Vengeance (6 page)

When Hannah made that statement that night, I had no idea how factual it would become. Long story short, I did more than meet a bona-fide billionaire in Times Square. I ended up meeting my protector, provider, teacher, savior, biggest fan, talent developer, and often even my priest. I ended up meeting the
father
that I had never had!

It has been nearly twenty-five years since I left Atlanta. While I am grateful for all the success, wealth, and fame I have been able to obtain throughout this journey called life, I have never forgotten what they did to me. The four of them tried to break me and, for a time, they accomplished their goal. As my fortieth birthday approaches, before I celebrate that milestone, before I embrace that significant benchmark, vengeance will be mine.

—Wicket, circa 2012

Saturday, June 9, 2012

1:42 p.m.

Atlanta, Georgia

T
he Ritz-Carlton suite was over thirteen hundred square feet with a panoramic skyline view of Atlanta, a music area with a grand piano for me to practice on, an executive study, a butler’s pantry attached to the formal dining room, and a bedroom with the kind of high-thread-count bedding that I was accustomed to.

I was soaking in the massive tub with “Rolling in the Deep” by Adele seeping through the surround-sound system and singing along with the words. Her vibe was so relevant. Our musical styles varied somewhat but we were both getting paid to do what we were passionate about, so it was all good. The video for “Rolling in the Deep” had over 400 million views on YouTube, but my video for “The Other Side of the Pillow” had nearly 900 million views. Glad my body was looking tight that week we filmed it in Punta Cana. Otherwise, I would have been worried about people seeing my flaws forever and would have cringed when I heard the numbers. Even though my song was dope, the visual effects of the Dominican Republic made the video truly pop. Most people in the United States would only ever dream of traveling the world. I was blessed to actually do it on the regular. Sounds crazy but I had more than a million frequent flier miles.

Then again, I was actually flawless, keeping it real. I really didn’t have any choice other than to remain unblemished and impeccable with both my looks and tastes. Rivalry was thick in the music industry and it was no longer completely about selling records, even though I had sold more than 150 million albums and over a billion singles at that point in my career, shattering all kinds of records. It was about being a
performer
. Selling out arenas for hundreds—sometimes thousands, if bootlegged—of dollars per ticket and making the world believe you were the shit. That you could walk on water, that you were superhuman and unparalleled and untouchable.

Untouchable? I was definitely that for an overabundance of reasons. I tried to quickly distance myself from the long-ago memories that were persistently clambering back and focus on my upcoming show that evening. As always, I was going to turn it out, but first I had to get dressed and go do a sound check. I hated sound checks. They were nothing but an intrusion on a perfect day. I had been doing the shit long enough that they should have known exactly what settings to have on the soundboards, but each venue space was different, so I dealt with it.

Pure irony that I had never performed in Atlanta before. Then again, I had my reasons. Damn good reasons. Okay, the memories were coming back again. It was time to do something extreme . . . like playing in Thumper, aka my
cooter
, but what with?

I scanned the room as “Rack City” by Tyga came on.
Aw, yeah, some freaky shit for me to get off on!
I stood up, grabbed my back scrubber with the wooden handle, and then sat back down in the tub. I moved the end of the handle in and out of Thumper and closed my eyes. I started gyrating my hips to the music, like I was a stripper named Nutcracker working the pole, except the pole was literally between my legs and inside of me. I slid it in deeper and deeper until I was thrashing around in the tub by the time the song ended. I was an expert at getting myself off quickly.

“Damn!” I yelled out as I reached a toe-curling climax. Then I sighed.

It was what it was and I needed to finish bathing and get dressed. It was only a matter of time before Diederik, Antonio, and Kagiso—my three bodyguards—who occupied the suites surrounding mine, would come to get me for the sound check. One of them was
always
stationed outside my door. Too many damn nuts in the world obsessed with celebrities. One usually stayed in the lobby at all times, by the elevator as well. I felt like that only drew unnecessary attention, but they insisted. There is a very high cost for fame that no one could ever comprehend until they find themselves in that position.

Kagiso was straight from the African bush. At least, I would tease him about that. In all actuality, he was six feet five inches of intelligence, brawn, and fineness. Dark as midnight, with skin softer than butter, these clear brown eyes, and a cleft in his chin that women found to be an instant panty wetter. He had a master’s in early childhood education that he had obtained after moving to the United States on a visa to go to school. Don’t ask! Imagine a man that size sitting in a circle with five-year-olds. He had done it, though, for an entire decade, before he decided to pursue something else.

Antonio was from East L.A., born and raised, jumped into a gang at twelve, arrested for the first time at thirteen, and tired of living in chaos by sixteen. He ran away to San Diego, hung tight for a couple of years, joined the navy, served his country, and went into private security. At six two, he was the shortest of my bodyguards but was thicker than a Snickers, with muscles rippling everywhere. He had sepia eyes, dimples, cinnamon skin,
and
he was bowlegged—an added bonus.

Diederik was Nordic and get this,
six foot ten
. Looked like a tree walking toward you. Spiked blond hair, ice-green eyes, and a gorgeous bone structure. He looked like “Suck my dick” spelled out.

Yeah, I had some sexy-ass motherfuckers protecting my life, but I had never
technically
messed around with any of them, nor would I ever do such a thing. I happened to know for a fact that they all needed lap bands on their dicks, though. Men like them needed to come with both a warning label and a disclaimer:

FUCK OR SUCK AT YOUR OWN RISK! This dick could possibly tilt your cervix, cause your clit to swell up like a balloon, and you may have to toss cups of soapy water at your pussy for several days afterward because it will be too sensitive to the touch.

Antonio actually tilted a broad’s cervix once when we were touring in France. She had the nerve to try to slap me with a $12 million lawsuit. I did not have a damn thing to do with her making the decision to tackle that python in his pants. That shit was on her. People will sue over any damn thing when you have money, even if you’ve never met them, or even laid eyes on them before. When I saw photos of the chick, my first inclination was to ask Antonio what the hell he was thinking in the first place. But the women in France can be aggressive, and it’s not like I expected them all to be celibate year-round before they had to guard me. It was certainly not a prerequisite. They were grown-ass men who did grown-ass things. They were all single and free to mingle, but I was damned if I would pay some floozy for giving it up willingly and getting hurt. The most I would offer someone is a bottle of Advil and my condolences on having a big-ass pussy for the remainder of her natural life.

I had thrown on a sexy little number of a dress and some pumps about fifteen minutes later and put on some makeup. I was not the type to use a stylist, hairdresser, and makeup artist around the clock; only when I was about to go onstage, do a photo shoot, interview, or whatnot. A lot of my counterparts went through all of that shit to walk out on the veranda to do Pilates. It was not that serious. However, I was not going to get caught looking like I just emerged from a cave, either, so I kept it simple and classy. I looked good as shit without makeup but did not feel like dealing with the drama from tabloids and ratchet websites looking for an opportunity to do a caption of me slipping.

The knock came at my door. I grabbed my purse and went to answer it before someone panicked and knocked it down. I was not riding in the bulletproof SUV with my guards, though. I had other plans, and they were about to find that out.

P
iece of Shit, you better start eating pussy better or I’m going to beat the crap out of you with my shoe!”

We were in the back of a limousine on the way to Philips Arena for my sound check. KAD—what I called my three bodyguards when I was referencing all three of them—was in the SUV following us.

This was not working. “Um, Piece of Shit, did you hear me? Eat your late lunch like a good little boy, eat it all up, or I’m going to take the heel of my shoe and ram it up your chunky, over-fucked ass!”

He stopped for a moment and looked up at me. That fucking did it!

“Did you just look at me? Did you just have the nerve to fucking look at me?”

He quickly looked back down and started eating again, but not before I slipped my right pump off and started beating and scratching up his bare back with the heel.

“Don’t you ever fucking look at me!”
Whap!
“I will fuck your ass up, literally!”
Whap!
“I’ll find some three-hundred-pound, elephantine-dick motherfucker and present your ass to him like it’s a chocolate-covered doughnut, you little bitch!”

Piece of Shit started going hard on the pussy then, slopping and slurping at it like it was his last meal on earth. If he kept fucking with me, it was about to be his most degrading day ever.

“That’s a good little pet. Much better,” I said, calming down some and feeling Thumper growing more excited. “Um, I’m about to come,” I announced. “Just keep eating. Lap it like an ice-cream cone on a hot summer day in the park.”

I could feel myself about to explode and let my eyes roll up in the back of my head when Piece of Shit started moaning. That snapped me back to reality.

“Did you just fucking moan?” I started hitting him again with my shoe. “You’re not allowed to get any pleasure from this, Piece of Shit!”
Whap!
“I better not find any semen in those tight little pink panties I have on you, either. I’ll cut your damn dick off!”
Whap!
“Stupid-ass prick!”

Even though the partition was up in the limo, and I had a throwback Eminem album blasting through the sound system, I was sure the driver could hear something. He had better keep his trap shut or I would crack his damn nuts open, too.

“You know what,” I hissed. “You make my ass sick. Stop eating pussy and suck on some titty for a while. You’re acting like a baby anyway, so get to suckling.”
Whap!

Piece of Shit starting sucking like an infant within seconds—hungry ass.

I could see that we were turning into the back entrance at the arena and I was mad as shit. I hadn’t busted one yet. Fuck it! I used my other shoe—the one still connected to my foot—and kicked Piece of Shit in the ass, causing him to topple onto the floor of the limo and away from Glaze.

She looked at me in shock, like she had done something wrong. She was my
decent
pet. The one that I actually kind of liked, but I wasn’t taking any shit off her ass, either.

“It’s okay, Glaze,” I told her. “You did all right. Piece of Shit doesn’t know how to eat pussy right. I should’ve come by now.”

“Permission to put my clothes on, Mistress?” Glaze asked.

Her pussy juice had soaked down into the seat across from me after having being eaten the entire time, and her nipples appeared red from Piece of Shit sucking on them so hard, even though it was quick.

“Permission granted,” I replied.

I glanced down at Piece of Shit, who knew better than to ask me a damn thing. “Don’t you get dressed in my presence, you little fuck. I’ll deal with you later.”

I could feel Thumper getting angrier by the second. I was going to have to deal with people fawning all over me in a couple of minutes and the thought made me wince. I was habituated to it, but I needed a release. I would have to sneak a few moments in my dressing room to finish the job. I planned to use the heel of my shoe. Sleek, slightly thick, slightly painful. I would have to use some hand sanitizer on it first. Imagine trying to explain a cooter infection to a doctor that came from a nasty-ass heel.

The car came to a halt and Piece of Shit knew to crawl up in the corner so I could get out without anyone seeing him. KAD never asked me questions that they were not about to get answers to. They only knew that, from time to time, I had Stacy (Glaze) and Billy (Piece of Shit) join me somewhere on tour and that they stayed in a room together. In this case, they were staying seven floors below us at the Ritz. Most people assumed they were a couple, good friends of mine, instead of my pets that I humiliated whenever I felt like it.

“Will we see you later, Mistress?” Glaze asked.

I had named her that because she came like a geyser and her pussy was always glimmering with remnants. I had met her on a trip to Oahu. She was a stunning, petite Samoan in her early thirties and a stone-cold, submissive freak.

“No, you
won’t
see me . . .” I glared at her. “And don’t get too fucking comfortable and start acting like we’re homegirls or some shit like that, either.” She lowered her eyes before I opened up a can of kick-ass on her. “You and Piece of Shit go back to the hotel and lay low, order room service—but only one meal for the two of you—
and take your asses to sleep
.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Consider yourself lucky that I’m going to allow you to eat at all. Both of you let me down.”

“We’re sorry, Mistress,” they said in unison, although Piece of Shit’s came out as a whisper.

I met Billy when I was in Alabama doing a show. He was working backstage at the concert and our eyes met. The poor bastard actually believed that I would let him fuck me. Stupid ass! He learned fast, quick, and in a hurry when I took him back to my hotel suite that night. At first, he seemed scared to oblige my demands, but we worked the shit out. He was allowed to eat, fuck, and suck pussy—but not mine. Never that!