Page 1 of The Millionaire Mortician

“ Y ou’re still alive, still that nigga. Nigga, you survived, still gettin’ bigger,” I rapped long to Jay Z’s “Holy Grail” song.

Sucking the fluid out of the abdomen of a deceased woman, I suddenly felt a movement behind me. The music was loud while the bass shook the room, but my senses were always on point.

In one swift motion, I dropped the trocar, slipped my hand under my apron, and grabbed my gun. I turned around as my barrel almost touched the forehead of the person who looked exactly like me — my twin brother, Maverick Marcano.

“The next time you point this muthafucker at me, you better pull the trigger, nigga,” he spat, before slapping my hand down.

“Ain’t nobody told yo’ stupid ass to come in here unannounced. You, of all people, know better,” I gritted. “Alexa, turn off the music.” I turned my back on him.

Resting my Glock on the counter near me, I returned to what I was doing as if he and two of our soldiers weren’t in the room.

“What do you want, Mav?” I questioned as I pushed the cavity fluid into the woman’s torso to treat the organs.

He walked around to the other side of the table so we were facing each other. “I got two bodies that need to go,” he simply stated.

Looking up at him while still working, I raised a brow. “Where did the bodies come from, Maverick?”

He sighed out loud, like I was the one bothering him. “We found out who was skimming. Long story short, the situation was handled.”

I didn’t say a word or look his way. The part of embalming I was conducting was vital, so I didn’t want to overly inject fluid into the body. Had that happened, the woman would’ve swollen up and looked unrecognizable. I had one shot to get the shit right. There was no room for fuck ups.

A few moments later, I pulled out the trocar, plugged the incision with the trocar button, and began sewing the other incisions. Mav still stood there, looking on.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I calmly told him. “Alexa, turn the music back on.”

“I just know her pussy was A1. Look at her titties,” Mav blurted out over the music as he walked out. I just shook my head because that nigga had no filter whatsoever.

Jay Z’s lyrics started to blast through the speakers as I continued my work. I moved on my timing and no one else’s, especially not Maverick’s.

Once I finished the embalming stage, I covered her, removed my protective gear, and made my way out of the room.

I still had a few other things to finish on the woman, but I also knew that burning those two bodies Maverick bought was going to take some time — anywhere from ninety minutes to three hours.

I thought about getting a head start on things, so I stopped working on her to get the bodies inside the crematorium.

When I made it out to the garage of my funeral home, I saw Mav and the guys just chilling outside two SUVs. As I approached them, they stopped what they were talking about and turned their attention to me.

Everyone was dressed in black and had masks pulled over their heads. These muthafuckers had a plan , I thought.

“You cut the cameras?” I asked Maverick.

He nodded. “Yeah, son. Of course I did.”

Although I owned my own funeral home, it was just a precautionary measure. If the law had wanted to see any footage, there wouldn’t have been any for them to view.

“Come on. Bring ‘em in,” I instructed as I turned to head back inside.

We entered the private crematorium that I had on the same floor as the morgue and embalming room. The guys placed the two bodies on the metal rolling tables and rolled them in. Luckily, I had two cremators in that room and didn’t have to wait to burn them one by one.

I instructed them on how to place them inside the cremator, closed and secured it, then pressed the button to start it up.

When our two soldiers left the room, I stopped Mav. “You sure you got the right niggas?” I eyed him.

“Facts. I’m sure, bro,” he assured me.

Maverick and I were in the streets, heavy. We’d dealt with all kinds of drugs since we were teenagers. When we started, it came naturally to us, then before we knew it, we were running parts of Brooklyn at a young age. Some shit was just for certain people, and it was clear for us.

Fast forward to age thirty-seven, and besides pushing weight, I was a mortician and funeral home owner. Maverick owned a luxury car dealership selling top-of-the-line foreign whips. It was the perfect cover-up for all the money we made and the lifestyle we lived.

“You need me to rock back?” he questioned.

I looked at the time on the wall, which read 9:42 p.m. “Nah, I got to finish up shorty, anyway. Go ahead,” I told him.

“Aight, bet.”

We dapped each other up. As he exited the building, I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and shot my lady, Daija, a text.

Me: It’s going to be a late night. Love you.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket, then went back into the embalming room to finish what I started.

It was going on two o’clock in the morning when I pulled up at home.

When I got inside, the place felt still, calm, and quiet.

I knew Daija was already sound asleep, as usual.

I always pushed her not to wait up for me because I never had a specific time of when I would return home, especially on late nights.

Walking into the kitchen, I opened the oven and saw my plate of food sitting there. If it was one thing, Daija made sure I always had a meal waiting when I got back in.

Daija and I had been together for a year.

We met during a photoshoot for this magazine.

She was a celebrity barber, and I was the eye candy for all male morticians.

That day, she had to touch me up for the shoot.

We had small conversations, then numbers were swapped, and the rest was history.

Fast forward a year, and she was living with me and was being treated like a queen.

Closing the oven, I made my way up the stairs of my brownstone house to my bedroom. As a routine, I went straight into the bathroom, peeled off my work clothes, which were scrubs for the day, then got into the shower.

Turning the knob to hot, I walked under the water and just stood there. The heat melted away all the death I had to deal with for the day. It relaxed my muscles and calmed my nerves. All I thought about was hitting my bed afterward.

As I was washing my skin, Daija walked into the bathroom.

She went and sat on the toilet to pee. Instead of pulling her silk pajama dress down after wiping, she pulled it over her head and made her way to the shower.

Stepping in, she grabbed the sponge from my hands and washed my back for me as I placed both my hands on the wall.

No words were exchanged, but the presence of her and what she was doing meant a lot.

My careers, legitimate and illegal, were both demanding.

They drained me mentally and physically most times, so to have a woman understand that and be at home to comfort me was all a nigga needed.

To keep Daija safe and at peace, she knew nothing about my life in the streets.

If anything, she thought Maverick was the street nigga.

Turning around, I hovered over her as I cupped her cheeks with both my hands. Our lips met halfway, with our tongues entangling almost immediately. A soft moan escaped from her as my hands roamed her body.

Daija was pretty as fuck with a short pixie cut.

She was brown skinned with an average body — her ass wasn’t wild phat, and her breasts were B cups.

My baby had no curves, only a straight body, and I loved her the way she was.

The first thing anyone noticed was her beautiful face.

She reminded me of Megan Good. The way I always twisted her up like a pretzel made her look like the baddest bitch alive, though.

Placing my hands between her legs, I lifted her into the air and pressed her against the wall.

I gave my favorite part of her body a nice, long lick, from her opening to her clit.

Plunging my tongue inside of her, I worked my tongue all around, twisting and curling it.

I heard her whimpers over the water spraying out of the showerhead.

Her arms were spread open wide, as if she were pinned against the wall and couldn’t move.

Slowly sliding my tongue out of her, I licked my way to her button.

Pressing down on it, I sucked and rubbed it with my tongue in a circular motion, making her thrust her hips against my face.

While I was there for a good minute, I started to taste her juices flowing out, letting me know she had reached her peak.

I looked up at her while still devouring her pussy. When our eyes locked, her body jolted.

“Let me get some,” I told her and opened my mouth.

She leaned over and let her spit drop into my mouth. Before swallowing, I savored her taste. Not wasting another second, I brought her down and slid her right onto my hard ass dick in one swift motion.

“Mi—” she started but couldn’t finish.

Her wet, snugged, and warm tunnel gripped me like she didn’t want me to ever pull out. Feeling a shiver rush throughout my body as I got deeper, I sped up my pace.

Daija was a good girl when it came to taking dick. No matter the pain I delivered, she never ran or complained. She was also down for whatever the fuck I wanted to do in the bedroom, one of the main reasons I fell for her ass.

I rested one of her legs down on the shower floor while I placed the other leg over my shoulder, all while still inside of her.

She was basically doing a standup split on my dick.

As I dug in and out of her, I saw tears streaming down her face as she looked me dead in my eyes.

One of my hands made its way to her throat as I choked her with a firm enough grip, while my other hand had a perfect hold on her cheeks, helping me guide my way in and out of her.

“Baby,” she cried.

I pulled her close to me so I could kiss her luscious lips. “Is it too much?” I asked her as our lips nearly collided.

“It’s perfect,” she cooed as she started fucking me back.

“That’s my girl.” I kissed her forehead.

I picked her up again, wrapping her legs around my waist while I penetrated in and out of her. Her walls contracted, and her juices came running down my dick. Before I knew it, I was exploding deep inside her.

Sitting down on the ledge in the bathroom, my body jerked as I felt weak. It was just what I needed to release stress. Bussing a nut always did the job.

The following morning, I was awakened by the smell of breakfast, not my alarm clock. I rolled over and lifted my phone sideways to check the time. It read 7:33 a.m . Leave it up to my phone, and I would’ve still been asleep for another hour and change.

Grabbing my bible off my nightstand, I opened it to the next scripture and read it. I then swung my legs off the bed and dropped to my knees, my arms resting on the bed in a praying position. As always, I talked to the Lord before starting my day.

Shortly after, I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face.

Like a starving kid, I then headed downstairs to see what Daija was chefing up.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw my maid, Nadia, cleaning the living room.

I threw my robe around my body more because my dick was still sticking up from my morning hard-on.

When I made it into the kitchen, I saw Daija busy in front of the stove cooking. She looked beautiful as hell, with her hair wild on top of her head and her black silk pajama dress perfectly hugging her.

“You started early,” I whispered in her ear as I wrapped my arms around her waist from behind.

Daija never missed a beat in making my breakfast and dinner. That was something I appreciated.

She giggled. “Yes, I had to make sure you ate good before your big interview. Oh, and I pulled out the perfect suit for it.”

I was scheduled to go on a TV talk show that morning. It wasn’t something new to me, but it would sometimes get annoying. Still, duty called, so I answered.

“Parys called. He said another funeral home had some malfunction with their cremator and needed to use yours for today,” she informed me.

Parys was my assistant. He knew that if he couldn’t get to me immediately, he should contact Daija. Nine times out of ten, she would be able to get in touch with me before anyone else would, besides Maverick.

Without wasting a second, I found my and Parys’ text thread and shot him a message.

Me: It’s fine. Just make sure they have all the proper paperwork and they follow protocol. Keep me posted.

As I put my phone down, Daija set my plate down in front of me with a smile. “Eat up, baby.”

I did exactly what she told me to do. Within twenty minutes, my belly was full, and I was back upstairs getting ready for my interview.

In the midst of everything, I made sure to shoot Mav a text telling him to tune in. He was a pain in my ass, but my brother always supported me in everything I’ve ever done since we were born. That was my dog for life.