“I missed you, Baby.” When it was clear I wasn’t going to go any closer, she repositioned herself. Crawling up on her knees, she placed her palms on her thighs. Her arms squished her boobs together, exposing just about everything. “I’m not your baby or your honey, Jaz. The last time you were here we agreed it would be your last.” My arms crossed over my chest as I stared her down, feeling nothing but annoyance for this woman. “I couldn’t stay away,” she whispered in a low, seductive tone. Her eyes narrowed and her lips parted—the girl screamed sex. I had to hand it to her, the woman knew how to play the role of manipulation like a pro. Then again, a lifetime of practice was only bound to make someone an expert, and that was exactly what she is—a manipulating whore. Jazmin Montoya used to have a hold on me. For years, she was able to twist and mold me anyway she wanted to. Even worse—I craved it. The viscous fighting would last well into the morning and typically ended with angry sex … and that cycle was usually brought on by the same little moves she was using now. At that time in my life, after I hit that ripe age of 21, there were only three things in my life that I loved: my sisters, Jazmin and drugs. The drugs and Jazmin came hand in hand; it took far too long to realize both were toxic and, if I didn’t find a way to wiggle out of the hold they had on me, both would kill me. “Cut the fucking bullshit, Jaz! Why the hell are you here? Why the fuck did you make me drive out here!?” Just being near the woman simply made my blood boil.
