printed copy

Sexy Little Liar

Noire

ISBN 9780758266095
Publish Date 10/30/2012
Format Trade Paperback
Categories Fiction

She seduced Texas’s richest oil family out of a fortune. But now petty thief and ex-stripper Mink LaRue has a rival for the ultimate temptation…

It didn’t take long for Mink LaRue to blow all the money she conned pretending to be the missing oil heiress Sable Dominion. And now that a sweet chunk of the huge Dominion family trust fund is up for grabs, nothing can stop her from going in hard for even more. Trouble is, her drug-dealing ex-boyfriend and the Dominion’s irresistible eldest son, Barron, want to take Mink down in as many ways as possible. Even Barron’s scheming fiancée is working overtime to expose Mink and bulldoze over her house of lies. But for Mink, the most dangerous opposition to her devious plan is the new pretender who’s come to town…and she looks—and lies—exactly like Mink!

Now, if the sexy little liar is going to get her hands on the Dominion fortune and come out on top, she will have to make friends out of enemies and click up with a few very powerful haters. And knowing the insatiable Mink, she’ll gamble everything to keep her conniving house of cards from tumbling all the way down...

“Urban Erotica has never been hotter!”—Nikki Turner

“Noire is a force to be reckoned with in the urban erotic genre.”—Urban Reviews

“Noire is Dickens for the age of dojah, donuts and dawgs.” —Publishers Weekly

Chapter One

New York City was my shit! Our plane had just landed at JFK, and after lying our way through a wild and crazy misadventure down in D-Town, me and Bunni Baines, my partner- in-grime, were hyped as hell to be back in the Big Apple!

We had dipped outta Manhattan with nothing up our sleeves except mad dreams and devious schemes, and after working our ghetto grind and flipping the state of Texas upside down, we were rolling back in town with more dough than we had ever baked before.

“Taxi!”My best friend hollered as an airport worker wheeled our luggage outta the crowded terminal. Bunni was posted up in a bright pink cat-suit and a matching pair of silver-buckle gladiator sandals. I was rocking a platinum-white Glama-Glo wig with bright orange streaks down the bangs, and an orange and white striped tank top that I’d tucked into a skimpy white tennis skirt that barely covered my apple ass.

For two hood-bound Harlem chicks me and Bunni had crazy suitcases everywhere, and every last one of them was busting at the seams with mad jewelry, crazy shoes, and the hottest designer gear that stolen money could buy.

I had recently become an official member of the Domin missing and now-found oil heiress Sable Dominion, me and Bunni had hit the rich folks’ mall in Dallas and killed every store in sight. I mean we ransacked that joint like a pair of greedy cat burglars, oohing and aahing as we touched and admired and scooped up damn near every stitch of gear that had a hot label on it. We shopped like fiends for hours and hours, and we didn’t come up for air until we were broke-down tired and every corn on our toes was crackin’.

“Now see there, Mink.” Bunni rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth as she struck a funky pose on the sidewalk outside the baggage terminal. Bowlegged Bunni had a real stank shape and she always dressed to show that shit. Almost every dude who zipped into the terminal stole a quick peek at her round titties and bouncy ass as he passed by. “We gon’ hafta splurge on us a fly whip or something, baby! We packin’ mad ends now, ya heard? How in the hell we gonna look pulling up around the way in some beat-up yellow cab?”

Bunni had that shit right. Image was everything in our hood, and I was damn sure tryna elevate mine. I was not the same con-mami Mink LaRue from the ’jects who had skied up outta New York just a few weeks ago. After chilling in a huge Texas mansion and ballin’ around town in half-a-milliondollar whips, I had the head and it was sho’nuff big too. “Don’t worry,” I told Bunni. “We gotta roll with this setup for right now,” I said and grabbed her arm as I pulled her toward a waiting cab. “But trust and believe, this is gonna be our last time slumming around the city in a whooptie, okay? We’s paid now, mami! Our pockets are swole! As soon as we hit Harlem I’ma lease us a limo and a driver too, bet?”

We climbed our booties in the back of the cab and left the driver and the baggage dude standing outside tryna figure out how to cram all our shit in the trunk. It seemed like just yesterday that me and Bunni had climbed in a cab at the Dallas International Airport and headed toward the Dominion Estate where we were on a mission to pull off the biggest con caper of our grimy little lives.

Our crazy misadventure had kicked off when Bunni went shopping at the Food Land up the block from her crib and saw my picture on the back of a carton of milk. The National Center for Missing Children had just started a new campaign aimed at solving some of their biggest cold cases, and a threeyear- old girl named Sable Dominion—a rich little oil heiress who had been kidnapped from a midtown drugstore—was one of the missing kids they were featuring. Dollar signs had started cha-chinging in Bunni’s greedy little eyes, and she swore all out the missing chick was me.

“Hey now! We gots’ta go to Texas and get up on that loot!” Bunni insisted as we checked out Sable’s age-progressed photos on the Internet. “For real, Mink! You look just like that chick! Your own mama couldn’t tell y’all apart!”

Me and Bunni were a slick pair of part-time pole twirlers and full-time con artists, and for the past few years we had been using our scheming wit and banging bodies to pull off ganks and rack-up bank in every borough in the city of New York.

We had jumped on the computer and did a few Google searches, and both of us damn near flipped out when we found out that not only was Miss Sable about to come into a hundred grand inheritance on her twenty-first birthday, but if Bunni pretended like she’d found me, she could get a crack at the twenty-five-thousand-dollar reward money that the Dominions were offering too.

Well, desperate times called for a sho’nuff desperate hustle, and me and Bunni almost burnt the house down tryna cook up a scheme to get our hands on that Dominion cheese. We were broke as hell and we needed that loot. Not only was Bunni and her brother Peaches about to get booted outta their tenement apartment and have their shit tossed on the curb, but a throwed-off drug dealer named Punchie Collins was tryna slump me for ganking him outta some ends, and I had a shitload of court-ordered fines to pay up real quick, or else a warrant was gonna be issued for my arrest.

And if that wasn’t enough to light a firecracker under my ass, my gangsta boo Gutta was finishing a lil bid upstate and he was about to be back on the streets in a minute, and I do mean on the streets too. See, when Gutta went to jail he left me sitting on his stash of twenty-five g’s and he warned me not to touch that shit. He was planning on using that money to rebuild his drug empire as soon as he hit the bricks. But a cheese-chasing rat like me just couldn’t help nibbling. A grand here, five grand there, shoes, wigs, chronic, Krug, jewels, and wild parties . . . shiiit . . . me and Bunni had burned through Gutta’s cash so fast that before his bid was even halfway over his laid-out crib was a wrap and so was all his paper!

So I had been stuck between nothing and nothing, and pulling off a hustle to steal Sable’s hundred grand was my last crapshoot, my final shot at street redemption. I was a conmami, a grifter, a fraud master to the highest degree, and me and Bunni had used every flimflam in the book to convince those super-rich black folks down in Dallas that I was really the kidnapped daughter that they had lost so long ago. We had busted up in their mansion in the middle of their Fourth of July barbeque, and trust me when I tell you we popped off a New York-sized explosion up in that joint!

Shiiit. Them Texas folks didn’t know what to do with me as I laid my slick Harlem flow on their asses. In no time at all I had Sable’s mother, Selah, eating outta the palm of my hand, and my fine-ass play-uncle Suge Dominion had done a damn good job of eating out the rest of me!

Bunni had played her role like a champ too. She’d scammed her way up on a freaky pain slut named Kelvin Merchant who worked at the DNA lab, and in return for whipping his ass and pinching his balls, Kelvin had hooked us up with a fake DNA report that guaranteed me a slice of the Dominion family pie.

With the DNA results on the table, I had rolled outta Dallas with a hundred grand in my bank account, and Bunni made out like a street bandit with twenty-five large in reward money for all her hard work too. All in all, it was the biggest hustle of our guttersnipe lives, and we were amped up and feelin’ ourselves for pulling off a gank so lovely. And now, all I had to do was pay my fines to the city of New York, tear off some ends to crazy Punchie Collins, and stash twenty-five grand in Gutta’s safe to keep that fool from murking me when he came home from jail.

After that, life was gonna be one big freaky-ass party, and as long as I handled my bizz I could get as wild and loose as I wanted to! Hell yeah. My blood surged with hood excitement as our rickety taxi pulled up outside of Bunni’s building and the hater-bitches on the front stoop got to peeping all in the windows. Handle ya bizz, Miss Mink LaRue! That’s all a paid- out-the-ass hood chick like me had to do!

About Noire:

NOIRE is editor-in-chief of NoireMagazine.com, the Queen of Urban Erotica, the #1 Essence® bestselling author of Unzipped, Hittin’ the Bricks, G-Spot, Candy Licker, Thug-A-Licious, Baby Brother (with 50 Cent), Thong on Fire, Hood, novellas in Maneater and Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless, and the editor of a collection of urban erotic quickies, From the Streets to the Sheets. She is also the author of the first urban erotic serial novel, G-Spot 2: The Seven Deadly Sins


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