Hush Read online

  HUSH

  Amaleka McCall

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  VOLUME 1: THE CALL

  VOLUME 2: THE BRIEFING

  VOLUME 3: THE F.A.B.

  VOLUME 4: THE CITY OF NEW YORK

  VOLUME 5: THE GIRL

  VOLUME 6: THE CANDY SHOP

  VOLUME 7 : THE DEMONS WITHIN

  VOLUME 8: THE PARTY

  VOLUME 9: THE TRUST FACTOR

  VOLUME 10: THE FIRST MEETING

  VOLUME 11 : THE DECEITFUL ONES

  VOLUME 12: THE VISIT HOME

  VOLUME 13: THE WARNING

  VOLUME 14: THE SNITCH

  VOLUME 15: THE RE-OPENING

  VOLUME 16: THE LOVE I NEVER KNEW

  VOLUME 17: THE RAID

  VOLUME 18: THE TURNING POINT

  VOLUME 19: THE FEDS

  VOLUME 20: THE BITCH’S END

  VOLUME 21: THE ANSWERS

  VOLUME 22: THE ULTIMATE BETRAYAL

  VOLUME 23: THE FUNERAL

  THE LAST VOLUME: NOTHING TO LIVE FOR

  Copyright Page

  I dedicate this book to the men in my life—

  Daddy, Edmund, and Aiden.

  Thank you for your unconditional love.

  Everyone has a story to tell. Some stories are best told from the grave. The dead speak volumes, and the living learn page by page.

  Amaleka McCall

  Prologue

  September, 2006

  “In breaking news today, federal investigators report that after a one year undercover sting operation dubbed ‘Operation Candy Shop’, a multi-million dollar designer drug ring has been brought down. The ring, reportedly run by three of the most dangerous women operating between New York City, Newark, Baltimore and Mexico, were responsible for the illegal sale and circulation of prescription drugs like Oxycontin, Percocet, and Vicodin. The trio of woman were also reportedly running a large-scale methamphetamine distribution conglomerate. In recent years, these drugs have become just as popular and profitable as traditional street drugs such as heroin and crack-cocaine.”

  “According to the investigators, the drug ring was brought down by a joint effort between local police, the FBI, DEA, and ICE agents. The FBI credits the director of the Washington Field Office for the success of the operation. Investigators would not elaborate on the specific roles the women played, or their expected dates in court.”

  “We will continue to follow this story as it unfolds. For channel 9 news, I’m Chynna Brown. Back to you in the studio, Ed.”

  Deidre stared at the television screen, anger welling up inside of her like hot lava in a volcano. Nothing shocked her anymore, but her heart raced as she listened to the reporter’s words. She stood on wobbly legs, and the large vein in her neck pulsed fiercely against her skin. Months of lies, deceit and frustration sent a rush of heat through her bloodstream. “Arggggghhh!” she screamed, sending the coffee mug filled with her favorite hazelnut-flavored coffee sailing into the screen. “Fucking liars! Fucking bastards!” she screamed. The thought of how her life had ended up sent hot tears streaming down her high cheekbones.

  Deidre ignored the sparks flying and the damage she had inflicted on the television. Her mind racing, she ran up the creaking wooden stairs to the second floor of the cottage she had been staying at for the last three days. Reaching the top landing of the staircase, she bolted into the master bedroom. Panting for breath, she began frantically stuffing rubber banded stacks of money into a large Louis Vuitton duffel bag.

  She looked down at the expensive brown and beige bag, and she felt her heart sink. The bag had been a gift from Chastity and the girls. A long row of Gucci, Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo shoes peeked out from under the bed. Platinum and diamond jewelry sparkled from the dresser top. All had been gifts—tokens of appreciation for a job well done. Deidre couldn’t help but think about the good times she’d had with the crew. All of the shopping trips, parties, vacations, and just the girl talk in general. Deidre felt sick thinking about how everything had played out. She thought about how perfectly she had fit in with the F.A.B.

  Being the product of a mixed relationship—a half African-American and Irish mother and a half African-American and Dominican father—she never seemed to fit in with any one group growing up. For the African-American girls, she was too light and too cute because her hair was wavy and long. They hated her and let her know it every day.

  For the white Irish girls, just knowing she was part Black meant automatic exclusion. Besides, she wasn’t loose and nasty enough to hang with them. They’d all started giving blowjobs at thirteen.

  For the Dominicans, well, they couldn’t really talk because she looked more Hispanic than most of them, but she didn’t speak Spanish well enough to fit in.

  Exasperated, Deidre flopped down on the bed, snapping out of the past. Where the hell am I going? What the hell am I? Whose side am I on? Confusion over her duplicitous loyalties mounted, and suddenly a sharp pain invaded her abdomen and she felt nauseous. Hand over mouth, Deidre ran toward the bathroom, but didn’t make it in time. Warm vomit spewed between her fingers and ran down her forearms. Her nerve endings stood on end as she hunched over the old-fashioned porcelain sink and let the contents of her stomach empty into the basin. I have to pull myself together and get out of here, Deidre told herself, turning on the faucet to wet her face.

  As she finished washing her face and cleaning up her mess, she heard several loud knocks on the cedar wood cottage door. The sound jolted her. Eyes wide, she listened intently.

  “Bang! Bang!” Then a pause, and another “Bang!” The knocks were an all too familiar sound. They all had been trained to knock that way as a code for backup. They were conducting a raid like she was a common criminal.

  “Shit!” she whispered, her survival skills catching her around the throat. “How did they find me?” Deidre muttered, her heart racing painfully against her sternum. She’d been taught to get out of situations like this. Looking up at the bathroom window, she contemplated climbing out, but her expertise told her that they probably had snipers surrounding the building. Deidre was now the enemy. The sounds grew louder and closer. “Fuck!” she exclaimed through clenched teeth. Her hands shook uncontrollably. Deidre knew that the information she held would surely cost her her life. It’s all over now, she thought to herself. There was no where to go. However, Deidre didn’t plan on going out without a fight.

  She inched slowly over toward the bathroom door and locked it. She remembered that she kept her spare weapon hidden inside the Kotex box under the bathroom sink. She reached for the handles of the cabinet under the sink. Before she could retrieve the .357 Sig Sauer, her favorite gun, she heard footsteps and familiar voices thundering up the stairs toward her location. Instinctively, she got low to the ground, just as she had been trained to do, seeking cover as bullets whistled above her head and lodged themselves into the wood panels of the bathroom walls. She balled up into a turtle position, using her back as her shell. Glass rained down on her body, littering her hair, and shattering on her arched back. It was time to give up. If she didn’t surrender, the undercover recovery team would surely kill her. In the eyes of the same people she worked for, she was just like the criminals they’d hunted together. What set her apart was that she held too many secrets to live.

  Deidre stood up and raised her hands above her head as the door splintered open. “Aponte, it’s over. You need to come with us!” a familiar voice yelled over the chaos.

  Deidre looked into the eyes of the man to whom she had once professed her love. The jig was up, but far from over. The next few seconds seemed to mov
e in Matrix-like slow motion for her. The lone figure stood before her like the Grim Reaper.

  “Stay back! Stay back! The suspect is armed!” the man yelled to the other agents behind him, never taking his eyes off of Deidre. He wouldn’t allow his backup of rogue agents anywhere near his location, and Deidre knew just why that was.

  “Don’t do it!” she screamed, throwing her hands up in surrender as he leveled the gun at the center of her chest.

  “Drop your weapon!” he yelled deceitfully, drowning out her feeble attempts to elicit help from the other agents on the scene.

  Deidre was unarmed; she never had the chance to retrieve her gun. Immediately, she knew what he had in store for her. She squeezed her eyes together, causing the built-up tears to escape from the corners.

  “Boom! Boom! Boom!” The gun roared, hitting its intended target. The metal bullets seared through Diedre’s skin. She stumbled backwards from the powerful shots, hitting her head on the edge of the old-fashioned lion claw bathtub her mother and father had bathed her in as a child. Her body convulsed as blood spilled from her mouth and cascaded down her face and onto the cold floor. “Thump, thump, thump, thu . . . ” Diedre could both feel and hear her heartbeat slowly begin to fade. The pressure in her chest eased. She gurgled for air as her life flashed before her eyes.

  VOLUME 1: THE CALL

  January 2005

  Ricky grabbed a handful of Deidre’s hair and yanked her head back, positioning her face right in front of his. “Ugghhhh,” she grunted, keeping her eyes closed tightly. Ricky forcefully pressed his mouth against hers. His hot breath sent stabs of heated sparks down her spine. It felt like her vagina was going to explode, her juices dampening the insides of her bare thighs. She’d greeted him with just her robe on. Their tongues met, performing a wicked dance with one another. Deidre became so excited that she bit into Ricky’s bottom lip and drew blood.

  “Oww!” he yelped, followed by a seductive smile. “I love that shit . . . you nasty little bitch!” he said. Sucking the blood off his lip, Ricky released Deidre’s hair from his grip and shoved her. “Get on the floor!” he demanded.

  Deidre complied, stretching her body out on the fluffy throw rug in front of the fireplace. The orange and yellow flames produced a glow that made him look angelic.

  “On your stomach,” Ricky said, stepping out of his pants.

  Before she turned over, Deidre examined his strong legs, the result of his daily five-mile run, and his long tool in between. Who says white men ain’t packing? she thought to herself as she prepared to submit.

  Ricky looked good for his age. He had a thin, muscular frame with six-pack abs. His hair was still full with not a single sign of baldness white men his age often suffered from. For a man in his late fifties, Ricky resembled a sexy Don Johnson in his Miami Vice days.

  Deidre flipped her body over and slid her right hand under her stomach and fingered her soaking wet clitoris. “I like when you play with it for me,” Ricky whispered, dropping to his knees behind her. He started at her neck, licking the nape, and then moved slowly across her shoulders and down the center of her back with his tongue.

  “Ooh!” Deidre cooed. When Ricky reached her ass, the cooing turned into crooning. He placed his strong hands on Deidre’s ass cheeks and gently spread them apart. She responded by gently pushing her torso upward towards his face, yearning for his long wet tongue to enter her.

  “Ha-ha!” Ricky laughed wickedly. “You like when I lick you from front to back?” he asked, and then pressed his face between her ass cheeks while he held them apart. Ricky licked it from top to bottom, stopping at the hole for a minute and gently blowing.

  “Agghhhhh!” Deidre cried out in ecstasy. Ricky gently pushed on Deidre’s firm backside, urging her onto her knees. Once she got into position, he resumed his tongue massage. He bent his head and delved tongue first into her dripping hot box.

  Deidre grabbed a handful of carpet in response to Ricky’s warm tongue on her saturated labia. “Fuck me, please!” she growled. All of his tongue play had her overheated and panting. Ricky obliged. Lifting Deidre off the floor, he carried her to the bed and placed her in the center. Climbing onto the bed, he moved towards her, hungry for her loving. He kissed Deidre’s erect nipples, moving slowly back up to her mouth. Wedging his hips between her knees, he entered her.

  “Ohhh, Ricky! Right there! Right there! Harder! Harder!” Deidre pleaded as she grabbed a handful of Ricky’s salt and pepper colored hair.

  “Whose pussy is this?” he grunted in response, pumping his ass in and out with awkward rhythmless vigor. “It’s your puss-e-e-e-e!” Deidre screamed as she climaxed, tightly wrapping her legs around his slender waist.

  Before Ricky could return the favor, the sound of crashing glass cut through the air. The sound came from inside the house. “What was that?” Ricky huffed through labored breaths, simultaneously jumping up and reaching for his weapon.

  “I don’t know!” Deidre whispered, eyes wide, also searching for her weapon. She rolled over and got off the bed, spotted her gun and began frantically searching in the darkness for a T-shirt or any item of clothing to cover herself with. Neither of them were prepared for what they heard next.

  “Deidre Aponte is a home-wrecking whore! Do you hear me? She wrecks homes and can’t get a man of her own! She is in this house right now fucking my husband!” the shrill but slurred voice belted out like a wounded opera singer. Pain and hurt were evident behind each syllable.

  Shocked, Deidre pulled back the thick chenille curtains in her bedroom window. Standing in the driveway of Deidre’s townhouse was Lorna Blum, professing all of Deidre’s sins to the neighbors in Deidre’s posh, Fairfax, Virginia neighborhood. Clearly inebriated, Lorna continued to scream her profanities to anyone who would listen.

  “Oh shit!” Ricky exclaimed as he fumbled with his pants, nervously stumbling around in circles as he tried to pull them on in a rush. His skin was red with embarrassment like a cooked lobster.

  Before he could gather up the remainder of his belongings, Deidre heard more glass breaking. She watched from her bedroom window as Lorna sailed a brick through the windshield of her Mercedes Benz CLK 430. Deidre was powerless, and embarrassment kept her feet rooted to the floor.

  “I’m sorry!” Ricky apologized as he ran down the stairs to placate his wife before someone called the police, never once looking back at Deidre.

  “Bzzz . . . Bzzz . . . Bzzz!” Deidre jumped out of her sleep to the sound of her government-issued Blackberry vibrating on the cherry wood nightstand. Her mind still fuzzy with sleep, she fumbled with her fluffy down comforter trying to locate the nuisance. Blinking her eyes against the sunlight streaming in through her French windows, she blindly grabbed for her Blackberry, accidentally knocking it to the floor. “Shit!” she grumbled, offending her nostrils with hot, morning breath. She looked over at the cable box, and the red digital numbers read 11:55. It was almost noon, but having been up all night, she allowed herself to sleep in.

  She slid her long, slender legs over the side of the bed and planted her feet firmly on the paisley Oriental rug covering the parquet floors. She bent over to pick up the annoying electronic device. Scrolling down, she retrieved the last urgent message: Call Ricky Blum, STAT. “STAT? Now he wants to get all official!” Deidre mumbled aloud. She rolled her eyes and tossed the Blackberry back onto the nightstand.

  Flopping backwards on the bed, she rehashed the events of the previous night. She still couldn’t figure out how Ricky’s wife knew he was with her. Maybe it was that obvious. Who else knew? Deidre had put herself in this position, she reasoned.

  She would surely be seen as the biggest home wrecking slut. Lorna was right. Deidre covered her face feeling ashamed and alone.

  “Ring! Ring!” The sound of the telephone snapped Deidre out of her conscious nightmare. She sat up and peered at the Caller I.D. It was Ricky from the office. “Why don’t you go call your crazy-ass wife? I should’ve never been fucking my bos
s, who is old enough to be my father in the first place!” Deidre yelled in the direction of the telephone, placing a pillow over her head.

  “Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! Ricky refused to give up. Frustrated, Deidre finally shut the ringer switch to “off”.

  Crawling back under the covers, she lay balled up in a fetal position. She thought about all of the consequences of last night’s events. As she lay there stewing in her own juices, she received another urgent message on her Blackberry: Call the office STAT, Business related. She stared at the message, and curiosity finally propelled her into action. Reluctantly, she picked up her cell phone and pressed 1, the speed dial button to the office.

  “Aponte?” Ricky inquired before continuing.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” Deidre responded, defeated.

  “I need to see you in the office now!” he demanded.

  “Now?” Deidre asked incredulously. “It’s my day off . . . my fucking vacation, remember?” she complained. They’d both planned to take vacation at the same time to furtively spend together. Ricky had told his wife that he would be away on business, and Deidre told her mother the same story. She still couldn’t figure out how their plans had been foiled. In all these years, had we gotten that sloppy? she asked herself.

  “This can’t wait,” Ricky said flatly, hanging up the phone before she could utter another word.

  “What the hell is up with him? Wasn’t it his wife who fucked up my shit?” Deidre asked herself aloud. Nonetheless, she dragged her feet into the master bathroom, wincing as she sat on the cold ceramic toilet seat to relieve her aching bladder. Standing up, she flushed the toilet, stretched, and yawned. She looked at herself in the large vanity mirror and decided she looked like shit. “Wake up, Deidre . . . wake up!” she pep talked herself, splashing cold water onto her face.

  Deidre realized that the extra twenty-five percent she got in her salary called LEAP—Law Enforcement Availability Pay—meant that she had to be ready to work wherever and whenever the Bureau called, even if she thought it was her lover’s ploy to see her one last time.