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Authors: Curtis L. Alcutt

Sins of a Siren

BOOK: Sins of a Siren
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Strebor Books
P.O. Box 6505
Largo, MD 20792
http://www.streborbooks.com
www.SimonandSchuster.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

© 2011 by Curtis L. Alcutt

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.

ISBN 978-1-59309-333-4
ISBN 978-1-4516-2876-0 (ebook)
LCCN 2011928050

First Strebor Books trade paperback edition October 2011

Cover design:
www.mariondesigns.com
Cover photograph: © Keith Saunders/Marion Designs

1 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Manufactured in the United States of America

The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at
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.

T
HIS NOVEL IS DEDICATED TO MY LATE COUSIN
, D
ENISE
“T
U
-T
U
” E
MERY
.

Enjoy your stay in Heaven. The void you left in our hearts can never be refilled, but the memories you left us can thankfully be relived. Rest in Peace, kinfolk…

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

About the Author

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First let me thank God for choosing me as a vessel to share my tales with the world. Next, I'd like to send a special shout-out to the supporters and friends I've been blessed to have met while patronizing Carol's Books in Sacramento, CA. In no particular order: Rickey T. Boyland, Titus Thomas, Rod Thompson, Delaire Doyle, Fernando Walton, Shon Miller, Jamie Nero, Kimberly Biggs, Doc, Leroy, Lisa Pattee, Kevin Bowan, Nicole Mattox, Deneshia Johnson, Warren Spirling, Veronica Kyle, Bobby Mitchell, Allan, T.A. Scott, Portia Dickens, Simply the Band, Tammy Dillard, and her highness, Sharon Wright. I am truly honored to be in the orbit of such an awesome collection of friends.

My sons, attend unto my wisdom, and bow thine ear to my understanding. The lips of a temptress drip with honey, and her mouth is smoother than oil; but her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword. Her feet go down to death; her steps take hold on Hell. Her ways are moveable, that thou canst not know them. Hear me now therefore, O ye children, and depart not from the words of my mouth. Remove thy way far from her, and come not nigh the door of her house.

—P
ROVERBS
5:3-14

One

“Mmmmmm,
Trenda
! Don't stop!
Suck
that muthafucka!” Darius yelled as he ejaculated.

Trenda Fuqua, the sultry, short, thick, beige-colored woman wiped cum off her chin, cheek and neck. “I
told
you to tell me before you nut; I damn near got some in my mouth!” She stood, snatched the long blonde wig off her head and threw it in his face. “You
know
I don't drink babies.” She then glared at him and thought,
not yours, anyway.

Darius reeled his dick in and zipped up his pants. “It ain't gonna hurt you to swallow every now and then, baby!” He grinned and rubbed her short, neat, rusty-red afro. “Besides, it'll make your hair grow.”

She slapped his hand off her head, picked up her purse and removed her equalizer—a stainless steel Butterfly Knife she called “Baby.” In three quick flicks of her wrist, the razor-sharp blade left a two-inch scratch across his tan, flat stomach. “
Bitch!
Are you
crazy
?” He wiped the small beads of blood with his fingertips, looked at it, then glared at her. “I should knock the shit out of you!”

She held the blade inches from his navel. “Next time you put your hands on my head without my permission, I'll show you what your intestines look like.”

He smiled as he put on his white T-shirt, bulletproof vest and dark blue uniform shirt. “That's no way to talk to a friend.”

She closed up the Butterfly, placed it back in her purse and
removed a tube of rose-colored lipstick. “You stopped being a ‘friend' once you started shakin' me down for your sick-ass sex fantasies.”

He buckled his utility belt and adjusted his pistol as she applied a coat of her lipstick. “From what I hear on the street,” he picked up his uniform cap and placed it on his faded haircut, “I'm the only friend you got. I heard last week that one of the ‘deliveries' you made to Orlando came up two-hundred-and-fifty-grand short. Now the Island Boys are lookin' for you. And you know those Haitian gang-bangers don't play.”

“That's some bullshit. You know goddamned well it was your punk-ass partner, Tyrone, that robbed me.” She fixed him with an icy glare as she put away her lipstick. “And I
know
you got half the money.”

He walked over and stood in front of her. “You might wanna watch ya mouth.” He grinned as he gazed at her bare breasts. “Besides, that's the kinda shit that happens when you're late with my payments.”

She picked up the wig, placed it in her purse and glowered at him with her green eyes. “Kiss my ass; don't make me have to turn your dirty ass in…I ain't fuckin' wit' you no more.”

He upholstered his Glock, snatched her by the throat and placed the barrel in the cleavage of her thirty-eight D-cup breasts. “Look, you dope-runnin' ho', you got it twisted; I'll tell
you
when it's over. And don't you
ever
threaten to tell anybody,
anything
about me. You got that?”

She thought about what he and his partner did to her connection, Diamond, two years ago and continued to stare him down. Darius grimaced and gripped her throat tighter, cutting off her air supply. Her toes barely touched the floor as the six-and-a-half-foot tall man choked her.
I swear on everythang you gonna pay for this shit,
she thought right before he tossed her on the motel's worn-out carpeted floor.

He stepped over her as she fought to catch her breath. “I'll see you here at the same time next week. Bring the short-haired blonde wig with you.”

A rain-filled burst of wind attacked the room as he opened the door and left. She staggered to her feet.
Time to end this bullshit.

Two

A
fter catching her breath, Trenda walked over to the desk that sat across from the bed.
I got somethin' for you, muthafucka
. On the desk, her camcorder sat underneath her black wool jacket. She removed the strip of black electrical tape, which she had used to cover the glowing red recording light. She then replayed her sex session with Darius on the monitor.
Oh yeah, your wife is gonna love this.

She washed up, put on her black jeans, black boots, and black Baltimore Ravens sweatshirt, packed up the camera and left the Sandman Motel.
I can't believe I let Darius treat me like some kinda ho for this long!
Flipping up the collar of her wool jacket, she walked to her silver Isuzu Rodeo as the rain saturated her hair.
Every Friday night the same shit. I've been his fool and pussy-provider for way too long.

The years she'd spent hustling dope and people ran through her head as she pulled out of the motel parking lot. A dentist in Philadelphia had purchased the Isuzu she drove after spending a weekend of enjoying her oral skills. A Baltimore Orioles baseball player had furnished her former apartment. She lost it while doing time in the Federal Detention Center in Philadelphia. A high-powered D.C. lawyer she'd whipped her goods on, had helped get, and keep her out of jail. Her list of sexual victims stretched from Boston to Miami. Some called her a prostitute; some called her a whore. Trenda considered herself a twenty-six-year-old entrepreneur; she used what she had to get what she wanted.

“Where you been, heffa?” Piper, Trenda's roommate, asked. They shared a two-bedroom apartment in the Park Charles apartment complex. Piper, a tall, bronze and heavyset student of the University of Maryland, chewed on a fish stick as she stared at her soaking wet roommate.

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