Swing

by Miasha

  Throw it up, throw it up, watch it all fall out . . . my ringtone sounded. I grabbed my cell off my desk. “Hello?”

  “I think our secret has been discovered,” Kelsey said.

  “What happened?”

  “I see your husband’s car parked outside my apartment.”

  “Oh boy,” I sighed. “How did he find out?”

  “I don’t know. You think he saw her at the Valentine’s Day party?”

  “She left before he got there.”

  “You want me to just go in and see what’s happening?”

  “Yes,” I told her, waiting on the other end of the phone as she walked inside her apartment building. I could hear her footsteps come to an abrupt halt. “What happened? Why did you stop walking?”

  She whispered, “They’re standing outside my door talking. It looks like he’s on his way out.”

  “Can they see you?”

  “No, I’m hiding behind the wall.”

  “Okay, good,” I said, then I heard voices. “What are they saying?”

  “I’m going to put you on speakerphone, so don’t say anything or they’ll hear you.”

  I kept quiet and listened intently to the conversation my husband was having with our former live-in.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “Why did you tell her there was never a baby?”

  I pressed my ear against the phone harder. Did I just hear what I thought I heard?

  Then Morgan’s voice answered: “That’s the only way I could see her letting me back in. You know she’s spiteful. And besides, had I told her I decided to go through with an abortion she would have talked it over with you—and seeing how you haven’t been answering my calls, something told me you would have shot it down.”

  “So did you?” Jake asked.

  “Did I what?”

  “Get rid of it.”

  “Not yet, but there’s still time. Are you going to give me what you promised?”

  I waited to hear what the promise was, but no words were spoken. Just silence. I whispered to get Kelsey’s attention, hoping it wouldn’t blow my cover. “Psssss . . .”

  “Hello?” Kelsey whispered.

  “What are they saying? I can’t hear them anymore.”

  “Nothing. Jake is just looking at her. He seems pissed.”

  “Okay, put me back on speakerphone,” I instructed, right on time.

  “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” Jake accused.

  “You know, Jake, I wish we had time to lay all our cards out on the table, but Kelsey will be here any minute.”

  There was that silence again, but instead of asking Kelsey for another visual, I was patient.

  “Schedule the appointment. When it’s done and I see some sort of proof, I’ll make the deposit,” Jake said with disgust. “After that, I don’t want to see your gold-digging ass ever again. Not here, not at the club, and not at my fucking house.”

  Suddenly Kelsey’s voice returned with urgency: “He’s leaving,” she whispered. “Do you want me to stop him?”

  I thought about it, and while I would have loved for Kelsey to run up on them and bust them with me on the phone, that wouldn’t be smart. All Jake would have done was offer some lame justification. I had a better idea.

  “No,” I told Kelsey. “But as soon as he’s out of sight, put me on with Morgan.”

  “Okay,” she obliged.

  Then we both waited once again, and I was left to my thoughts. So my daughter was right: there was something extra between Jake and Morgan. But why? I didn’t understand how a man who was already having his cake and eating it too would still feel the need to cheat. It was mind-boggling and real damn heartbreaking. Maybe what Jake’s doctor had said was real—I recalled an office visit where his doctor had said he was exhibiting symptoms of a midlife crisis. He said it was a real condition with real effects. I admit, I wrote it off. But maybe he was right. Maybe Jake was desperate to feel young again, and with Morgan stroking his ego every chance she got, it was easy for him to get caught up in the fantasy of having a young girl be so attracted to him. But now, I think he had realized it was all bullshit; with his nose finally out of her ass, he could smell it.

  Kelsey’s voice brought me back to the moment: “He’s gone.” I heard her footsteps start up again. Then her voice. “Wait, don’t close it.”

  “Kelsey?” Morgan said in a high pitch. “Oh my God, you scared me. I was just looking out the door for you.”

  “Lyssa wants to speak to you,” Kelsey replied.

  “Hi, Lyssa,” Morgan said into the phone, surprise in her voice.

  I decided to do like Kelsey and cut to the chase: “How much is he paying you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I just listened to your conversation with my husband. I know he agreed to give you some money if you get rid of the baby you’re carrying.”

  “Lyssa . . .” Morgan began.

  “The bullshit, Morgan, cut it. I’ll pay you double to keep it. Show up eight, nine months later and sue him for child support. That’s what you really wanted, right? Steady income. Stability. Is that why you didn’t go through with it when he put you up in the hotel? You didn’t want the lump sum. You wanted the residuals, didn’t you? Well, I’m giving you the chance to have both. This way you can live off the lump sum until the baby is born, and then you’ll get your stability.”

  “I don’t understand,” Morgan said. “What would you be getting out of the deal?”

  “You said it yourself: I’m spiteful. Well . . . I want Jake to pay for going behind my back and getting you pregnant. And the only way I can see that happening is if he has to pay you every month for the next eighteen years of his life. That’s why he wants you to get rid of it—so he can shortchange you. But you’re a smart girl. You know that lump sums dwindle quicker than anyone ever anticipates, and that a monthly check is where real stability lies.”

  “I’m sorry, Lyssa,” Morgan said with a sob. “I really am. But it’s so uncertain working as a live-in. I don’t have a college degree. And even if I did, last I checked, college graduates are competing for jobs at Walmart these days. Where I come from, girls have babies by wealthy men to get by. I’m just trying to survive.”

  I acted like I was sympathetic but she had to be a fool to think I was. And lucky for me, she was a fool. “Well, I’m giving you a shot at survival.”

  “You have a deal,” she quickly responded.

  “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I told her.

  Kelsey got back on the phone and I said I would talk to her about everything later. I was in no mood to do it right then. She respected my wishes and we hung up.

  I put my phone on my desk, sat back in my chair, and thought. I put myself back in my living room with Morgan and Jacob and replayed in my mind the two of them denying having done anything without my consent. The whole time they had both known the truth and had hidden it from me with apparently no remorse. That was dirty. And I felt myself getting emotional. I had to wipe a tear that I felt welling in the corner of my eye. There was no way I was going to cry. I had made my bed and let another woman lie in it. I couldn’t help but feel like part of this was my fault.

  On the other hand, Jake, Morgan, and I had an agreement. And I may have played a role in breaking it, but only after the two of them had already thrown it away.

  Well, I had something for both of them: after Morgan’s term and a DNA test proved Jake to be the father, I would convince him to fight her for full custody. He’d take the bait—anything to avoid child-support payments. And as soon as he walked away with a winning judgment, I would file for divorce. Jake would be stuck taking care of a newborn all by himself and Morgan wouldn’t get a dime in support. And that would teach both of them a lesson about fucking with me.

  Tori & Kevin

  Kevin and I were on the deck barbecuing, welcoming the first day of spring. He was taking the chicken breasts and vegetables off the grill. I was setting the table. We had timed dinner s
o that we could eat while watching the sunset.

  It was Warm Wednesday and I’m not referring to the weather. Kevin and I had given each day of the week a pet name. And we’d spend that day doing something relative to its name. It was something we’d incorporated into our marriage ever since the tragedy over a month earlier.

  On Movie Monday, we would go on a movie date or find something on On Demand to cuddle up to. Togetherness Tuesdays were dedicated to quality time with each other. And on Warm Wednesdays we did something romantic, wholesome, warm.

  We found that purposely creating our lives was the best way to move forward individually and collectively. We learned that when you intend your life and will into existence what you want each day to be like, it will manifest itself in that way.

  We ate our dinner and gazed at the sun as it dipped beneath the horizon. We appreciated the calmness, the peacefulness. We appreciated life. And we were over the moon about the one that was growing inside me. We appreciated each other more too. Or at least I know I appreciated Kevin more. It sounded crazy whenever I thought about it, but somehow going through that horrific ordeal had made our bond stronger. That and the fact that we were finally starting the family Kevin had always wanted.

  We were clearing the table, taking everything from outside in. The news was airing on the flatscreen that hung above our fireplace. We never really watched the news, but we weren’t going to stop what we were doing to change the channel. In the midst of putting plates in the dishwasher and food in plastic containers, we both heard something that did make us stop in our tracks.

  “Police have discovered the body of a man thought to have fled after hiring a hit man to kill his wife, former supermodel Judith Paxon-Ribeiro. Ferrari Ribeiro’s body was found in a landfill in South Carolina. An autopsy report showed he had died of strangulation—the same way his wife was killed just over a month ago. While Judith’s family, friends, and supporters view this discovery as a bit of poetic justice, police are diligently searching for Ribeiro’s killer . . .”

  The sound of a plate crashing to the floor startled Kevin. He looked at me. My hands were shaking, frantically. He gently approached, lowering my hands. He wrapped his arms around me.

  “Just keep to our story,” he said in a solemn tone. “Act normal at all times. Don’t ever confess to anybody, no matter what.”

  “And remember,” I looked up at him, “we’re in this thing together.”

  Another allegiance was formed, this time with more than our words and our hearts—with our very lives. We both knew clearly what we had gotten ourselves into. The only thing up for questioning now was how we were going to get ourselves out. And despite our efforts to remain calm, this was a chilling spot to be in. The spring had just gone cold.

  The End

  MIASHA is the author of several best-selling novels, including Secret Society and Diary of a Mistress. Her books have received rave reviews in national media such as BET, CBS, CN8, The Wendy Williams Experience, Essence, Vibe, Jet, and Elle. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband and two sons.

  H.N.I.C. by Albert "Prodigy" Johson

  with Steven Savile

  Prodigy, from the legendary hip-hop group Mobb Deep, launches Akashic’s new Infamous Books imprint with a story of loyalty, vengeance, and greed.

  “After reading this can’t-take-my-eyes-from-the-pages hardened street novella, I’m thinking less is much more. The authors’ writing rarely misses a beat with characters caught in a violent criminal world with no escape. The work is a breath of fresh air from lengthy, trying-too-hard-to-shock street lit and is an excellent choice for all metropolitan collections.” —Library Journal (starred review, Pick of the Month)

  “The urban setting is unnamed but familiar in this brief, bloody tale of wasted lives lived short and hard.” —Publishers Weekly

  “Simultaneously a fast-paced crime drama and an engrossing, unsentimental moral tale, H.N.I.C. peers into the dark heart that underpins the codes of loyalty and friendship, betrayal and vengeance.” —Brooklyn Daily Eagle

  “In a genre that too often places incorrect ebonics in the mouths of black characters and fails to cross the empathy gap to get into their heads, Savile and Prodigy arrive at a seamless voice that is a refreshing take on crime fiction tropes . . . if tone and texture are what you’re looking for in your hardcore literature . . . H.N.I.C. delivers the goods.” —Okayplayer

  “H.N.I.C. is written by Prodigy himself and shows the extent to which good rappers can make good storytellers.” —Brooklyn Based

  “If you don’t have this novella in your library collection already, please be on the lookout for this 2013 release, H.N.I.C., penned by Hip Hop artist Prodigy of the group, Mobb Deep.” —StreetLiterature.com

  “The strength of this novella, in addition to its straightforward prose and rapid pacing, rests on the universal theme at its center: loyalty. Loyalty and the bullshit our friends put us through . . . Like any good work of crime, H.N.I.C. is grounded in such common experiences and, like any good work of crime, it speaks to all of us, despite the fact that very few of us can bypass an alarm system through some computer trickery.” —Nerds of a Feather, Flock Together

  “It tells the…urban tale of deceit, greed and questioned loyalty with just enough drama to keep you turning the pages.” —Literary Jewels

  “A brutal and quick read . . . custom-made for the big screen.” —Charles Tatum’s Review Archive

  “You can tell that a true lyricist created this gritty tale about greed, betrayal, and street romance. The wordplay is dead on. Combine that with the details that give the freshness of immediate experience and you are no longer reading the story, you are suddenly a character in it. This is what good writing does—it puts you right there in the middle of the action. Excellent read. Salute!” —Miasha, best-selling author of Secret Society

  “Prodigy is a proven storyteller and his skills spill over into the literature game effortlessly. This is a five-star read.” —JaQuavis Coleman, best-selling coauthor of the Cartel series

  “H.N.I.C. is a quick yet engaging read that kept me flipping the pages to see what would happen next.” —K’wan, best-selling author of Animal

  Pappy tries to break out of the game before the head of his crew, Black, gets them all killed. Against his better judgment Pappy agrees to do one last job, but only because it’s the price of his freedom. He knows Black can’t be trusted. He knows his “brother” would rather see him dead than let him walk away. Yet he still agrees to do the job because Black isn’t the only one who can’t be trusted. Sometimes you have to kill for what you want.

  Further developing the stark realism and uncompromising streetwise narratives of his lyrics, H.N.I.C. cements Prodigy’s position as one of the foremost chroniclers of contemporary urban life. Simultaneously a fast-paced crime drama and an engrossing, unsentimental moral tale, H.N.I.C. peers into the dark heart that underpins the codes of loyalty and friendship, betrayal and vengeance.

  With H.N.I.C., Prodigy inaugurates Infamous Books, a revolutionary partnership that pairs the Infamous Records brand with Brooklyn-based independent publisher Akashic Books. Infamous Books’ mission is to connect readers worldwide to crime fiction and street lit authors both familiar and new.

  ALBERT “PRODIGY” JOHNSON, as one half of the hip-hop phenomenon Mobb Deep, has sold millions of albums and recorded with the elite of hip-hop, R&B, and rock. Prodigy is the founder and curator of Infamous Books, and is the author of the memoir My Infamous Life and coauthor, with Steven Savile, of H.N.I.C. and Ritual (forthcoming). He lives in Queens, New York.

  STEVEN SAVILE, a multiple finalist for the British Fantasy Award, has written for Doctor Who, Torchwood, Primeval, Stargate, Warhammer, Sláine, Fireborn, Pathfinder, and other popular game and comic series. He wrote the story for the international best-selling computer game Battlefield 3, which sold over five million copies in its week of release, and served as head writer for the popular online children’s game Spine
world. He is coauthor, with Albert “Prodigy” Johnson, of H.N.I.C. and Ritual.

  H.N.I.C. is available in hardcover and paperback from our website and in bookstores everywhere. The e-book edition is available wherever e-books are sold.

  Black Lotus by K'Wan

  Finding the Black Lotus murderer is Detective Wolf’s chance to avoid an Internal Affairs investigation. That’s when things get personal.

  “[A] heart-thumping thriller . . . K’wan does a masterful job of keeping readers on their toes right up to the very last page.” —Publishers Weekly

  “One of hip-hop fiction’s hottest authors.” —King

  “K’wan steadily builds to a frantic, movie-worthy climax.”—Entertainment Weekly

  “The legacies of Iceberg Slim and Donald Goines are forever preserved.”—Upscale

  Detective James Wolf earned the nickname Lone Wolf from his inability to work with a partner. He’s a hard cop who doesn’t mind bending the rules to the point of breaking them to make a case, which is why Internal Affairs is digging in his backyard, looking for buried bones. People are starting to wonder: Which side of the law is the Lone Wolf really hunting for? His career hanging on by a thread, he needs a major show of good faith to keep employed and out of prison. That’s when he gets the call.

  From the moment he arrives at the crime scene, Detective Wolf knows that he’s in over his head. He’s a narcotics detective, called in to consult on a homicide, but this is no ordinary homicide—a priest was butchered and left for dead inside his own church, with the promise of more bodies to follow. The only lead is the killer’s calling card: a black lotus flower left at the crime scene. Detective Wolf now has the opportunity to quietly track and stop the Black Lotus before the next victim is claimed, in exchange for wiping his service record clean.

  Accepting this case started as Detective Wolf’s attempt to get Internal Affairs off his back. But when his hunt for the Black Lotus leads him to a cold case from his past, it becomes personal.