Hell House

Reality TV Drama

LIST PRICE $14.99
PRICE MAY VARY BY RETAILER

About The Book

In this ingenious novel that brings reality TV to the printed page, drama levels go through the roof as six outrageous characters fiercely compete to win $100,000.

In this ingenious novel that brings reality TV to the printed page, drama levels go through the roof as six outrageous characters fiercely compete to win $100,000.

The most controversial characters from Brenda Hampton’s bestselling novels come together in a house that could unite— or destroy—them all. Roc Dawson from Full Figured, Chase Jenkins from Don’t Even GoThere, Sylvia McMillan from SLICK, Jada Mahoney from How Can I Be Down?, Jamal “Prince” Perkins from Street Soldier, and Jaylin Rogers from the Naughty Series attempt to put aside their overwhelming differences and calm their unique personalities.

Without supervision, though, anything could happen inside Hell House—especially when there’s $100,000 at stake. And these six cutthroat contestants are determined to have it all. Overflowing with drama, raunchiness, and manipulation, survival by any means necessary is their primary focus, but only those with tough skin will make it to the next round.

Who will be the last woman or man standing, and who will walk out, slamming the door behind them and screaming at the top of their lungs?

Excerpt

Hell House


I couldn’t believe that I agreed to do this bullshit. And it surprised me when I stepped inside of the so-called Hell House in St. Louis and didn’t see anyone. The Miami Vice-style glass doors left me with a dramatic first impression that was kind of dope. I could very well be satisfied living here for the next three months; the living conditions resembled a penthouse I used to have while selling cocaine. That was then, this is now. Now, I was on lock by my fiancée, Desa Rae Jenkins, who recently suggested that we needed to explore life and try different things. In other words, she was tired of my black ass hanging around her house and wanted a break from our relationship. I also needed a break, so I jumped on this opportunity to jet away for a while.

I dropped my Nike duffle bag at the door and glanced upwards at the vaulted, sloped ceiling. The smell of newness was in the air and the glossy marble floor in the foyer was polished to perfection, displaying a glare of my chocolate fineness. Umph, I thought while staring at the blurred image of me. I wet my thick lips, then headed toward the kitchen to scope the rest of the amenities in this immaculate one-story crib.

“What up? Anybody here?” I called out, cautiously taking slow steps down a narrow hallway that had framed pictures of modern art on the freshly painted white walls. My new Air Jordans left imprints in the cottony carpet that led to a spacious, sunken living room area on the right and an urban-style kitchen with stainless steel appliances to the left. Checking out my surroundings, I narrowed my eyes into the living room that was laid out with a horseshoe-shaped microfiber sofa and square pillows. A forty-two-inch flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall. Underneath the TV were bookshelves filled with many books for someone’s reading pleasure—definitely not mine. Numerous multicolored beanbags were also in the living room, and I assumed they were there for chilling purposes.

The living room could be chalked up as simple, but the high-priced kitchen was kicking ass. Everything was white, navy or stainless steel. Navy pendant lights hung above a white rectangular countertop that was surrounded with wavy curved-back barstools that had a steel finish. The decorator damn sure needed a kiss, but she wouldn’t get one from me since I was now a reformed man.

While thinking about Desa Rae, I eased my hands into my jean pockets and looked out a sliding glass door that viewed a backyard my hood relatives could only dream of. There was an Olympic-sized swimming pool with crystal-clear blue water, tennis and basketball courts, and rock waterfalls used for diving. The lawn was well manicured and lounge chairs were all over the patio. At 103 degrees outside, I damn sure knew where most of my time would be spent. Yeah, my skin color was already black as charcoal, so I wasn’t worried about the sun baking it much more.

I was getting impatient and sighed after licking my lips again. The motherfuckers running this show told me to be here at two o’clock, but when I looked at my watch, it was already two-thirty. Deciding to see what else was up, I turned away from the kitchen to go check out where I would have to lay my head. I noticed that the carpet trail split into two directions, so I shifted to the left first, entering a modern bathroom with unique stainless steel faucets, a pearly white toilet and a shower squared with thick glass. All the white made me nervous. I sure as hell hoped that I wouldn’t be shacked up in this crib with a bunch of nasty people. I was eager to see who those people would be, especially the women—for whatever reason that might be.

I backtracked to the other hallway and that was where I found a room with three full-sized beds against one wall and three beds against the wall in front of it. The beds were covered with multicolored comforters and colorful sheets. Wasn’t feeling that shit and the beds were too small. Nametags with our names on them sat near the edge of each bed. One by one I checked out the names, noticing that the brothers were on one side of the room and the sisters were on the other. That didn’t work for me either, so I rearranged some things. I put my nametag on the bed that was in between Chase’s and Sylvia’s beds. Jada’s nametag I put between Prince’s and Jaylin’s beds. I hoped Jada wasn’t the finest one in the bunch, but then again it didn’t matter either way. I was on lock. That was today, didn’t account for tomorrow.

There was no window in the cramped room, but there was one sizeable walk-in closet. It was obvious that all this room was good for was sleeping and fucking. Didn’t think I’d be spending much time chilling in the bedroom, so I made my exit, realizing that time was moving on and my grand tour of this crib was over.

I took another look at my watch, then reached into my pocket to grab my cell phone. Somebody needed to tell me what the fuck was up. I was getting impatient. A nigga like me was beginning to think this was some kind of setup. I’d been in these situations before. My instincts were saying run! The information guide and itinerary that I received said the meet and greet of contestants would begin at two. It was way after two, so fuck it. I felt the need to jet, so I put my phone back into my pocket and grabbed my duffle bag. Once it was on my shoulder, I headed toward the door, but was stopped dead in my tracks when I saw a taxi pull up. I squinted as I peeked through the glass, trying to get a glimpse at the fine-ass woman whose peep-toe stilettos had touched the ground. She had long, light-skinned legs that were made for riding. I was eager to see her face, and as soon as she exited the taxi, I could feel my nature trying to rise. That ass was fat and those hips swayed with rhythm as she made her way up the long driveway. Her weaved-in ponytail swung from side to side and was tightly pulled back, making her hazel eyes slant. I sucked in a deep breath and backed away from the door. Checked myself again, while looking down at the floor and hoping that the white wife-beater I had on wasn’t too laid-back. It showed my tats that so many women loved and I figured she wouldn’t be able to look away from my bulging muscles. Lance Gross didn’t have shit on me, but there were some who would beg to differ. This chick, however, was classy and I liked that. She wasn’t Full Figured how I normally liked my women, but I could definitely work with her. Unfortunately, if this was Jada, I had already messed up by putting her nametag on the other side of the room. Big mistake, no doubt, but after this bullshit was over I was sure there would be plenty.

About The Author

Brenda Hampton has written more than twenty novels. Her name has graced the Essence magazine bestsellers list, and she was named a favorite female fiction writer in Upscale magazine. Her mystery novel The Dirty Truth was nominated for an African American Literary Award. She is the executive producer of a new reality TV show based out of St. Louis, Missouri, where she resides. Visit her online at BrendaMHampton.com.

Product Details

  • Publisher: Strebor Books (October 1, 2013)
  • Length: 208 pages
  • ISBN13: 9781593095369

Browse Related Books

Resources and Downloads

High Resolution Images

More books from this author: Brenda Hampton