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  G-Spot 2: The Seven Deadly Sins

  An Urban Erotic Serial Tale Told in 7 Parts

  ENVY: The 4TH DEADLY SIN

  “Little Black Books”

  by Noire

  Urban Erotic Noire Publications

  P.O. Box 3443

  New York, New York 10185

  G-Spot 2: The Seven Deadly Sins, ENVY: The 4TH Deadly Sin is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by Noire

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excluding brief quotes used in reviews. The Noire logo and its likeness are trademarks of Urban Erotic Noire Publications.

  PART FOUR OF

  NOIRE’S BLOCKBUSTER

  URBAN EROTIC SERIAL TALE!

  Juicy is facing a whole new set of problems!

  The grimy road of life takes more crazy twists and turns when Juicy-Mo hits the bricks and lands right back in the heart of Harlem!

  The chaos and danger she thought she’d escaped comes rushing back to haunt her as a blast from her past shows up in the basement of a funeral home!

  What’s next for the sexy Harlem stunna who just can’t seem to catch a break? Will she end up stretched out cool in a box, or will she escape the clutches of her destiny and live to fight another day?

  Find Out More In

  G-SPOT 2: THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS

  ENVY: THE 4th DEADLY SIN

  ALSO BY NOIRE

  URBAN EROTIC TALES

  G-Spot

  Candy Licker

  Thug-A-Licious

  Thong on Fire

  Hood

  Hittin’ the Bricks

  Unzipped

  URBAN EROTIC QUICKIES

  From the Streets to the Sheets

  URBAN EROTIC APPETIZERS

  Baby Brother

  (with 50 Cent)

  Maneater: Sugar-Honey-Ice-Tee

  (with Mary B. Morrison)

  COMING SOON

  Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless:

  Puttin’ Shame in the Game

  Natural Born Liar:

  The Misadventures of Mink LaRue

  Dear Readers,

  I can’t believe it! ENVY the 4th Deadly Sin is already here, and that means we are halfway through the saga of Juicy-Mo Stanfield and our harrowing journey through her crazy, dangerous, and exciting life!

  Pride. Betrayal. Greed. ENVY. Lust. Trickery. Revenge. I can’t tell you how many emails and messages I’ve received regarding

  G-Spot 2: The Seven Deadly Sins over the past few months. It has been really great to hear your thoughts, and to crack up about your predictions oft what’s waiting around the next corner for Juicy-Mo Stanfield, Harlem’s #1 Stunna.

  I realize a serial novel isn’t something that has ever been done in the urban or erotic genres before, but I’m pleased that so many of you have come to understand this unique concept, and to wait on pins and needles for the next segment in the story to be published each month.

  There are still a few readers who are slowly catching on to the fact that the seven parts of G-Spot 2 are not individual books, and therefore, there will not be a beginning, a middle, and a resolution at the end of every Deadly Sin.

  The best way to look at G-Spot 2 is as a literary saga. Seven magnificent parts of one original novel where there are endless plot twists and turns, old characters getting murked and new characters showing up, and never a dull moment in between.

  It takes a lot of skill to keep you committed to a saga of this magnitude for seven months, and I promise there will not be a resolution or an ending to the drama until the last page of REVENGE, and that’s the way the majority of my friends and readers want it!

  So, thank you for loving and reading my Little Black Books. I’m sending each of you big ups and crazy love, all wrapped up in mad appreciation. Okay, the Urban Erotic Train is now rolling straight through Harlem, and I’m so happy that you’re riding with us! Find out why Envy is the 4th Deadly Sin, and as always, when you’re finished getting your read on, don’t forget to leave your review!

  Noire,Your Serial Novel Queen

  www.facebook.com/NoireBlack

  www.twitter.com/AskNoire

  WARNING!

  This here ain't no romance,

  It's an urban erotic tale

  Juicy's back in Harlem

  And she’s bout to catch some hell

  She’s creepin’ in the basement

  And that shit is smellin’ foul

  Drugs are flowing in the streets

  And thugs are on the prowl

  They’re racin’ for that paper,

  Ain’t no tellin’ who’s gone win

  Betta check ya jealous heart

  ’Cause ENVY is a SIN!

  CHAPTER 1

  But it couldn’t be G!

  G’s black ass was dead. I had watched Jimmy blast his whole chest open right in front of my eyes!

  No, it wasn’t the notorious Granite McKay sitting in that plush armchair in the basement of that funeral home, but it was a stone-cold killer who was dressed like G from head to toe and twirling an onyx ring on his finger.

  “Fletcher!” I screamed real loud when I recognized who it was. A huge wave of relief washed over me at the sight of Jimmy’s old friend from back in the day. “Boy! What the hell are you doing down here?”

  “It’s Flex, remember?” he said smoothly. He stood up and opened his arms real wide, and I was so happy that G hadn’t crawled outta his wet grave to get me that I fell right into them.

  “It’s good to see you, Juicy-Mo,” he held me close to his chest for a few seconds and then beamed at me with that same dumb, bucktoothed smile of adoration he used to give me back when he was ten.

  “Boy, you almost made me pee on myself! I can’t believe it’s you!” I stepped back and took a good look at him while holding on tight to both of his hands.

  “But what the hell are you doing down here?”

  The last time I’d seen Fletcher Boykin I was chained to a pole in the Dungeon at the G-Spot. G had been feeling generous that day, so mad niggahs was coming through to fuck me for free, but I was bleeding and filthy, and so run-through that Flex didn’t even want him none.

  I glanced around in disbelief. It looked like something out of a damn horror movie down there. The walls were made of rough cinderblocks, and exposed pipes and electrical wiring crisscrossed each other and ran over our heads.

  “Boy, what in the world are you doing chilling in a damn funeral home?” I was too creeped out. Rita must have been outta her mind for sending me to hide out in a joint full of dead bodies.

  “This is where I rest,” he shrugged. “C’mon.” He turned toward the back wall where I saw a steel door sticking out of all that cinderblock. It had one of those real high-tech keypads on it, and it seemed like Fletcher punched in a hundred numbers before a green light flickered and he pushed the door open.

  But that door only led us into a small foyer where there was another thick-ass security door waiting for us. This one looked like it was made outta concrete or some kind of rough stone, and once again, Fletcher punched a million numbers into a keypad before that door was unlocked too.

  I couldn’t believe there was another damn door facing us after that. Fletcher had barricaded himself down here like it was a war bunker, and I frowned at my reflection as we stood in front of a door that had a big, shiny mirror across the top half.

  The door also had locks going up and down the bottom left side, and a bunch of keys jingled when Fletcher went into his pocket.

  “What the hell is back there?” My voice came out real scary-like, and he laughed as he slipped key after key into the locks and turned them.

  “You’ll see.”

  He finally got all the locks opened and pushed through the door.

  “I heard you were looking for someplace safe to lay your head.” He opened his arms up wide and moved back so I could step inside. “Well, here it is. Mi casa es su casa.”

  I forced my feet to move two tiny paces, and then I took a real good look around. The hallway outside had been scary as fuck, but the space that had opened up behind all those doors was straight laid. We were standing in a huge room that had been done up like an office. A long mahogany desk sat in the center of the room, and a huge crystal chandelier hung directly above it. A plush leather couch was pushed up against one wall, and a built-in marble-and-mirror bar was on the other one. There were end tables, lamps, and leather chairs on each side of the room, and the shiny floors were covered in real hardwood.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  “You mean you actually live down in here?” I blurted out, but what I was really thinking was, what kind of crazy fool pimps out a goddamn funeral home?

  Fletcher laughed. “Hell yeah. Hot, ain’t it? I been chillin’ down here for a good minute now. I think it’s beast.”

  He busted the look on my face and laughed.

  “Hey, don’t knock it Juicy-Mo. This joint is cool, it’s comfortable, it’s quiet, and it’s the last fuckin’ place in the world that somebody would think to come looking for me.”

  He had that shit right.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “It sure as hell is.”

  “So what’s been happening with you?” I asked as he led me over to sit on th
e couch. The last I’d heard Fletcher had gotten into some crazy static with a posse of rival drug dealers. Him and Cooter Jackson had been scheming on how to grab a share of Harlem’s drug territory after G died, but their plans must have been real weak because they had both caught a bad one.

  A bunch of slangers had stomped on Cooter’s head until it busted open like a grape on concrete, and then some rival cats had gunned Fletcher down in the middle of the street like he was less than a dog.

  He had been in the hospital on critical when me and Gino left New York, and I couldn’t believe he had taken all those bullets and was still alive and standing.

  “So you doing okay now?”

  He looked just like a little boy when he grinned, and I remembered how he used to be in love with me when we were kids.

  “A niggah like me is doing better than ever, Juicy-Mo. You know how it be. I took a few shots to the gut, but I made it through.”

  “Wow, Fletcher,” I said. “I can’t believe I’m actually sitting here talking to you!”

  He pressed the back of his hand against my arm real firm. “It’s Flex now,” he said quietly. “Go ’head and remember that baby.”

  A chill zipped through me.

  “Got it,” I said with a fake laugh. “I know you on your grown man thang these days but you’re still like a little brother to me.”

  He grinned. “You was a real good big sister, Juicy. I used to think Jimmy was the luckiest dude in the world to be your brother, nah’mean? He got to see you every day. Eat with you, chill with you, sleep in the same house as you…” he shrugged. “Your grandmother used to look out for me all the time, Juicy, and your brother was my best friend. But I loved all of y’all. Y’all was my only family. The only people who ever really cared about me.”

  I nodded. “We’re still your family. We always will be.”

  When me and Jimmy were growing up I could never understand why Fletcher was always up under us all the time. He used to be a big pain in my ass, and I would chase him away from our crib every chance I got.

  But now that I was all by myself in the world, with no kinda roots and no real blood connections, I knew exactly how Fletcher must have felt back then. Being in the world all by yourself was hard as hell, and I was extra-happy to see him now.

  I looked around at his joint again.

  “Like I said, it’s good to see you, but I don’t know about this whole funeral home thang you got going on. Dead people scare the hell outta me.”

  “Don’t worry, baby. They keep all the bodies upstairs in the freezer. Besides, ain’t nothin’ never gone fuck with you as long as I’m around, Juicy. If one of them dead niggahs comes down those stairs tryna get at you I’ll kill his ass!”

  I laughed with him, but my feelings were all over my face.

  Fletcher chuckled. “Stop worrying, Juicy. You look just like your grandmother when you make that face. I promise, ain’t nothin’ in here that can hurt you. Believe me,” he said seriously. “I wouldn’t let it. C’mon,” he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet. “Come check out the rest of the place.”

  There was another door on the other side of the room. He punched in a code to get through that one too, then he pulled it open.

  We walked down a short hall. Fletcher was just as pimped out as his crib. I peeped the hell outta him as he strolled beside me dressed up like an old-ass man. This boy wasn’t but eighteen years old, and his gear was damn near retro.

  I felt some kinda way as I eyeballed his expensive tailor-made suit, his polished ’gators, and the glistening diamond cuff links that sparkled at his wrists. And the onyx ring straight fucked me up. No wonder I had thought he was G when I came down those stairs. He looked like a skinny little boy playing “dress up” in his daddy’s closet.

  This was some brand new shit to me, because Fletcher had been one of the bummiest kids on our block. His grandmother used to put big fat yellow-ducky diaper pins up and down his shirts, and the bottom of his pants were always floating somewhere up above his bony ankles.

  But when he got in the drug game he had started dressing just like all the other thugs on the street. I had gone looking for him one night in Taft projects when Jimmy first went missing. Fletcher was running a crew of trap boys from the lobby of a building, and he was suited up in baggy jeans and timbs and swaggering just like every other young hustler on the grind.

  I remembered how Fletcher had called me stupid that night, and begged me to leave G and stay right there in the projects with him so he could wife me. He told me he was gonna be in charge one day and holding all the cards, and he swore he had a plan that would set me up with riches for life.

  And it looked like riches was exactly what Fletcher was sitting on in his little underground palace now.

  “I got me a nice little kitchen,” he said, pointing toward a real slamming spread. It was done up in stone and stainless steel, and the eat-in nook had one of those fly L-shaped leather benches that hugged two walls.

  “And back here is the washer and dryer and the extra bathroom. I’ma use this one, and you can go ahead and use the shower and stuff in my room, cool?”

  I followed him further down the hall.

  “This is my guestroom. I’ma chill in here and let you take the big room, a’ight?”

  I peeked my head inside and I was real impressed by what I saw. The room was done up. It had a king-sized bed, a wall mounted television, and a real pretty bearskin rug on the floor.

  We was in the basement so of course it didn’t have no windows, and after coming out of jail I noticed that shit right away.

  “Over here is the master bedroom,” Fletcher said. He took me next door to a large room that looked like it had been furnished by a professional decorator. A small fridge was off to one side, and a bar was cattycorner on the other wall.

  “You gone sleep real good in here, Juicy,” he bragged. “Real good. You gonna have your own bathroom and everything.”

  “Thanks,” I said quietly, taking it all in. Fletcher’s crib put me in the mind of G’s old place, just much smaller. There was marble, granite, and expensive electronics and appliances everywhere. The only difference was, G had rested in a swanky condo on Central Park West, and Fletcher was flossin’ his game from the basement of a funeral home.

  I walked into the bedroom and Fletcher leaned against the doorframe and eyed me down as he tapped his foot in them expensive-ass shoes. I didn’t know what to think except that my dude really looked bugged. He had gone from a gutta young hood trying to come up in the game, to the ghost of G past.

  And it wasn’t just his clothes, neither. Everything about him screamed “Granite McKay” from head to toe. The way he walked and talked, and the scary way he twirled that onyx ring on his finger was straight G to a tee.

  “You like all this?” he asked, nodding at his spread.

  “Yeah. It’s real nice.”

  “See, I told you, Juicy!”

  Outta nowhere he bum rushed up in my face and got all hyped. “I told your ass!” he based and poked me in the chest twice with his skinny finger.

  “Ow!” I shrank away from him. “Stop fuckin’ poking me! You told me what?”

  “I told you I was gonna be runnin’ shit one day!” he said and poked me again. “I told you to have faith in me, girl! That niggah G was living on borrowed time. I could feel that shit. I seen the whole thing go down in my mind before it ever even happened! That’s why I wanted you and Jimmy to jump on my team, baby. I was trying to protect y’all. But neither one of y’all would listen to me!”

  I rubbed my chest where he had jammed his damn finger into me. What could I say? Fletcher had been dead right. And me and Jimmy had been dead wrong. Both of us had paid a price for not listening to him.

  “Uh-huh. I told you I was gonna take over the G-Spot one day too, didn’t I?” Fletcher gave me the crazy eye. “And I meant that shit. I still am.”

  Hold up. I shook my head real fast. I had been vibing with him for a minute, but I wasn’t co-signing that G-Spot shit.