Carl Weber Presents Ride or Die Chick 1

Book 1: Ride or Die Chick

by J.M. Benjamin

Genres: African American Urban; African American Women's Fiction

Synopsis

From the day he was born, Treacherous Freeman was never given a fair chance. He was raised by his father, a notorious gangster who deprived Treacherous of a normal childhood. Instead, he gave Treacherous an education in life on the streets of Virginia. When the time comes for Treacherous to make some sudden decisions, he has no idea they will land him in the very place that he is trying to avoid. Teflon Jackson is a beautiful woman who is the result of a horrible union. With a prostitute for a mother and a pimp for a father, Teflon's childhood was far from a fairytale. Witnessing her parents' abusive relationship, Teflon is determined not to follow in her mother's footsteps. When tragedy strikes and Teflon is forced into the streets to fend for herself, however, she finds herself relying on all the tricks her mother taught her. Treacherous and Teflon cross paths, and what starts out as a bad situation blossoms into an unbreakable bond. A bona fide gangster, Treacherous is confident that he can't lose, as long as he has his ride or die chick! Carl Weber Presents Ride or Die Chick: The Story of Treacherous and Teflon is about two people who come from nothing and are willing to sacrifice everything. This is a modern day tale of Bonnie and Clyde, built on a love that is stronger than that of Romeo and Juliet.

Release date: April 1, 2014

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

“Ma’am. Push, push,” the doctor requested.

“I am, goddammit,” Teresa screamed back as Rich stood in the background with arms folded. He had a blank expression on his face. Rich was not ready to bring a child into a world that he felt was cruel and unjust, nor was he ready to become a father, but Teresa had insisted on having the baby. That being the case, Rich felt he owed her that much to stick by her once she told him of her decision, knowing all she had been through prior to and up until the time they had come back in contact with each other. Not including what she tolerated when it came to him. Teresa had been there for Rich through thick and thin, whether he wanted her to be or not, because she loved him.

Teresa Freeman fell hard for Richard Robinson, known as Richie Gunz, the first time they had met. The meeting was an awkward situation. Teresa was a good girl who was only attracted to bad boys. Being a redbone from Georgetown was like being Queen Elizabeth from England to all the pimps, players, and gangstas alike who were from not only Georgetown but from Norfolk, Hampton, Newport News, Portsmouth, and Virginia Beach as well. Teresa Freeman used that knowledge to her advantage to get some of the most major cats who ran the Virginia streets to pay attention to her. Although she was still a bona fide virgin, she was very much promiscuous for a seventeen-year-old, and every chance she got, she let it be known she still possessed her virginity, which only heightened men’s attraction and lust for her tender-looking body. She stood every bit of five feet ten, possessing some of the smoothest-looking, long sunflower, complexioned legs ever introduced to mankind. They led up to a voluptuous heart-shaped apple bottom, followed by a petite waist that could be no more than a size twenty-eight, with a flat midsection to match, and a pair of marshmallow-soft 34C cups that stood at attention with grape-size nipples that protruded through her shirt. Even when she was braless her breasts stood at attention. Her lips were full, but her mouth was small. She possessed a sharp nose, with high cheekbones and a round face. Her eyes were quarter sized, not to mention gray, and they sparkled at the drop of a dime, making the strongest man melt. Teresa was definitely a sight to see coming through any area with her long, silky God-given, auburn-colored hair hanging down to the lower part of her back. Any man in his right mind would love to have a young trophy such as Teresa on his arm, and she knew it. What really attracted all the men to Teresa was the fact that she had come from a good pedigree: one of the best in Virginia.

Bo-Bo Freeman, who was Teresa’s father, was one of the most vicious individuals from the Tidewater Park area, and her mother, Daphne Johnson, was what one would call a dime piece because of her all-around beauty, from the old school. She could still turn heads and put most of the young girls who thought they were hot stuff to shame, except for her daughter. Teresa was a fifty-cent piece. She was not only gorgeous; she was also a female gangsta at an early age. The way she carried herself was ladylike, but if you pissed her off or disrespected her in any way, then there was hell to pay. Teresa could transform in a split second from Dr. Jekyll to Ms. Hyde.

Teresa’s father had been found executed in North Side Park when she was thirteen, and it had been her and her mother living together from that day until Teresa turned seventeen, when she let a major player put her up in her own apartment, paying her all expenses and rent for six months without her having to give him so much as a kiss, let alone sexual intercourse or fellatio. In the streets, one had to question who was actually the player and who was being played. Only a female of Teresa’s caliber could have gotten something off like that on the man everyone referred to as Player Joe. At least that’s what Teresa thought.

One day Teresa was returning back from a visit at her mother’s house after a long lecture. Her mother cautioned her about being careful, due to the word on the streets that Teresa had Player Joe looking like a fool out in the public’s eye. Being knowledgeable of the streets herself, Daphne knew the reputation of the young player her daughter was toying with was on the line, but she knew her words to her daughter had gone in one ear and out the other.

Teresa was glad to be up out her mom’s house. Since she had been on her own, she and her moms had grown apart, but still she respected and loved her mother just the same and made it her business to pay her a visit once a week. It was the least she could do. As she reached the front of her one-bedroom studio apartment, she couldn’t help but to think back to some of the things her mother had said, especially about Player Joe being the laughingstock of the streets. She excused the thought and replaced it with her own logic, that if a man was going to be a sucka for a woman, then he deserved to be treated like one. That was one of the rules of the game and Teresa felt she was only playing by and respecting them. She smiled at her own theory as she searched for the key to the home she called her private castle. As Teresa fondled and rummaged through her Coach bag, she was so focused on finding her keys that she never saw the shadow that towered her or even knew what hit her.

Rich, who was known as Richie Gunz for the twin trey-eight revolvers he toted and wouldn’t hesitate to use, had just stepped out of Charlie’s Bar admiring the redbone, when he saw an unidentified man step from around the car and attack the beautiful young girl, knocking her over the head with the butt end of his pistol. Rich had recognized the pretty girl when she first caught his attention. They had gone to school together—or rather they went to the same school because Rich was older. He remembered before he had dropped out to take on a full-time job as a number runner and a gun for hire, that she had been the prettiest girl in the entire school and was amazed at how she had maintained her beauty. At the time, Rich was in the sixth and she was in the fourth, but girls were the furthest thing from his mind back then. He was more focused on surviving and helping to take care of his mother. The sixth grade had been the extent of his education, textbook-wise anyway. Since then he had been getting his education through real life. Ever since Rich’s mother had been murdered when he was fourteen, he had been out in the streets fending for himself.

Although the girl named Teresa was still unmistakably gorgeous, that meant nothing to Rich and wouldn’t justify him getting involved in something that didn’t concern him. What did concern him, though, enough to make him aid the girl in distress, was the fact that his conscience would not allow him to witness a man putting his hands on a woman. That was something he was totally against. Rich had grown up seeing his father beat on his mother as if it were the normal thing to do for many years until he reached the age of twelve. One day he had taken all of his lunch money he had saved up and gone without eating at times, and bought him a .22 automatic. No sooner than he had made the purchase, Rich came home from school, in the midst of his dad beating up his mom—just like he anticipated—and he shot him in the chest six times, emptying the clip in him. His father lived, but never told the police what happened. That was the last time he and his mother had ever seen or heard from his father. Shortly after that, Rich became the man of the house and turned to the streets as a means of survival for him and his mother, becoming the new breadwinner of the household. Even then, Rich’s mother still attracted the wrong type of men, who were physically and verbally abusive toward her. One by one, Rich would teach them lessons, that his mother was not a human punching bag, just as he had his father. Although Rich’s mother was against him going out into the streets to make a living, she knew the part-time job she struggled to hold was not enough to cover even the rent of their two-bedroom apartment. Rich knew his father had been the one to bring the bacon home, paying all the bills, which was why he felt his mother had tolerated all of the abuse of those years, thinking she couldn’t do better, that she and her child would be left out in the cold if she tried to leave him.

Rich felt it was only right to take on the responsibility as the man of the house and see to it that they were all right. Virginia streets were rough to be running, and Rich knew he had to get in where he fit in order to survive them. He began robbing, stealing, selling drugs, and running numbers, and it was all of that that put him in a position to tote two guns. Rich’s theory was in the streets you had to keep both eyes open if you wanted to live, so why not carry two guns? It felt safer than just having one, he rationalized. Between running the streets and protecting his mother, guns were a necessity in his life.

Seeing the unfamiliar man take advantage of the pretty girl stirred up memories in Rich’s mind of his mother. It disturbed him to see the man in action.

Rich dipped in the cut as he saw the unknown attacker looking around to see if anyone had witnessed what had just taken place, but from where Rich stood he went unnoticed. As the man turned in the direction of Rich’s view, Rich knew who the perp was and what he had just witnessed had become clear. It had been the talk of the town how some young, fine hot redbone had been playing Joe for the past six months, but Rich had no idea the redbone everybody referred to had been Teresa. Rich knew that in the streets all a person had was his or her reputation, so he understood Joe’s motives, but it didn’t justify them and he knew he couldn’t just stand back and watch as Joe did what he knew he intended to do. He waited for Joe to carry Teresa’s limp body into the apartment building before he decided to make his move.

He crossed the street with rapid speed, with no time to spare because he knew even though he had a rep on the streets for being a player, Joe had another reputation when it came to women. Rich entered the building with his two .38s in his hands. Rich had no clue as to what apartment Joe had carried Teresa into when he entered the building, and began walking through the hall in hopes of finding some type of indication where they were. Had it not been for his paying close attention, he would have missed the scream.

“S-s-shit,” Teresa cursed as she regained consciousness. Upon opening her eyes, the first thing she saw was Player Joe kneeling over her wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. She was sprawled out on the living-room floor in the nude. She was still somewhat dizzy and discombobulated from the blow she had taken to the head, so the reality of the situation had not yet really set in. But whatever the case, Teresa’s panic button in the pit of her stomach told her something was not right.

“Joe what the fu—!”

That was all she was able to get out of her mouth before Joe hauled off and back-handed her. “Umph.” The blow he delivered split her lip, drawing blood.

“Shut the fuck up. You know what it is, you young cunt. You think you just gonna play me the fuck out like that and get away with it? Bitch, is you crazy?” he barked.

“How you gonna play a player, youngin’?” The slap dazed Teresa, who was stunned by the blow. She tried to recover from the hit and maneuver to get Joe off top of her, but most of her strength had been drained from the blow to her head she had taken earlier. Still, there was no way she was just going to lay there and let this fake player deprive her of the most sacred and precious thing she knew she possessed.

“Muthafucka, get off me,” she screamed as she twisted, kicked, and turned, but Joe paid her no mind. He was determined to teach her a lesson.

“Bitch, if you scream or move like that one more time I’m gonna put a bullet right in your pretty-ass face. Now stay still while I handle my business and get what I paid for since your gamin’ ass ain’t tryin to give it up,” Joe said, grabbing the gun from the floor and pointing the barrel directly at Teresa’s face. With the other hand, he pulled his manhood out of the slit of his dollar sign–printed boxers.

If looks could kill Joe would have been in his casket waiting to be buried. Teresa ice-grilled him, bringing chills to Joe. It was if her eyes had turned to coal right before him. For a split second, a sense of regret swept over him. He did his best to conceal his inner feeling, replacing it with lust. Teresa knew she was indeed in a no-win situation. She had dealt with more than enough men to know when somebody was serious and the look in Joe’s eyes said it all. This was not how Teresa wanted to lose her virginity, but she had no other choice. It was either let Joe have his way with her, and after it was all said and done, she could seek revenge later, or risk taking a shot to the face and really being scarred for life. Either way the odds were against her, and she had no one to blame but herself. She couldn’t help but think about how her mother tried to warn her and she had disregarded her words. Now she was being forced against her will to give herself to someone she had no connection with or feelings for.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. They became moist with tears as she felt Joe parting her legs. She could feel his hand between her thighs, touching her where no man had ever touched her before. She felt dir. . .