No Mercy Read Online Free PDF

reach back to wrap my sweater around Nellie and she flinches in pain.
                  “Nellie, what the hell is wrong with your shoulder?” I ask, looking at Nigel as he glares at a frightened Nellie in his rearview mirror.
                  “I fell at home,” Nellie says, accepting the sweater without the touch. “Nothing major.”
                  Nigel and I exchange glances knowing there’s a whole lot more that Nellie’s not saying.
                  “Did that punk hit you, Nellie? If he did I’ll rip his ass to shreds,” Nigel says, steaming.
                  “No, no. Nothing like that,” Nellie says with fear in her tear-swollen eyes. “I swear it was an accident. David would never do anything to hurt me. He’s a sweet guy, and the son of a reverend.”
                  “So are my uncles, and trust me when I say there’s more evil in most of them than I’ve ever seen from anyone else,” except from Esmeralda and her folks, but we’re not talking about them.
                  “Just drop it Jayd, okay? Thank you for picking me up but please stay out of this one. I don’t need you to save me.”
                  I don’t want to save Nellie or anyone else for that matter, but she’s my friend and I can’t let this go.
                  "Your welcomed, Nellie." I know Nellie's digging this new dude and she's also feeling guilty for what she did to me, but allowing her to punish herself in an abusive relationship isn't the answer. There are too many red flags about this David character. I'm gonna do a lot more digging to find out all I can about the pastor's son.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    “Never piss off a woman who has more designer bags than Mariah Carey. ”
    -Jayd
    Drama High, volume 15: Street Soldiers
     
    ~2~
    OFF WITH HER HEAD!
     
    “Ouch!” I say, flinching in pain. Ain’t nothing like a hot comb searing my skin to make me jump out of my seat.
    “Is it too hot for you?” the hairdresser says with a cunning smile. Did she try to press my ear on purpose?
    “No, but it is too hot for my skin,” I say, reclaiming the chair.
    “I’m sorry about that, Madame James. Here, this will help,” the young lady says, taking some of the hair cream on the counter and rubbing it on my wound.
    I stare at Mama’s young reflection in the mirror and admire the hairdresser’s work. She’s good: almost as good as me, but I rarely—if ever—burn my clients.
    “Thank you. It feels much better now.” I move my head first to the left and then the right, checking her handiwork. “Rule number one when styling someone’s hair: Always make sure they hold their ears down,” I say, removing the cape from around my neck. “It’s not the client’s responsibility to remember, but rather the stylist’s not to forget.”
    “Oui, Madame ,” the young stylist says, bowing her head in shame.
    “When someone sits in your chair you want him or her to feel comfortable and to trust you implicitly. Otherwise, you risk losing your client and quite possibly your livelihood.”
    I turn the swivel chair away from the mirror. "Please pass me the hand mirror."
    Mama's apprentice takes the brass hand mirror from its hook on the side of her station and passes it to me.
    "Desiree, you sure do have skills when it comes to those curling irons. Looks like you've been watching me very closely."
    "Queen Jayd, you have no idea." Desiree stares at Mama's reflection in the mirror and traps my grandmother in her seat with her vision. Desiree's eyes begin to swirl like crystal blue tornadoes, her hands open wide beside her directing the wind in her powerful glare. Her hair turns gray and begins to whirl around her head like a clouded halo; her long curls morph into snakes right before my eyes.
    “Desiree, what the hell do you think you’re doing?" I ask, my grandm other's green eyes taking on a glow of