Baby Momma 4

Book 4: Baby Momma

by Ni'chelle Genovese

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Novie swore she'd never do two things in her lifetime: head up the family drug trade, or be some man's baby momma. Unfortunately, when she meets Genesis Kane, things don't go quite as she'd planned.

Genesis is an attorney with a reputation for being a "piranha in pinstripes," both in and out of the courtroom. With Novie's mother bugging her to help the family or disappear, and her father on a mission to keep reaping land, cars, and more side chicks no matter the cost, Novie is feeling pressured. She makes the decision to dive into even crazier waters, aka the piranha's bed. When Novie gets pregnant, she discovers too late that Genesis is not the man she thought he was.

With nowhere to go but back home to the spoiled and petty mother she despises, the last thing she expects from her well-off ex is his blatant refusal to claim or take care of his child. As her list of "nevers" all but disappears right along with her career plans, she makes one vow: Genesis Kane will pay.

Release date: March 29, 2016

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

A Maine coon the size of a baby lion trekked across the lawn. It found the perfect spot, sprawled out under a tree that provided shade, and yawned. The cat’s tail flicked back and forth as it stared lazily up at a baby squirrel lounging on a feeder no more than a foot above its head. Exactly, I thought. It was too damn hot for all that running, chasing, and climbing bullshit. Just like it was too damn hot for me to be sitting up in this nigga’s car waiting for him to get these damn Erykah Badu tickets from this mystery associate.

I waved a club flyer back and forth trying to cool myself down. Club Tryst. Humph, when did this nigga have the time to go there, and where was I? He probably went with his damn associates. That ain’t even sound right coming from him. Was associate the new word of the day on Madden or Call of Duty? Where did he pick that shit up from? Javion didn’t have associates. He was raised by his grandma in East Philly, he had a bum-ass-squad of niggas, and they lived where bum-ass-niggas lived . . . with their mommas or their baby mommas.

I craned my neck to stare up at the strip-mall-sized mansion in front of me. A fleet of shiny black cars stared back at me. Swiss was up to or getting into some shit; I could feel it. He didn’t know anybody with that kind of paper, and if they had it, they didn’t get it legally.

I cranked the AC in his Camaro up as high as it would go, running my finger through the frosty condensation that formed in the corner of the windows. He had one of those weird man-obsessions with his car. Washed and hand dried it twice a day, just like his ass, topped off all the levels, covered it good night, fingered it good morning. Okay I’m exaggerating. But I wasn’t about to be sitting with the shit on “midlow and not high because high runs out the Freon,” as he’d say.

I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Drummed my nails along the dash. None of this was sitting right with me. He’d used the word associate. I’m not saying my baby ain’t bright as day, but niggas don’t lie well. It’s not in their genetic makeup. This was all starting to remind me of a book Shandy couldn’t pull her face out of, where the nigga was inside fucking his wife all while the side chick sat waiting in the car. Baby Momma, that was the name of that book. I don’t think Swiss would do some shit like that. Nah, not with the way he thirst after this ass and these hips. But you could never tell with niggas these days.

I tried to ease my mind by rummaging through his shit. I couldn’t think of any other reason why the nigga would leave me unattended to go in some random’s—my bad—some associate’s house and take forever just to get concert tickets. Humph. Guess they had to make the paper, mix the ink, and print them out too.

I rifled through Burger King and miscellaneous takeout receipts in the armrest. As much as he cleaned his car, you’d think he’d throw away some of these receipts. I’d flopped down the driver-side visor when I noticed an old blue something creeping past. The sun reflected off the glass, preventing me from seeing inside. Blinking away sunspots, I fumbled, trying to put the visor back. It has to be a confused pizza delivery guy or something. I was so focused on the car I didn’t see the bushy spider until it plopped down out of the visor onto my lap. A gas bubble squeezed its way out of my back end, and a screech came out the other as I limbo’d over the center console, screaming bloody murder. I was halfway in the backseat before I realized it wasn’t a spider. It was front-row, center stage, Erykah Badu tickets. And the show was starting in less than an hour.

Sweat appeared on my upper lip. Even though it was frosty cold in the car, I was blazing hot and furious. The front door was still closed, and there wasn’t a sign of anyone moving around inside the house. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that damn blue car was still there too. It’d parked on the street with the front bumper sticking out into the driveway enough for me to see it. Every second made me feel like screaming or climbing out of my skin.

I snatched the keys out of the ignition and eased my French-pedi’d toes back into my gold heels. Swiss was the first dude I’d ever met who found a woman in heels sexier than seeing her naked. He bought more shoes for me than I bought for myself. He defended it by telling me how he loved to follow my long legs down to my pedicured toes peeking out of something sexy. Made him want to tear all up into this more than any lingerie ever would. Thinking about him thinking about me in my heels made me want to tear that fucking door down.

I eased myself out of the car, careful not to slam the door, then quickly adjusted my sundress straps out of habit. Let me walk in on this fool doing some shit; he’d feel all of this sexy-ass heel digging in that ass. Got me out here sweating and he’s probably in there slurping lemonade outta her belly button.

Sweat made my hands cold and sticky. I hesitated on the welcome mat for a bare second.

The sun-beaten door handle was hot to the touch. It seared into my clammy, nervous skin. If this fool was in here doing something he shouldn’t have been doing, there was no way in hell I was gonna ring the doorbell. That would give him enough time to straighten himself up. I was surprised when I pressed down on the handle and it moved easily. Icy-cold air blasted across my face and neck as I eased the door open. I stepped into the foyer. I am definitely not in DC anymore.

Tall, bright green bamboo plants lined the foyer. I stared up at them with my mouth momentarily hanging open in awe. Red, green, and gold parakeets chirped and flitted around the tops of bamboo stalks up near the glass-domed ceiling. It was real cute in a Peter-Pan’ish kind of way, but fuck that bamboo and them birds. Where was this fool? I moved across the spotless floor, careful to keep my heels from clicking against the surface. Three long dark hallways spread out in front of me. I headed toward the one in the middle.

My ears were set to super sonar. I wiped my sweaty palms off on the front of my dress when a soft moan caught my ear. I paused . . . listening so hard I gave myself a headache. A second moan louder than the first one set my feet in motion toward the first door on the hallway to my right. I will kill this nigga and his ho. He got the wrong one if he thinks he can play me like I’m boo-boo the goddamn fool.

“Shhh. It feels good, don’t it? I know you wanna tell daddy you like that shit,” Javion said with a chuckle. “And I want you to stay just like this.”

Javion’s hushed voice was followed by the sound of his own low, husky moan. Betrayal stabbed me in the chest. That was my moan. That sound was supposed to be meant for me. I stepped into what looked like a small entertainment room. My lips were already forming every word that I was about to pop off at his lying, cheating ass. I’ve never felt so stupid or so humiliated. So blindly dumb. My mouth opened, but no words came out. My peep-toes peeped the mental stop sign slamming to a halt before the rest of my body got the message. I damn near did a full-front bow.

Her knees were spread, hands planted shoulder-width apart. I blinked, blinked twice, and then I blinked again to be sure the girl I was looking at was the same girl who’d opened the door. She was kneeling on top of the pool table in the middle of the room. Her skin was shockingly white against the black fabric. It matched her long hair piled into a high, messy ponytail on top of her head.

“I thought I told you to wait in the car,” Javion’s voice was dark and angry.

The girl’s eyes were like headlights as they locked with mine. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty. I had to force myself to look past the black tape across her mouth. I felt her degradation, along with my own confusion as I followed the handle of a broom sticking out of her ass like a stiff horse’s tail. Javion’s hand held the other end of it straight and stiff. A pistol was in his other hand, aimed in the direction of her head.

That couldn’t be Javion. My Javion was a teddy bear and an HVAC repairman who listened to Future and fucked me to Jeremih. This Javion looked malicious, like something straight out of a Quentin Tarantino movie. He was sitting in a bright blue and white paisley patterned armchair pulled up to the edge of the pool table. Covering his face was a bright crimson-red ski mask.

His usually cheerful eyes were resentful and hard as he glared in my direction. I was scared to move any closer to this stranger of a man who I felt like I suddenly didn’t know. The girl on the table whimpered when his hand shifted.

“Shhh. I know, I know,” Javion hushed her like he was soothing a frightened animal. “I need you to hold that for daddy, just a little bit longer.”

His eyes were on me all while he talked to her, like this was completely normal.

A deep voice boomed through the house, “That was a good workout! You know the best way to work off that freshman fifteen is to hit the treadmill. Your mom never liked working out but . . .”

The voice traveled through the house, echoing off the walls.

“Ashley?” he called out again.

The girl responded with a muffled shriek.

He was getting closer, his voice was getting louder.

Either the giant was coming down the beanstalk, or my heart was slamming against my chest so hard that it felt like the house was shaking all around me. I automatically looked to Javion for help because I had no idea what else to do, but he wasn’t even paying me any mind.

“Ash, you got company? I thought I heard the doorbe—”

The owner of that deep, booming voice stopped just in the hallway. He had to have been at least seven feet tall. His wide-muscled body took up the entire door frame as he stepped forward in a pair of sweats, with sweat raining down his bare chest.

When push comes to shove, I’ll take the stranger I know over the stranger I don’t know. I instinctively backed myself toward Javion until I was standing a good distance behind his chair. I needed to keep myself a good distance from Javion too. As far as I could tell, he was on the other end of crazy for me right now, his own self. I wasn’t trying to be in arm’s reach of either one of they asses. Javion sat still and quit, like he just wanted the nigga to visually eat up the moment, roll it around in his brain, and digest it. That’s exactly what happened too. The man’s deep golden tanned skin went sickly pale. His grizzly squared jaw moved back and forth under the blond beard covering it, and his eyes narrowed to slits on Javion.

Javion finally broke the silence. “We gave you an extension, Beau. You missed it. The boss says I need to relieve you of a few obligations. Said maybe that would help you free up the finances to repay your obligation to him.”

Beau raised his big meaty hands in the air. His heart broke the second he saw the girl on the table in front of Javion. You could see it all over his face and in his eyes. He was furious, scared shitless, and completely helpless—with no option left but to beg.

“Look, man, you don’t have to do this. Please,” he begged. “She’s my only child. My baby girl.” His bright blue eyes were glassy with tears. “I’m so sorry, Ash, baby. Daddy is so fucking sorry,” he spoke to the girl on the table his voice shaky and cracking.

Beau raked his hands through his short blond hair, ruffling it into a spiky mess. He was shaking when he talked to Javion. “I swear on my life I’ll get you your money. All I’ve got to do is win my next match. I’m guaranteed to win. I’ll have it. All of it, I swear. Take my car, take whatever you need—”

“Not good enough,” Javion answered.

Javion stood. I cringed at the pitiful sound the girl made when he twisted his hand holding the broom. This was a part of the game I never saw or experienced. It made the inside of my mouth get that uncontrollably wet feeling you get just before you vomit.

“You have until midnight to pay up,” Javion said in a cold, flat voice. “Or I’ll be making a trip to baby girl’s dorm to finish this. Um, Chandler Hall at William and Mary University, if I remember correctly.”

With that, he let the broom drop before turning the gun on Beau. Javion grabbed me by my elbow, calmly marching me toward the front door. I kept looking back, expecting to see Beau running after us with a gun blazing or on the phone calling the police.

“He ain’t gonna do shit, so stop checkin’,” Javion said as he opened my car door.

My eyes were full of questions, but I was still a little too shook up to do more than sort through my rambling thoughts. What just happened? What the fuck kind of pervert ties a girl up and shoves a broom up her ass? Is that the kind of shit he enjoys?

I slid my shades on, trying not to look at the house through the rose tint of my sunglasses. Hopefully, they’d be enough to hide my face if Beau or his daughter were in a window with a camera phone snapping pictures of their attacker. My phone lit up. It was finally charged. I tried to stop my fingers from shaking so I could check my missed messages or log onto Facebook. I needed to do something—anything—to take my mind off what I’d just seen. Javion walked around the back of the car toward the driver’s side.

Thudump!

Something slammed up against the back of the car so hard it rocked in place. I jumped in my seat dropping my phone.

“Oh shit!” Javion shouted.

The worst of the worst scenarios flashed through my head. All that tie-’em-up hostage craziness had my ass so discombobulated, I’d completely forgotten to tell him about the blue car. God, if this nigga is shot or is stabbed, it’d be my fault.

I turned completely around in the seat, my nails dug into the leather of the headrest. I was expecting to see blood splatters or five dudes in black wife beaters with crowbars and tire irons. My eyebrows shot up at what looked like a long black weave bobbing up and down. She started screaming down at what I think was Javion on the ground.

“Nigga! I can’t believe you! I cannot fucking believe you right now!” she yelled, stomping her foot over and over.

“Tinesha, stop! Stop, nigga, you’re pregnant,” Javion yelled back.

She gave a final stomp. She stopped putting her hands on her sides. Tinesha was huffing like she was practicing her damn Lamaze. Javion hopped up, minus his ski mask. Light brown dirt speckled the side of his face and head. He tried to dust off the front of his jeans.

“Nigga, if you don’t calm the fuck down, you about to get everybody caught up out this bitch.”

“Nigga, the only person ’bout to get caught up is you and that bitch. I told you, this baby is yours, and you handle it by hiding from me? You ain’t no man—you ain’t shit,” she huffed, all while pointing in my direction with her chest heaving.

“Get the hell on with that. You out here trippin’ over nothing. I’ll deal with you later,” Javion talked quickly over his shoulder as he marched toward the driver-side door.

“You’ll have to back me over to get out of here, bitch! I ain’t goin’ nowhere until you handle this shit like you’re supposed to!” Tinesha stood behind the car with her arms spread out.

“What the fucking fuck, Javion,” I snapped as soon as he opened the car door.

Sweat ran down the side of his face. He completely ignored me and started the car, throwing it into reverse.

“Move, Tinesha, I ain’t playin’ with you,” he yelled out the window at her.

I punched him in his arm for ignoring me. I didn’t sign up for either one of these bullshit situations. Yeah, he might’ve helped out with a bill or two and got my hair done whenever I wanted, but it wasn’t worth all of this.

Tinesha posted up behind the car. “Hit me then, bitch. You man enough to take a life, but you ain’t man enough to raise one? Huh? Really, nigga?”

She pulled off a shoe, hurling it at the car. For a pregnant woman who looked about to bust, she sure as hell had a lot of fight in her.

Javion turned the wheel to the far right, punching the gas. The car made a small arc as we backed around her. A few inches to the left and that would’ve been all she wrote. She gave us the finger so hard I bet she sprained her wrist.

I stared at the side of Javion’s head with my arms crossed tight over my chest.

“Novie, that kid probably ain’t even mine. She was fuckin’ with one of my homeboys who was always doin’ his thing on the side. Shit, we got drunk, she made her move, and I hit it a couple of times but stopped because my boy said they were good. She was being greedy, and I don’t do sloppy seconds,” he explained. “Then she called me outta the blue a month ago, talking about she’s seven months along. Nah, that ain’t me. It can’t be.”

I didn’t know who or what to believe. Another woman would explain all the late-night trips and phone calls, but what I’d just seen this nigga do back in that house explained that shit just as well.

“So what if it is your baby?” I asked.

The corners of his mouth turned downward as if just thinking about a baby with her turned his stomach. “If it’s mine, and my boy don’t kill me for the disrespect, I’ll do my part. But it ain’t mine. It can’t be. I ain’t ready for that shit, and definitely not with her.”

I wrestled with the idea of. . .