by Kiki Swinson
“Maybe.” He nods. “Is that how she’s going to feel about it when she wakes up in the morning?”
“To be honest with you, I don’t know. Eventually, probably not tomorrow, the next day or maybe even a year from now, but one day she’ll understand that I’m doing right by her.”
“That’s taking one hell of a gamble. Women are . . . complicated. I know. I had to lose Sandra and my daughter Robyn for a long time before I could win them back. Maybe the same will happen for you.”
“You never had to deal with the US Marshals,” I remind him. “I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. Johnnie isn’t built for that. She should be with a man who can give her and . . . her future children a real life in a nice house, a white picket fence and maybe even a damn dog if she wants it. I can’t do any of that shit now.”
“I hear what you’re saying.” Our eyes connect. “I’m proud of you. It takes a real man to be able to set someone you love like that free.”
“Well, it definitely doesn’t feel so good,” I admit.
“No. I don’t imagine that it does.” He pushes himself up from his chair and for the first time in my life I allow another man to hug me good-bye.
When I step back, my eyes are wet and I force myself to go through with my new plan. We’ve already divided up the money. He’ll make sure that the Tyler’s surgery money will be funneled through Nana Gloria’s church—so the payment will look as though the church had raised the funds. He’ll also see to it that her bills are paid and that she’ll never want for anything. I trust him. He knows how to move money around undetected. “Oh. And make sure you get that other money to this cat.” I pull out a slip of paper with Goon’s contact man written on it. “A man gotta pay his debts.”
“Always.”
“Is Rawlo downstairs?” I ask.
“Waiting on you with your retirement money.” Uncle Jonathan grins. “He’ll take you down to Jacksonville, Florida. He knows a guy who knows a guy that can get you on a private plane to anywhere you want to go. Fair warning: Rawlo can talk your damn head off. Just smile and nod to try to get through it the best way you can.”
“Thanks, Uncle Jonathan. I really appreciate you looking out for me.”
“Don’t mention it.” He walks me to the door. “In case our paths don’t cross again, I love you and take care of yourself.”
“Love you, too, Uncle Jonathan.” We exchange another hug and then I’m out the door, pretending the whole way that my heart isn’t breaking.
35
Johnnie
I wake up in a cold bed. When that reality sinks in, I bolt straight up and glance around a dark room. Harlem is gone. Reacting on nothing but a gut feeling, I scramble back into the clothes that I’ve been wearing for the last couple of days.
“Harlem!” I race out of the room, across the hall, and down the stairs, where I collide into Harlem’s uncle Jonathan.
“Sweetheart, calm down.”
“Where is he?”
He hesitates.
“Where?”
“He just left. He—”
Pushing Jonathan aside, I take off after Harlem. My heart is in my throat as I race out the front door. That old GMC van is backing out of the drive.
“Harlem! Wait! Harlem!” I run like my life depends on it. For a moment, I’m scared that Rawlo, who is behind the wheel, won’t stop. But then he does.
I nearly weep with relief when the van finally stops and Harlem opens the passenger-side door.
“Johnnie—”
“I can’t believe that you were just going to leave me like that.”
“Trust me, this shit isn’t easy—but it’s the right thing to do. I know it—and you know it.”
“Fuck you. You don’t get to decide what’s best for me without my having a vote.” I swallow hard and then try to catch my breath. “I got scared, okay? But I know what I want—and I want you. I don’t care that you’re a thief or whatever. I just know that I can’t go back to living without you. I tried it before. I can’t do it again. Don’t make me do it again. Please.”
Tears pour down my face. I don’t know what else to say to make sure that he doesn’t leave me—but begging isn’t out of the question. “Please don’t leave me.”
For a long time, Harlem just stares at me. “Once you get into this van, you can’t turn back. You’ll never see your family or friends again.”
“You will be my family.”
A smile splits across his face. “Deal.”
I race into his arms and smother him with kisses—and love.
36
Sam
Atlanta, Georgia
Thirty minutes after my team touches down, we arrive at the InterContinental Buckhead Hotel and a chaotic scene. We expected our other team and local agencies to be here to catch their fugitive. We were hoping to get a few minutes alone with Isaiah Kane again so we can have some idea whether our guy is here, too.
However, I did not expect to find Isaiah’s broken body being zipped up in a body bag. “What happened?” I ask the first guy I come across. It’s not an agent but a paramedic. “The guy jumped.”
“What?” That didn’t sound right.
The paramedic shrugs. “It was either that or he was pushed.”
I look up. “From what floor?” Not that it mattered.
“Don’t know. You’ll have to ask them.” He gestures to the knot of US Marshals, Georgia Bureau of Investigation agents, and police officers.
I walk over and make my introductions. Again, no one is sure whether the ex-fugitive jumped or was pushed. Has Harlem Banks added murder to his résumé?
Unfortunately, the surprises keep coming. The hotel security team states that the cameras were offline for the entire day.
“But they were working last night,” I counter, referring to the photos my team saw just hours ago.
“That was last night,” the chief officer says. “Whoever punched those photos up for you guys must’ve knocked the system offline or forgotten to switch it back on.”
The fact that that didn’t make a lick of sense doesn’t seem to bother the guy. That was the hotel’s story and they were sticking to it.
“Smells like bullshit to me,” Greg grumbles.
“I thought I was the only one who was smelling it.” I take a deep breath. “Something was on those tapes.”
“Yeah but . . . does our guy have the kind of juice to make something like that disappear?”
“Depends on what kind of money we’re talking about.”
I search out Agent Davis of the GBI and ask her whether her team recovered any money from Kane’s room.
No money.
Greg tosses up his hands. “We’re too late. He’s in the wind. If he’s smart he’s halfway to some private island.”
I’m afraid he’s right. “Then I guess we better get busy trying to find which one.”
“I don’t know,” Frank says, shaking his head. “I got a feeling this one is going to wreck your record.”
I shake my head at my team’s defeatist attitudes. “I’ll find him,” I promise them. “I don’t know how long it will take. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next year—maybe twenty years from now, but I will find him.”
DON’T MISS
Her Sweetest Revenge
by Saundra
For Mya Bedford, life in a Detroit project is hard enough, but when her mother develops a drug habit, Mya has to take on raising her younger siblings. Too bad the only man who can teach her how to survive—her dad—is behind bars. For life. All he can tell her is that she’ll have to navigate the mean streets on her own terms. Mya’s not sure what that means—until her mother is seriously beaten by a notorious gang. Then it all becomes deadly clear . . .
Baby, You’re the Best
by Mary B. Morrison
New York Times best-selling author Mary B. Morrison introduces her most seductive and vulnerable characters yet with the Crystal women, a family whose bonds are tested by love, lu
st, and the elusive quest for true happiness . . .
And coming in December 2015
Games Women Play
by Zaire Crown
Tuesday Knight is eager for a better way of life. That means getting out of the game her gentleman’s club has been fronting. Her all-female “business” team has made a fortune using the club to attract, seduce—and rob—wealthy men. But in addition to being squeezed by a corrupt cop, an unfortunate incident has put Tuesday deep in debt to a ruthless gun dealer and is creating dangerous dissent behind the scenes . . .
Turn the page for an excerpt from these thrilling novels . . .
From Her Sweetest Revenge
Chapter 1
Sometimes I wonder how my life would’ve turned out if my parents had been involved in different things, like if they had regular jobs. My mother would be a social worker, and my father a lawyer or something. You know, jobs they call respectable and shit.
Supposedly these people’s lives are peaches and cream. But when I think about that shit I laugh, because my life is way different. My father was a dope pusher who served the whole area of Detroit. And when I say the whole area, I mean just that. My dad served some of the wealthiest politicians all the way down to the poorest people in the hood who would do anything for a fix. Needless to say, if you were on cocaine before my father went to prison, I’m sure he served you; he was heavy in the street. Lester Bedford was his birth name, and that’s what he went by in the streets of Detroit. And there was no one who would fuck with him. Everybody was in check.
All the dudes on the block were jealous of him because his pockets were laced. He had the looks, money, nice cars, and the baddest chick on the block, Marisa Haywood. All the dudes wanted Marisa because she was a redbone with coal-black hair flowing down her back and a banging-ass body, but she was only interested in my dad. They had met one night at a friend’s dice party and had been inseparable since then.
Life was good for them for a long time. Dad was able to make a lot of money with no hassle from the feds, and Mom was able to stay home with their three kids. Three beautiful kids, if I may say so. First, she had me, Mya, then my brother, Bobby, who we all call Li’l Bo, and last was my baby sister, Monica.
We were all happy kids about four years ago; we didn’t need or want for nothing. My daddy made sure of that. The only thing my father wanted to give us next was a house with a backyard. Even though he was stacking good dough, we still lived in the Brewster-Douglass Projects.
All those years he’d been trying to live by the hood code. However, times were changing. The new and upcoming ballers were getting their dough and moving out of the hood. Around this time my dad decided to take us outta there too.
Before he could make a move, our good luck suddenly changed for the worse. Our apartment was raided by the feds. After sitting in jail for six months, his case finally went to court, where he received a life sentence with no possibility of parole.
My mother never told us what happened, but sometimes I would eavesdrop on her conversations when she would be crying on a friend’s shoulder. That’s how I overheard her saying that they had my father connected to six drug-related murders and indicted on cocaine charges. I couldn’t believe my ears. My father wouldn’t kill anybody. He was too nice for that. I was completely pissed off; I refused to hear any of that. It was a lie. As far as I was concerned, my father was no murderer and all that shit he was accused of was somebody’s sick fantasy. He was innocent. They were just jealous of him because he was young, black, and borderline rich. True, it was drug money, but in the hood, who gave a fuck. But all that was in the past; now, my dad was on skid row. Lockdown. Three hots and a cot. And our home life reflected just that.
All of a sudden my mother started hanging out all night. She would come home just in time for us to go to school. For a while that was okay, but then her behavior also started to change. I mean, my mother looked totally different. Her once-healthy skin started to look pale and dry. She started to lose weight, and her hair was never combed. She tried to comb it, but this was a woman who was used to going to the beauty shop every week. Now her hair looked like that of a stray cat.
I noticed things missing out of the house, too, like our Alpine digital stereo. I came home from school one day and it was gone. I asked my mother about it, and she said she sold it for food. But that had to be a lie because we were on the county. Mom didn’t work, so we received food stamps and cash assistance. We also received government assistance that paid the rent, but Mom was responsible for the utilities, which started to get shut off.
Before long, we looked like the streets. After my father had been locked up for two years, we had nothing. We started to outgrow our clothes because Mom couldn’t afford to buy us any, so whatever secondhand clothes we could get, we wore. I’m talking about some real stinking-looking gear. Li’l Bo got suspended from school for kicking some boy’s ass about teasing him about a shirt he wore to school with someone else’s name on it. We had been too wrapped up in our new home life to realize it. When the lady from the Salvation Army came over with the clothes for Li’l Bo, he just ironed the shirt and put it on. He never realized the spray paint on the back of the shirt said Alvin. That is, until this asshole at school decided to point it out to him.
Everything of value in our house was gone. Word on the streets was my mother was a crackhead and prostitute. I tried to deny it at first, but before long, it became obvious.
Now it’s been four years of this mess, and I just can’t take it anymore. I don’t know what to do. I’m only seventeen years old. I’m sitting here on this couch hungry with nothing to eat and my mom is lying up in her room with some nigga for a lousy few bucks. And when she’s done, she’s going to leave here and cop some more dope. I’m just sick of this.
“Li’l Bo, Monica,” I shouted so they could hear me clearly. “Come on, let’s go to the store so we can get something to eat.”
“I don’t want to go to the store, Mya. It’s cold out there,” Monica said, pouting as she came out of the room we shared.
“Look, put your shoes on. I’m not leaving you here without me or Li’l Bo. Besides, ain’t nothing in that kitchen to eat so if we don’t go to the store, we starve tonight.”
“Well, let’s go. I ain’t got all night.” Li’l Bo tried to rush us, shifting side to side where he stood. The only thing he cares about is that video game that he has to hide to keep Mom from selling.
On our way to the store we passed all the local wannabe dope boys on our block. As usual, they couldn’t resist hitting on me. But I never pay them losers any mind because I will never mess around with any of them. Most of the grimy niggas been sleeping with my mom anyway. Especially Squeeze, with his bald-headed ass. Nasty bastard. If I had a gun I would probably shoot all them niggas.
“Hey, Mya. Girl, you know you growing up. Why don’t you let me take you up to Roosters and buy you a burger or something?” Squeeze asked while rubbing his bald head and licking his nasty, hungry lips at me. “With a fat ass like that, girl, I will let you order whatever you want off the menu.”
“Nigga, I don’t need you to buy me jack. I’m good.” I rolled my eyes and kept stepping.
“Whatever, bitch, wit’ yo’ high and mighty ass. You know you hungry.”
Li’l Bo stopped dead in his tracks. “What you call my sister?” He turned around and mugged Squeeze. “Can you hear, nigga? I said, what did you call my sister?” Li’l Bo spat the words at Squeeze.
I grabbed Li’l Bo by the arm. “Come on, don’t listen to him. He’s just talkin’. Forget him anyway.” I dismissed Squeeze with a wave of my hand.
“Yeah, little man, I’m only playing.” Squeeze had an ugly scowl on his face.
Before I walked away I turned around and threw up my middle finger to Squeeze because that nigga’s time is coming. He’s got plenty of enemies out here on the streets while he’s wasting time fooling with me.
When we made it to the store I told Li’l Bo and M
onica to watch my back while I got some food. I picked up some sandwich meat, cheese, bacon, and hot dogs. I went to the counter and paid for a loaf of bread to make it look legit, and then we left the store. Once outside, we hit the store right next door. I grabbed some canned goods, a pack of Oreo cookies for dessert, and two packs of chicken wings. When we got outside, we unloaded all the food into the shopping bags we brought from home. That would get us through until next week. This is how we eat because Mom sells all the food stamps every damn month. The thought of it made me kick a single rock that was in my path while walking back to the Brewster.
When we got back to the house, Mom was in the kitchen rambling like she’s looking for something. So she must be finished doing her dirty business. I walked right past her like she ain’t even standing there.
“Where the hell y’all been? Don’t be leavin’ this house at night without telling me,” she screamed, then flicked some cigarette butts into the kitchen sink.
“We went to the store to get food. There is nothin’ to eat in this damn house.” I rolled my eyes, giving her much attitude.
“Mya, who the hell do you think you talking to? I don’t care where you went. Tell me before you leave this house,” she said, while sucking her teeth.
“Yeah, whatever! If you cared so much, we would have food.” I got smart again. “Monica, grab the skillet so I can fry some of this chicken,” I ordered her, then slammed the freezer door shut.
Mom paused for a minute. She was staring at me so hard I thought she was about to slap me for real. But she just turned around and went to her room. Then she came right back out of her room and went into the bathroom with clothes in hand.
I knew she was going to leave when she got that money from her little trick. Normally, I want her to stay in the house. That way I know she’s safe. But tonight, I’m ready for her to leave because I’m pissed at her right now. I still love her, but I don’t understand what happened to her so fast. Things have been hard on all of us. Why does she get to take the easy way out by doing crack? I just wish Dad was here, but he’s not, so I got to do something to take care of my brother and sister and get us out of this rat hole.
