his growing dick, motivating him to cave.

An hour later I found myself sitting in front of the headmistress, Madame Joan Marie, as she gave me her version of a come-to-Jesus talking-to. Yosef got the goods and still sold me out.

“Do you realize what you have done? Ms. Kim is from one of our most important families in South Korea. Imagine the conversation I will be having when her father arrives today. Do you want to explain to him why his daughter needs extensive oral surgery?”

“No, Madame,” I answered submissively.

“Young lady, you are among the best and brightest students to ever cross the threshold of our establishment,” she continued in her thick French accent. “Rarely have I gleamed such raw potential in a person your age but you are also your own worst enemy. You act as if rules only apply to others. And no matter how many times I’ve talked, you continue to disobey orders and protocol and now you have proven to be a danger to others.”

“Madame, I am so sorry for my behavior. It really was an accident,” I lied, trying to sound as apologetic as possible so I could be on my way. I was ready for my vacation to begin.

“Mademoiselle Duncan, I believe that you believe that your apology is genuine. Then again, you always sound sincere after you’ve crossed a line. Unfortunately, the very next moment you rush headfirst into more conflict. I cannot allow you to continue to remain a hazard to the other students and to yourself.”

She stood back, studying me. I tried to appear as vulnerable and defenseless as possible. If only this had been a man I’d have talked my way out of it already, but women didn’t always get my charm. Finally she shook her head, resigned. “I must contact your father.”

My bad attitude deflated and her words set off loud, scary bells in my head. Danger! Danger! “Nooooo!” The panic rang out in my voice. Anything but that. My father would have my head and that would only be the beginning of my demise. “I promise I will change. Please give me another chance to make you proud. To make my father proud. Please, Madame,” I begged and pleaded. This time I meant every word because I had never been more desperate. If my dad knew that I was over here in Switzerland showing my ass and messing with his name it would be bad.

“You will have to change both your behavior and your attitude,” she continued.

“I will. I promise.”

“I sincerely hope that my decision to give you one more chance will not be wasted.”

“No, Madame.” I leaned up and gave her a quick squeeze, something you just didn’t do with these Nordic types. She looked shocked. Shit, I would have dropped to my knees and had my first try at cunnilingus if it would have prevented her from calling my father.

“Good! Now we are done with this unpleasant conversation.” She opened the door and led me into her outer office, where a group of students were gathered in front of the fire.

I joined her, partaking in the roaring flames, tapping my foot on the wooden floorboards beside my matching Louis Vuitton luggage. I threw on my designer sunglasses and quarter-length fur despite the heat being produced by the fireplace. Felt good to be out of my school uniform, so I bit my tongue and kept my impatience to myself while the jealous hoes who were my classmates looked on. They’d never be as fly as me and they knew it. Nor would they know how close I came to being a former student.

Psh . . . finishing school.

Luckily, my electives—while not my raison d’être, but my reason for being here—were da bomb dot com.

“Mademoiselle Duncan, you will be sure to enjoy yourself back home in the U.S., no?” Madame Joan Marie asked as she kissed me on both cheeks. Right before removing my sunglasses and placing them back in my hand. Of course, she meant the opposite of what she and her big-ass smile said. You had to look beyond that and into those tiny, cold eyes of hers. She wanted me to behave myself back home. Rein a bitch in ’n’ shit.

“Oh, I will most definitely enjoy myself,” I replied, meaning exactly what I motherfuckin’ said. Couldn’t wait to get out of here and back in the NYC, specifically Jamaica Queens where my family lived and ran things like motherfuckin’ bosses. Yeah. To sleep in my own bed, eat some less bougie food, and see my fam would be all to the good.

Oh, yeah. And some good American dick, too. Don’t get me wrong. These Euros could eat some pussy like nobody’s business, but I missed the rhythm real niggas had back home when they were layin’ it down.

But that could come later. For now, I really missed my family. And that was most important in this fucked-up world.

Family.

There was my daddy, Lavernius Duncan, who everybody called LC, head of Duncan Motors, the largest African American–owned car dealership chain in the tri-state area. My beloved moms, Chippy, had his back and was the rock of the family. Held it down for me and my four brothers: Junior, the big diesel one who was loveable as fuck; Vegas, the heart of the family whom I would die for; Orlando, the calculating one whom I would have to think about dying for; and Rio, my wild and crazy twin who I lived for. Oh, and my older sister London was part of the family too, but the less said about her the better. She and her lawyer husband, Harris, already thought their shit didn’t stink, but now that she was pregnant? Fawk. Would never hear the end of it. Was almost enough to make me want to remain in Europe over break.

Almost.

Once I touched down back home, I’d just have to be civil. Steer clear of her, Harris, and the demon spawn in her gut.

Besides, it was only a month after all. Then back here to complete my schooling.

“Is your family sending a car for you, Mademoiselle Duncan? Or will you need transportation arranged?” Madame Joan Marie asked before she turned her attention to the next departing student, this Croatian bitch with bad skin. Madame Joan Marie liked everything to run with Swiss precision. And when it didn’t, heads rolled.

The text I’d been waiting for came through on my phone, leading me to tune her ass out momentarily.

“No, Madame. My ride is here now,” I said as I looked up at her, flashing my first genuine smile of the day.

“Very well, mademoiselle. Adieu,” she commented as she took a slight bow and gracefully stepped aside. Funny that she never referred to me by my first name. Probably thought being named Paris, after a city, was ghetto or sumthin’. But not ghetto enough to refuse our money.

Had been counting down all week to this moment. So with a deep sigh of relief, I stepped, luggage in hand, toward the thick reinforced doors strong enough to survive a bomb blast. The inconspicuous school in this town, not far from the border with France, was on a lake bearing the same name. Until my parents sent me here to Neuchâtel, I only knew of this town for the Swiss chocolates they sold in America.

But my school was no Willy Wonka experience. No Oompa-Loompas around here. And creepy men in top hats and coats would get got.

Place was originally a hospital until, back in the late 1800s, it was converted into a school for the betterment and civility of young ladies like me whose parents had the money and desire to have them molded into so much more.

Leaving the toasty confines, I pulled my fur close to shield me from the cold rush of air on a sunny day. Just as the text said, a car horn to my right alerted me to the all-black Citroën C6 rolling in my direction down the slightly uneven Rue du Pommier. If I knew my daddy, he probably had it armored. I couldn’t contain myself and waved frantically, dropping the poise and polish drummed into my head twenty-four seven over the past year. I hoped LC had made the trip across the ocean to surprise me. I couldn’t wait to show him the new me I’d become and what I’d learned from my instructors.

Standing in the cold air I spotted Jae Kim being comforted by her fine-ass British hotty, who attended the male equivalent to our school in the next town. We exchanged bitter, hostile glares when I noticed him checking me out. Instead of continuing down the steps I stopped for a moment and a smile spread across my lips. When I finally approached them on the first landing of the steps I saw a look of confusion flutter across her face.

“Bye, Jae. Have a great spring break,” I offered in my most conciliatory voice. “You heading back to Korea?”

“Don’t you speak to me, you fucking bitch!” She glared then turned her back to me to punctuate her seriousness. But he shot me an apologetic smile. I stepped to him.

“If you didn’t have such shitty taste in women I’d consider giving you some.” I reached into my pocket and handed him a card with my phone number on it. “Just in case your taste improves,” I finished, the sounds of them arguing followed me down the stairs.

When the sedan rolled to a stop in front of the school, I didn’t wait for the driver to exit. Instead, I scrambled down the remaining brick steps and up to the car window where I tapped on it with my fingernails. Through the tint, I could make out a silhouette that had to be my daddy’s.

As the passenger lowered the window, the driver exited and went about gathering my bags to place in the trunk.

“Hello, Paris,” the voice said, taking me aback that it wasn’t my daddy’s.

“Orlando,” I muttered dryly at the recognition of my brother, clad in a navy blue suit with shiny O.D. cufflinks that adorned his crisp white cuffs. “Where’s Daddy?” I asked as he discarded a cigarette out the window while blowing smoke out his nose. Orlando was trying too hard to fit in with the cool and the chic out here. He had a woman seated on the side of him who looked to be Italian and probably didn’t speak a lick of English. I guessed it was a high-priced whore whom he’d arranged to spend time with. I paid her no mind.

“Well, hello to you too,” he replied with a grin certainly meant to piss me off.

“What do you want?” I asked my brother as the driver slammed the Citroën’s trunk shut then opened Orlando’s door for him. Bitch was getting cold and they wanted to play games. As Orlando exited, he allowed the driver to place his wool overcoat on him like he was a stone-cold pimp. The brunette stayed inside the car, never daring to look at me.

“C’mon, take a walk with me,” Orlando said with a motion of his head.

The Citroën slowly trailed us in the distance as me and my brother strode along the lake on Quai Phillippe-Gaudet. As a little Smart car buzzed by, even I had to admire the postcard beauty of this town. But this was cutting into my free time and Orlando wouldn’t come all the way here just to take a stroll with me.

“Why aren’t we on a G5 by now?” I pressed Orlando who’d been much too quiet.

“Because you’re not going back home.”

“Huh?” I said, stopping dead in my tracks. “Oh, that’s some serious bullshit!”

“At least not this time,” he added, taking two more steps before looking back at me. “You know London’s at the end of her pregnancy?” he said as both of us resumed walking, albeit much slower this time.

“Yeah. So?” I spat out, irritated at Orlando’s mention of my older sister.

“Your sister’s having some health issues, Paris. LC wants you to wait. Just stay away for a little while longer. Until the baby’s delivered. Every time somebody mentions your name it’s like her blood pressure spikes or something. You can see it in her eyes. Pop knows how y’all two are when you’re together.”

“London’s still upset about that ex of hers? Damn. That didn’t mean shit and I was younger back then. ’Sides, she should be thanking me for saving her from his lame ass.”

“No. It’s not just London’s issue with you,” he said, pausing to ensure our car was still trailing us. His disdain and disgust for that whole mess back when I’d visited London in college, especially my part in it, still showed. “Things are also unsettled over the stuff that went down with Vegas.” He mentioned my second-favorite brother and the family peacekeeper. “Delicate times.”

“And you’re just swooping in to take over for the throne, ain’t ya?”

“Your feelings for me aside, you need to shut the fuck up and listen,” Orlando growled. “Instead of coming home this trip, we want you to stay in Europe. Got a resort for you in Spain. Five stars . . . just how you like. Sun and fun, so it’s right up your alley. But try to stay low-key. We have enemies all over so we don’t need you broadcasting who you are. Reservations are under ‘Paris Wimberley.’”

“Spain, huh? And if I choose to go home instead?” I pushed, challenging my older brother. Fuck. I’d already planned my first twenty-four hours back home. Me and Rio were gonna get fucked up, go clubbin’, then compare notes on the men we’d selected for the night. Thoughts of spring break were what got me through these last few months. But now?

“This was LC’s decision. So he would be very disappointed in you,” Orlando replied, meaning Daddy would go ape shit and cut off my funds. Or worse. “Any more smart aleck questions?” my brother added after gauging the look of fear on my face.

“Yeah.”

“What now?” he said gruffly as he motioned our car over to pick us up.

“Can I get a new wardrobe?” I asked, batting my eyelashes.

Orlando frowned, consternation etched on his face as he no doubt wanted to object. “No! You’ve supported the rising stock prices for high-end designers long enough. Deal with it,” he bellowed.

“Then you wouldn’t mind me telling LC how you’re spending your money on this trip . . . and at home. At least I have some material shit to show for my money. All you have are memories of nasty cum stains on some fake-ass titties bought by the last john,” I said, setting his ass straight.

I had been gambling most of the night and although I was up I hadn’t made a move. Yet. My biggest opponent at the table also happened to be the world’s biggest asshole.

“What are you gonna do with that?” He slammed down his card, making a big show. His name was Jeffrey, another useless trustafarian. His father was a billionaire, which accounted for his snobby, elitist arrogance. I’d known him for a couple of years. Since I moved from London to Barcelona. “What? What you gonna do?” He slid a hand down the arm of his incredibly hot girlfriend. I’d seen her with him recently and couldn’t figure out how he’d managed to land her. If I were a chick there wouldn’t be enough money in the world to waste my time with him.

“Call.” I nodded to the dealer. Tonight was one of those when I would have preferred to fly under the radar but I couldn’t help but fuck with this arrogant prick.

“Why the hell you gonna call? You see my cards I got showing,” he bragged, gesturing to the hand in front of him. The dealer laid down the perfect card for me. Lady Luck was definitely on my side. I revealed my hand: a flush.

“You fucking cheated!” He pushed up in my face. “What you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna take all your money and then I’m gonna take your girl upstairs and fuck the shit out of her!”

A look of shock colored her face a bright red.

“Whoa!” People reacted all around like cattle, one feeding off the next, all in awe like a group of kids on the schoolyard itching for a brawl.

“What the fuck you say?” Jeffrey reached into his waistband and pulled out a gun. The room swelled in a collective gasp. I shook my head slightly, amused at his misguided brazenness. This was not his best move. Instead of retreating I took a step toward him, pressing my chest against his weapon.

“You have any idea how many problems you gonna have if you shoot me?” I said. It was obvious that my words unbalanced him. I could see it on his face. This wasn’t how he expected things to go down. “All of your daddy’s money will be no match for the wrath that will rain down on you. Not to mention the lengthy prison se. . .