The Banks Sisters 3 Read online

  Wolfe said, “You know I appreciate you, right?”

  Rydah nodded. “Yeah. I do. But you don’t have to keep telling me.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “But that’s the reason why I do so much for you.” Though he’d undressed thirty minutes ago, he never shed his confidence. It radiated like the morning sun, along with the 10 carats of flawless diamonds set in the necklace he wore.

  Rydah watched as Wolfe adjusted himself in the tub to sit up comfortably. He had perfect posture.

  “Make me a promise?” he said to Rydah

  “What is it?”

  “Promise me that you will never look at me like a crippled, trick-ass nigga who tries to buy affection. The minute I think that, I’m out.”

  “Wait a second!” Rydah said abruptly and then lowered her voice, letting her eyes meet Wolfe’s. “I don’t see you as no cripple anything.” She was buck naked, standing next to the tub. “And you’re far from being a trick-ass nigga, because for one, I don’t trick, and I don’t fuck with niggas. I date men—not niggas. I care about you because of who you are, not what you have or what you can do. My love for you is genuine. And if you don’t get that,” she said, turning the tables on him, “then you won’t have to leave, because I’ll be the one that’s out.”

  Wolfe admired her spunk, her curves, and her confidence as he searched her eyes for deception, larceny, or bullshit. But all he saw in her eyes was love.

  “I’ll never doubt you again,” he said.

  She punched him. “You better not.” Wolfe could be a bipolar, moody-ass motherfucker sometimes, but she loved him.

  Wolfe reached out to her. “Com’ere, baby. When was the last time I told you how beautiful you were? I’m glad you mines.” He pulled her closer, coercing her in the tub with him.

  Once he had her in the tub, Wolfe leaned into her, licking and sucking on Rydah’s perfectly round breasts. She stroked his already rock-hard manhood. Looking in his eyes, she sat down on his dick for a few minutes, gyrating. The tub was big enough to hold the both of them easily, with room to spare. After about and twenty strokes, Wolfe busted inside of her.

  “Damn,” he said bashfully, “the pussy is so good I’m firing off like Quick Draw McGraw.”

  “It was mind-blowing while it lasted,” she said.

  No matter how hard he tried, Wolfe couldn’t control himself when he was inside of Rydah. “I’m going to get some of those pills,” he said. “I hate getting mine before you get yours.”

  Rydah rolled her eyes. “Bump that Viagra shit.” She had a girlfriend that told her about the effects. “I don’t need nobody fucking me for hours on top of hours, stretching my shit all out of proportion. I don’t need any highway miles on this.” She laughed. “I love the intensity of the sex we have. It’s everything.”

  They kissed.

  “Play with my pussy.”

  He did.

  Rydah closed her eyes, enjoying motion of his fingers inside of her. “Besides,” she said, “I think I’m getting too old to be getting fucked for hours. It’s perfect the way it is.”

  Wolfe knew that she was stroking his ego, but he smiled anyway. He planned to get the pills first thing in the morning. I should’ve been copped them, he thought.

  After Wolfe’s fingers accomplished what his dick hadn’t, Rydah kissed him. There’s more than one way to skin a cat. She kissed Wolfe, soaped up the wash cloth, and began washing his chest. She asked if he wanted anything to drink.

  “I have water, wine, and cognac.”

  “Hennessy.”

  “Coming up.” She reached over to the stand beside the tub and poured the drink, and a glass of wine for herself.

  Rydah took her time washing him up, and Wolfe was enjoying every second of it. When she was done, she quickly bathed herself, hopped out of the tub, and grabbed two towels—one to dry off her body and the other for her hair. Then she reached for the other towels she’d laid across the chair for Wolfe.

  When she tried to dry him off, he said, “I got it. I can do it myself.”

  “Really, Wolfe? Why do we have to keep going through this?”

  “Old habits are hard to break. Work with me,” he said.

  “I will. Now let me dry your crazy ass off.”

  “I thought you had to get dressed for a dinner date with what’s-her-name?”

  “Buffy. Yeah, I do.”

  “You know you are amazing, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Among other things.” She giggled.

  “You got that right. Who other than me has a girl that rebuilt a car for them?”

  They made their way to the bedroom, and as soon they were near the bed, Wolfe aggressively took control. He surely wasn’t acting like a man with one leg.

  Chapter 6

  Pimp Or Die

  Zzzzzzz . . . zzzzz . . .

  Wolfe’s phone vibrated.

  “Duty calls.”

  Rydah removed herself from Wolfe’s arms.

  Wolfe reached for his phone and looked at the screen. “Damn. Forty-seven missed calls,” he said.

  “You’re a busy guy.” As soon as the words left her mouth—riiinnggg—it was her phone.

  Wolfe said, “No more busy than you.”

  “It’s nobody but Buffy.”

  BUFFY: What’s yo status?

  RYDAH: Another hour, just out tub.

  BUFFY: Cool

  Rydah asked Wolfe, “What do you think I should wear? Shorts, jeans, or a dress?”

  Wolfe said, “Shorts. And those come-fuck-me boots I just got you.”

  “The Tom Ford thigh-high ones.”

  “Those ones.”

  Rydah pulled out the boots, a pair of cut-off Daisy Duke shorts, and a bedazzled baby T-shirt. “Thanks for the help, babe.” She leaned in and kissed him. She got up got dressed and then did her makeup and hair.

  Wolfe left the same time as she did, and they both headed out into the world to hold up their ends of the bargain: him business, and her social.

  * * *

  Rydah got in her car then realized that she wanted to change her purse. Instead of the crossbody bag that she first decided to wear, she ran back in to get her big Birkin bag. She changed everything out and headed back to the car. Then on the way downstairs in the parking deck, she brushed against some wet paint from the maintenance man who’d painted earlier.

  “Shit.” She shook her head. Changing clothes would make her run late, but she had to, or not go. She ran back upstairs and changed into some short jean shorts, a black top, and tall thigh-high Tom Ford lace-up-from-the-front-to-the-thigh 6-inch sandals.

  Just then, Buffy called, “Girl, where are you?”

  “On 95. Where are we meeting?”

  “We will decide once we together. Come to The Burger Chef on Sixty-ninth. It’s right off the highway.”

  “Sixty-ninth?”

  “Yeah, like I’m right there now.”

  “Girl, not really feeling that area.”

  “It’s on and off the highway, and I’m right here. Soon as you jump off, I’ma be right there.”

  Rydah was feeling a bit off beat, and something in her told her not to, but she went ahead and agreed. “A’ight, be there in less than five.”

  “I’ma be right here waiting.”

  “Cool.” She disconnected the call, and all of a sudden an awful headache came on.

  * * *

  Rydah pulled into the parking lot, which was crowded with a lot of people handing out. It was Negro Central. Hordes of people were hanging out or soliciting illegal merchandise in the parking lot.

  Damnnnn! she thought. It’s a lot of motherfuckers out this bitch. And no fucking Buffy! She said she was here already. I need to get the fuck up out of here!

  Just then, the phone rang. It was Buffy. “Girl, where the hell are you?”

  “Right here at the light.”

  “Girl, I’m leaving.”

  “Nooooo! Don’t! I’m literally right here at the light. And I can’t turn o
n red. Just get you a water or soda from the drive-thru, and as soon as you wheel out, I’m going to be there.”

  Rydah hesitated. She was thirsty and knew that she should just leave and go back home, but she agreed.

  Not even a full 90 seconds had passed before a guy somersaulted into the passenger’s seat of her car, Dukes of Hazzard style. All she heard was him hit the leather bucket passenger’s seat.

  Rydah looked over at the young black guy in her car with his hoodie on. Her first thought was that it was one of the Bike Life guys playing a trick on her. “Who the hell are you?”

  Hooded Guy flashed a shiny silver handgun and uttered, “You know what’s up. Drive, bitch.” He cocked the gun.

  Rydah knew by the look in his eye that he meant business. Caught off guard, she couldn’t think on her feet. All she did was put the car in gear.

  “Bitch, put the top up.”

  “I can’t. It’s T-tops,” she lied.

  “Bitch, stop lying. Don’t fucking play with me.”

  Rydah’s hands were tied. She slowly pulled out of the drive-thru. Things seemed to move in slow motion. For a few seconds, she couldn’t think straight.

  “Turn left and then right. Don’t make any crazy moves. And don’t try no stupid-ass shit, bitch.”

  She followed instructions, looked straight ahead, and then took a deep breath. Rydah remembered what the news said about being kidnapped, and those do’s and don’ts kept running through her head.

  If the kidnapper moves you from one location to another, the odds of you being killed increase.

  Yeah, bitch.” He smiled and nodded. “I’m going to get a lot of money from you, ho-ass bitch,” he spit out with venom.

  A lot of money? Hells naw. You’s a motherfucking lie, nicka! That was the initial thought that ran through her head. That’s when the skid marks went off in her head. She knew she needed to get out of that situation, and quick.

  “Turn right at that light, bitch,” he demanded.

  She looked over at him, and he spit, “Bitch, what the fuck you looking at?”

  That was the last bitch she was going to be.

  It’s pimp or die! Kill or be killed! It’s survival of the illest!

  Indeed, she would make that right turn as instructed.

  It was a delayed response, but all of a sudden, she had to take her life back or she was going to die trying. That’s when she put the pedal to metal. The CEO of Lamborghini would have been proud how she handled the German engineering and 175 horsepower like a seasoned Lamborghini pro, pulling off a processioned right turn.

  SKIRRRRRRRRD!

  She slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a sudden, complete stop. She hit the seat belt and the button that released the door and was making a mad dash like Jackie Joyner Kersey in her Tom Fords, getting down the street, screaming and literally running for her life.

  Rydah had about a five-second head start before the kidnapper knew what had just happened and could regroup. He stood on his knees in the car and let off a couple of shots. Then he jumped out like Magic Mike in his Jordans and began to run after her, gunning and unloading the rest of his clip.

  Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow!

  Chapter 7

  When God Got It

  Rydah stumbled. She heard the tires on her Lambo speed off. She turned to look and saw her car swerve across the street. He had almost lost control but quickly managed to grab the wheel and took off down the street. The last thing she saw of him were the car’s brake lights.

  She started creaming at the top of her lungs. “Help! Help! Help!”

  “What happened?” a concerned bystander asked.

  “I was robbed and my car was stolen,” she managed to get out in a panic. “Call 911.”

  Before she even finished her sentence, it was apparent that someone had called them already. She could hear sirens getting closer and closer, and in the blink of an eye, they were on the scene.

  The corner was full of detectives, officers, and bystanders. In the midst of everything, a man brought her phone to her. It had been on her lap and fell out of the car when she jumped out. The screen was shattered, and it wouldn’t power on.

  Seconds later, Buffy showed up. She seemed distraught. “Oh my goodness. What happened, doll?” Buffy ran up to Rydah and hugged her, sidestepping an officer who tried to keep her away while he asked Rydah a million questions.

  “Did you know the person who tried to abduct you? What was he wearing? How old was he? What was his nationality? Have you ever seen the perpetrator before tonight? Would you recognize him if you saw him in a lineup? Do you think that this person was after you, or your automobile? Where did you get an expensive car like that?”

  The questions were endless, and the scene quickly turned into a circus.

  Someone amongst the growing crowd screamed, “Are you okay, baby?” It was Amanda. Rydah’s mother didn’t play when it came to her baby. She couldn’t give a damn what police had to say. She pushed her way through the thickly congregating group of people.

  When she finally reached the front, a police officer stopped her. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can’t come any closer.”

  “That’s my daughter over there, Officer . . .” She read his tag. “Officer Piper. I have to make sure she’s okay.”

  Officer Piper looked to Rydah for confirmation. Rydah ran over and gave her mother a hug.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine, Mom. Just a little shook up. That’s all.”

  Her father, Maestro, made his way through the crowd after parking the car. After seeing that she was alive, he looked up at the sky and screamed, “God is great! God is great!”

  Maestro had the entire set of bystanders coming to Jesus. The makeshift crime scene turned into a praise party.

  Amen!

  And when it was all said and done, he cursed the person who did this to his daughter.

  “May God have mercy on their soul . . . because a wrath is coming!”

  Chapter 8

  Meet the Parents

  “Take me home.”

  The police were finally done questioning her. Halfway through, the so-called questions began to feel more like an interrogation, and Rydah felt more like a suspect than the victim of a crime.

  “The only place you’re going is to our house,” said Amanda.

  Rydah’s father seconded his wife’s motion.

  “We need to spend the rest of the night praising God for sparing your life. It’s the least that we can do for our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.”

  Rydah grew up in the church, but unlike her parents, she sometimes questioned why or if God did all the things people gave Him credit for. For instance, if it was truly God who saved her life, then who was it that tried to take her life away?

  Rydah rode in the back seat of her father’s Bentley, thinking about what had happened. She reran every detail of the ordeal through head over and over. Maestro was behind the wheel, praying, while Amanda fidgeted with the small gold and diamond cross that she always wore around her neck. The dainty cross hung from a thin chain that she’d had since childhood.

  Rydah believed it was her quick thinking and the carjacker’s bad shooting that saved her life, but she knew better than to argue with her parents, especially about anything they deemed religious. Instead, she sat in the back seat of the car and thanked God for her life. It must have been her good karma coming back.

  Maestro’s Bentley pulled into her parents’ driveway, and the second they were through the front door, Amanda’s phone rang.

  “Blessed be the Lord. This is the Banks residence, where we serve an awesome God. Sister Banks speaking.”

  Rydah smiled. Her mother had always taken great pride in her phone etiquette and salutations.

  Rydah watched as her mother carried on a conversation that was obviously about her. “Why, yes, she’s alive! A little shook up, but she’s so resilient. By the grace of God, my baby had God’s favor and was in His keeping care . . . so
yes, I’m blessed.”

  Rydah rolled her eyes.

  “Why, yes, he’s right here. I’ll let you men handle that part. Here, honey.” Amanda passed her cell phone to Maestro. “Someone wants to speak to you.” Maestro raised an eyebrow. His wife said, “It’s William. Rydah’s friend.”

  Maestro put Wolfe on speakerphone and cordially asked, “What can I do for you, Brother William?”

  Rydah held her breath as she listened to her father on the phone with her man.

  “I know we’ve never met, Mr. Banks, but I’m a good friend of your daughter’s.”

  “So I hear,” said Maestro.”

  “And I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Likewise.”

  “But for now,” said Wolfe, “I would like to know if anything was taken from Rydah besides her car.” Wolfe had heard about the carjacking from the streets. He tried calling Rydah, but her cell phone kept going to voice mail. He knew she was supposed to be meeting Buffy for dinner, so he retrieved her number from a guy he knew that fucked with her off and on, then gave Buffy a call. A shaky-sounding Buffy was the one who told him that Rydah was okay and had left the scene with her parents.

  “Not much,” Maestro said to Wolfe,.“I think she said she left her pocketbook behind when she jumped out, with her iPad, camera, wallet, gun, and all the other contents.” Maestro looked back at his daughter. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

  Rydah said, “Yes, sir.”

  The handbag alone was worth ten stacks.

  Wolfe said, “If the cat who stole her car has her keys, though security in that building is tight, she still need her locks changed immediately. I can head over and take care of that now.”

  “That’s very nice of you, young man. I’ll tell you what—I’ll meet you there and give you a hand. I’ll also have Rydah alert her security to the situation.”

  Maestro was a lot like Wolfe in that way. Looking at them, people wouldn’t think so, because they seemed so opposite on the surface, but Maestro and Wolfe shared many of the same qualities. For starters, both men were strong, powerful leaders. Maestro led from the pulpit, while Wolfe led from the streets. Each was well respected by his peers, although for Maestro, that respect was manifested by love, whereas Wolfe’s was manifested by fear. But respect was respect, and the way it was obtained didn’t change the fact that it existed. And both men would do anything for the women in their life. Also, Maestro was much more street savvy than people gave him credit for.