Her Sweetest Revenge 2

Book 2: Her Sweetest Revenge

by Saundra

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

Synopsis

All Mya wants is a normal life, but that means convincing her husband, Hood, to walk away from the hustle. Easier said than done when dealing drugs has always been his bread and butter—and he’s just teamed up with a new crew on a deal that will set them up for life… Hard as she tries, Mya can’t ignore the dread she feels. And when her fears come true, Hood will have to choose between their marriage and the game—if he can survive long enough. Because Mya knows the street never tires of bloodshed . . . Praise for Her Sweetest Revenge “Mya is an amazing character . . . I rooted for her all the way.” —Mary Monroe, New York Times bestselling author “An entertaining and drama-filled story.” — RT Book Reviews

Release date: November 1, 2015

Publisher: Dafina

Print pages: 207

Sample

Pop. Pop. Pop.

“Agh!” I screamed as the hot bullet that left Luscious’s gun pierced my left shoulder. Grabbing my shoulder, I instantly felt the hot blood start dripping down my sleeve. But the thud of Luscious’s body hitting the ground had my attention. Then Luscious disappeared and on the ground in his spot Monica lay covered in blood. “MONICA, MONICA!!” I yelled over and over.

“Mya!” I heard someone yelling my name, but my body was frozen in one spot. Panic set in as I tried to force myself toward Monica. “Mya,” I heard my name again. I felt myself blacking out.

“Mya.” I finally opened my eyes and realized it was Hood shaking me, calling my name. “Babe, it’s only a dream again. You at home and safe. So is Monica.” I looked around the room as I realized I was home in my bed. “Shit, I hate these dreams.” I sat up then slightly, pushed my Donna Karan stitched quilt off me, and climbed out of the bed. Realizing I had interrupted Hood’s sleep again, I apologized. “And I’m really sorry for waking you up with this shit again.” I went into our master bathroom to wipe all the perspiration off my forehead that had built up while I was panicking in my dreaming.

“It’s a’ight, you know I got you. Besides I’m ’bout to get up anyway. Gotta handle business.” As usual, I could always count on Hood to be supportive. No matter what. But I was sick of having these dreams. It had been well over a year since Luscious had tried to sneak up on me at Stylz by Design to take me out. He thought he had me too, but his plan had failed when Monica came out of nowhere and shot him in the back of the head, killing him instantly. I was lucky, because had it not been for my sister Monica, I would be dead. Luscious did end up shooting me in the shoulder, but I recovered so fast it was like a pat on the back. To be honest, the dreams were worse than getting shot.

The only regret I had about the whole incident was Monica getting caught up in the middle. I hated that she now had murder on her hands. Even worse, it was her daughter Imani’s father that she had killed. It was only a coincidence that she had even showed up at the shop that morning. On her way to school she remembered she needed money. She later said that she had attempted to call my cell but got no answer so she came because she knew that was where I would be. As she pulled in, she happened to see Luscious, who she thought was dead, slip into my shop. Monica said she knew he was up to something and without a second thought she grabbed the .22 pistol that Hood had given her for protection out of the glove compartment of her all-white 2012 Dodge Charger. Just as she entered the back of the shop, she saw me running toward Luscious as he fired shots at me. So even though I regret her having to kill Imani’s dad, I thank God that she did.

As I came out of the bathroom, Hood headed into our triple-sized walk-in closet. “Well, since I’m up, would you like me to make you some breakfast? A little eggs, bacon, maybe some hash browns,” I offered. There was no way I was going back to sleep. I refused to close my eyes only to get a glimpse of Luscious. Hell no. I would stay woke.

I had told Rochelle I was coming in late today since I stayed over the night before, but what the heck, I might as well drag my ass in. I could get an early start on inventory since I didn’t have any appointments scheduled. Even though I owned the shop, I still had a few special clients. And for my services they paid top dollar.

“Nah, babe, I’m good. I’ma meet up with my people early this morning so I’ll just grab some on the way.” Hood walked into the bathroom as I plopped back down on the bed and quietly contemplated my next move. I decided a latte would do me good so I made the kitchen a part of my mission for the morning. Not soon after Hood left the house I jumped in the shower. An hour later I had searched through my closet and fished out a pair of white Vince tennis shorts with a black Helmut Lang tank. I completed the outfit with Alexander Wang ankle-strap sandals. I had to admit my new style was classic. I had put the Brewster Projects dressing behind me. At least a little bit—I still would represent from time to time. With not as much as one glance in the mirror, I concluded I was ready to head out.

“What the hell you doing here?” Rochelle asked as I entered her booth area. While I was off healing from my gunshot wound, Rochelle had got into the routine of opening up the salon. Recently I started coming in more frequently, but I still hardly ever opened up. I really appreciated her taking on the big responsibility of the day-to-day operation of the salon. Not once had she complained.

“I couldn’t sleep.” I sat my white Burberry bag down on a counter near Rochelle’s hair station. “Having that dream again,” I revealed. I was having the dream so much lately it was becoming a constant factor in all of our lives.

“Hmmmph.” Rochelle threw her head around as she bounced the ponytail I had done for her the day before. It was long and straight then swooped to the right side of her head with crispy shark fins in the front. It was bomb. She was wiping her station, getting ready for her first appointment. Rochelle had turned out to be one of my top stylists. She had graduated top of her class for hair. And I had to give it to her, her shit was tight. Her clients always left with huge smiles on their faces and an appointment scheduled for the next week. “Mya, I told you to stop eating before you go to bed. A full stomach only enhances horror dreams. And don’t be worried about that nigga Luscious, his ass is dead, courtesy of Monica. So don’t even trip.” Rochelle threw her right hand into her right back pocket and placed one of her feet on the bottom of her salon chair.

“Girl, I ate about four hours before I went to bed. And I ain’t worried about that nigga.” I smacked my lips. “I just hate them damn dreams. Sometimes I feel like Luscious is still alive lurking around the corner. But I ain’t scared. Just creeped out by the dreams, I guess.” I hunched my shoulders.

“Well, he ain’t around no corner lurking. He six feet deep. You saw the paramedics take his body out on a stretcher and don’t forget they pronounced him dead at the scene. Now, all you gotta do is forget about him and I promise he will disappear from your dreams.”

I sighed, considering what she said. Maybe she was right: I was holding on to Luscious because he was on my conscience. “Maybe you’re right.”

Just as I finished saying that, Trina, another one of my hair stylists, appeared. “What’s up? Ready for the hair show in New York?” Trina grinned. Trina had been working for me going on two years. She was also a bad hair stylist. She was fierce when it came to short cuts. Which was the same way she wore her hair, and it fit her round, plump face perfectly. Trina was about five foot three with hazel brown deep-dish eyes, a pecan color skin tone, and she weighed every bit of 180 pounds, but it was mostly butt and hips. She was what the guys called thick and we called plump.

“Hell yeah, we ready.” Rochelle got hyped. “You know I love New York. Party!” Rochelle sang.

“Is that all you ever think about?” I looked at Rochelle, already knowing what her answer would be.

“And you know it. They got some of the hottest clubs up there. I feel my ass shakin’ just thinkin’ about going.”

Trina and I both laughed at Rochelle being her typical party-animal self.

“Well, you better get busy gettin’ the paperwork together. You know it takes weeks to fully get prepared.”

“I am so ahead of you. I got the paperwork already,” Rochelle revealed. “I submitted the documents weeks ago. I received the officials last week.” The look on Rochelle’s face said she was proud of herself.

I smiled at her. “I guess you have been taking care of business.” I had to give her credit, but I already knew she could do it.

Trina was equally hyped. She didn’t mind going anywhere that would get her away from her psycho boyfriend. “I guess we New York bound then. But until then, I got clients. I’ll see you two later.” Trina turned on her heels and left.

“What does Todd think about you shaking your ass down in them New York clubs?” Todd was Rochelle’s boyfriend. He was a schoolteacher, a real gentleman. At first Rochelle was into him, but I noticed she had not been talking about him a lot lately. Nor had I seen him.

Rochelle shot her head in my direction. “You tried it,” she said, mimicking Tamar Braxton. “That nigga ain’t my daddy. I wish he would say anything about me going out. He would get his damn feelings hurt quick.” She was rolling her neck. I knew she was not lying. Rochelle did not play the control game with any man.

“Anyway, he has been gettin’ on my nerves lately. He wanna be all serious all the time. Wanna be committed and all that. I feel like he pressuring me with that shit,” she complained.

“What is so wrong with that, Rochelle? You been dating him for almost two years now. He loves Tiny. Why you trippin’ like that?”

“Look, I know how he feels about me and I know he cares for Tiny.” Rochelle rolled her eyes.

“Then what?”

Rochelle pondered my questions as she sat down in her chair and twirled around, then stopped, facing me. “I guess I ain’t ready for that yet.”

The look on her face showed why. The truth was Rochelle could not move forward with Todd because she was not completely over Li’l Lo. Rochelle was still in love with him.

“It’s Li’l Lo. You miss him.”

“Of course I do.” A single tear slid down Rochelle’s right cheek. “A lot.” She wiped the tear from her face. Rochelle had cared deeply for Li’l Lo. They were living together and had even planned to get married.

I didn’t know what to say, but I knew how she felt. I had lost my brother, Li’l Bo, that same year. It was a void that could not be filled. To keep from crying myself, I changed the subject to shopping. If we were going to New York, our outfit game had to be on point.

After a long day at the salon I headed home. All I wanted to do was sit down, take a shower, and relax until Hood came in. As soon as I jumped out of the shower, I headed to the kitchen and popped open a bottle of Merlot. I grabbed the bottle and a wineglass and went into the den, where I turned on the TV. Searching the channels for something to watch, I stumbled on Colombiana on Starz. I loved that movie. Pouring my first taste of the Merlot, I sat back and relaxed. Before long I was asleep and the movie ended up watching me. I woke up to discover the movie had long gone off. Looking at the clock, I noticed it was two in the morning and still Hood had not come home yet.

I snatched up the Merlot bottle and the flute I had been drinking from and started toward the kitchen. That was when the front door clicked and Hood opened the door and strolled inside. I stood in the foyer and watched him as he came down the hallway. I hardly ever tripped when he came in late. When I married him, I knew his position. I was more than aware of what he did for a living. I did not want to interfere with that or have him out in the streets worried about me being upset with him while he was trying to handle his business. I understood that his mind needed to be clear so that he could focus, but I was getting tired of the late nights and the risks he was taking staying in the game. The game in Detroit was no joke. I knew all too well the consequences of an unfocused dope boy. I grew up with the consequences, so no one could tell me shit. I wanted better for us. Common sense told me we would never be the Cosbys, but we could have a good life. I was tired of waking up at one a.m. to find his side of the bed empty and worrying if his fate would be exactly that of Li’l Bo. Without uttering one word, I turned on my heel and continued toward the kitchen.

“Babe, don’t be like that.” Hood was on my heels begging. He knew I was upset.

Putting the top on the bottle, I turned and rinsed out my glass before putting it into the dishwasher.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be out this long but a new business came up. . . .”

I cut him off. “Look, Hood, you know I don’t trip about you working. I don’t call you blowing you up trippin’ and talkin’ shit accusing you of hoes. I never do that, but you are married; you have been for two years now.” I raised two fingers at him for show and tell. “At some point shit has got to change. I know you love this game or are invested. However you may wanna describe it, that’s on you. But it cannot be forever. That’s just unrealistic. You need to seriously think about gettin’ out and I’m talkin’ soon.” We had had this discussion before, but I was even more convinced that it was the thing to do. Everyone knew the longer you stayed in the game, the harder it was to get out and the more you stood to lose. I had to make sure Hood remembered that. But I also recognize that, logically, it would not be easy for him to walk away.

“Babe, I hear you and I hate these long nights. Don’t you think I would rather be in bed snuggled up to you than out in these mean-ass streets. But tonight I broke into a deal that should get me out the game. Once it’s done I’m out.” Hood showed me the cutthroat gesture. I was confused. What now? What new deal? Another reason for him to prolong his stay in the game. The look on his face begged me to understand. I wanted to believe him, but would not cave. He continued to explain.

“That is why I’m late tonight. We had this side deal we been working on for months that put us through to some work. I put Rob in charge to jump things off. He met these guys a while back and the deal was successful and now we in there.” He was searching my facial expression for reassurance. “Babe, this is huge. I promise, after this I’m all yours.” He was all grins with that statement. He wanted to convince me more than anything. Rob was one of his top workers. He had worked for Hood for years along with Hood’s other right-hand man, Pablo. Pig, Hood’s best friend who had been killed a few years back, had brought them in. Coming from the same block, they had been a part of Pig’s crew when he was starting out alone. So Hood trusted them deeply, or maybe I should say he trusted them enough. Because since Pig’s death, he never gave anyone his full back. Naturally, since I was his wife, I was the only one he trusted with his life. And I would murk any nigga or bitch who threatened that. I was down for him, but I wanted him. Fuck money and the dope game.

“Hood, I understand what. . .