Done In The Dark (Taboo Tomes #1)

1. Genesis

Genesis

Lesandra

I am not God's strongest soldier. You know what I am though? I’m Satan's most resourceful office clerk.

That's exactly who I felt like as I sat at my desk, legs crossed with the curtains drawn tight, and my laptop screen so dim it was barely visible.

Every click and confirmation sent another bead of sweat rolling down my forehead.

You would think the FBI was parked on the street outside my house with the way my heart hammered against my ribs.

Yet, this wasn't illegal. I was a consenting adult doing this of my own free will, and regrettably, my name was the one inked across all of the bills in this house. Numerous and burdensome as they were.

That was part of the reason I decided to go for it.

My office stipend was nice. I used it as an excuse to splurge on one of the fancy leather ergonomic chairs and my desk.

It was the first time in my life that I could afford furniture made with real wood, genuine solid cherry.

Not only was it stunning with its deep drawers and curved countertop, but it was also sturdy.

It took me through a grueling year at one of the most cutthroat fintech startups in America, and it braced my month's worth of soul-wracking sobs when they laid me off too.

Right before my company shares were set to vest. How convenient.

I needed to have an employment lawyer look into that, but that was a later concern.

Right now I was more worried about the real possibility of me having to squeeze that old ass lime wedge over yet another bowl of rice and canned black beans.

Or even worse, the possibility of having to call home and ask for a few ends, only for my business to be aired out into the streets.

Despite what all those biblical teachings implored, church ladies remained the worst gossips I'd ever known. Especially the older ones. They could be downright cannibalistic when it came to juicy news. Mama had eaten all of us alive in the name of gossip at one point or another. “Ehhh.”Even if she and daddy could help, I was in no mood for the lecture that would come with it. I also couldn’t afford a new crown on my rear molar, and despite my circumstances of barely being able to afford clean drawls, a bitch still wanted her eyebrows and vacoochie waxed.

So I dropped that damn phone in a desk drawer and got back to business.

Honestly, this wasn’t that bad. People had been subjected to worse throughout history.

At least I didn’t have some out-of-breath colonizer sweating into my open mouth.

I was a big girl, I could slap a lil paint on these toes and wiggle them on camera.

Stretch a hole or two with some silicone.

It was less demeaning than having spit splatter against my forehead over an order of fries. All I had to do was click…

Angie

“You’re subscribed.”After the day I just had, that was my favorite message to see.

Some consider it a problem, but I always made sure I could afford my vices.

One of the only reasons I subjected myself to this fucked up ass schedule and the uncertainty of the FAA was the expendable income.

Don't get me wrong, I handled my responsibilities, but a nigga loved a little indulgence.

Especially when it came to her. Tights & Toes with Koko. Damn, that woman was fine.

Fat ass, unmanageable curls, mahogany skin, and thighs that spilled over every pair of garters she poured herself into.

I couldn't see her face, but I just knew it was pretty.

She moaned pretty. I already had it bad for the thickums dark skin women with natural hair.

It had been that way since I was a young warthog.

However Koko just had to tempt me further by wiggling those pretty polished toes on screen.

This week they were eggplant purple with a cat eye French.

Purple wasn't even my favorite color, but it was on her.

I'd even requested that she wear coordinating tights.

Next week I might request that she put my name on them.

However I'd enjoy this treat for now, because I had a weekend long layover in Vegas.

Which set me up perfectly to spend some time with my favorite bundle of chaos.

“Un, Angie. You better not!” Karma chided.

She folded her arms over her chest the second I pursed my lips to blow.

After all these years, I knew better than to roll my eyes at her, but my left eye still scrunched up in anticipation.

“It's going on my damn eyeball!” I hissed back while tacking down the corner of my lashes.

“Ain't nobody got time to wait for this glue to dry!” “Well if you would've put it on your lid with the wand like I told you, you wouldn't have had to wait.” “Karma, don't start.

Cause I'll stay home and fart up your couch.”“You and this lil funky attitude. You need to go get you some ass or something,” she huffed.

“AND DO! Shit, you better hope I don't go knock on your neighbor's door tonight. I seen the way he was looking at this ass.” “Keyon has a wife, Angie.” “Shit, with the way I’m feeling, she can get it too,” I grumbled as Karma began applying my other lash. “What she look like?”“Mhm, she’s your type,” Karma smiled. “Thick, pretty, and brown.”

I couldn’t reply to that because the woman who was unknowingly responsible for my preferences pressed closer to my body as she swiped a coat of eyeliner over the band of my newly adhered lashes.

Oh, Karma. Aptly named because she was the most reciprocal human being on this planet.

The original owner of thick, pretty, and brown.

Being this close to her gave me the same adrenaline rush that I got the one time I stole from the corner store down the road.

That lemon cupcake was so damn good that it was worth the ass whooping my mama gave me when I got caught.

As I inhaled the luring scent of Karma’s perfume, I wondered.Would she be the same?

“Ok!” she exclaimed, breaking me from my lurid thoughts.

“We’re all done. Now come on, the Muver been downstairs waiting for five minutes.

” “Jesus Christ, Karma! You have the worst time management that I’ve ever seen!

” She knew it too, and that's why she gave me an unbothered shrug as we slid out the door.

Karma

“Shake that ass, hoe! Shake that ass, hoe!” That was the summonance hymn for professional rump shakers.

There was nothing like Old School night at The Velvetier.

Really, I didn’t consider it Old School, just classics.

The Young Ho club music could never. We had bop after bop, starting with The Dream, and going all the way down to Three Six Mafia.

That was the type of music I thought I was going to be moving to when I got grown, only to end up with most of the new age clubs playing depression rap. Life really was unfair.

“Ou, bitch! This my song!” Angie shouted, pulling me back to the dance floor.

Don Who Leo clapped through the speakers, bass loud and commanding while me and Angie gathered a watching crowd.

There were very few people who could go cheek to cheek with me and not fall over, face first, and luckily Angie was one of them.

Ass to ass, we bounced our hips to the beat, hypnotizing every poor unfortunate soul within a 50 foot radius.

The girlies were mostly supportive, but the men looked hungry.

I hated that for them, because no matter what me and Angie had going on, we always left with each other.

1:00 AM snuck up on us like a creepy uncle.

We got two shots before closing out our tab, and then caught a car back home.

“Karmaaaa,” Angie whined as we bumped back down Eastern Avenue.

“You know what sounds good, babe?”We were both drunk, a little high, and hungry.

There was only one thing we wanted when we got like this.

Well, two, but the other thing wasn’t much of an option.

“Some fried chicken and mac and cheese?” “You know me so fucking good. Yes. You got groceries or do we need to GroceryGo?”“I got macaroni stuff, just order a pack of wings and some Hawaiian rolls.” “You want something sweet too?” Angie asked with a hopeful smile.

“Of course I do!” I huffed. “And get ice cream.”

The groceries were delivered before we got back home.

Angie scooped everything up and deposited it on the counter while I readied the music and wine, and then we set off on our respective tasks.

Angie seasoned, battered, and fried our wings while I whipped a cheese sauce until the whole house sounded like something wet and gushy.

Three AM was the new midnight in Vegas, especially on the weekends, because that’s when we finally finished cooking and sat down to eat.

I practically started singing when I bit into my first wing.

Juicy, crispy, and just a little spicy from the tabasco. Angie knew how to fuck up a wing.

We exchanged satisfied smiles as we enjoyed each other’s offerings in silence.

This was exactly what the fuck we needed after a long night of shenanigans.

Now all I needed was, “I missed you,” Angie sighed while inhaling a spoonful of macaroni.

“Why won’t you move back home, Karma?” A difficult conversation, I guess.

This wasn’t the first time Angie asked me to move back, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. I thought Ang would adjust to my absence eventually.

After all, it had been three years and this motherfucker was hardly home to begin with, but I guess the distance had taken its toll after 31 years of constant closeness.

We were best friends before I moved away.

Hell, we still were even though I had up and moved to the other side of the country.