Free Unconditionally Single by Mary B. Morrison

feel raping women?” I didn’t care how insane Ken was, what he’d attempted to do to me was inhumane.
    Ken’s face turned maroon. “Fish. I hate fish. Women are fishy. I hate women.”
    I wondered if Ken had any sex slaves held hostage in his house, his basement, outdoors in a shed. “You hate black women, white women, all women?”
    He released his ankles. Raised his back.
    “Put your hands back on your fucking ankles,” I shouted, staring at his asshole, “and answer my damn question.”
    “All women,” he mumbled.
    “Including your mother?”
    “Especially my mother.”
    “Well, we’ve got something in common, Ken. I hate my mother too. But I don’t go taking out my childhood frustrations on women and men because I don’t like either of my parents.”
    That wasn’t completely true. Ken made me think. Was I the culprit or the victim? I had beaten Girl Six because she had a pimple on her ass, killed Reynolds because he’d plotted with Valentino to kill me, and I truly hated my mother because she loved my sister but she never loved me. I didn’t know enough about my father to say I hated him, but I definitely did not like Jean St. Thomas.
    “Ken.”
    “Please don’t kill me. I swear I won’t eat any more fish.”
    “Don’t play crazy with me. How many women have you raped, Ken?”
    “Lost count. Eighteen, I think. I’m sick. I need help. Help me. Don’t kill me. Please, don’t kill me. I have a wife and two beautiful children.”
    I didn’t doubt him. Some women were so fucking gullible a man could lie and say he was a business owner, he was a former pro-ball player, he’d just lost a lucrative job or contract but was negotiating a better deal, and without conducting a background check or questioning him, women believed men. Some women thought whatever a man had would validate their existence, eventually upgrade their lifestyle. She’d support him until he was able to support her. She’d marry him, then years later she’d realize he was a con artist. Then he’d divorce her and take half of all her possessions, including her heart. That would never happen to me.
    “Okay, Ken, I won’t kill you.”
    Pow!
    Holding his balls, Ken screamed, “Ahhhhhhhhhh!” His dick dangled between his legs as he fell headfirst into a tombstone that read, “I died long before I was buried.”
    The bullet lodged into the dirt. I intentionally missed but the blood he’d imagined was spilling from his nuts could scare him to death. “Spineless bastard. So you thought I was just going to give you a free ride. Geez, you men are so stupid,” I told him. “Killing you would give you an easy way out of your sins. I hope you suffer a slow and excruciating painful death. That would serve you right for raping women.”
    Ken had chosen his graveyard. I hadn’t. Even if he knew he wasn’t shot, I was sure he’d stay on the ground until well after I was gone.
    I shot the license plates from Ken’s van, tossed them on the passenger seat, hopped in. Before closing the door, I got out. Placed my hand on the lever, tugged, opened the back door. Looked inside.
    Oh…my…God.

CHAPTER 11
Valentino
    T here was so much that had gone wrong this morning, a nigga had to figure shit out before sundown. Rolling up on Onyx and Red Velvet at Lace’s office was no guarantee I’d get more than what was in their purses. Neither one of them was worth holding hostage. Who’d pay more than a grand for the two of them combined? And both might have a gun.
    “I’m getting off the freeway here. We gon’ park this bitch in the woods, then walk back to that upscale restaurant right there off the Chattahoochee River,” I said, pointing. “Our timing is perfect. It’s too late for lunch and too early for dinner and I know they’re open.”
    Benito shook his head. “I’m not hungry, V. Last time we ate at a fancy restaurant you treated me like I’d ordered from the fucking side of the menu.”
    “You did, nigga,” I said,