LIPSTICK HUSTLA CHAPTER 1 Traveling at a high rate of speed in a thirty-mile-per-hour zone, Misty checked the rear-view mirror. There was no sign of a police car trailing behind her on the desolate, dark road. She switched her gaze to the left and then the right--no cops hiding in the shadows either. Smiling with pleasure, she accelerated the Lamborghini. With a tingling thrill, she watched the needle of the speedometer jump from eighty to one-hundred-twenty almost instantly. Adrenaline pumped as she handled the sleek, fast car. Whipping down the asphalt road, Misty owned the night! But there was no time to bask in her glory. She had a big problem.
That goddamned Troy wasn''t worth shit. She''d given him a simple assignment: take good care of Smash Hitz. Having celebrity clients of Smash Hitz'' magnitude had contributed in building Misty''s empire. She was known for her professionalism and discretion, and the stars who were listed in her little black book didn''t have to worry about Mediatakeout.com or Bossip.com putting their freaky preferences on blast. What the hell was Troy thinking when he stole that man''s signature bling? Fucking moron! Smash Hitz had called Misty at two in the morning, waking her from a deep sleep. "Hey, Smash, what''s good?" she had answered.
Though she was half asleep, she managed to speak in the sweet voice that was reserved for VIP clientele. The call had taken her by surprise; she assumed the rapper had already left town and was on his way to the next city on his tour. Misty had sent Troy to the mansion Smash was renting, instructing him to relieve the rapper''s depraved urges. According to Troy, he''d left Smash Hitz wearing a satisfied smile. So why was Smash calling? Did he want some more of Troy? Did he want to take her worker on the road with him? Hmm. She''d have to charge Smash up for that kind of extended service. Smash must be insatiable, Misty decided. Fuck it though; she wasn''t turning down good money.
Smash had bank. As far as she was concerned, he had carte blanche to get his freak on with Troy and any sex slinger on her payroll for as long as he wanted. Picturing mega bucks and other perks, she injected a smile into her voice as she rephrased her question. "So what''s crackin'', Smash?" "Bring me my shit, and I ain''t saying what it is," the rapper demanded in the countrified, gravelly voice that had brought him fortune and fame. "What shit?" Misty murmured. She cut a suspicious eye at Troy, who was lying in bed next to her. Smash didn''t sound like he was in the mood for more sex service. In fact, he sounded furious.
What did Troy do? "I ain''t got all night, either," Smash Hitz growled. Misty kicked Troy, trying to wake him up. Troy didn''t stir. He''d had a long night. Tending to Smash Hitz had been easy, but satisfying Misty''s demanding coochie had required putting in some work. After blowing her back out for over two-and-a-half hours, Troy had to finish Misty off with his tongue. Nigga had to go deep diving to make me cum. She smiled in remembrance, and then scowled, recalling that she had to coddle the incredibly wealthy rap artist who was on the other end of the phone.
"Did you say you want me to bring something to you?" She laughed nervously, like the request had to be a joke. I hope this rappin'' asshole don''t think I''m getting out of my bed at this hour of the night. "Look, I''ma ''bout to jet outta here, but I want you to come through. So get your pretty lil'' self over here, ASAP." "Why? Did something happen with Troy?" She shot a hot glance at Troy''s sprawled-out, lanky ass. "You and me gotta have a serious talk about your slimy business practices." She gasped. "My business is--" "Save your breath, mamacita.
We gon'' have a sit-down. After you hand over my shit, then I''ma give you a chance to lay out all the reasons why I should keep fuckin'' with your thievin'' ass." Misty flinched at the insult. "Mr. Hitz, I am not a thief. I would never steal from my clients and put my reputation at stake. I''m sorry about this confusion." She could flip the script and get professional whenever the situation demanded it.
"Ain''t no confusion. Bring me my shit back." There was no reasoning with this psycho mufucka. Misty took a deep, calming breath. "Okay, I''ll be there shortly." Though she tried to keep it professional, her words came out sounding like a flunky. She groaned in humiliation. She glared at Troy.
She would kill Troy if he fucked up her relationship with Smash. What kind of hellish trouble has this ashy asshole gotten me into? Her angry eyes roamed down Troy''s thighs. As expected, his kneecaps were as ashy as ever. Earlier that night, Misty had insisted that Troy slather himself with gobs of her most expensive lotion, but obviously the effects of the deep-penetrating moisturizer had worn off. His long, snake-like, good-fucking dick tended to be on the ashy-side, too. But many of Troy''s regular customers liked the crustiness that clung to his skin. With the phone pressed against her ear, she squinted menacingly at Troy, who was snoring in his sleep while she had to put up with Smash Hitz'' bad attitude. I''ma fuck you up, Troy.
Them Z''s you catchin'' are about to come to an end. Having to listen to Smash''s gruff-sounding voice, making outrageous demands, was really getting on her nerves. "Matter of fact." Smash Hitz continued in his slow, Southern drawl, "I ain''t gon'' be satisfied ''til I see your lip prints on both cheeks of my ass." What the fuck! All of Misty''s sex slingers were inked with the image of her lips on their forearm. This design informed her clients that she''d sampled the goods and the worker was stamped with her kiss of approval. Though Misty was extremely flattered that a rap icon like Smash Hitz wanted to wear her tattoo on his butt cheeks, she considered the request peculiar as hell and somewhat disturbing. Despite the fact that her insignia would be hidden inside the seat of Smash''s pants, Misty didn''t like the idea of him wearing her lip prints on his ass.
Frowning, she wondered if she was being overly sensitive about her trademark, and then shook her head. Nah! Smash Hitz'' request is straight-up disrespectful. The wealthy rap artist had purchased everything money could buy; now he wanted to get tatted with her personal symbol. That was crazy. Her workers had fucked and sucked with the amazing skill and expertise that was required in order to flaunt her design on their arm. She didn''t take her brand lightly. Sure, Smash had bought her the Lambo, but she had damn sure earned every dollar he''d spent. He was her most difficult client, making her work extra hard for the money he paid her.
Misty''s mind raced, trying to think of a polite way to tell this egotistical lunatic that she couldn''t have her tattoo disrespected like that. Not even by Smash Hitz. "So lemme get this right. You wanna wear my tattoo on your ass?" she inquired, trying her best to conceal her repulsion. "Hell no! I want the real thing," he said, sounding completely irrational. "I''m confused." "Lemme help you get your mind right." Smash paused.
"Thanks to me, you doin'' big things and you wanna stay in business for awhile.am I right?" "Of course." Misty seethed. Smash was holding something over her head and she wished he''d get to the damn point. "Then you gon'' have to make it your business to get over here and kiss my ass." Kiss his ass! Smash Hitz had lost his damn mind. She didn''t appreciate being spoken to like she was some desperate video vixen. Smash had it twisted.
She called her own shots. He had a lot of fuckin'' nerve, talking to her like she was some stank-ass hoe or one of his muthafuckin'' groupies. She was the head bitch in charge of her organization, and she didn''t lick, suck, or fuck unless she wanted to. She damn sure didn''t kiss anyone''s ass--under any circumstances. Though she was heated, Misty managed to keep a civil tone. "What''s going on, Smash? I don''t understand." "Let''s get it crackin''. Put on some bright red lipstick.
When you get to the crib, I want you to bow down and pucker up!" The next sound she heard was the dial tone. "Troy!" Misty yelled, bringing Troy out of his blissful sleep. "What did you take from Smash Hitz?" "I aint take nothing from him," Troy replied, recoiling as he rubbed his eyes. Infuriated, she could feel her face turning red with rage. "Stop lying! You stole something from Smash or he wouldn''t be calling me in the middle of the goddamn night." She was ready to throw a fit and break a lamp over Troy''s head, but she needed to conserve her strength. Instead of swinging on Troy, Misty screamed in fury, alerting her personal bodyguards. She could hear their pounding footsteps running toward her bedroom door.
"I''m telling the truth, Misty," Troy said in a choked voice, his eyes flicking to the set of double doors that barged open. Nitr.