Millionaire Mistress 3
By Tiphani Montgomery
DAFINA BOOKS
Copyright © 2009
Tiphani Montgomery
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-6327-8
Chapter One
Chloe
Fucked up.
Broken.
Left for dead.
But a bad bitch never died. Not before her
time. Not when there were more backs to stab
and people to kill. It had been six months
since that horrible night in the warehouse
where everyone left me for dead. Six torturous
months, and my body still hadn't completely
healed from the war wounds I received
that night. Six long months, and this hospital
was the place I still called home, without any
money or the love of my life, Brooklyn, by my
side.
Yesterday marked my fifth and last surgery
to correct the stomach and small intestinal
damage that Bella's bullets were responsible
for. Those were the same bullets that were
meant to end my life. Bella, just nine years old
now, had an enemy for life. The pain that the
surgery caused would last only for a few more
days, but I just couldn't wait for all of this to
be over with.
I had places to go.
People to take off the face of this earth.
And money to make.
For six long months, I had remained weak
and restless on this piece of shit they called a
hospital bed, while I plotted my revenge. I
reached over and grabbed the large mirror
with the red handle that sat on the food tray.
Even though it sat right next to my bed, it
took minutes for me to hold it up to my face.
Out of fear. Fear of what I would see. Countless
times a day, I looked at myself in the mirror,
still unsure why I expected to see a different
reflection.
It had been only a week since I'd received
plastic surgery on my face, and it was still all
bandaged up. I looked like a mummy now.
But looking like this was much better than the
face I had been left with. From the knife that
had been dug into the right side of my face, to
my left ear, which had been cut off, and not to
mention the burns ... I'd looked like the Elephant
Man.
I'd let my hair grow to the middle of my
back in an attempt to hide the deformity of
being earless, but I wished I had something to
cover up my horrible burns just as easily. When
Brooklyn left the warehouse, his attempt to
set the place on fire succeeded, but he failed
at the most important task of getting rid of
me. I managed to get out with third-degree
burns to my hands, arms, and a small portion
of my face. Deep down in my heart I knew
that Brooklyn wanted me to live and just had
to put on a show for Oshyn. I couldn't wait for
the chance to show him that his plan had
worked.
I spent every second of every day, every hour
of every week, and every month just thinking
about how I was going to get each of those
muthafuckas back for leaving me scarred for
life. Bella, Oshyn, and Mye had to die a slow,
painful, agonizing death, but Brooklyn would
be mine.
I knew he would.
Even though I relived our reunion daily,
this day was different. It was the Fourth of
July, Oshyn's birthday. I'd make sure she would
never see another one again. I set the mirror
on my bed and picked up the hospital phone,
placing a call to the only place where dudes
got things done.
Rochester, New York.
I had my homey Tuff looking into Oshyn's
and Brooklyn's whereabouts, and I needed to
know if there was any progress in the search.
It had been several weeks since he'd started
his hood search, and my patience had run its
course.
He answered.
On the last ring.
Knew it was me. Wanted me to wait.
"Tuff, why do you insist on making me so
damn angry?"
Little did he know that me being angry was
the last thing he needed.
"Angry? Nobody gives a fuck about your
crazy ass being angry. Fuck you, Chloe! And
didn't I tell you that I would call you when I
got the information?"
I took a deep breath and weighed my options,
which included cursing him out, but
quickly realized that wouldn't do me any
good. I wasn't in a position to make too many
demands, so for now I had to comply. Later, I
vowed to myself, he would pay.
"Well, when the fuck will you know?" I asked
anxiously.
This was as nice as I could be.
"All I know for now is that they're living in
another country."
In another country, I silently repeated to myself
as I wondered where they could've moved
to. Ever since Oshyn heard the horror story of
her mother going into labor on a cruise ship,
she had never really trusted foreign travel and
always wanted to stay in the States, just in case
things went wrong. But I could never fully
understand why ... especially since these
were all lies.
Her mother wasn't really her mother, and
the stories Roslyn made up were concocted
only to cushion the blow of the truth of how
Oshyn was conceived, which was by rape. I
couldn't help but laugh as I thought of how
meaningless Oshyn was even at the beginning
of her life. Conceived out of hate, she was
never wanted. But killed out of hate would be
my job.
"When will you know?" I asked Tuff again
in my deep, kick-ass voice.
"I just haven't pinpointed where they are
yet. I should know by next week, at the latest."
"Next week? Muthafucka, we ain't working
on black people time! I need this information
now!" I had tried being nice to his faggot ass,
but dudes like him only understood being
talked down to. He didn't deserve respect. "I
knew that your whack ass couldn't get something
like this done."
His breathing pattern shortened.
Yet got heavier.
I could sense that I was pissing him off, and
I was pleased at how easy it was to throw him
off track. He was a man that hadn't mastered
his emotions, and I knew that I would be able
to take him off his game at the drop of a
dime.
This is going to be too easy, I thought.
"Never send an incompetent little fucking
boy to do a grown man's job!" Disgust filled
my voice.
His breathing pattern now resembled an
asthmatic's wheezing. I was sure that I had
struck a nerve.
"Yo, you lucky you not in front of me right
now, or I would—"
"Or you would what?" I butted in, not allowing
him to finish his sentence. "Kill me?" I
laughed.
Hard.
It took all the strength that I had in me to
calm myself down. I couldn't remember there
ever being a time when I just sat back and allowed
a man to talk to me any kind of way and
didn't put him in his place at that very moment.
But I realized that things had to be handled
very differently this time around. If I
wanted to win this war, I had to lay siege very
carefully with patience and precision. Two of
the very things I knew nothing about. Two of
the very things I'd had to learn quickly while
in recovery.
"Like I said, bitch," he continued, unfazed
by my laughter, "you lucky." He paused for a
few seconds. "Here's a phone number," he
said nastily before rattling off thirteen long
numbers. "Try that for now, but I want an
extra two hundred if it works."
"Yeah ... whatever, nigga. Just call me when
your dumb ass got my information!"
I hung up on him before my malicious words
took control and I ruined everything. Butterflies
flew around in my stomach, and my mouth
began to water, because I knew that the time
was near. I could taste it. By this time next
week I would get my revenge. Bandages or
not, I'd be on the first thing smoking when
Tuff called me with their location.
Chapter Two
Oshyn
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to
you, happy birthday, dear Oshyn ... happy
birthday to you!"
Rich.
Dark.
Pecan.
That was the color of my kitchen table,
which I sat at, with a smile painted on my face.
Brooklyn and Bella serenaded me with the
"Happy Birthday" song, while Mye Storie, oblivious
as to what was taking place, just smiled
and slobbered, seemingly hypnotized by the
flames of the twenty-six red, white, and blue
candles. The sweet smell of my homemade
buttermilk strawberry flag cake made all their
mouths water as they waited anxiously for me
to blow them out.
"Make a wish!" Bella demanded.
However, I just sat there in the midst of
what seemed like hundreds of balloons.
Frozen.
Unable to dream of a better life, one in which
my whole family was alive and together again.
A life in which my aunt Mahogany and my
mother shared sisterly love. A life in which
Chloe and I did the same. A life in which my
firstborn son and my best friend were back
and alive again. And my grandmother's heart
didn't fail her because of all the pain this family
had caused her.
I just sat there.
Not knowing what to wish for.
Not quite knowing if wishes still came true.
"Hello? Earth to Mother. Is anybody home?"
Bella asked sarcastically.
She was grown as hell to be almost ten and
insisted on calling me her mom. Even though
her fair skin, which was decorated with freckles,
and her green eyes both made her look
like the spitting image of her mom, Apples, I
could tell that she was slowly forgetting who
her mother was. I did everything in my power
to make her remember, but it was as if she didn't
want to. I had concluded that maybe it just
hurt too much. Maybe she wanted to pretend
as if the last two years of her life never existed.
As we all did. As I desperately tried to do constantly.
"Mom!" she said in slow motion.
Her neon green fingernails swayed in front
of my face as if she were trying to get the attention
of a handicapped person. As if I needed
special communication. She straightened the
dumb crystal tiara that I was forced to wear
back onto the center of my head, and then
stood in front of me with her hands crossed
over her chest. A chest that had grown breasts
the size of mosquito bites. I expected her period
to come within a year or so, which was another
problem that I could seriously do without.
I felt my husband staring at me as he sat off
to the side, holding our son on his lap. I guess
he couldn't take any more of my nonresponsiveness
when he asked, "Baby, we're waiting
on you to make a wish. What's wrong?"
I lowered my head as I felt the tears heading
to the surface. I kept my long, silky black
hair in the way, because it acted as a curtain
that, for the moment, hid my soul. I couldn't
answer Brooklyn, either.
So I sat in the kitchen of our large four-bedroom,
two-and-a-half-bathroom villa, inhaling
the scent of smoked barbecue, cake, and
ocean water. The true scents of Independence
Day, minus the fireworks, since we no longer
lived in the land of the brave.
Saint-Tropez was now the place I called
home. Located in southern France, on the
French Riviera, my new home was known best
for its famous and wealthy guests. The weather
was what you would expect of a Mediterranean
climate: scorching hot summer days, relieved
by refreshing evening breezes, and an incredibly
mild winter. There was no place I'd rather
be, and I often kicked myself for not thinking
about moving here sooner.
I eventually broke out of my trance and
looked up slowly like Oprah Winfrey's charac-
ter Ms. Sophia did at the dinner table before
she made her big speech. I had no idea who
didn't like the movie
The Color Purple. It was
my favorite.
"Umm ...," was all I could muster up be-
fore the phone rang for the third time today.
Brooklyn looked at the phone and then
back at me and said, "Just forget it. Finish
what you were saying."
"No ... answer it," I suggested, wiping my
tears away. I was no longer in the mood to make
my big speech. There was something more
important that needed to be taken care of.
"Baby, it's probably just my job calling.
J'eun was supposed to cover for me today, but
he never showed up. This is a holiday. You
know the Fourth is the busiest time of the
year. They probably just want me to come in
because he didn't." Brooklyn turned his back
to me. Probably didn't want me to see him lie
to my face. "I'm not going in today, so they
can forget it," he declared just before the
phone stopped ringing.
Chateau de la Messardiere, one of Saint-
Tropez's most popular resorts, was where
Brooklyn worked as a bartender. Although it
sounded like he made meager wages, we lived
more than comfortably in a three-hundred-
and-twenty-thousand-dollar home that had
great ocean views. The resort was a hot draw
for celebrities, models, and moguls, not to
mention July being the island's busiest month,
but I wasn't buying it.
"No, that's not it," I said calmly. I flung my
hair back behind my ears to get the strands
out of my face. I wanted him to watch my face
wrinkle up, showing him that I meant business.
"Two times today that phone has rung,
and both times all I heard was someone
breathing on the other end before hanging
up."
I knew in my heart that something wasn't
right, but he was doing everything in his
power to convince me otherwise.
The phone rang again.
And then again.
And then again.
And then it stopped.
"There, the ringing finally stopped. Now,
please blow out those candles before the wax
melts into the cake and we can't eat it!" Brooklyn
said impatiently as his six-foot-four frame
towered in front of me.
He handed his son, who was the spitting
image of him, to Bella and then turned his attention
back to me, lowering himself to be
able to place his lips on my forehead and then
again on my lips.
"Ewww, get a room," Bella snarled as she
turned away, trying to avoid the torture of witnessing
true love at its finest.
I looked into his gray eyes and suddenly remembered
the first time we fell in love, when
the worries of the world hadn't yet been
placed on our shoulders. Before he betrayed
my trust, and I forgave him for his sins.
He brought me back to the present moment
as he smiled at me like he always did,
showing off his trademark gap, which made
me crumble. The wife beater that he had on
revealed a body that he'd worked so hard at
perfecting, and the tattoos on his arm still
read BROOKLYN'S OSHYN and RIP MICAH.
The phone rang again, snapping me from
my thoughts of our past, and I found myself
staring at Brooklyn, no longer in admiration,
but in anger. Telling him through my eyes
that he better pick up the phone this time.
Thank God he listened.
"Hello? Hello?" He paused and then let his
eyes meet mine. "Hello!" he said once more
before hanging up.
"Guess that wasn't your job, after all, was it?"
I was being funny, but no one was in a
laughing mood. My birthday had been ruined
by the anonymous serial caller. I wasn't sure
why he didn't want to admit that something
more sinister was happening, but I knew.
"Bella, take Mye upstairs," Brooklyn instructed.
"But what about the cake?" Bella whined.
"What did I say?"
His tone got hard.
Fatherly.
"What's wrong with you?" she screamed at
me angrily. "We're finally a normal family again!
Why are you ruining everything?"
Brooklyn, not believing that Bella had disregarded
his instruction and was now talking
recklessly to me, lowered his eyebrows, increased
the boom in his voice, and asked her,
"What did you say?"
"I just want to know what's wrong with her."
A tear rolled down Bella's cheek as she looked
at me, expecting an answer.
An answer I couldn't give.
Because normal didn't exist in my world
anymore.
Because I was unsure of everything.
"Look at her," Bella continued. "Her expression
even looks funny."
I slowly turned my head to the right and
stared at the antique French mirror that hung
on the dining room wall, trying to see what
stared back at me. I noticed that my eyes were
glassy.
Red.
Confused.
I rubbed my slightly chapped lips together,
exposing the one dimple in my cheek, and let
the tears that had begun to form freely fall. I
still looked like the same ole Oshyn, but I was
tired.
Very tired.
"Bella, get your ass up those damn stairs,
and don't make me say it again," Brooklyn
warned. Realizing that the next time he yelled,
he would most likely follow up with his big
hand, she got up, with Mye hanging off her
side, and rolled her eyes as she carried the
toddler along with her.
As if he aggravated her.
Like she did us on a regular basis.
"Oshyn," Brooklyn said before finally blowing
out the candles himself. After that he took
a seat by my side. "Talk to me. What is all of
this about? Your whole attitude seems like it's
coming out of nowhere. Everything was cool
yesterday, last week, last month. What happened
today?"
He was right.
I had changed. Drastically.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Millionaire Mistress 3
by Tiphani Montgomery
Copyright © 2009 by Tiphani Montgomery.
Excerpted by permission of DAFINA BOOKS. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.