Carl Weber Presents Ride or Die Chick 3

Book 3: Ride or Die Chick

by J.M. Benjamin

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Imagine being the product of one of the most notorious criminal couples ever to terrorize the state of Virginia. Imagine your father choosing death over life in prison because he thinks he has no reason to live. Imagine your mother trying to kill herself and you to protect you from the world. Then imagine growing up parentless in a society you seem not to fit in--until you meet someone else who feels the same way. If you can imagine all of this, then you will be intrigued by the story of young Treacherous Freeman and Baby Love. Nearly two years after the death of his mother, Treacherous is faced with a situation that causes him to unleash all that has been bottled up inside him. His actions ultimately land him in a place that surprises even him. Despite growing up with both parents and strong family values, Baby Love feels her life is not too far from hell. Deceit, betrayal, and deception are the contributors to Baby's sudden change. They are the very same things that land her in a predicament that has her craving for vengeance. As fate would have it, Treacherous finds himself drawn to the girl that reminds him so much of his mother. The chemistry between him and Baby is undeniable, and a twisted love connection is born. Fueled by pain, they form a bond that Treacherous has always dreamed of and Baby never thought existed.

Release date: March 1, 2015

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

“Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?” the white bank teller said, flashing her million dollar smile. Her name tag announced that her name was Christina.

“Yes, I would like to make a withdrawal,” the dapper man answered as he placed his briefcase on the counter. He was well groomed and wore a black suit and tie.

Christina Kawoski couldn’t help but notice how neatly the black gentleman’s beard and mustache were trimmed. Almost to the point of being fake, she thought.

“Sure. Okay, I can help you with that. I assume you have an account here with us, so how much would you like?” Her smile was still plastered across her face. She briefly lowered her gaze to avoid staring at the customer. Had she paid closer attention, things might have turned out differently.

“I want it all, bitch!” the customer turned bank robber growled.

His words immediately drew Christina’s attention back to him. Her eyes nearly shot out of her head at the sight of the gun he was brandishing. “Please, don’t shoot,” she stuttered. “I have a two-year-old,” she added as she instinctively threw up her hands.

“Put your fuckin’ hands down!” the robber snarled.

A nervous twenty-two-year-old Christina Kawoski did as she was told, and quickly lowered her hands.

“Now, fill this mu’fuckin’ briefcase up with nothing but hundreds,” he instructed, while cautiously looking from left to right. Convinced that neither bank teller on either side of her had any clue as to what was taking place, the robber refocused his attention on Christina. He had returned his attention to her just in time. Before Christina Kawoski could change her mind regarding the foolish decision she had made, her thoughts were forcefully blown out of her head by the robber’s .50-caliber Desert Eagle and sprayed all over the elderly female bank teller’s face who stood to the right of her. The elderly teller screamed hysterically. Her screams were instantly silenced by the next shot.

At that point, the entire bank was in a frenzied uproar. Sensing imminent danger, the security guard reached for his service revolver, but he never got to pull it. Instead, he heard the sound of a pistol being cocked right before the back of his head split open from the impact of the shot that was delivered to it from a .357 snub-nosed. The robber’s partner had wasted no time backing him up. The security guard never noticed the woman dressed in all-black Islamic attire, but she had been eyeing his every move from the moment she and her partner entered the bank.

“Everybody! Down on the floor! Now!”

The male robber had drawn a second weapon and pointed it in the direction of other customers and workers while locking his first weapon on the last teller behind the counter.

“You got two choices. You can be smart and live or be a stupid hero and die,” he told the black bank teller who was on the left of the deceased Christina Kawoski. If he’d had any plans on pushing the silent alarm underneath the counter, they were immediately changed after hearing the choices given to him by the robber.

“It’s not your money, and it’s insured,” the robber added.

The teller threw his hands up in the air and backed away from the counter.

“Good choice. Now, I need you to come over here and fill this briefcase up with all hundreds,” the robber instructed.

The bank teller nervously made his way over to where his dead colleague once stood.

“Now, as an extra precaution, just in case you decide to change your mind like your friend lying down there, I’m going to press this gun up against your temple as a reminder, you understand?”

The bank teller nodded.

“Babe, three more minutes,” the robber’s partner informed him.

“You heard the lady. Three more minutes. That means you only got one and a half before I blow your brains out and finish your job.”

The robber’s words were all the motivation the bank teller needed to speed up. In under a minute, the briefcase was filled to capacity with hundred dollar bills.

“Now, come around and lie over there with the rest of them.” The robber waved his gun, and the teller did as he was told.

“Thank you, everyone, for your cooperation. If you want to live, I advise you to stay down until help arrives.”

The robber calmly glided past the bodies that covered the floor, making his way over to the entrance of the bank, where his partner stood. As he walked with the briefcase in his hand, he heard one of the female hostages utter something but couldn’t quite make out what the woman had said. Apparently, his partner had because she rushed over to the woman and grabbed her by her hair.

“Stand up, bitch!”

The female robber yanked the white woman up and onto her feet. The woman groaned in agony from the death grip the female robber had on her hair.

“Repeat that shit you just said,” she ordered.

It was as though her words had fallen on deaf ears because the white woman said nothing.

“Bitch, I said repeat that shit!” The robber shoved her gun into the woman’s mouth and pried it open with the barrel of the weapon. The white woman gagged and uttered something that was inaudible.

The robber removed her gun and asked, “Now, what did you say?”

“I said, ‘Fucking niggers,’” she repeated dryly.

“That’s what I thought you said.”

The roar from the point-blank shot sent terrifying chills through all who witnessed the coldblooded act. Men, women, and children cringed with fear, hoping they would not be next.

“Do we have any more racist muthafuckas who would like to speak up?” she asked sarcastically.

There were no replies. Her partner shook his head as he thought of the monster he had created in his lover. “Babe, let’s go,” he said as he held the door open for her.

Then, he faced the horrified hostages and said, “Thank you again.”

He turned around just in time to witness his lover’s body being cut down as she was met with a barrage of bullets that found a resting place in her chest. Before he had time to react, a bullet from a sniper’s gun slammed into his skull, causing him to tumble back into the bank. His body went crashing to the floor.

“No!” young Treacherous Freeman Jr. screamed as he woke up in a cold sweat.

Another bad dream about his parents had been the cause of yet another rude awakening. The other kids who shared a room with Treacherous were used to his nightmares and knew to say nothing. Many of them were afraid of him, so, even if they wanted to say something, they wouldn’t. Ever since he had come to the group home, he had been having bad dreams. None of the dreams were ever the same but always ended the same and seemed so real. The end results were always that his parents were gunned down.

Almost three years had gone by, and young Treacherous still could not escape the recurring nightmares. The bad dreams remained fresh in his young mind. Ironically, after each nightmare, young Treacherous always found relief by going back to read something about his parents in one of his mother’s journals he was allowed to keep after her tragic death. At that point, he had read his mother’s journals so many times that he knew by heart what was on each page.

Treacherous reached under his mattress and retrieved one of them. After the last nightmare, he finished reading the words of his mother’s final account of her and his father. Whenever he finished, he would always start reading from the beginning again. Although he could nearly recite the words on the pages, he continued to read because he always felt a connection to his parents whenever he read his mother’s words in her own handwriting. Treacherous cracked open one of the notebooks and read until he couldn’t read anymore.

Fifteen-year-old Treacherous Freeman Jr. awoke to the sound of the birds chirping outside the window of his bedroom in the group home’s attic. His bed was located near the window. As usual, he had dozed off while reading about his parents. It was not a surprise to him that he had the journal clenched close to his chest when he opened his eyes. Treacherous slid the journal underneath his mattress and climbed out of bed. He kneeled beside his bed, folded his hands together, and began his day the way he normally did, by talking to his parents.

“Good morning, Mom and Dad. I couldn’t sleep last night. I had another bad dream about you. Like the rest of them, it seemed real, but I knew it wasn’t. Y’all were dressed in disguises this time and almost got away, but, Mom, instead of Daddy losing his temper, in this one, it was you. Some lady made a racist remark, and you taught her a lesson. I think, if you would’ve just left, y’all would’ve made it out of there and it wouldn’t have been a nightmare. The police were waiting for y’all out front, and they started shooting, and, Mom, you got shot up, and so did you, Dad. That’s when I woke up. It didn’t scare me because I’m used to it, but it made me mad because I wanted y’all to get away.

“I think about y’all all the time, especially you, Mom, and the last time I saw you. I can’t stop thinking about that policeman who took you from me. If it weren’t for him, you would still be here, and I wouldn’t be in here. When I get out of here, I’m going to find him, if it’s the last thing I do.

“I hate this place. I hate the way they treat me here, like I’m some retard, and I hate the way they tell me what to do. I’m not going to be here too much longer, though. I have a plan. I promise I won’t do anything without letting y’all know first. I just wanted to tell you about my nightmare, but, like always, Mom, after I read one of your journals, I felt better, and I fell asleep. They be wanting me to read these history books, but I’d rather read the history of y’all. I can’t wait to leave Richmond and go over to the Seven Cities where you guys and my granddad were from. Well, that’s it for now. I’ll talk to you later. I love you both.”

Everyone was still sound asleep when Treacherous finished his morning talk with his parents. Afterward, he wasted no time breaking into a pushup. After the completion of his first set, Treacherous reached for the pen and paper lying on the nightstand next to his bed and wrote down the forty-rep set. Exercising was one of the few things Treacherous enjoyed doing at the group home. What had started out as recreation for him wound up becoming a part of his daily morning routine. Within the past thirty months or so, Treacherous had gone from a puny twelve-year-old to a well-built teenager. Judging from the way his mother had described his father, he knew his body would probably develop like his. To be so young, he was impressed with the ripples in his midsection, the width of his back, and the bulk on his arms, as was everyone else who had noticed the transformation he’d made during his stay at the Richmond group home.

Both the staff and the other kids had watched in amazement as Treacherous engaged in strenuous workouts, consisting of pull-ups, pushups, and dips throughout the day. He was the biggest kid in the group home. Standing at five foot nine and weighing in at a solid 185 pounds, for the most part, Treacherous’s appearance was enough for the other kids to keep their distance. That was the way he liked it. He had no friends at the group home and he didn’t want any. Everyone, including the staff, treated him as if he was from another planet. No one really said anything to him, and his interactions with them were the same.

By the time Treacherous had completed his ten sets, showered, groomed, and dressed, the Virginia sun was just peeking through the window of the room, letting him know it was time for breakfast. All the other kids were just climbing out of their beds and heading to the bathroom. Treacherous could feel a set of eyes on him as he tied his shoelace. When he looked up, his suspicion was confirmed. One of his roommates was delivering a cold stare in his direction as he stood waiting in line for the bathroom. It was the same stare Treacherous had caught the kid shooting at him on three other occasions. The kid’s name was Eric Allen, and he had only been at the group home for two and a half months. Eric had been ordered by the court to remain at the group home until he turned eighteen, according to what Treacherous had overheard.

Eric was a chubby, fair-skinned sixteen-year-old, a few inches shorter than Treacherous, with a big afro you could often find him patting as he talked. He often shared his street tales with the six other kids who occupied the attic when it was time to return to their room for the evening. Treacherous never entertained Eric’s stories. All he talked about were the hustles he had supposedly indulged in. Apparently, he had done everything from selling drugs to holding up convenient stores and robbing people. He bragged about how he had gotten away with an abundance of riches and merchandise. None of the stories interested Treacherous, though, especially since none could compare to the ones he continuously read in his mother’s journals.

The only thing that stood out during Eric’s stories was the fact that they mostly took place in the Seven Cities, where Treacherous’s family was from. Through Eric’s stories, Treacherous learned that he was from the Tidewater Park Projects in Norfolk, which were the same housing projects Treacherous’s father and grandfather were from. While Eric had the other kids in awe with his tales, Treacherous sought entertainment in the real-life stories of his parents. Although the two had never said a word to one an. . .