A Hustler's Queen by Saundra

Author:Saundra
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-10-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

A week had passed. I was still at DaVon’s house and I had finally slept through a full night without waking up. And today I was hoping to sleep in just a little while longer. I had been sleep deprived for a while, so it was much needed. But somehow, when I saw Doug’s name light up on my cell phone, I knew that sleeping in was not going to be possible. Doug was DaVon’s lawyer and his name was saved in my phone because DaVon made sure that I kept him on speed dial. But the last thing I needed at the moment was for him to interrupt my sleep.

“Hello,” I breathed into the phone with an annoyed tone. I was not in the mood to be polite or nice.

“Precious”—he called me by my first name as if we are old friends—“this is Doug Bates. Remember DaVon introduced us a couple times?”

“Yep, what can I do for you, Doug?”

“Well, first I would like to give my condolences. DaVon was a great guy . . . I know this might not be a good time, and I hate to bother you, but I really need you to come down to my office.”

I had to fight to remain calm. He had already interrupted my sleep and now he wanted me to drive damn near an hour downtown to his office.

“Doug, can this wait?” I slowly pulled the covers back and sat halfway up.

“Listen, I promise this will not take long. Matter of fact, I’ll come out to the house. How about that?” I was surprised to hear that he was willing to drive out to the house. I started to question him further, but I didn’t feel like it.

Confused, I asked him what time, agreed to him coming, and hung up the phone. Still pissed that I had to leave the warm, cuddly bed, I kicked the covers back and lay in one spot and allowed the crisp, cold AC to force me awake. After taking a shower, I headed downstairs for something to drink. I was beyond thirsty. Opening the refrigerator door, I fished out the orange juice, reached into the cabinet and pulled out a glass, then poured myself a full cup.

Just as I attempted to raise the glass to my lips, the doorbell rang. Stuffing the carton back into the fridge, I cradled my glass in my hand as I made my way to the door. Doug stood in the doorway, cradling his expensive briefcase as if he was an heir to a kingdom.

“That was quick,” I commented.

“My Porsche can take me anywhere in the city at top speed,” he bragged. Doug was a rich middle-aged white man with more white than black in his hair, who made a fortune off drug dealers like DaVon. In return, he made them feel untouchable. And in most cases they were. Doug was connected, and if you could be cleared of any charges in the city of LA, Doug could make it happen for you.

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