Ruthless (13 page)

Yeah, good luck with that.
“Let's hope.”

“WelI, sweetheavens,” she says dramatically. “Clutch the wheel. Can you be any less enthusiastic about the possibility of something tragic having happened to Felecia? I know she wronged you, but can you at least
pretend
that you care.”

I look her in the eyes. “That's the point, Persia. I don't care. And I'm done with pretending. If that bitch never shows her face again, it's fine by me. I'll see you in two weeks.”

She blinks, clearly taken aback by my remark. “Well alllllrighty, then. On that note, I guess I'll be on my way.” She glances over her shoulder as she heads for the door. “Oh. And I hope everything works out for you in court tomorrow.”

I smile. “Thanks. I trust that it will.”

It's not who you know that'll get you what you want. It's whom you fuck over to get it…

A
part of me wished, hoped, like hell that Jasper's black ass would be a no-show today as the elevator stopped on the second floor and I stepped out, making my way down the corridor to Courtroom C-211. But all chances of that happening are quickly dashed the minute I spot his ass—reeking of street money and hood swag, leaning up against the wall talking to a very tall, well-suited, dark-skinned man with a smooth bald head. I can't see who he is since his wide—and what appears to be muscular—back is toward me. But whoever he is, it's clear to me that not only is he well dressed, he's well paid—
very
well, for what he does.

His attorney, I think as I keep my eyes trained on the huge mahogany doors to the left of me. I feel Jasper's eyes on me as I smooth out the imaginary wrinkles in front of my black knee-grazing Diane von Furstenberg wrap skirt. It hugs my curves just right without coming off slutty. My black and white print silk chemise is tucked inside; a wide designer belt cinches at the waist. I shift my oversized handbag from one hand to the other, tossing my hair and lifting my black Louis Vuitton shades up and sitting them atop my head when I spot my attorney, Maria McCartney. A well-heeled, well-versed, white-bred, lily-white woman who is as cutthroat as she is politically correct.

This is my first time actually meeting her face-to-face. But she's
come highly recommended as one of the best divorce attorneys in the tri-state. And from what I've heard, she's a no-nonsense bitch who gets a hard-on from ripping new assholes into men who like to beat, mistreat, or cheat on, their wives.

By the time she and I finished our initial consultation call, forty minutes later, followed by a video chat while I was in L.A., it was clear to me I had a winner. Today, she'll handle my restraining order hearing. Then she'll handle my divorce proceedings. And,
yes,
after only several months of marriage, I am filing for a damn divorce!

“Mrs. Tyler.” She gets up from one of the leather chairs alongside the wall, extending her hand.

I take her hand in mine and shake it firmly. “Please. Don't call me that. Pasha is fine. Or if you
must
be formal, my maiden name,
Allen
, is even better.”

She politely smiles. Her straight white teeth are striking against her smooth porcelain skin. Her beautiful blue eyes look like shimmering sapphires set in large round sockets. “Understood. But for the purpose of this hearing, we'll call you by your married surname. It's a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh.”

“Yes, it is. I can't thank you enough for taking my case.”

She squeezes my hand. “I'm glad my schedule made it possible. But after speaking with you in great length a few days ago, I would have taken the case either way.” She gestures with a hand toward two seats. “Please, let's sit.”

I take a seat. Back straight, legs crossed at the ankles. Handbag perched up on my lap. Jasper stares in my direction. I avoid his gaze.

My attorney opens her leather case, pulling out a notepad and Mont Blanc pen. “I've already checked us in. And I've had the opportunity to speak to your husband's
very
handsome counsel.”

Her piercing eyes light up as she says this.
Oooh, let me find out this bitch likes a little dark chocolate swirled in her vanilla cream.
I glance over in their direction. But still can't see who he is. I bring my attention back to my own attorney.

I smirk, giving her one of my “ooh-you-messy-bitch” looks.

She smiles coyly, batting her lashes. “My dear. I may be happily married, but I do recognize a beautiful hunk when I see one. As long as you aren't sampling, it never hurts to look.” She clears her throat, quickly becomes all business. “Now I should warn you that in the event a final restraining order is granted today, not only does your husband intend on appealing it—which is his right—he'll be asking the judge to make stipulations within the order that allow him two days out of the week and alternating weekends of parenting time with your son. And that communication between the two of you is allowed strictly in the context of the welfare and interest of your son. He'll also be requesting permission to be allowed into the marital home to get the rest of his belongings.”

I roll my eyes, huffing.
“Please.
Jasper is so full of it. Jaylen is the
last
thing on his mind. The only thing he wants to be able to do is, keep tabs on
me
. All he wants to do is control me. And as far as getting the rest of his things, he's more than welcomed inside of
my
home with a police escort. I've already told him this.
That's
the only way he's getting inside.” I sigh, shaking my head. “I'm so sick of him. He'll do and say whatever he can to try to manipulate the court, including trying to use our son.”

She lifts her eyes from her notes. “Oh, don't you worry; I'm already three steps ahead of him. I'm used to dealing with men like your husband. So he can try to manipulate all he wants. In the end, he'll get exactly what he's entitled to, but not an inch more than that. Were you able to bring what we've discussed?”

I glance over in Jasper's direction. He's standing alone. That
quick, the suited chocolate Adonis has disappeared. Jasper's gaze is still burning on me. As if he's trying to undress me. Under different circumstances—during a time when I'd fuck him any-and-every-where, I'd pull open my skirt's split, spread open my legs and show him my freshly waxed pussy. But those days are over.

Still, I'd be the first to say that the nigga looks good as hell standing over there in his dark dress slacks and crisp baby-blue shirt and black Louis Vuitton loafers. The nigga even has on a
tie!
Versace, I'm certain given the print of the fabric. Large, flawless diamonds glisten from both of his earlobes, their sparkle blinding even from over here. For a nigga who just lost three of his stash houses he doesn't look the least bit fazed or hurt by it. Of course it's all an act. Inside, I'm sure he's sick. And he'll be even sicker this weekend, when three more get torched.

I roll my eyes.

“Yes, I did.” I open my bag and pull out the photos of my bruises, handing them to her. Bruises of me when I was in the hospital, pictures I secretly asked one of my nurses—an older white woman who comforted me in the wee hours of the night during my hospital stay—to take for me. In fact, she's the one who told me about Maria when I called her a few months back to see how she was. I also have pictures of the bruises that were on my face and wrists from last week, which I took of myself.

She purses her collagen-filled lips together. “Hopefully we won't have to use these, but if your husband's attorney plays hardball, which I'm sure he will based on the way he was speaking earlier, then these will become very useful.”

I narrow my eyes. “And if those photos aren't enough to get the final order, I have recordings of him threatening me.”

Maria gives me a knowing grin. “Why you sly little diva. That's
perfect. Don't you worry; we'll get you that final restraining order.” She leans in to me. “And tears never hurt, for effect. Turn on the waterworks at the right time. This judge does not take kindly to bullies and batterers.” She eyes me. “Pasha, are
you
afraid of your husband?”

I slowly nod, placing a hand up to my chest.
“Very.”

Her gaze locks onto mine. There's a glint of deception in them. Conspirators. That's who we are. “Good answer.” She glances at her diamond-encrusted timepiece. “We should be called in shortly.”

“Good. I'm ready to get this done and over with.”

“Oh, before I forget.” She reaches into her briefcase, pulling out papers. “Would you like your husband served before, during, or after the hearing?”

I glance back over to him. The nigga is still staring at me. I smile at him through gritted teeth. Seeing him standing there all smug stirs up unwanted emotions. I've become an angry, bitter bitch because of him.

“There's no need to put it off. Serve him now.” I stand. Then excuse myself so I can use the restroom. She tells me it's around the corner, down the corridor to the right.

I strut off. Head up, back straight, sashaying right by Jasper, pretending he is invisible. I know it's killing him to see me and not be able to pop shit. Out of my peripheral vision I see him scowling as I breeze by.

I grin.

But my smirk is quickly knocked from my face when I round the corner and literally run smack into Mister Tall Dark and Bald. Both of our mouths drop.

His long, thick, dark-chocolate dick and big, heavy balls flash through my head. Another one of my online, late-night creeps.

Dark Stallion.

My mind instantly flashes back to our first night together. After he responded to one of my online ads, then sent me a picture of his dick, I agreed to meet him at the Hilton on JFK Parkway in Short Hills. I entered the hotel room, first. Then five minutes later he walked in, finding me undressed and already on my knees in the middle of the room in a negligee. I necked his dick, super-soaked his balls, until he shot out a load of hot, foaming cum. Two hours later—after three rounds of dick sucking and pussy eating, I walked out of that hotel with a well-licked pussy. And he staggered out after me, well sucked and drained to the last drop.

“Oh shit,” we both mutter simultaneously.

“You're
Jasper's attorney?”

He lets out a nervous chuckle, quickly glancing around the corridor. “Yeah, in the flesh. And you're beautiful as ever.”

“And
his
wife. I didn't know you were an attorney.”

“You never asked.”

I take in his smooth-shaven face and dimpled chin. Then allow my gaze to linger over the rest of his six-foot-three frame, before setting my stare back up at him. His cologne licks my nostrils, teasing my senses. It's intoxicating.

Damn him!

“Well, I guess I wouldn't have had the chance,” I say, lowering my voice to a hushed whisper, “with your dick down in my throat.”

He nervously shifts his weight from one Ferragamo loafer to the other. Beads of sweat instantly pop up across his forehead. “Fuck.” He runs a hand down over his mouth. “This is awkward as hell. I didn't know you were my client's wife until I looked over and saw you sitting with counsel. My client told me who you were when I glanced over in your direction.”

“In the flesh,” I say, repeating his line.

“Shit,” he grumbles, glancing at his Rolex. “I probably should see if I can get someone else from my firm to handle this.”

I tilt my head. “Why?”

“Well, uh, given the circumstances. I think…”

“You should stay on as his attorney, Wil.” I grin. “There's really no need in getting all nervous and pulling out now. It's only a restraining order hearing. I won't tell, if you won't.”

“Right, right.”

“But if you're planning on representing him in my divorce, then I'd probably rethink passing his case over to someone else real fast because it's going to get real messy.” He tells me he's a criminal defense attorney by trade that someone else from his firm would most likely take on his case for our divorce.

“Lucky him,” I say sarcastically. “Do me a favor. Since you're a criminal attorney, when you go back over to your
client
, tell him I want the names of all the niggas he had rape me
after
he staged my kidnapping.” He blinks, shock registering on his handsome face. “Yeah, that's what
your client
did to me when he found out I was out throating dick behind his back.” His mouth drops open. He opens his mouth to speak, but I don't give him a chance to. “By the way…how are the wife and kids?”

He nervously clears his throat. “They're good. Thanks. Listen. I better get going. They'll be calling us in shortly. Is your contact info still the same?”

I nod. “Yup. It sure is.”

There's really no difference between gold diggers, ditch diggers or gravediggers…

“A
ll rise!” the bailiff says in a singsong voice, opening the back courtroom door. In walks this regal-looking sister with skin the color of dark fudge. The courtroom falls silent as she briskly makes her way toward the bench, her black judge's robe swooshing behind her as she climbs up the stairs to the bench and sits.

“Court is now in session!” the bailiff barks. “The Honorable Precious Lenora Mobley presiding. All electronic devices are to be turned off now. Please be seated.”

Judge Mobley glances around the courtroom. “Good morning.” She clears her throat, placing her reading glasses on. “We are here on the matter of Pasha Nivea Tyler v. Jasper Tyler in determining probable cause for a final restraining order on an existing TRO. Docket number F2013-01033.” She looks up from her papers. “I see we have counsel here for both parties. Counselors, please identify yourselves for the record.”