Love Trumps Game Read Online Free Page B

you a what?” She knew better. One look at his twisted sneer confirmed that her response jumped off incorrectly.
    â€œBitch, did I stutter? You heard me. I said, I’m hungry and for you to go make me a damn sandwich!”
    A few seconds of defiance flashed in Neema’s big eyes before she came to her senses. Oh, damn. What the hell am I thinking ? Disobedience was a no-no. Topps Jackson was a man who hated to be told no. At thirty-five, he was twelve years her senior but looked younger. A young face that belonged to an old spirit. If Topps told you to do something, regardless of what the task was, you sucked it up and you did it. End of story.
    â€œSure, Daddy.” She sniffed and stood up. “What kind of sandwich would you like?”
    â€œTry using your brain for a change and surprise me.” His words had come out more like an insult. Too bad. He watched her walkaway, knowing that he had to hurry up and wrap up his business so he could deal with her. “Lucky bitch.”
    He smiled to himself. He could name a slew of freaks waiting to take her place. Neema happened to be the flavor of the week. When he got through with her luscious behind, she wouldn’t be able to walk straight for weeks. The thought made him grin. He put his cell back to his ear. “Yeah, man, like I was saying, that area is ours and we don’t back down. Hell, send some soldiers out to pop their asses. Every last one.”
    In the large room, Neema could barely contain herself. “What an asshole,” she mumbled, looking around the state-of-the-art kitchen. Topps had owned the three-thousand-square-foot home for all of two years and she still wasn’t used to it. Each time she paid him a visit, her top-of-the-line, expensive surroundings in the split-level dwelling nearly took her breath away. Ooh wee, and just think, this could all be mine one day. Mrs. Topps Jackson . Hell yeah. That shit had a good ring to it.
    She popped her fingers and danced herself over to the sink with the intention of washing her hands. “Forget him. Germ-crazy bastard.” She reached under her dress and rubbed her hands back and forth over her pussy. “There. Eat some good-coochie germs, nigga.” She then walked over to the wide Sub-Zero refrigerator. Imported tile and marble were everywhere she looked. Everything was tastefully done with a mere hint of a woman’s touch; thanks to the services of a professional interior decorator.
    Quiet as it was kept, Neema felt that she could have done a better job, but Topps had acted funny every time she had broached the subject; even going so far as to joke, “Yeah, and then you’ll be moving yo’ shit in.” More than once he’d made it clear that he wasn’t ready for cohabitation; at least not with her.
    â€œWhatever,” she mumbled. She didn’t need to be underneath him twenty-four-seven anyway.
    She pulled out plastic containers filled with assorted deli meats and cheese and got busy.
    Fix me a sandwich. Count this money for me. Pick my package up. Neema, do this, and Neema, do that . She didn’t like it. The way he talked to her sometimes, his quick temper, nor the way he treated her when his so-called cronies were around. Just because he was the father of her two kids didn’t mean he owned her. Topps Jackson was arrogant and demanding. She couldn’t say that she loved the man, but the love of his money, and the lifestyle he provided, remained solid.
    â€œMust think I’m his damn maid or something.” Neema had known from the beginning that their relationship would be a difficult one. They had met over seven years ago at The Pink KittyKat over on Slauson and Overhill Drive where flashing fake IDs had gotten her and her running crew in. Flashing big bank practically all night, Topps had ended up buying them a truckload of drinks. Chillin’ like a big-baller, Topps had even shared news about an off-the-hook