Sexy Little Liar Read Online Free PDF Page A

too, but I was careful to watch my shit being poured from the bottle because the last time I got tipsy up in Club Wood somebody had slipped me a tab and I got caught up in a serious flimflam.
    See, Bunni and Peaches had bagged a cross-dressing principal of a prestigious boys’ school in a blackmail scam that we were charging him twenty-five large to get out of. They had sent me out to pick up the loot, and me and the principal had agreed to meet at Club Wood and conduct our little transaction right there in the club. But as soon as I gave him the blackmail pictures and he handed over the brick of cash, that slick old skeezer had trapped me in a cross-con. Some fine nigga named Dajuan Latrell Sullivan, aka Daddy Long Stroke, had slipped something in my drink when I wasn’t looking and then he fucked me hard and robbed me blind.
    Getting stole like that was one reason I had let Bunni talk me into going way down to Texas to gank those rich folks in the first place, and now that we had pulled off our slick grimy lick and we were back in our own territory, I was damn glad that I had gone.
    â€œ Girlll ,” Bunni drawled in her deep-fried ghetto twang. “Lil Bang and them got some real good shit flowing in the back,” she told me. “Chronic, sess, ’dro. Shit, they got some good X back there too, girl. It’s our first night back in the city. Let’s go for broke and get all the way live!”
    Free head banga? Bunni didn’t have to tell me twice. I almost broke my damn neck climbing off the barstool and hauling ass toward the back of the club. My swagger was on one hundred as I shook my hips in my tiny-tasseled purple go-go skirt, and niggas who had seen me rock the poles buck naked a thousand times still couldn’t keep their hands off my bangin’ hips as I sashayed by.
    We danced and grinded and got so lifted that we broke daylight up in that camp, and when we finally crawled back up to the front of the club all dry-mouthed and zooted, Perry and his cleanup crew were putting the barstools up on the counter as they got ready to mop the gritty floors down.
    â€œGoddamn!” Our rap-a-licious limo driver said as the three of us stumbled outside and he squinted into the early-morning sun. He had hung hard with us the entire night and probably puffed more yay and drank more liq than me and Bunni put together. He dug in his uniform pocket and came out with his limo keys, then wobbled on his feet as he held them shits up in the air and let ’em dangle. “I’m fucked up like a mutha fucka! Which one of y’all nasty bitches wanna drive?”
    Â 
    Life for me and Bunni was turning out to be one big-ass party, and I swiped that bank card they gave me in Texas so many times that I got a crook in my damn wrist. Regardless of all the stores we had hit while we were down in Dallas, the best shopping in the world was right here in New York City, and we sho’nuff dropped some dollars in the Big Apple too.
    I had always had a good eye for hot fashion, and it seemed like having money just made me appreciate the finer shit even more. I spent mad loot adorning my body from head to toe in stylish shit from designers like Brian Atwood, Vera Wang, and Tracy Reese. I became a real label whore, and as long as something sounded expensive and exotic, I plunked down my bank card and snatched that shit right up.
    â€œMadame Mink,” Peaches warned me one night as our limo driver carried a truckload of bags and boxes inside the crib from every major store in the city, “you’re trying to do too much, baby girl. You’re gonna wake up one morning and every dime you got is gonna be spent.”
    Deep inside I knew Peaches was talking true shit, but I was having way too much fun to hear all that. Me and Bunni had just splurged on a penthouse suite at The Plaza for NBA weekend, and right now we were getting dressed to head down to Chelsea to take one of those real crazy Urban