Filthy Rich (Part 1)

By: Kendall Banks

 (Filthy Rich Series)


Thank you to everyone who has inspired me, influenced me, or contributed to my success as an author in any way. Writing a book is a long journey and hard work…actually no matter how many books you write, it never gets easier. I consider myself extremely blessed to be a part of such an amazing team (LCB). A special thanks will forever go to Tressa “Azarel” Smallwood. Thanks for believing in me many years ago and thanks for enthusiastically supporting all of my new projects. There are not enough words to express my gratitude for everything you’ve done. To my entire family…you’ve given me more support than I could ever imagine and for that I love you for life!!!


Kendall Banks

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Dear Diary

Tonight was on the money…The sex was great…The tongue even better.

Still…my boo better step up. The stakes are getting higher. He promised to get all my needs fulfilled. It’s just not coming fast enough.


Her build was slim but curvaceous and athletically toned…her stomach washboard smooth. She was the woman most men craved. With long, jet-black, silky weave draping below her shoulders she seemed a sweet, petite goddess. Her light brown skin and thick lips made her assailants second guess their mission. After all, she was supposed to be family.

She was beautiful.

Her beauty couldn’t be seen though at this particular moment. It was buried deeply underneath pain, bruises, scars, cuts, blood and tears. She looked nothing like the woman she had always prided herself on being.

Nessa’s weave now had no body or shape. It was now heavily matted and dangled wildly over her entire blemished face. Her left eye was swollen and completely shut while her right eye contained semi-blurred vision. Her nose felt like it was broken, making it difficult for her to breathe as blood poured endlessly from both nostrils. Yet she never whined or complained. Her lips were swollen, dry and cracked while blood ran from the slit in her bottom lip. Her fingernails were missing; torturously ripped from her fingers with pliers by her captors. There was absolutely no beauty left to her.

Nessa’s body was now as weak as that of a newborn baby. She had no fight left in her and couldn’t stand on her own as the two gunmen dragged her stumbling through the dark woods. Overhead, beams of moonlight dimly illuminated the path in front of them. Her bare feet were becoming more and more soiled with dirt while her sweat soaked her body and clothes. Broken branches snapped underneath them while also piercing her soles so deeply they drew blood, too.

“All you had to do was talk, bitch,” one of the goons told her.

He was dressed in a wife beater that exposed his muscular arms covered from wrist to shoulder in gruesome looking scars. Wearing a pair of crispy blue Dickies that sagged his Polo boxers were exposed. On his feet were a pair of white Shell-toed Adidas. In his free hand was a chrome Glock that he intended on using to destroy Nessa for good.

“Yeah, bitch,” the gunman on Nessa’s left side belted, agreeing with his partner. He was just as muscular as the other man but more thuggish. In his free hand was a black .45 that he’d suddenly decided to press against Nessa’s head.

“Got to hand it to you though,” he continued. “You’re a strong one; real strong. Most bitches fold after only a minute. You got balls, bitch. ”

“Hell yeah,” the other agreed.

“You though, you hung in there. You went out like a soldier.”

Their voices were dripping with sarcasm, not admiration.

Nessa was nearly drifting in and out of consciousness as the men spoke to her. The pain nearly killed her. It was torture. Making her actually wish and yearn for death as she drifted into unconsciousness again. Her mind played back everything from the moment her captors caught her.

The two men had caught Nessa coming out of the hair salon. As she hit the unlock button on the key to her tinted out black Range Rover, a white cargo van emerged out of nowhere and skidded to a stop behind her. Before she could react its side door slid open and two masked men jumped out. In the blink of an eye they had her in their arms with a hand over her mouth and tossed her inside. The next several hours were the most brutal and terrifying she’d ever experienced or endured.

“Where the fuck Luke’s stash houses at?” was one of the questions Nessa was asked over and over again.

“Fuck you!” she returned countless times, even spitting in one of the captors’ face once when he got too close.

Nessa wasn’t weak. She wasn’t soft. She had a past full of violence and had crazy survival skills. She’d been born and bred to be loyal. The term “Death Before Dishonor” meant something special to her. She even had it tattooed in old English letters across her bikini line. For her, those words weren’t just a phrase. They were a way of life, especially when it came to the most important man in her life…

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