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
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
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!